Murder in Jerusalem (52 page)

“But it's like dogs, dogs establishing their territory,” Yuval muttered, then fell silent watching the clumsy maneuvers of the waitress as Michael lifted the salad and one of the plates, bearing an omelet, from her hands.

“Eat up while it's hot,” Michael said, glancing at the omelet in front of him. It smelled great, but for some reason did not awaken any desire in him to touch it.

“Like dogs,” Yuval repeated with disgust after the waitress had left them.

“Maybe that's true,” Michael conceded, “but that's the way it is: a person is obliged to maintain a territory in order to protect his home and children. There's nothing shameful in that. On the contrary. But I completely agree with you that the manner in which we conduct these territorial matters of ours here in Israel since the Six Day War is ugly, and very bad. Disgraceful, in fact.”

“It was ugly from the very beginning,” Yuval protested as he cut a piece of omelet and pierced it with his fork, “because there were Arabs here from the start, and the land was theirs.”

“But there's nothing we can do about that now,” Michael reiterated. “We simply have to acknowledge the fact that we took their land and expelled them; there's no way of giving it back. What would you have us do, put Jews out of their homes? When there's a Palestinian state and peace reigns, we can discuss it—or at least acknowledge it…”

“But there's no chance of living here in peace,” Yuval claimed with a mouth full of omelet as he piled finely minced salad onto his plate. “Or what do you think about that?”

“There was a chance,” Michael said, stabbing a small piece of omelet, “and I think there still will be a chance. But the hatred around here, on the part of the Arabs—some of them, at least—it's so strong, you can't ignore it.”

“I don't want to live in such an insane place,” Yuval said. “Do you know what the guys from the Nahal Brigade are doing in their regular army service while they guard settlers in the area around southern Mount Hebron?”

“What?” Michael asked, finally shoving a piece of omelet into his mouth, amazed to discover that he could actually taste it. “What? What are they doing?”

“They're knitting! Believe me, you've never seen anything like it: twenty, thirty guys guarding the Hebron area, combat soldiers from the Nahal Brigade! They sit around a stove heater knitting hats, scarves, socks. It's unbelievable! Guys who studied in my high school! I've seen pictures with my own eyes, I swear!”

Michael smiled.

“Don't laugh,” Yuval said. “Think about it: it's serious, a rebellion against Israeli machismo, don't you think? It's a rebellion that's very, very…”

“Constructive,” Michael offered.

“That's just it,” Yuval said as he shoved the last bite of his omelet into his mouth and prepared to attack the salad and cheeses. “But I don't want to live in a place like this. It would be better…maybe I'll take off, I want to go abroad.”

“To where?” Michael asked, holding his breath for a moment. Then he reminded himself that these were, for the time being, nothing but words, and he focused on his roll and cream cheese.

“Maybe Canada?” Yuval pondered aloud.

Michael stifled a horrified chuckle before asking why.

“Because,” Yuval answered with a full mouth, “we're living in a crazy place where the price of life is higher than life itself. You get it?”

Michael nodded.

“That means,” Yuval continued, “that the price this country collects from its citizens is higher than the value of life itself here. That's what I think, for the time being. Anyway, it's true for the way things look right now,” he concluded, dunking a new roll into the olive oil from the minced vegetables, which were referred to as “Arab salad” on the menu.

“Maybe you're right,” Michael said. “And I'd like to tell you something, too, but promise me you'll—”

“Is everything okay?” the waitress asked with exuberant diligence.

“Everything's just fine,” Michael assured her.