The Masada Complex (21 page)

“You’re taking it too personally.”

Al tossed the burning stub out the window. “Without America Israel is fucked.
Fucked!
”

Silver felt his lips curl into a grin. “You’re right,” he said. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

Elizabeth watched the sun ease up over the rooftops, lighting up the dark sky with a tinge of red. Soon the balcony floor would also be red. The knife rested in her lap. She was ready. When the sun cleared the rooftops, she would open her veins and let the blood pour out with all her agony.

Elizabeth examined Father’s face in the photo. The flesh had gone from under his skin, which had the color of dry parchment. He would never again carry her on his back through the dirt roads of the camp or surprise her with a discarded toy he had found or sit her in his lap while she tickled his neck, making him laugh.

She put the photo down next to the knife. David had betrayed her, destroyed her dream of a happy family, of a happy future. She had no reason to live any longer.

The sun showed itself in full.

Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Father was right. I am cursed.

Her hand grasped the black handle. She saw David with painful clarity, his good looks as deep as the mascara on a street-corner prostitute. He had used her to rise through the ranks, soared beyond her sphere of influence, and discarded her. Could she work in the same office with him? No! But what else? Private practice? Whoring her expertise to the fraudulent Mexicans she so despised? In a single day, her career and hopes had been crushed.

There was no future.

A dead end.

Cursed.

Elizabeth brought the knife to her wrist. She was determined to do it right, not to be another attempted suicide,
a call for help
. In her will, which she had written by hand, Elizabeth instructed that her body be cremated without an autopsy. She cringed at the thought of colleagues finding out she was pregnant.

She placed her wrist on the armrest and leaned hard on the knife. The skin parted with a burning sensation that reached her brain with alarm. Her pulse quickened. She realized a smooth blade would have worked better than this steak knife.

Just do it!
Inhaling deeply, she began to saw her own flesh.

Something—
someone!
—poked at her belly. Elizabeth jumped, and the knife fell. She looked down in disbelief. It happened again. She grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up to her armpits, exposing her abdomen.

A little mound appeared near her belly button, as if a thumb stuck from within. It disappeared and poked out again, slightly higher, as if signaling a message.
I want to live!

She bunched up the cloth of the dress and pressed on the wound to stop the flow of blood.

Sinking to her knees, Elizabeth looked up at the brightening sky. “Thank you, Allah,” she said, and began to sob.

The mask was grinning while its left eye squirted blood. Srulie’s bone protruded from the hole like a serrated monocular. The mask laughed. It melted into the face behind it, first the chin, then the lips and nose.

I know this face!

Masada lost her grip and fell backward into the void while the mask continued to laugh.

Who are you?

She dropped through the air with the sickening feeling of free fall, of gaining speed with the irresistible force of gravity. She braced herself for the collision with the rocky bottom.

“Masada,” a boyish voice pleaded, shaking her shoulder. “Masada!”

“Wait, Srulie! I must find out who it is behind—”

“Wake up!”

She threw off the blanket and sat up.

The window above the cot was bright with the morning sun.

Raul’s curls were flat on one side of his head, his eyes crusty, squinting in the light. “You scared me!”

“Sorry.” She touched him, the cotton pajama warm against her hand. “I had a bad dream.”

“My mom comes out of the picture sometimes and talks to me.”

“Is that a bad dream?”

He shrugged. “She wants me to come with her. I kind of want to, but I don’t want to leave Dad. And Shanty.” He crawled back into his bed and hugged a pillow.

Masada dreaded the moment he would learn that Shanty was gone.

“Dad said it’s because I really want to meet her, but she’s dead. So I can’t meet her in life. That’s why.”

Masada had not planned to spend the night at the rabbi’s house. He must have found her asleep when he returned home last night. She caressed Raul’s red curls, quickly pulling back. “Your dad is a wise man.”

Rabbi Josh found them sitting in Raul’s bed, each holding one end of the newspaper. Raul was saying, “But why is the man laughing?”

“I don’t know,” Masada said. “It’s probably an old photo.”

“Maybe he’s just pretending. Like I sometimes laugh, but inside I’m sad?”

“That can happen,” she agreed. “Drink some more juice.”

“Okay.” Raul let go of his side of the newspaper, reached for a glass next to the bed, and saw his father. “Dad!” He stood on the bed and jumped into the rabbi’s arms.

Masada got up and shook her right leg to release the pants over the knee brace. “Good morning.”

Rabbi Josh looked up from her body, feeling his face flush. She could not have missed his lingering eyes.

Raul tugged on his father’s finger. “You didn’t wash your hands this morning, Dad.”

“I did some work in the yard.” He dreaded telling the boy that he had buried Shanty.

“Masada had a bad dream.” Raul jumped up and down on the bed. “I had to wake her up because she was noisy.” He stuck out his lips and cooed repeatedly until they both laughed.

She shouldered her bag. “See you later, boys.”

“Bye!” Raul ran over and hugged her tightly. “I love you.”

She fluffed his hair and glanced at Rabbi Josh. “Be good,” she said.

The rabbi followed her outside. “Nightmares getting worse?”

“Variations on a familiar theme.” She shrugged. “It starts the same, but—”

“Different ending?”

“It’s the falling down thing, like being in Levy’s flying Cadillac, but it’s another place.”

Rabbi Josh was surprised. “I expected something connected to Senator Mahoney’s suicide. Usually the most stressful or shocking event pierces through the psychic walls. You really should see someone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not a question of willpower. This condition could trigger a mental breakdown.”

“I don’t have money for therapy right now.” She picked up her bag.

“That’s an excuse.”

“Welcome to the life of a freelance writer. Plenty of fame—or infamy—but no cash. I’m tight until the next advance.”

He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “This came through my e-mail last night.”

It was a copy of her manslaughter conviction by the Israeli military court. “Ancient news,” she said. “I’m going to expose the Israelis.”

“Expose the truth, even if it’s not what you expect?”

“You doubt my integrity?”

“It’s hard to admit a mistake.”

“The facts will support my accusations. My next article will be titled:
How Israel Doomed Itself
.”

“Clever, but wrong.” Rabbi Josh looked at his muddy fingernails. “I have to find a way to tell him.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t see each other for a while,” she said. “My bad luck is contagious.”

“I don’t believe in luck. I believe in God, who lets us make choices and face the consequences.” He gave her a hard look. “I also believe that, deep inside, you still love Israel.”

“I miss the Israel of my childhood. But that Israel is long gone.”

He watched her go to the door. “Don’t forget Friday night.”

When the sound of the Corvette disappeared, he sighed and went to tell Raul that Shanty had gone to dogs’ heaven.

Professor Silver parked the Cadillac under an expansive mesquite tree, lowered the windows, and turned off the engine. He glanced at the empty parking lot of the immigration service building, unfolded the letter from Hadassah Hospital, and read it again. He had to be in Jerusalem no later than Friday, August 15—eight days away. Assuming Masada would die in the explosion this morning, he only needed two more things to happen: a green card issued by the U.S. government, enabling him to return from Israel and commence Phase Two, and recognition as a new citizen from the Israelis, so that the treatment would be free. The irony was that if either of these two enemy governments realized his true identity, blindness would be the least of his problems.

Watching the parking lot through the front windshield, Silver wondered what had resulted from his brief conversation with Mrs. Goodyear yesterday. He had to make Elizabeth comprehend the calamity that would befall her if she continued to rebuff him.

He sighed bitterly. The brothers in Ramallah would rather let him go blind than risk losing the fruits of his brilliant work. He had achieved the impossible—turning the tide of American public opinion against Israel without shooting a single bullet or detonating a single bomb. Rajid had provided technical support—arranging for the house, car, and living expenses, the information about the old secret Al Zonshine held over Senator Mahoney, the bribe money, and even the suggestion of Masada as the media conduit—a credible Jewish critic of Israel. In fact, Masada could be useful during Phase Two, as well. But Ramallah had left him no choice but to eliminate her.