Monday the Rabbi Took Off (29 page)

“I was going to introduce you,” said Stedman with a chuckle, “and he didn’t even remember me.”

“Boaz? He has a lot on his mind these days.”

“I suppose. Was it your son he asked after? He’s in the Army? He is a professional and planning to make a career of it?”

“Who knows about young people? They can change their minds from one week to the next. The last time I saw him. weeks ago. he was saying that he thought he might leave. He’s got himself tied up with a girl, and I suppose she has been making plans for him.”

“When are we going to meet him?” asked Miriam.

“A first cousin and we’ve been here almost three months –”

“Well, he doesn’t get off every week. And I suspect that there have been some leaves he has had that I didn’t know about. He is seeing this girl. She lives here in Jerusalem, and he wrote me that although he is getting this next week off, he will not be coming to Tel Aviv, but will come here instead. What do you think of that? His own mother he passes up to see a girl.”

“But if he’s coming here.” said Miriam, “why don’t you write him to drop in on us. if only for an hour or two? Tell him to bring the girl along. And you could come up from Tel Aviv for the Sabbath. Tell him to come for dinner – with the girl. And Dan. can you come?”

“I don’t think so, Miriam. There’s a good chance Roy and I will be gone by then, and if not. we’ll be getting ready to leave.”

“Oh, yes.” she said, “you were going to tell us all about it.”

“There isn’t much to tell. My friend at the embassy arranged it for Roy, and I thought under the circumstances it would be a good idea if I went along with him. I’ve got all the material I need, and the rest of the work – the editing and the writing – I can do back in the States just as well.”

The menus were distributed, and the waiter, a young man prematurely bald, was helpful to the point of being avuncular. “The pate, I guarantee you’ve never tasted liver like this, madam.” They took his advice, and it was good. “Trust me, choose the steak.” And when Dan chose fish instead, the waiter shrugged his shoulders as if to say that there were always people who had no faith.

When he was not fetching for them, he hovered over them, filling their wineglasses, offering Dan a light when he put a cigarette in his mouth, picking up Gittel’s napkin when it slid off her lap. The talk flowed pleasantly, Gittel telling how it was in the old days and Dan chiming in with his memories of his earlier visits to the country.

Just after the waiter had served the coffee, the headwaiter approached their table. “Mr. Stedman? There’s a phone call for you. This way.”

“That could be Roy. Excuse me.”

“He’s a very nice man.” said Gittel at his retreating figure.

He was not gone long, and when he rejoined them, they could see that he was upset.

“Was it Roy?” asked Miriam.

“No, it wasn’t. Look, you’ll have to excuse me. I have to leave for Tel Aviv immediately, but please don’t go. Please stay and finish your dinner.” He looked from one to the other. He saw their bewilderment and their concern.

“They caught Roy trying to cross the border,” he blurted out and hurried out of the room.

Your pajamas fit you better than your suit.” said Dan Stedman sourly. And indeed they did because unlike his seersucker, the pajamas were unwrinkled.

Donahue smiled. “Yeah5 they’re some new kind of drip dry. You hang them on a clothes hanger after washing and they come out like you just took them out of the package from the store. My daughter gave them to me last time I was in the States. Drink?”

Stedman shook his head. He was silent, sitting hunched forward in his chair, his hands folded, his forearms resting on his thighs, staring down at the floor. “Sorry I got you out of bed.” he said awkwardly.

“I wasn’t asleep, just reading. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming down when I spoke to you?”

“I wasn’t planning to. I didn’t think I could. I was giving this dinner party in the Grill. Nice people – I didn’t see how I could run out on them. Nice evening, good dinner, interesting conversation – when I came back to the table, that’s what got me, the conversation. How was I going to go on talking pleasantly with Roy… there? So I excused myself and got a cab. I didn’t think to call ahead.”

“It’s all right. But you know I can’t do anything. The case is different now.”

Stedman looked up. “Why is it different?” He knew, of course, but he wanted to talk about it.

“C’mon. Dan. Before, they had nothing on him. He was friendly with an Arab. So what? Lots of American students, and Israelis too. are. He was in the vicinity of the bombing – at the site even – but he had a plausible excuse. No overt action, no official action, had been taken by the police.”

“They pulled his passport, didn’t they?”

“No, they didn’t. You know they did, and I know they did, and they know they did, but officially they had just mislaid it and hadn’t got around to sending it back to him.”

“Sure.”

“But now they caught him trying to cross the border.” Donahue hurried on. “That’s a crime at any time in any country. But in a country at war. it can be a serious crime. And if it means crossing into enemy territory, it can be damn serious.”

“But he didn’t know he was crossing the border.” cried Stedman.

“I told you he said he didn’t know.” Donahue corrected. “His story was that this Abdul had invited him to visit an uncle – some big shindig that would last a few days. So they drove north, presumably to Abdul’s uncle’s place. And when they were almost there, they abandoned the car to take a shortcut. And Roy isn’t too clear as to just why they abandoned the car – it either conked out or Abdul ran it into a ditch. The whole story is a little weak. Dan – you got to admit. I mean, this kid of yours has the normal amount of smarts. He has to have to be in the university at all. But at this point, leaving the car and taking a shortcut through the woods – dammit, driving all that time, he must’ve known that they were damn close to the border.”

“Why would he have to know? Chances are he’s never been up that way before. And if the other was driving, he could have dozed off.”

“All right, but he found out damn quick when suddenly there were Israeli soldiers all over the place.” He cocked his head to one side and considered. “That’s a little unusual, their being in force right at that point.”

“You think it was a trap?”

“Could be. It wouldn’t surprise me. Anyway, your boy showed some sense for the first time: He stopped and put his hands up. The Arab tried to make a run for it, and they shot him.”

“They killed him?”

“No. just through the leg. I guess they wanted him for questioning.”

“And of course he’ll implicate Roy.” said Stedman bitterly.

“Not necessarily. Why should he? It wouldn’t make it any easier for him. And if he did, they’d probably discount it. The whole affair is a little funny. It has a Shin Bet flavor. I get the impression that they’re not really concerned about the border crossing. That’s a matter for the border guard. I should think, which comes under the Police Ministry, but they don’t seem to be handling it. The case seems to be directed from Jerusalem. That would suggest to me that they’re really interested in the possible connection with the bombings they’ve had up there. And if they tied your boy in with the bombings, it would be a murder charge. I’m sorry. Dan, but there’s no sense in trying to minimize the situation.”

“No. no sense at all.” said Stedman dully. “The thing to do would be to get a lawyer.”

“That’s the last thing to do. You know what it would mean to Roy even if a lawyer managed to get him off? An Arab – he’s a hero among his own people, and even the Israelis have some understanding of his reasons. But an American and a Jew! Even if he got off scotfree. what kind of life would he have? I can’t have him stand trial. There must be something you can do.”

“Be reasonable. Dan. Now a lawyer –”

Stedman nodded quietly. “If worse comes to worst, of course I’ll get a lawyer. But first – well, that’s why I’m coming to you.”

Donahue got up and poured himself a drink. “There’s no way I could make a deal if it’s murder. The ambassador himself couldn’t. You can’t go to the government of a sovereign state and say that this man killed one of your nationals but I want you to let him off.”

“No. I suppose not.”

“Well, then –”

“Look, can you find out who’s in charge in Jerusalem?”

“I guess I could.” Donahue said. “What good would that do?”

“I don’t know. I could try to see him. maybe convince him. What else can I do?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Stedman rose and headed for the door.

“Dan.”

Stedman stopped.

“Are you sure he didn’t do it?” Stedman hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think of it.” He turned to go and then stopped. “I suppose I don’t really know my son.”

Although the monthly Haolam ran articles on science and politics, and regular sections on literature, the arts and fashion trends, it was essentially a picture magazine. It used photographs not only to illustrate its articles, and because they were newsworthy, but also because they were simply dramatic or arresting or bizarre camera shots. So although the excitement engendered by the explosion on Mazel Tov Street had died down, the front cover of Haolam featured a picture of Memavet lying dead on his living-room floor.

They ran it not to revive interest in the affair; in fact, there was no comment other than a small note of identification and explanation in a box on the masthead page. They ran it because the angle from which the photograph had been taken made a strikingly dramatic shot. The photo showed Memavet lying on his left side, his knees drawn up in the fetal position. The outstretched right arm, flung across the body, clutched a brandy bottle like an Indian club. The eyes were open and staring and from the right temple ran a trickle of blood. What made the picture so unusual was that it had been focused along the line of the bottle, and the whole figure had been fantastically foreshortened as a result. At the bottom of the picture, dead center, was the iridescent arc of the heel of the bottle. Lying along the swelling shoulder of the bottle and pointing directly at the viewer was the tip of the forefinger. And above that, the knuckles of the hand curving around the neck of the bottle, and – the foreshortening having all but eliminated the arm – in the very center of the picture, the upturned face of the dead man, eyes open and staring.

“Yeah, it’s quite a picture.” Adoumi admitted. “But there’s something about it that bothers me.”

“I know.” Ish-Kosher agreed. “Me too. No matter how you hold it – away from you or one side or the other – the finger seems to be pointing right at you and his eyes seem to be looking right at you. too. I asked the boys at the photo lab about it and they said it was because the camera was focused right on the tip of his finger. That’s what gives that effect.”

“I wonder who took it.”

“They don’t say.” said Ish-Kosher. “It could have been almost anybody – maybe even a tourist. They have their cameras with them all the time. Before we could get the place cordoned off after the explosion, there must have been fifty or a hundred people there on Mazel Tov Street, and half of them had cameras and were snapping away. A fellow gets an unusual shot like this and he might send it to Haolam. They’d pay pretty good for something like this. I’d say. Or it could even have been a press photographer for one of the dailies.”

“I understand all that, but why did they decide to run it now? Do you suppose they’ve heard something?11

Ish-Kosher shook his head decisively. “Impossible. The arrest was made only a few days ago, and the copy for this issue of Haolam must have gone to the printer at least a couple of weeks ago.”

“You mean they couldn’t change the cover at the last minute?”

“It’s possible. I suppose.” Ish-Kosher said cautiously. “I don’t know enough about the printing business or the magazine business, but what would they gain?”

“Maybe they figure we’re about to break the case, and it will give them a journalistic scoop. I don’t like to think that there might be a leak in our outfit, Chaim.”

“Believe me. Avner, the only ones in my organization that know about this case. I can trust absolutely. You have nothing to fear from that quarter. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

“It’d better be.”

Stedman saw the picture in the magazine rack in the hotel

lobby. He bought a copy of the magazine and took it up to

his room. He. too, wondered why it should appear at just

this time. Was it part of a subtle campaign to revive

interest in the matter? Was it intended to arouse public

indignation? Would articles on the subject of the

explosion begin appearing in the daily press? He thought

of going down to the editorial offices of the magazine and

making inquiries. Then it occurred to him that his very

inquiry might arouse curiosity and start an investigation

where none was planned. But if it should be part of a

campaign, and he did nothing to scotch it, then…

He decided that he needed someone to talk to; that he was going around in circles; that he needed a normal, healthy mind to look at the situation calmly and objectively.

Gittel drove up Friday early enough to help Miriam prepare dinner.

“Really, Gittel. it was kind of you, but I can manage all right by myself.”

“Look. Miriam, with me you don’t have to stand on ceremony. I don’t want to interfere. With my experience with hundreds and hundreds of families where there was a daughter-in-law and a mother-in-law living in the same apartment, no one had to tell me that there is no kitchen big enough for two women. My idea was to just sit quietly and keep you company.” But she made suggestions. “An onion in the soup, Miriam. Always cook an onion in the soup. Uri says it makes the soup taste like homemade.” To Miriam’s objection that David did not like onions, she answered. “But an onion – that’s the whole beauty of the soup. And we don’t leave it in. We just cook with it. It gives to the soup a perfume.” And later, at the dinner table, when the rabbi praised the soup, she managed to catch Miriam’s eve and nod an I-told-you-so at her.