The Masada Complex (32 page)

Rabbi Josh knew he should feel joy at this news, but he felt nothing. “You can join me. I’m flying on Thursday morning. Continental Airlines.”

The professor sniffled. “I heard they’re adding flights because so many Jews suddenly want to move to Israel.”

“What about your affairs here?”

“I put myself in God’s hand. America is like Germany in the thirties. The goyim just needed an excuse, and their fists already rise to hit us. You said it in your sermon: Zionism is Judaism.”

Rabbi Josh felt grateful to this frail man, who was following the last sermon his rabbi would ever deliver. He hugged him. “The Lord’s blessing shall accompany you on your travels and acclimation in the Promised Land.”

“Rabbi, what about the funeral?”

“In Jerusalem.” Rabbi Josh felt a stirring inside. God had taken a step, albeit small, to comfort him by sending this good friend to accompany him on the painful journey. He went with Silver to the door. “My son didn’t die for nothing, now that two Jews are making
aliyah
because of it.”

Silver pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “Blessed be His name.”

“Amen,” Rabbi Josh opened the door.

“There’s a small thing, the Israeli immigration office requires a letter of reference.”

“I’ve done it before. I have a form on my computer. I only need your parents’ names and place of birth.”

“Jacob and Leah Silver. Both born in Rome.”

“The city of Rome,” the rabbi said, “had Jewish inhabitants before it had the Vatican.”

“I cherish lovely childhood memories.” Silver smiled.

Closing the door behind the professor, Rabbi Josh imagined him as a young boy, walking the streets of Rome, holding his father’s hand, looking up to his father with love and admiration, just like Raul.

The rabbi pressed his forehead against the door and broke down crying.

Sunday, August 10

“W
hy do they have to shackle him like an animal?” Hilda tugged on the handcuffs that bound Al to the bed rails. “They’re lucky he’s unconscious. He would have broken the bed. When I came this morning, it was so tight his hands turned blue.”

“How terrible!” Silver was pleased to find Al out of the ICU, in a private room away from the nurses’ station.

“It’s unnecessary,” Hilda whined. “He’s back on his psych medication.”

“He is?” Alarmed, the professor examined Al’s peaceful face under the head bandage.

“I called the chief nurse and gave it to her. This would never be allowed in my days.”

“The old days are gone, dear.” Silver patted Hilda’s arm. “Has he been awake at all?”

“They said he was joking with them earlier. I don’t believe it.”

“I’ll keep a tight watch, then.” He handed her the straw hat. “Get some rest, dear.”

“Rest? I should be so lucky!” She put on the hat and glanced at the mirror by the bathroom door. “I’m going to see the lawyer.”

“On a Sunday?” He held the door for her. “What’s the urgency?”

“To sign the lawsuit. I want it filed first thing Monday morning. That woman will pay for what she’s done to my Alfred.” Hilda kissed Al’s forehead. “My poor baby.”

“I’ll take good care of him,” Silver assured her.

“You better watch the nurses. They’re no good.” Stepping into the hallway, she raised her voice. “I told them not to put him in the last room. It takes them an hour to get here!”

As soon as the door closed, Al opened his eyes. “Doesn’t shut up, that woman.”

“Look who’s up!” Silver hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “How are we feeling this morning?”

“Splitting headache.” Al shifted about in the bed. “Going out of my mind, Levy. Did I really shoot a gun in the synagogue?”

“Aha.”

“Did I really force Masada?” He made a strange noise through his nose, a meek version of his snorting.

“It surely seemed like it.” Silver laughed.

“Tell me it’s just a nightmare. Tell me I didn’t do these things!”

“Your troubles are almost over, my dear friend.” Silver pulled on rubber gloves.

“They’re pumping all kind of shit into me.” Al moved his head from side to side, twisting his face. A tube entered the side of his neck, just above the collar bone, feeding a drip into his bloodstream. “The key is in the drawer there.” He pointed his chin at a cabinet under the window. “Take those handcuffs off, will you?”

“Don’t worry. They’ll come off soon.” Silver pulled a wide strip of tape and stuck it on Al’s mouth.

Al moaned. “
Wherr yeh doin?
”

“Silence is a sign of wisdom.” Silver took out a large syringe and ripped the plastic wrapper. “You’ll get lots of practice soon.”

Staring at the syringe, Al groaned and fought to release his arms, shaking the bed rails.

“Calm down, soldier. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.” Silver pulled on the piston to fill the syringe with air. “It won’t hurt, not too much.”

Al’s body jerked from side to side, the handcuffs clinking against the bedrails. His eyes were wide, his groans becoming more urgent. The heart monitor on the side table beeped faster.

“Stop and listen, Soldier of Judah!” Silver smiled at the halting impact of the phrase. He pulled the cap off the needle. “You are the most important member of Judah’s Fist, you know?”

His face red, Al’s eyes shifted from Silver to the syringe.

“In fact,” he stuck the point of the needle into the tube near its entry into Al’s neck, “you’re the only member of Judah’s Fist.”

When comprehension hit Al, he started moaning again.

“Be quiet.” Silver placed his thumb on the piston. “Or I’ll press it in.” When Al froze, the professor brought his face close to the Jew’s fearful, confused eyes. “Do you want to know how Masada found out about the bribe?”

He actually nodded, which made Silver laugh.

“I put a little camera in your van, got Mahoney on video, and gave it to Masada.”

Al’s eyes jutted between the syringe and Silver’s face.

“I’ll tell you another secret.”

Al tried to scoot down in the bed, as if he could dislodge the tube from his neck, but the handcuffs stopped him.

“I am Abu Faddah, a Palestinian.”

Suddenly not moving, Al stared at him.

“You, my ugly friend,” Silver pinched Al’s cheek, “you helped me destroy the friendship between Israel and America.”

Al jolted wildly, his arms pulling on the handcuffs in short, fierce jabs that caused the bed to move away from the wall. The beeping on the monitor sped up.

Silver pressed down the piston, emptying the air into the IV line. “Say hello to Allah for me.”

A chain of elongated bubbles traveled down the transparent tube. Al’s eyes tried to follow the bubbles, which disappeared in his neck. His struggle turned into frenzied body twists, but a moment later he froze. His body arched over the bed, and his face turned dark crimson.

The heart monitor stopped beeping, letting out a solid, continuous tone. Al’s body slumped, his eyes gaping at Silver.

It took only seconds to tear off the tape from Al’s mouth, pull out the syringe, and go into the bathroom. He tossed the syringe into the wall-mounted box with the red crossbones and dumped the tape into the toilet bowl, followed by the rubber gloves. He unzipped his pants just when voices sounded in the room.

He urinated, whistling the tune from Friday night’s service. When he heard the first defibrillator pop, he flushed the toilet and opened the door.

A nurse clasped Al’s wrist. Another held the two contact plates above his exposed chest.

“Pardon me, young ladies.” Silver tugged on his zipper. “My plumbing isn’t what it used to be.” He paused, feigning shock. “What’s wrong with Al?”

Elizabeth could not stop caressing her belly in front of the tall mirror in her bedroom. She turned left, then right. How big was it going to get?

“My fellow Palestinians,” she addressed her reflection, “family and friends. It is with humble pride that I stand before you today to accept this award.” She paused for the applause. “While my work must remain secret, our national future is for the whole world to admire. The Zionists will soon be brought to their knees, and all of Palestine shall be free.”

She glanced at the photo of her father and the professor, which she had taped onto the corner of the mirror, and imagined Father smiling through moist eyes. “I thank Allah,” she continued, “for the opportunity to serve Palestine, to build a just and free society on our land.”

Her eyes shut, Elizabeth imagined the tricolor flags flapping in the gentle breeze along the dusty main road of the camp. She listened to the cheering crowd, the band breaking into the Palestinian national anthem, her father’s hand resting on her shoulder.

Masada listened as the doctor informed her that the MRI of her head showed no internal bleeding. The severe bruises left by Al Zonshine’s beating would heal, but there was still a risk of a clot travelling through her blood to her lungs or brain. They would keep her for observation for a few days.

She managed to shower herself and hoped the trickle of vaginal bleeding would stop before it was noticed by the nurses. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone knowing what had happened with Al. They would ask prodding questions, examine her private parts, and fill out reports that would make their circuitous way to the media. It was a risk she would not take.

Professor Silver came to visit, bearing flowers and chocolate. He sat by her bed, held her hand, and told a funny story about a Jewish man who tried to learn how to water-ski while wearing his prayer shawl and yarmulke. After sharing a brick of chocolate, they discussed Al’s death. According to hospital gossip, his heart had given up. “Better that way,” Silver said, “Such a tortured soul.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep,” Masada said. “My mind keeps racing through what happened.”

He patted her hand. “I’ll ask them to give you something.”

After consulting with the physician on call, the nurse gave Masada two sleeping pills.

Silver closed the door, dimmed the lights, and adjusted her bed. “Now old Levy will watch over you. Good night, now.”

For the first time since Al’s attack, Masada began to calm down. He made her feel like a little girl tucked in for the night by her daddy. She closed her eyes, and he kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams, meidaleh.”