Limassol (5 page)

The sun was dazzling as soon as it rose over the mountains, and didn't relent for a moment. On the radio, they read announcements from the newspapers, played raucous Hebrew songs. On the side of the road were skeletons of buildings and remnants of yellow fields that could no longer be saved by any rain.

 

“You've got to rest a little,” said Haim in the morning. I was worn out, and my thoughts whisked me away to places I didn't want to be. “I'm not suspending you, I just want you to take some time off from interrogations. Take a break for a few days. There will certainly be small ripples in the coming days, journalists will be interested in it, maybe a member of the Knesset will raise a question. We'll get through that. What's important to me is that you get through it safely, spiritually speaking. It's not simple, I know.”

“Spiritually speaking?” I chuckled. “Haim, I offed a human being tonight, I choked him like a pig. And you're talking to me about spirituality? In all that vomit?”

Haim put his hand on mine across the desk. Since the days my father would calm me as a child, no man had touched me like that. My red eyes looked into his weak eyes, and we didn't need to talk anymore. He knew exactly what I was going through now.

“Did you catch him?” I asked.

Haim shook his head. “He's somewhere on the road, apparently they've already put the belt on him. A new gang we don't know are working him, and they maintain good field security. We have no loose end to pull.”

“The fact that I couldn't get anything out of him is eating me up,” I said. “And I go and finish him off like that.”

“If you didn't succeed, nobody could have,” he said.

“You're wrong. I'm not fit. There are thoughts that bother me. In a situation like that, you're dragged into violence. That's what happened to me. But I didn't mean to kill him.”

“You didn't kill him,” said Haim. “Get that out of your head.”

They came to recruit me on campus. They investigated me in advance, knew I had been in army intelligence. I knew Arabic, they apparently had good recommendations for me. They knew a few more things, for example, about my opinions back then, because they talked to me about the young peace, how important it was to protect it. I hesitated, I made a weak impression, but Haim insisted and met me two or three times in a café. “You're exactly the kind of people we need,” he said. “Not hot-heads who only want their beloved country, without the cruelty. I'm not looking for somebody who hates Arabs. As far as I'm concerned, you can love them.” He talked with me about Rabin. I asked him for time to think. And then came the attacks of Purim 1996, in the winter, a bus and another one and another one and another one. I heard the number 5 blow up a few streets from the closed-in porch where I was studying for an exam. I saw all the good intentions get lost. I called Haim and told him I agreed, I wanted to protect what was left.

“I want you to focus now on the story of the man from Gaza,” said Haim, who looked, behind his desk, like a ball dozing with a
kippa
cover. “Get him out of there fast. We'll start pushing the subject. In a few weeks, things will calm down and then you can go back to normal interrogations, if you want. Rest on the Sabbath as you should, go someplace with your wife. I don't want you to fall apart on me. I really need you.”

“You're too forgiving with me,” I said.

“Grow up,” said Haim. “Take what you deserve. Soften up inside a little and then get strong. Go to your wife now. Come on, get out of here.” And he limped with me to the door.

On the way home, a girl from human resources called, said that Haim talked with her, and a room in my name was reserved for the weekend at a hotel at the Dead Sea. I hadn't been at the Dead Sea in years. I called Sigi at work. She said in a tender voice that she'd be glad to go.

Sigi's mother was taking care of the child at home. He felt much better and was glad to see me. The vomiting had stopped. He showed me a new car Sigi had bought him, and tried to make it roll in the air as a friend in kindergarten had taught him. I took a long shower and shaved. My eyes were still red, as if I were weeping, but I knew no tears would come. Afterward, I sat in the kitchen with my mother-in-law, we drank coffee. She asked cautiously if I was very busy. Sigi told her we barely saw each other.

“Maybe now I'll have a little more free time,” I said. Her mother was a good woman, a widow, a retired grammar school teacher, and was willing to give her life for her daughter.

“I brought a little food,” said the grandmother. “Schnitzel and mashed potatoes, and there's rice in the refrigerator. The doctor said the child should eat rice.” I sent her on her way and she hugged and kissed the child, who adored her.

I tried to forget everything and talk with the child about things that had recently happened to him, to give him a piggyback ride, to eat lunch with him. He tried to interest me in his things, took me by the hand, sat me down to look at drawings he had made, I said “very nice, very nice,” but I couldn't be clean, I felt as if my brain had been anesthetized. The child felt I wasn't with him, and went off to his own affairs. I sat in the living room and tried to look at the newspaper, which made me so sick—everybody had demands and everybody wanted more money—that I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was almost dark outside and Sigi was standing over me, asking why I had left the child alone.

 

Friday morning, we went down to the Dead Sea via Jerusalem. The child was belted into his seat in the back.

Sigi asked what had happened that they had released me.

“Haim said I looked too worn out. He doesn't want me to fall apart on him,” I told a half-truth.

“Did they find the guy you were looking for?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

The vegetation diminished as we went down the mountain, and outside there was a blinding glow. On the sides of the road were places we had once stopped on outings—the strange monastery of Mar Elias, Wadi Kelt, crannies where you could see mountain goats—but now it was dangerous to go there alone with a woman and a child.

Sigi told me about things that had happened to her at work. She worked in the marketing department of a drug company and had just recently gotten a nice promotion. But my mind wandered from her and I didn't really listen.

“So what do you say?” she asked.

“About what?” I stirred.

“About the trip. I think it's a great chance for us.”

I apologized and said I hadn't been listening just then.

“They offered to send me to Boston for the company for two years,” she said impatiently. “To manage the marketing for the whole east coast. I said I had to talk with you. They're expecting an answer by the end of the month.”

“And what about us?”

“What do you mean, what about us? You'd come with me. They're paying for an apartment and all expenses. The salary will also be American. We can live really well on it.”

In the oncoming lane a pickup truck with an Arab license plate was speeding. I tensed. The child fell asleep in the back. We were close to the end of the descent, soon we'd turn left to Jericho. The last time I was there was to meet people from Palestinian intelligence; we expected them to inform on their brothers. They slaughtered four lambs for us but they didn't give any real goods. The reserve duty soldier at the army barricade waved us through. I felt sorry for him having to stand outside in that awful heat.

“I've got to think about it,” I said. “Right now it doesn't feel real.”

“You can finish your doctorate there,” said Sigi. “There are loads of universities in the area. I already checked, it could be ideal.”

For some reason, an internal rage was burning in me, and the price of controlling it was a heartburn that rose above the windpipe. “I'll think about it,” I said again. “Give me a few days.”

“You can't imagine how nice it is there, in Boston,” she went on.

Mists of heat rose above the valley, and the shoreline of the Dead Sea was farther than I remembered. Instead of a sea, there was a cracked salt marsh and miserable low bushes. “Look how the sea is drying up,” I said. “Those maniacs are pumping it for money. The maps aren't right anymore. By the time the child grows up, nothing will be left here.”

“It could be better for us there,” Sigi persisted. “We need a change of atmosphere. That's also what the doctor told me. Go on a long vacation and get pregnant. He didn't find anything wrong in the examination. You remember how fast I got pregnant the first time.”

“So take a leave,” I said. “We'll make do on my salary.”

“I can't take a leave here,” said Sigi. “What would I do on leave? Wait for you to come back at dawn? I can't live day and night with all this tension. The two of us are in this together. It's not just me. You also need to rest. You're the one who insists on another child.”

I banged my hand on the steering wheel and a honk blurted out at the curve of the empty road. The child woke with a start. “Sorry,” I said quietly. “I want us to enjoy the weekend. Let's leave those things aside.”

“You're not well,” Sigi hissed behind her sunglasses. “I don't know what you're going through.”

But the entrance of the hotel was loaded with groups of fat people lying in armchairs and talking noisily, children running around everywhere—tumultuous like a railroad station where trains don't go anywhere. I gave my name at the reception desk and got the magnetic key card. Sigi carried the child in her arms. We took the elevator up to the room, which was quiet and spacious and had a good view of the sea and the mountains of Moab, or Amnon, one of those nations.

The child woke up when we got to the room, jumped on the big bed until he almost fell, wanted me to pick him up like an airplane, laughed madly. He's a happy child, I said to myself, you mustn't ruin that. Sigi took his car out of the bag. It had been a long time since the three of us were together like that. I wanted to lie down and rest, but the child said he wanted to go to the pool.

“Take him,” said Sigi with a weary smile. “I'll stay here and rest.” She dressed him in his full bathing suit, which looked like a kind of diving suit, and smeared a thick layer of sunscreen on the exposed parts of his body. I put the water wings on him and put on my own bathing suit and we went downstairs barefoot. The afternoon sun was so strong it burned every thought, and I drowned whatever still threatened to disturb in the clear blue water. We had the pool almost to ourselves because the dining room was already starting to serve lunch and the hotel guests moved there. The child hopped into the water with his skinny legs, spraying to all sides, clung to me, separated from me, wanted me to throw a ball to him, wanted to see me dive to the bottom. I immersed my whole body in the water and observed myself at the same time like a sea lion playing for laughs. It doesn't get any better than this. A blinding thought sliced through me: gather from this moment as much strength as you can.

We went down to examine the sea up close. One man was floating on the water and reading a book, and two women were slowly smearing mud on themselves hoping to preserve their beauty. The child clutched my hand and wanted to see more and more, and I was dragged behind him up and down and into the water and out of it; and in the distance, mists rose up from the land as in the genesis of creation, and the excitement didn't disappear from his face.

We made it back in time to eat lunch leftovers in the dining room. The other guests didn't look so awful now—healthy and happy families, focused on their children. The crowds didn't bother me anymore either. The child devoured a bowl of rice and chicken, and had ice cream for dessert. As I drank my coffee, he came to sit on my lap and his head fell against my chest before I had even finished. I took him to the room and put him gently on the little child's cot, next to our bed.

I hoped Sigi would surprise me in the shower, as she used to, but she was sleeping soundly, and when I came out, I lay down quietly next to her and hugged her. The air-conditioning was silent, the sheets were pleasant, and when the child's jumping around woke me up, it was almost dark outside.

“Good morning,” she smiled at me. “We all needed that sleep.” I didn't want to open my eyes. The moment was nice. But a dark unpleasant thought passed through me, and even though I was sure it would come true, I tried to ignore it.

Sigi gave the child a shower and washed herself and the three of us went down to the lobby, clean and fragrant. Sigi wanted to drink coffee, and then we looked for the Sabbath service for children conducted by hotel staff.

“What's bothering you?”

“Sabbath peace and blessing,” sang the children in the cellar. Then there was a clown who did magic tricks; he caught me standing in back and tried to drag me onto the small stage, where I would be a victim of his nonsense. No thanks, I gestured, I'm not taking part in this.

“Nothing,” I lied to Sigi. “It was great at the pool. The child was very happy.”

Sigi held my hand tight and looked at me closely. There was now deafening music in the background. “He loves you very much,” said her lips.

At that moment, my beeper went off, and I knew the vacation was over. I read the message and decided to be silent. I had been taken off interrogations, after all. I tried to restrain myself for the sake of the child.

But I wasn't the only one who got the news. Sigi noticed people gathering in the lobby, pressing together around one of the two sofas, whispering, suddenly everyone looked sweaty, and she asked what happened.

“The man we were looking for blew himself up,” I said. “In Jerusalem. A few minutes ago. Near a synagogue.”

In the lobby began the ceremony of furious expressions, gloomy looks, phone calls to relatives who were liable to be at the site of the disaster. Coarse men and bejeweled women said we should blow them up, and asked how long we had to put up with them. None of that interested me. I would soon have to sit with them for a Sabbath dinner, hear somebody say a blessing, put a napkin on my head, and then eat soup with noodles and fish in sauce. I couldn't stay there anymore. I abandoned the battle out of weakness, I had to hold on and go back.