“Right now.”
“Okay, people, let’s get moving. We’ll go upstairs and see what comes of it. I personally don’t think it’s worth it, but an invitation like this shouldn’t be declined.”
As the weird guy from the last meeting joined the other two, I noticed that he could stand to change his shirt from time to time. The three of them were whispering, heads together, trying to formulate a strategy
“Everything okay?” the fed asked me, sweating in his gray suit.
“No complaints,” I replied, although the humidity was killing me. At least I got to go back inside. “And how are things in the service? “
“All is good,” he said. “But’s it’s not the service, it’s the agency.”
“Agency?”
“Yes, sir, Drug Enforcement Agency. Special Agent Ed Stevens, DEA.” He even handed me a business card with his name, rank, and the emblem of the agency.
“Drug Enforcement?” I was taken aback.
“You familiar with the story of your mission in Bogotá, sir?”
I sure was; I remembered Danny Koren, whom Ofer had told me about in New York; but Ed didn’t need to know that. “No,” I said. “What does it have to do with us?”
“I don’t know, sir. I’m just here to keep an eye on things.”
“Does anybody on our side know that?” I’ll never understand the American way of doing things.
“Not yet. Just observing and reporting. Besides, it improves security around the consulate.” He winked at me.
“Is security here supposed to be reinforced?” I asked.
“I am not authorized to answer that, sir.” All of a sudden, he got official with me.
The three gave their signs to the protestors outside and joined me in the lobby. Sarah was carelessly dressed in a Versace morning suit; apparently she had unlimited means.
The man introduced himself as an optical engineer, his cheeks sunken, pitted and pockmarked, sloppily wearing a tweed jacket, corduroy trousers, and worn shoes, his gaze unfocused. He worried me.
My Latina friend with the voracious look appeared even more appealing from close range. The third time was the charm, as I had seen her once at Jay’s funeral and twice on the street. It was certainly time for us to relocate to a more civilized setting. She was beautiful, well-coiffed, in her mid-forties at least, and had already undergone a few facelifts. Taken together with her red blouse and delicate perfume, she was distracting me. I couldn’t understand how she was connected to the demonstrators. In the elevator, she was standing next to me, pressing against me. I was not surprised.
“So… come here often?” I tried.
“Don’t answer him. It’s none of his business,” Sarah whispered angrily.
The optical engineer pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, hastily and furtively jotted something down and quickly put it back in his pocket.
The gorgeous lady beside me said through a mist of perfume, “It’s my third day, and I think I’m doing a good thing. You see, you guys in the consulate have decided to talk with us already.”
The engineer remined silent.
We moved relatively quickly through the screening area. They were unarmed, but just in case, I asked Saar, the security officer to make sure that the conference room door remained open, and that every five or ten minutes he would come to check that our meeting remained a quiet, peaceful affair. “I don’t expect bombings or shootings, but there may be shouting. It may even come to blows, so I’ll need another man at my side to restore order.”
“But what about Noni?” he asked, then immediately regretted his question.
After we were seated, Sharon came in to offer our guests coffee, and the three of them gladly accepted the offer.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Noni began. “As I assume you know, you are currently in sovereign Israeli territory, so let me welcome you to Israel.”
“Israeli territory? Perhaps under the Vienna Convention of 1961, but that means nothing to me,” Sarah quickly replied. “There is no such thing as Israeli territory. There is only Palestinian territory, where Jews and Arabs are trying to live together.”
“I see,” Noni said, swallowing. Well, it was a decent start, at least.
“Look, ladies and gentleman,” he continued. “We are official representatives of the State of Israel. We bear the standard, if you will. I am sure that you, as Jews, have no desire to harm Israel or make it look bad in front of the Gentiles.”
The engineer wrote something in his notebook, then opened his mouth for the first time to say, “I am an evangelical Christian, so don’t assume we’re all Jews here.”
Noni blushed to the roots of his hair. The engineer ignored him and went on, very excited, “I believe in the State of Israel — just as much as you, perhaps more. I believe that you are doing God’s work here, and the situation with the Palestinians does not concern me at all. If you were really obeying the Lord’s will, you should have annexed all the territories you conquered.”
Sarah looked at him, astonished. The Latina was laughing, and the man, totally unperturbed, went on, “Yes, yes, the State of Israel is betraying its mandate, and it is our job to strengthen your resolve,” he declared, with a grave expression. “That’s why I’ll take part in any demonstration that will get your attention and eventually force you to make the right choice. The land is yours. It’s not up to you. God has already decided for you.”
Sarah was about to lose control. Shocked, she declared in a solemn voice, “My name is Sarah Cohan, and I am the chair of the Coalition for Palestinian Rights. We organized the demonstration, and I am the one who is authorized to speak for the participants. It is the State of Israel which dishonors the Jewish people. Since you are its official representatives, your hands are not clean either. Don’t berate us about Israel’s reputation. This is not a question of Jews versus the world. This a question of those who have a conscience versus a state which has lost its soul.”
“Tell me, as a Jew; aren’t you horrified that the rest of the world sees Jews attacking Jews?”
Again Sarah burst out with that echoing, artificial laugh. “I am horrified only when you shut people up for the sake of the sacred consensus, the beautiful face we want to show the world. In the meantime, you will continue to slaughter Palestinians in their refugee camps. How dare you, the State of Israel, send us an official representative who was a general massacring civilians, who ordered the killing of Palestinians? Now we are supposed to honor him as an emissary of the State of Israel? Who wouldn’t be disgusted by that? What Jew would dare to stay at home and not rise up in protest? But you can’t see it, you don’t get it. And your new consul general kills not only Arabs, he kills Jews too. Don’t you think we know about that?”
So we were dealing with a crazy woman, a paranoid apparently. We needed to put an end to that absurd game. “Tell me, Mrs. Cohan,” I inquired. “What do you mean to achieve by staging daily demonstrations in front of the consulate?”
“We want to shock you to your senses. We want the State of Israel to get the message.” The answer seemed rehearsed.
“The State of Israel has been losing a lot of donations recently,” the well-perfumed lady jumped in.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Noni couldn’t understand her point.
“Many donors have stopped giving money to Israel because of the shocking images we see on television every night.”
“Television is nonsense,” the engineer objected. I thought it had been a long time since I’d seen such a motley crew of demonstrators.
“Were you donating money to Israel before?” Noni asked Sarah.
“I have contributed in the past, and I am willing to resume that if you can assure me that you will put a stop to the slaughter of Palestinians.”
“Perhaps we can agree on a time-out, here in Houston?” I suggested.
Noni’s bouncing knee started shaking the table. “Look, this is the situation. As long as the demonstrations are ongoing, we have no intention of reporting a single word back to Israel. Now, the local press lost interest in your demonstration after two days. The only concern for us, here at the consulate, is aesthetic. If what you really want to do is send a message to the government of Israel, as you say, we can find the proper channels for that.” A new kind of silence settled over the room.
“When you say ‘proper channels,’ do you mean that it will reach the prime minister? Or will it simply be buried beneath bureaucratic procedure?” asked Sarah.
“This consulate is in direct contact with the Foreign Ministry, the foreign minister, and the prime minister,” interjected Sharon, speaking up for the first time in a while.
“You have a lot of power. There’s no doubt about it,” said the engineer, pinching his chin.
Noni felt which way the wind was blowing and took command. “Here’s a suggestion. Stop the demonstrations for a week, and not only will we convey your message to Jerusalem, but we’ll provide authorized answers to a list of questions you give us.” He threw a quick glance at me and I nodded.
“I don’t believe a single word you say,” answered Sarah.
“It’s an interesting option, much more than anything we’ve had up until now,” said the engineer. Again he wrote something down in his notebook. Maybe he was a journalist? Not likely.
“I don’t believe it,” Sarah said again.
“For a week, I’m willing to try.” My beauty once again came to my rescue.
“So what is your answer?” Noni pressed Sarah.
“Are you ready to make a statement to the press today that you have accepted our demands and are sending them on to Jerusalem?”
This I answered quickly, “We cannot put out a press release until we get a response from Jerusalem. This is your chance. If you refuse, we’ll issue a press release saying that you declined our offer to establish a dialogue with the State of Israel in order to address the issues you’ve raised. Accept the offer. It’s a good one.”
After long reflection, Sarah said, “I must consult with my board first, but in any case I thank you, both for the experience and for the goodwill. We will give you our decision tomorrow, but in the meantime, the protests will continue,” Sarah announced, slapping the desk and rising to her feet.
The others rose hesitantly and started to leave. The engineer handed me a business card in my hand. “Jeremiah Moses,” he introduced himself: “You are right, and you are strong. Do not give up.”
Noni stood up and walked around the room, still excited, trying to unwind.
“Any problems?” I asked.
He hesitated. “I guess you were a big help this time.”
“Sure thing.” I was surprised. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”
15.
Shoshi and Noni landed in Houston three months after I arrived there. Noni replaced Boaz Levin, who had not shown any interest in his work in Houston during the two years of his tenure. Boaz had asked to serve in the Far East, so he felt he owed nothing to Houston. Then he was transferred to Tbilisi, Georgia. That was at least halfway to Bangkok.
Though Boaz badmouthed the mission, Noni refused to accept the slander and was determined to succeed. On his first day at work, he didn’t leave his office until the business day ended — not even to go to the bathroom. Shoshi, on the other hand, began to complain as soon as she crossed the threshold of the consulate. “It’s too dark here,” she said quietly, extending a hand to Dorothy with a sour expression.
Dorothy accepted her cheerfully, greeting her in the Native manner, which Shoshi liked even less. The rest of us were staring with concern at Shoshi’s outfit, a long pleated skirt paired with a sailor shirt and blue tie.
“Which orphanage did she steal that from?” Dorothy whispered to me in horror.
“There’s a lot to be rearranged here,” stated Shoshi, perhaps under the impression that she was still talking to the movers she’d been ordering around over her last three months of relocation.
After the first two weeks of Shoshi’s fussing around, it was clear that then-Consul General Efrati was about to lose his temper. Three times, Shoshi had asked for a personal audience with him, apparently in order to rearrange things. He, after understanding the nature of her calls, avoided her with the most unconvincing excuses. It was clear that it was my turn to step in and help.
I sat next to the reception window of the consular department, leafing through informational material for Israelis; at the other window, Shoshi was finding it difficult to handle a young couple who wanted to add their newborn daughter to their Israeli passports. Shoshi always strove to carry out her duties in an exemplary manner, with special care not to let anyone take her lightly or disrespect her. She embodied the flag of Israel, in her mind.
A minute earlier, she had finished a twenty-minute conversation with her mother back home in Holon, exchanging experiences with cleaning materials and nasty remarks about their husbands. Shoshi had two older sisters, but she was the only one of the three who was married. My mother would have loved her. Have I said that already?
She went back to looking at the various papers presented to her. “There is no date on the birth certificate!” she scolded them.
“I’ve already explained that. It was the hospital’s mistake. We have my wife’s discharge papers there, with all the dates. It’s not like my wife went in for an appendectomy a month ago, and all of a sudden we discovered a baby!”
Big, big mistake. That appendix remark was going to cost the poor man dearly; I could feel it coming,
“I’m sorry!” Shoshi cut him off. “Go back to the hospital and ask for a birth certificate with a date.” She pursed her lips carefully, feeling pleased with herself and her authority.
“But we’re flying to Israel a week from now!” The new mother is begging for her life. The two are students at Texas A&M. They were planning to introduce their parents to the new granddaughter, perhaps to rest for a bit. In a month, the mid-semester break would be over and they had to be back in class.
“I’m very sorry,” Shoshi cut it short, shuffling her papers in an exaggerated motion to show she was done with them.
“Excuse me!” I called the Israeli students to my counter window.
“What on earth are you doing?!” Shoshi objected, astonished. “What right do you have?”
“Well, this is one of the two days I’ve been given to deal with ‘returning citizens,’” I told her, rendering her speechless for a moment. She showed signs of nausea, which only increased my joy. Whenever I handled Israeli citizens, she saw this as impinging on her authority, and she took out her frustration about it on Noni. Her veiled threats to rat me out to the ambassador or the Immigration Ministry, to tell them that I wasn’t working according to the regulations, didn’t impress me that much.
The new father approached the window. Shoshi looked at us, utterly panicking.
“Why is it so urgent for you to get a passport for the baby?” I tried to smile at him. He didn’t have much to lose.
“She’s flying to Israel with us. Without a passport, they won’t let her on the plane.”
“Which airline are you flying on?”
“Tower Air. It’s the cheapest.”
I touched my earlobe and rubbed it for a short while. The couple on the outside and Shoshi on the inside looked at me in disbelief.
“How many years have you been in Houston now?”
“Three.”
“Maybe you want to fly El Al instead?” I said, letting go of my ear.
“El Al is too expensive. But what does that have to do with my daughter’s passport?” The student thought he was being jerked around, and Shoshi was quite happy to see me make a fool of myself, but I didn’t let it bother me.
“Bro, let
me offer you something…” Now I’ve gotten their attention. “You’re gonna fly back to Israel on an exploratory trip.”
“What’s that?”
“The Immigration Ministry will subsidize a flight for anyone who is considering aliyah, any Jew who wants to emigrate to the homeland. That includes Israeli citizens who want to come back home after living abroad for years.”
“But I’m going back next year anyway, once I get my degree.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, and you’re not going to repeat it. Are you listening to me now?” I closed the flyer I’d been leafing through up until this point. “When you come back here, you present two letters from two businesses saying you interviewed for a job. It doesn’t matter if they never hire you. If you don’t know anywhere to apply, I can give you some numbers to call in Israel.” Shoshi bit her tongue, putting her hand to her mouth in astonishment and disapproval. “Now, I’m going to authorize your exploratory trip at the expense of the Immigration Ministry. We’ll deal with the details later. In the meantime, you will fly on El Al, and you have to buy tickets only for your wife and the baby. Those two tickets are cheaper than three on Tower Air, right?”
“But my daughter still doesn’t have a passport?”
“No problem. El Al flies Israelis even without a passport, as long as you make a declaration. Once you arrive in Israel, you can complete the registration based on the birth certificate you have, with or without an exact date.”
I handed the new parents the forms for their “exploratory trip,” and they hurried to fill them out, relived.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” the grateful father asked me.
“Maybe from Tel Aviv?’
“Were you in the Golani Brigade?” he asked, shuddering a little. The mention of Golani always makes me shudder too, so I was even happier that I’d helped him. I gave them a single El Al voucher, and sent them on their way.
“I cannot believe this!” Shoshi finally managed to sputter.
The Consulate Conspiracy Page 8
