THRILLER: The Galilee Plot: (International Biological Terror, The Mossad, and... A Self-contended Couple)

by Shlomo Kalo

  He finished his first cup of tea, and I poured him a second.

  Amin switched from coffee to tea, perhaps to show solidarity with me, perhaps on account of some strange quirk of taste that he had developed among the Germans.

  “In conclusion,” my host declared, “you must go home and attend to whatever needs attending to in the village of Hasda. Reassure your patrons that a public statement is on its way. And I know you believe me, and you can convince your patrons and perhaps, by God’s grace, we can open up the way, however narrow it may be, towards the salvation of our peoples and all peoples on the face of the earth.”

  “With God” was my benediction.

  Amin sensed the potent hope in my words, and echoed them in Arabic: “Allah maak!”

  I rose from my armchair. Amin accompanied me to the door, and I held out my hand. He shook it in all sincerity, and suddenly I felt his bony arms wrapped around me and found myself hugging the muscular, energetic frame of the man, so typically Bedou.

  “I reserve this kind of embrace for a faithful brother,” he intoned in my ear.

  “Me too,” I responded.

  “Just one thing,” I felt I had to stress, “take care of yourself! In a place where suicide-bombers exist, people don’t delve deep into things, don’t look at events in a spirit of wisdom and truth. Your activities are liable to arouse a willingness to murder the ‘traitor’ without examining your motives, without seeing the light generated by your words and your conduct.”

  “I can tell that your concern is sincere, but it is unnecessary. You forget that these are my brothers and compatriots, their thoughts are my thoughts, their way is my way, their perception my perception. Their instinctive penchant for murder and destruction is my instinctive penchant too.”

  “In other words,” I tried to sum up, “the affiliation between you is strong, and the understanding even more so.”

  “Nicely put!” he declared.

  “All the same, if you ever need a refuge, remember me.”

  “My refuge is my God, my strength – my brothers and compatriots. I thank you for your genuine offer, and you should understand, if I need a refuge and choose to come to you, I shall indeed be reckoned a traitor, with no excuses to offer for my actions and my treachery. In any case, the ways of God are hidden! Thank you. And now, to work!”

  “To work!” I replied like an echo and there was another firm and sincere handshake, followed by an embrace no less firm and sincere. And hope soaring to the skies. We parted.

  I went up to see Erika, who was burning up with curiosity.

  “Well?” she asked, and then placing a silencing finger against my lips she went on to say: “Let me guess – world peace has been achieved! No more terror, no more innocent victims, an end to despair!”

  “It seems to me you’re a true poetess!”

  “What does true poetess mean?”

  “A true poet is a prophet.”

  “What have I prophesied?” she persisted.

  “Just now, the coming of peace. Before that, the logical and final self-elimination of the white race.”

  “What makes you see these as prophecies?”

  “Wishful thinking,” I admitted shamefacedly.

  “You’re the real poet round here, not me.”

  “If you prefer,” I conceded.

  “And if your wife leaves you, come to me and don’t worry, I am capable of being faithful.”

  “What has faithful to do with anything?” I retorted.

  “I know the possessive types of the Middle East. I’ll be a model wife to you, your durable property. Do with it as you please and if you get bored with it, sell it off cut-price. In other words: you won’t find me an easy one to brush off. My love to your wife, and don’t make any scenes. From a financial perspective you’ll get my flat, which is worth half a million dollars. At least.”

  “It’s obvious to me, the inverted age is taking you back to the era of servitude,” I said, adding by way of elucidation: “Everything’s based on money and everything is for sale.”

  “That’s the way things are,” she declared.

  “I don’t accept them,” I retorted.

  “You don’t belong to the inverted age.”

  “Thank God for that!”

  “Convey my offer to your wife.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It would hurt her.”

  “Your innocence makes me cringe! Tell her about my offer.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Not interested in what?”

  “In passing on your offer. I’m not interested in you. I’m loyal to my wife. She’s the one I want and she’s the one I’m staying with.”

  “Those are the crazy genes of the Middle East. Anyway, give my love to your wife. She has a stubborn old mule for a husband. Tell her that. And tell her I admire her patience too.”

  “Now that’s a message I might just pass on.”

  We parted. Parted for good.

  I flew back to Israel. I invited the stewardesses to drink champagne with me to toast my successful endeavours and the fulfilment of my mission. Without asking what endeavours and what mission I was talking about – they took their glasses, clinked them and drank a toast to the success of Mister…. they mentioned my name. Without mispronouncing it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Shmulik was waiting for me. He saw me from a distance, joined me and took my case and we went in together, into the VIP lounge again.

  “One more trip like this and I’ll be thinking I really am a VIP,” was my jocular comment.

  “You can think that way from this moment to the end of your time on the earth. In brief,” he pressed me, “what is the outcome?”

  “By the grace of God, we have averted evil and given good an opportunity to flourish…”

  “What’s all that supposed to mean?” – Shmulik demanded to know.

  “From tomorrow,” I began, getting down to the specifics, “we’ll start the job of decontaminating the village of Hasda. We’ll need to involve the Department of Health and in particular the national veterinary authority. I hope there is such a thing.”

  “If there isn’t, we’ll set it up this afternoon. Put simply – what will these people be doing?”

  “Putting an end to the disease, and the conditions it flourishes in.”

  He gave me a penetrating look, without a hint of sympathy, let alone consideration, even consideration of a direct and simple kind for someone who had been jetting around from here to there and back again, and getting a rather nasty job done in the process. He insisted on accompanying me to my home, where my wife was expecting me.

  She had prepared my favourite meal, which wasn’t exactly to Shmulik’s taste – he being a native of the country with Ashkenazi roots.

  All the same, he sat down and ate, constantly plying my wife with the kind of compliments she wasn’t accustomed to, though no one could have been more deserving of them.

  “And now, my trusty friend,” Shmulik said, turning his full attention to me, “I’m looking for a plan of action. No artistic flourishes, just something realistic, carefully planned and properly executed.”

  I thought about this for a couple of minutes and then began dictating, while Shmulik took notes.

  “Number one: all Jews to be evacuated from the village of Hasda, and Arab patients to be treated.

  Number two: with the consent and active assistance of the veterinary authority, all dogs in the village to be destroyed, irrespective of ownership, in fact – destroyed and incinerated. The houses in which the victims lived are also to be burned down to the ground.

  Number three: not to give up on the idea of communal living. It may be that the Arabs will begin to appreciate it.

  Number four: to monitor the media. A surprise announcement is expected from Doctor Amin Abu Halil, to which I must respond immediately.”

  A few days later the media, in all its vari
ous manifestations and in all corners of the world, reverberated to the shock reports of a press conference hosted by Dr Amin Abu Halil in the reception room of the German Prime Minister’s residence, in which he admitted his blindness and quoted from the Koran – verse 224 of the Sura of the Cow – “And you shall pursue peace among mankind”, and called the Arabs “errant brothers”, turning light into darkness and darkness into light. And if they were to receive their just deserts, for the grief and misery they have unleashed, over a whole decade, upon their imaginary enemies and especially upon their own people, sending their precious and beloved children to be suicide-bombers and destroy people like themselves – then all the chambers of Hell would be filled to overflowing, for centuries to come. And he is calling upon them with all his heart, to return to the bosom of true religion and uphold the commandment “to pursue peace among mankind” according to the spirit and the letter, seeing himself as the greatest sinner of them all, who at the instigation of Satan, tried to annihilate the holy people of God, from among whom came all the prophets, Moses and Jeremiah and Isaiah and the others, and all the illustrious kings of antiquity, Dawud the Great and Suleiman the wisest of men, of whom Islam speaks with awe and reverence. And now he feels it is the tongue of the Prophet with which he speaks, addressing his brothers and urging them to repent and adopt the injunction to pursue peace among mankind and inscribe it on their banners and flags and houses, and become the builders of a new world, where the sole king of every people, race and nation is the one God, the mighty and the merciful.

  “On a personal basis I turn to my fellow student and fellow thinker,” – and here he mentioned my name – “and I seek his pardon and forgiveness for all the evil that I have done to him and to his people, and here I swear before all the world that such a thing will never be repeated and my oath is sacred before God and man.”

  Shmulik came storming into my house uninvited, waving the paper in which all Amin’s astonishing statements were printed, hot off the press.

  “You have to reply to it and at once!” he demanded. “Sit down and write and I’ll take it to the relevant authorities. It seems everything that has happened has been for the best, as you write in your books. I’ll sit and wait. I’d love a cup of coffee without sugar,” he added, turning to my wife, who hurried away to borrow coffee from a neighbour.

  “My brother in faith, in spirit and in origin, Dr Amin Abu Halil, your words presage what mankind has always dreamed of – an end to hatred and the shedding of blood – they will open up the gates of great love, lighting up for all mankind the abode of God, who is all-conquering love. Forgiveness is given you in full, not only because you are my brother, but also and especially, because there is nothing to forgive. And here is the place to ask you for pardon. ‘If God Is for us, who can be against us?’” – I quoted.

  Shmulik took the letter without reading it and hurried on his way. The letter was published in the papers, and read out on radio stations, Israeli and foreign, aired on TV channels, including, significantly, the Arabic ones, in tandem with the remarks of Dr Amin Abu Halil, my longstanding friend.

  A few months later I received an official invitation to join the staff of the Muahadah Hakikiya – i.e. Covenant of Truth – medical centre, and the invitation was signed by the director-general of the centre, Professor Amin Abu Halil. I was sorry that my reply had to be negative, but the ways of medicine and science were no longer for me. Anyway, with all my heart I wished him every success in his important work, work vital for the peace and well-being of the world.

  The reply was another invitation, in which the message was: To my elder brother, greetings! I understand your feelings, but if ever the idea appeals to you, you will be warmly welcomed in Riyadh. Keep to your new line of work, which is no less important than medicine and may even be a great deal more important.

  Be strong and be bold.

  He concluded his letter with the exhortation of the Biblical Joshua.

  Epilogue

  I met with Shmulik in the same café, at the same hour of the day, over the same unappetising liquid, which has to be paid for to be experienced. In his customary manner, Shmulik let the cat out of the bag straightaway:

  “Jerusalem University wants you to lecture to the professors and all the academic staff in the faculty of medicine and life sciences, on recent events, from a purely medical perspective. They are thirsty for first hand knowledge and it seems to me they can’t be denied it.”

  “They’ll get comprehensive information, sure enough.”

  “Which days and hours are convenient for you?”

  “They’ll get comprehensive, exhaustive information in written form.”

  “You’re going to write a book!”

  “Yes.”

  “Why a book for Heaven’s sake?” Shmulik persisted.

  “As a native of this country, you know the stock answer to your question.”

  He smiled his broad and most radiant smile and at once rejoined: “Why not?”

  We both laughed. A light and liberating laugh, composed of everything but tension and pressure, and needless to say, hatred directed at any person.

  “Blessed be He who gave us life and existence and the opportunity to laugh” – Shmulik pronounced this benediction in all seriousness.

  “One of your forbears was a rabbi!” I guessed.

  “More than one.”

  “Why didn’t you become a rabbi?”

  He smiled thinly:

  “So I’d have the privilege of facing your learned questions,” – he suggested, not wanting to give offence.

  “You’ve earned that.”

  “And now, in all seriousness, what answer should I give to those who sent me?”

  “A detailed book is to be published soon, with a western-philosophical edge to it, and cutting no corners on the minutiae of the purely medical side of things, which is what they are interested in.”

  “When did you decide to write a book?”

  “That’s an interesting question, and it deserves a no less intriguing answer, even though it’s all true… A few weeks ago,” I continued, “I had the idea of changing my way of life. True, the alternative exists, but it costs a lot of money.”

  “How much, for example?” he interjected.

  “More than a quarter of a million dollars. I discussed it with my wife and the idea appeals to her very much. In this case the question remains, how to earn a quarter of a million dollars honestly and honourably.

  “The answer is,” I continued, “to do what you’re good at. Work at the job in which you’ve proved yourself. What I know how to do – is write. Our story began with a storm and it’s ending with hope, you could call it a ‘thriller’ – a suspense novel, which the market is always thirsty for and prepared to pay for, assuming of course that the book is written with skill, is amusing, entertaining, has a lesson to teach, and even more important, brings hope and does not leave the reader feeling cheated. That’s why I’ve decided to sit down and do this, in fact, to continue doing this, as the writing of the book has already started. I hope that before long it will be finished, and all the professors in Jerusalem, and not only there and not only professors, will hopefully be satisfied with the book and learn something from it.”

  “I’m sure I’ll feature in the book,” Shmulik smiled a wry smile – “as one of the active participants, under a pseudonym of course.”

  “You certainly will be there – with your name in full.”

  “I’m not sure that’s legal,” he retorted, with a stern look on his face.

  “We’ll find out when the book’s been published.”

  “Then it will be too late,” Shmulik protested.

  “So be it.”

  We shook hands, and parted company.

  Appendix A

  The Swiss, like other Europeans, up to their necks in affluence, are trying if not to depart from, at least to limit self-deception in all things relating to religion. The Swiss, like other Europeans, are
steeped in the awareness that Christianity is not their religion. And all the churches that have been built, and the services that have been held there for a thousand years, and the colourful ceremonial, are not for them. “They are Jewish”, weird and alien to the national spirit, and for this reason arousing natural opposition. Like their European brothers, the Swiss are seeking out a new god for themselves, or rather a new idol. And sure enough a new idol has presented itself to them, in the form of Buddhism. The Swiss are exceptional here too, and what appeals to them is surely some parallel between their land – high mountains, perpetual snow – and the essence of Tibet, and the idol of the Tibetans, who wondrous to relate, is living and extant in the flesh, exiled from his homeland, and similar in many ways to that false god who laid upon them a yoke not to their liking – the new and exclusive idol of the Swiss is none other than the Dalai Lama, who during the time of our stay in Zurich came to visit the place and was greeted with restrained enthusiasm bordering on euphoria, authentically Swiss enthusiasm, and in authentically Swiss fashion – the restaurant in which His Holiness the Dalai Lama deigned to eat his lunch advertised the event prominently in the media, and opened up a waiting-list for applicants wishing to dine at the same time and in the same place, in his divine proximity, in exchange for a respectable fee.

  The Swiss, like other Europeans, are entranced by nothingness and the void, although they call these things by all kinds of palliative names… there is no religion and no faith in Europe, and in Switzerland all the more so.

  We felt no compulsion to dine in that restaurant, honoured as it was by the holy presence of the representative of nothingness and the void, and instead we watched the incessant stream of devotees, emanating from all corners of Europe and converging on Zurich, heading in the direction of the favoured restaurant. The devotees wore gowns of red and yellow, representing Tibetan Buddhism. Prominent among them was a large number of women, and among the women were many of middle age and above, and it is not in the nature of the neutral gown to accentuate or to hide any physical charms. Some of the gowns were open, and looked just like the kind of gowns that have a functional use in the bathroom.