They clamped Professor Silver’s head in a steel vise and strapped his arms, legs, and chest until he could only wiggle his toes. Trays of glistening instruments surrounded him. A masked orderly rolled in a cart with electronic equipment.
“Good morning, Professor.” Dr. Asaf put on grotesque goggles that peered at Silver with detached curiosity. “Ready for the big day?”
“Ready for a clear day.” Silver coughed, his throat suddenly dry.
The doctor nodded to the nurse, who stuck a needle in Silver’s arm.
“The last pain you’re going to feel today,” Dr. Asaf assured him.
It wasn’t pain Silver was worried about. The blotch had been growing every day, as if it knew its days were numbered.
“We’ll take good care of your eye.” The doctor’s lips curled into a smile, which didn’t look real under the protruding goggles.
A terrible thought came to Silver. What if he muttered in Arabic while asleep?
“After the procedure you might have minor discomfort in the eye or a slight headache. That’s normal while the macular area begins improving.”
He felt sleepy. Don’t speak Arabic!
Dr. Asaf’s goggles buzzed as the tiny lenses changed focus. “Good night, Professor.”
A spider with steel legs descended toward Silver’s eye.
“Eyelids spread starting at sixteen millimeter.” Dr. Asaf’s voice grew distant.
The spider landed on Silver’s eye.
“Widen the spread to thirty-two.”
The room darkened.
Coming out of the Ramban Hostel to meet Tara, Masada found a small crowd waiting at the front stairs. A bearded man in a yellow T-shirt and a colorful skullcap raised his hand in a mock salute. “Shalom!”
She scanned the street for Tara’s car.
“Senator Mitchum moved up the vote to tomorrow morning.” The bearded man showed her a printed page from Yahoo News. The U.S. Senate was going to begin the debate at 10:00 a.m. Washington time, which would be 5:00 p.m. Jerusalem time. Masada read the rest of the news report: Senator Mitchum intends to force a continuous debate on the Fair Aid Act. With most of the senators signing up to speak, Senate vote is expected to take place late into the night. The White House confirmed that the president will sign the bill promptly.
The crowd at the foot of the steps grew as pedestrians stopped to watch. A bus roared by, spewing blue fumes.
Masada handed back the paper. “What do you want from me?”
“We’re moving up the big rally. Lots of people are coming from all over. The central stage will be at the Jaffa Gate and we’d like you to speak.”
“Me?”
“You started it all. People want to hear what you have to say.”
Masada noticed Tara’s Subaru. She tried to go around the delegation.
The bearded man moved into her path. “By betraying Israel, America will bring its own downfall. The rise of Islam will swallow it. America will be gone like the Greeks, Romans, Babylonians, the Spanish and British empires.”
She pushed through and got into Tara’s car. As they drove off, she said, “I’m getting tired of this harassment. We need to expose Ness as soon as possible.”
Tara took the next left turn without slowing down. “What if he’s just trying to find out the truth, like you and me?”
“What if life was a box of chocolates?” Masada hit the dashboard. “Don’t you realize? Ness is the root evil of all this!”
“I think you have a Ness complex.”
“He’s a snake and a snake charmer combined, and I’m immune to both his venom and his charm.”
“Charming he is,” Tara agreed. “And you’re looking pretty good yourself. Glowing. What’s going on? Are you sleeping with someone?”
Masada sneered.
“It’s Brad Pitt, right?”
“You can have Rabbi Josh. I’m sleeping with myself, really sleeping for a change.” She lowered the window and breathed in the morning air. “I haven’t felt this good in a long time. The welling is gone, the bleeding stopped, even my knee’s painless.”
“Maybe Israel is good for you. Home sweet home.”
The idea made Masada uncomfortable. “How was last night’s candlelight dinner?”
“Romantic.” Tara shook her hair in mock seduction. “His wife is a great cook.”
“He took you home?”
“We ate with his wife, and while she washed the dishes-”
“He slipped his hand in your cleavage.”
“No, he only used his tongue.”
“Gross!”
“To tell me about you.” Tara slowed the car, glanced left and right, and passed through a red light, speeding up again. “He’s not your enemy. He deeply cares about you.”
“Do you realize who you’re dealing with?” Masada was getting angry. “If you’re going to confide in Colonel Ness, maybe we shouldn’t work together. I have too much at stake.”
“Don’t worry.” Tara passed two cars over a solid white line, forcing her way back into traffic. “I dispense information only in front of a TV camera.” She pointed ahead at a large building. “Isn’t this the defense ministry?”
When the morning service at the small neighborhood synagogue ended, Rabbi Josh recited the Kaddish and sat on a low stool near the door. The men folded their prayer shawls and stuffed them in storage compartments under their seats. Each paused on his way out and recited, “May God comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.”
Rabbi Josh nodded at the unfamiliar faces. He wished they knew Raul.
The synagogue emptied quickly. An old man turned off the lights and locked the doors.
On the street outside, the rabbi was surprised at the bustling traffic, but he realized Sunday was a workday in Israel. The sight of men hurrying to their jobs made him think of his own future. He was alone here, unable to even sit shiva for Raul properly, as no one would pay him a visit. What would he do with his life here? He could teach, but who would hire him with his heavily accented Hebrew? There was one place he could go for guidance.
Tired of waiting by the phone, Elizabeth had decided to visit the camp, break the ice with Father, and meet the old neighbors. The taxi dropped her off at the checkpoint. An Israeli soldier approached her while three others stood at a distance watching. A concrete wall extended in both directions, gray and ugly.
She gave her U.S. passport to a soldier, and a moment later an officer appeared. “Sorry. Tourists must first obtain a travel permit.”
“My name is Elizabeth McPherson. I’m senior counsel for the United States Immigration Service. We’re now part of the Homeland Security Department, so you can rest assured-”
“Sorry.” He handed her the passport. “Even if you were senior counsel to God, I don’t have the authority to let you through.”
His English was good and his tone was friendly, so she decided to take a different tack. “But I’m here to visit relatives.”
“Who?”
“The Mahfizie family.” She motioned at the camp, a short distance behind the wall.
“You’re related to Hajj Mahfizie?”
“He’s my father.”
“Wait.” He disappeared into a tent.
Elizabeth climbed the embankment to get a better look over the wall. Camp Kalandria had swelled since she had left, its block houses covering most of the hillside east of the separation wall the Israelis had built along the 1967 border. She tried to breathe only through her mouth, as the air stank of sewage and smoke. Not for long, she thought. Abu Faddah’s plan would end Palestinian humiliation. They would move into the Jews’ houses, excrete into the Jews’ underground sewage system, and cook on the Jews’ gas stoves.
“Miss McPherson?” The officer approached her. “Thing is, if I let you in, you’ll be stuck there. We can’t let anyone out because they blow up people in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.”
“Do I look like a suicide bomber to you?”
The young officer laughed. “I’m not a politician. I just want to go home in one piece.”
“I’ll call the consulate.” Elizabeth unzipped her purse, though she knew there was no phone in it. “Your superior won’t be happy hearing from the consulate.”
“Do you think the consul general wants his kids blown up?”
She fumbled in her purse.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll try again.”
The curtains were drawn. A thin line of light marked the edge of the window. Professor Silver heard a heart monitor beep near the bed. He touched his face, traced the lids of his right eye. He shut his eyes and opened them several times.
“Hello, Professor.” Dr. Asaf came in.
Shaking his hand, Silver decided he would make sure Dr. Asaf would keep working even after Israel was finished. An exception would be made for such a talented physician.
“How are you feeling?”
“Perfect!” Silver tried to make out the doctor’s face in the darkened room.
“You’ll probably have a bruise where the line was put in.” Dr. Asaf touched Silver’s forearm. “But the anesthetics are still in your system, so you don’t feel it yet.”
“Did you give me a black eye too?” Silver laughed.
“In fact,” the doctor hesitated, “we had to abort the procedure.”
“What?”
Dr. Asaf launched into a long explanation about fluid pressure, tiny blood vessels, aging cornea, and diminished nerve conductivity.
But all Silver could hear was the voice in his head: Blind.Blind. Blind.
A moment after Dr. Asaf left, the nurse appeared and opened the curtains as if a theater play had reached its tragic ending. She unhooked the heart monitor and helped him get dressed.
Dr. Asaf reappeared, handing the professor a small, opaque glass bottle. “These eye drops are the next stage in our experiment, designed to stop the growth of the affected macular area without an invasive procedure.”
The nurse glanced at the doctor and left the room.
“Apply twice a day, and don’t lose the bottle.” The doctor shook a finger. “Cost us a fortune to develop, and I won’t have more for several months.”
Silver held the little bottle in both hands.
“I shouldn’t even give it to you, but I feel terrible about this, with your one eye and so on. We’ll add you to our study. Come see me in a week, will you.”
“Yes. Of course!”
Masada and Tara spent more than two hours at the Veterans Affairs office at the Ministry of Defense, trying to obtain her service records. The archivists could not find her file.
They drove down to Hebrew Union College near the King David Hotel, where the Alumni coordinator told them that Rabbi Joshua Frank had been ordained in New York without ever attending the reform movement’s Jerusalem campus. In fact, he had never been to Israel until now. “You can ask him,” the coordinator said. “He’s in the library, waiting to meet our career advisor.”
In the library, Rabbi Josh was standing among the bookshelves.
Tara shook his hand.
Masada folded her arms on her chest. “We’re looking for evidence of your past connections with Israel and its secret services.”
He rolled his eyes. “My name is Bond. Joshua Bond.”
Tara grabbed each by the arm and pulled them through the library to the courtyard, where a fountain gushed over rocks. “Instead of suspecting each other, why don’t you cooperate to find out who really was behind the bribe?”
“Judah’s Fist is him,” Masada pointed at the rabbi, “and Colonel Ness. How convenient that Al Zonshine expired. I can’t make him talk.”
“Convenient?” Rabbi Josh pulled back his hair, tying it in a knot. “You manipulated him-”
“I manipulated him? To do what? To hide a rattlesnake in my bed? Booby-trap my house? Shoot at me in the synagogue? Rape me?”
His face turned white. “Dear God!”
Tara’s hand covered her mouth.
Masada groaned and walked over to the fountain, where the sound of falling water drowned everything else. She was simultaneously relieved at unloading the secret and shocked at her indiscretion.
Tara followed her. “Talk to him!”
Masada made a dismissive gesture. “Crocodile tears.”
“Don’t be a cruel bitch.”
Rabbi Josh came over. “I swear to you!” He knelt at her feet. “In the name of God! I didn’t tell Al to harm you in any way! On the memory of my Linda and my Raul!”
Masada turned her back to him.
“May they both never rise from the dead on the Messiah’s arrival if I’m lying! I was never involved with that bribe! Or the attempts to hurt you!”
“I don’t believe you.” Her voice contained much more certainty than her heart. “I don’t!”
He circled around to face her. Tears streamed down the stubble on his cheeks. “How could I?” He tried to take her hand. “I love you!”
Masada tore away from him and run off. “Liar,” she muttered between clenched teeth, “bloody liar!”
The Israeli officer beckoned Elizabeth into the tent. They sat on plastic chairs. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t need problems. This is my reserve service. In three days I’m back to school.”
“What do you study?”
“Law.”
“Have you taken human rights yet?”
“I’m still fighting for freedom from my mom.”
“Your English is very good.”
“Will you give me a job in Arizona?” He smiled. “I’m only joking.”
“So, will you let me through?”
He flexed his fingers. “How long are you planning to stay?”
“A few hours. And I’ll be here again on Wednesday.” It occurred to her the Israelis might not know about the ceremony.
“I must inform you that whatever happens there,” he pointed in the direction of the camp, “is the Palestinians’ business. I don’t have to tell you what’s going on. The Palestinian police and the criminals are the same people, Hamas and Fatah killing each other, and so on. Once you cross over, we can’t protect you.”
She laughed. “It would be a sad day when I need protection from the Israeli Gestapo.”
His lips curled to form a response, but he changed his mind and beckoned her toward the gate. “Shalom.”
She crossed over and found no guards on the Palestinian side. She walked down the road to the entrance to the camp, which was strewn with burnt tires, stones, and debris. A group of kids ran to her, begging for change. Women in robes and headdresses glanced at her from a distance. Despite the heat, she felt underdressed in her short-sleeve shirt and loose pants. She shooed the kids and quickened her steps.
Old men’s eyes followed her as she walked by an outdoor cafe, their hands lingering over the backgammon boards. She turned left into the alley, where she had played as a little girl, and approached the only true home she had ever known. Like a missing tooth, a gap appeared in the row of houses. A leg of a table stuck out from the rubble like a human arm pleading for help. She could tell it had been in ruins for a long time.
A boy not older than ten yelled from a terrace, “Itbach el Yahood!”
She understood his call to kill the Jews to mean that the Israelis had destroyed her father’s home. He would be in the mosque, she guessed, and turned back. Near the main strip, a group of men in jeans and green headbands blocked her way.
She smiled. “Salaam Aleikum.”
They circled her, so close that she felt the warmth of their bodies.
“Salaam Aleikum,” she repeated.
A man in a black hood approached her. He flashed a curved, shining blade, and Elizabeth suddenly realized that the boy’s call to kill the Jews had been aimed at her.
Rabbi Josh dipped his hands in the fountain and splashed his face. “How can she even think I was the one manipulating Al?” He searched the reporter’s face. “Do you believe I’m capable of it?”
Tara shook her head. “But I can see Masada’s logic. You had influence over Al as his rabbi, you knew his secrets, and you’re a devout Zionist.”
“Guilty until proven innocent? Would your editor let you go on the air accusing me of bribing Mahoney based on such circumstantial evidence?”
“Why did Colonel Ness attend your son’s funeral?”
“Why did you attend? To see who else was there, sniff around?”
“Fair enough. But what’s with the clandestine meeting at the Wailing Wall last night?”
He was shocked that they had followed him. “It’s the first time we’ve ever talked. He’s desperate to stop the Fair Aid Act. You can’t blame him for grasping at straws.”
“Are you a straw?”
“I’m a clueless rabbi from Arizona who had the bad luck to count Masada El-Tal and Alfred Zonshine among my parishioners. I’m a schmuck. Do you know what a schmuck is?”
Tara smiled. “I know what a shiksa is.”
“A schmuck is an idiot who thought himself smart. I thought I understood Masada, with her traumatic past, abstinence from happiness, and workaholic mania. I thought she suffered survivors’ guilt. I wanted to help her, maybe help myself too.” He breathed deeply and exhaled. “I don’t know anymore. She’s done things that cannot be reconciled with her goodness.”
“Like what?”
“Like seducing Al.”
“Bullshit! Who fed you this crap?”
Rabbi Josh was taken aback by Tara’s bluntness. “A friend overheard Masada and Al on the night of the shooting. They were doing it.”
“It’s Lenin, right?”
“Who?”
“The professor.”
“What if?”
“What if I told you he was the one who gave Masada the incriminating video clip?”
“I don’t believe it. Did she tell you that?”
“Not explicitly, but I can put two and two together.”
“Levy is a retired history professor. A good man.” Rabbi Josh shook his head. “Why would he get involved in this?”
“That’s the riddle. What motivates an elderly Jewish professor of history to bribe a U.S. senator for pro-Israel legislation and then leak the story to Masada?”
“Impossible.” Rabbi Josh followed her through the courtyard toward the exit. “The two acts are contradictory.”
“Aren’t rabbis trained in psychology?”
“I’m certain Levy Silver isn’t suffering from multiple personalities. You’re on the wrong track.”
She got into her car and lowered the window. “Maybe he’s conducting some kind of an experiment in political science? Academics do crazy things to get noticed.”
Rabbi Josh watched the TV reporter drive off. Had Levy Silver really given the video to Masada? Had he been the one manipulating Al? And where would the professor obtain such a pile of cash to bribe Senator Mahoney? Realizing how little he knew about the man he was so fond of, a sense of loss came over the rabbi. First Linda, then Raul, and now he had lost Masada, and maybe even Professor Silver. What would be the end of this suffering?
He broke into a run, sprinting along the busy street in an explosion of uncontainable energy. At the intersection on Agron Street, he turned left, away from the Old City, pounding the pavement with his feet, pumping the air with his arms, left-right, left-right, his mind going numb as his body worked madly, his skin sweating off bitter beads. He kept the sun at his back, gradually settling into a constant pace, avoiding potholes by habit learned over years of jogging.
The neighborhoods changed from old stone buildings along narrow streets to newer, taller condominium complexes along wide avenues, the men’s heads from wearing black hats to knitted, colorful skullcaps. He ran through parks and patches of pine trees, driving his body hard until his muscles burned for oxygen and his throat begged for water. He only slowed down when he saw the sign at the side of the road: Hadassah Hospital.
Professor Silver had asked the nurse to call Ezekiel, who was waiting outside when he came out of the hospital. As they drove down toward the main thoroughfare, a man with long hair ran by the car in the opposite direction. Silver turned to look though the rear widow, but couldn’t focus his eye well enough to be positive. Why would Rabbi Josh run to the hospital?
Ezekiel slowed down. “You know this guy?”
Silver settled back in the seat. “I thought Jesus has already been crucified.”
“I can see you’re feeling well!”
“Wonderful,” Silver lied. “The procedure was a great success.” Reflecting on Dr. Asaf’s behavior, he wondered whether the doctor had lied about the reasons for aborting the procedure. But why? A dreadful thought occurred to him: Had he spoken Arabic in his sleep?
“That’s terrific!” The cabbie tapped the steering wheel. “May you go strong for a hundred and twenty years!”
“God willing.” Silver felt the eye drops bottle in his pocket and focused his mind on the immediate future. He would fulfill the vow he had made to his son-find and kill the woman soldier.
First, he needed information. The memorial service would be a perfect opportunity. He would go with Masada, who would introduce him to the survivors and the victims’ families, who likely knew the identity of the woman who had tried to save their kids with her crazy rock-climbing stunt.
Second, the discovery that Masada’s little brother was the boy he had pushed off the mountain necessitated her elimination. With all that was at stake, he could not afford the risk of her prodding into that old affair.
The two challenges, he concluded, could be met in a single swipe. “Ezekiel,” he said, “are you free tomorrow night?”
“Ah!” The driver grinned. “Taking a lady on the town?”
“Actually, taking her out of town.”
“Cancelled?” Masada had taken a taxi to Hadassah to visit Professor Silver, only to be told by the nurse that he was discharged moments earlier. “But he travelled all the way from Arizona for this procedure!”
The grandmotherly nurse beckoned Masada, and they took the elevator downstairs. In the lobby, they bumped into Rabbi Josh. He was out of breath, wiping the sweat off his face with the tail of his shirt. Masada looked away from him, embarrassed that he knew what Al had done to her. “Levy has been discharged,” she said.
“What?” Rabbi Josh followed them out of the building.
The nurse stood by a group of smokers clustered around a few trees. “You’re his kids?”
Masada nodded. “He’s like a father to us.”
“I understand.” The nurse tore the wrapping off a pack of cigarettes. “Did he tell you he’s losing his vision?” The shock must have appeared on their faces. “It’s not the end of the world. He’s pretty healthy otherwise.”
“He wears thick glasses, but I didn’t know his eyes were so bad. What happened with the procedure?”
“I hate it when they lie to patients.”
“Please, we need to know.”
The nurse nodded. “We got a call from the government, someone high up.”
“I don’t understand,” Rabbi Josh said.
“We depend on funding, so Dr. Asaf had to oblige and stop the procedure. But you could pull some strings if you have connections.”
“Bastards!” Masada stormed off. It was Ness. Levy’s eye in exchange for her cooperation. How dare he play with people’s lives like this? She flagged down a taxi. Rabbi Josh joined her. They did not speak the whole way to the Ramban Hostel.
“Elzirah Mahfizie,” she yelled, pointing at herself, “anah Elzirah Mahfizie!”
The hooded youth paused, his drawn knife hesitating.
She pointed at the rubble that had once been her father’s home. “Bint el Hajj Mahfizie!”
The mention of Father’s name had an astonishing effect. The group dispersed instantly. The one with the knife bowed and pointed the way.
Higher up the hill, the shacks gave way to large homes with expansive balconies, Roman frescos, and gold-painted railings overlooking the unpaved main strip and the feces running in open sewage ditches. Farther up, through tall iron bars, she saw a mansion under construction, its exterior being tiled in black marble. She quickened her pace to catch up with the hooded youth, stepping aside as two BMW sedans raced by.
The old mosque was gone. In its place stood a windowless white edifice with a minaret that gradually narrowed toward the wraparound terrace at the top. They crossed the front courtyard, which was carpeted with men’s shoes, and entered through a large, heavy steel door. As it closed behind Elizabeth, she noticed a crossbar and a large padlock with a key in it. The interior was dark and chilly.
A man’s voice echoed through the narrow hallway, speaking in monotone, pausing between sentences. She walked softly on the tiles, listening as the voice grew closer.
The prayer hall was lit by a round skylight at the center of the high ceiling. An old man sat in a chair, his checkered kafiya held with a black band, the vast floor before him covered with crouching men. “The duty is individual,” he intoned, “bestowed by Allah through the Prophet onto each Muslim man, bypassing the mind that sows doubt even in the most righteous man. By fasting during Ramadan, the mind is tempered like a horse in training, pulling the reins on our strongest urge-to eat-and replacing it with nutrition for the heart-the holy Koran. And once the bodily urges have been tamed, the mind becomes crystal clear, directed to a higher pursuit of the meaning and purity.”
He paused and looked up, his face shaded by the headdress.
She swallowed and said, “Hello, Father.”
Hundreds of faces turned to her.
He remained seated, not moving.
“It’s been a long time.” She smiled.
He closed the book.
A path opened for her through the crouching men, and Elizabeth approached her father.
He looked at her pants, her short-sleeve jacket, her uncovered hair. “Elzirah?”
She nodded.
His face was creased and pale, his mouth slightly open, his lower lip moist with dots of white saliva. A crazy thought came to her-to sit in his lap and hug his neck and kiss his rough cheek until he laughed and tickled her belly.
Her belly!
Would Father notice the life growing inside her? She hoped not. Not yet, anyway. “I wanted to see you before Wednesday.”
He uttered a sound, something between a cough and a bark, and tried to stand.
Through the glass doors of the lobby, Professor Silver saw Masada and Rabbi Josh get out of a taxicab. The rabbi headed down the street, limping. Masada came up the steps to the lobby. Silver turned to examine a cheap poster of the Mediterranean coast that was pinned to the wall. The glass door opened behind him.
“Levy!”
“Oh,” he turned, “my favorite voice.”
She bent down to hug him. “Get your bag. Back to the hospital.”
“What?”
“I’m going to raise the biggest stink. They’ll take care of you right away.”
“Calm down, meidaleh. It’s just a little procedure on my right eye.” Silver made sure a smile remained on his face while his mind struggled to figure out what she actually knew. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re losing your vision?”
“It’s a long time off.” He watched her reaction.
“Still, you should have told me!”
He was relieved. She obviously didn’t know the details, or that he only had one eye.
“I’m sure it’s Colonel Ness. He interfered with your surgery to pressure me to make a deal with him.”
Silver touched his thick spectacles. “My surgery for your integrity?” He fought to maintain a calm facade. If Masada made a fuss, they might tell her he was mumbling in Arabic while under anesthetics. He straightened up, sighing. “I’d rather suffer than let you cave in to extortion.” He took the bottle of eye drops from his pocket to show her. “They gave me these-”
“I’m not going to cave in! Let’s go!” Masada grabbed his arm, and the bottle flew from his hand. It hit the tiled floor with a sickening pop.
“No!” Silver dropped to his knees and felt around for the bottle. The blotch hid every section of the floor he was trying to see. His hand touched something, and he heard it roll away. “Where is it?” He felt the wet floor with his hands, swiping it back and forth. “Help me!”
“There.” Masada’s shoes passed by him. “I got it.”
The front desk clerk appeared next to him, helping him stand. Silver trembled, reaching with his hands. “Give it to me!”
“It’s cracked,” Masada said, touching him with a moist hand. “You’ll need a new one.”
“No!” Silver snatched the little bottle and held it up, slightly to the side of the blotch. A hairline crack traveled from the plastic cap down, around the bottom, and up the other side. Clear drops seeped onto his hand. He turned the bottle upside down.
“Here,” Masada said, “I’ll hold it.”
“Leave it!” Silver stumbled in different directions. “Give me a cup! Something! Don’t just stand there!”
The clerk ran off to the cafeteria.
Silver realized he was moaning and shushed himself. His shaking hands almost dropped the bottle again. “Irreplaceable! Can’t lose it.”
Masada stood still, saying nothing.
The clerk appeared with a plastic water bottle, which he emptied onto a shriveled potted plant and held for Silver, who poured in the remaining clear liquid from the cracked bottle. He hugged the plastic bottle to his chest and found a seat.
“Miss El-Tal?” The clerk’s voice was a pitch higher than usual, as if he also realized something more than a glass bottle had cracked. “A man called for you a little while ago and left a message.” He handed her a note.
She looked at it and groaned.
“Any news?” Silver asked. He had called in the message before leaving the hospital.
“Someone from my old kibbutz.”
“What do they want?”
“There’s a memorial service for my little brother.”
Not so little, Silver thought. “Really? Then we should attend, of course.”
“Of course not.” Masada rubbed her knee through the bulky brace and glanced at the bottle. “You’re losing your eyesight, aren’t you?”
He sighed. “We all have our precious little denials to nurture.”
She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “You’re a foolish man, Levy Silver. And in no condition to go to Mount Masada at four-thirty in the morning.”
“I’ve never been there,” he lied. “And with my eyesight going, I’d love to see dawn breaking over the Dead Sea before it’s too late.”
Her face contorted. What could she say?
“And after the memorial, my driver will take us from Mount Masada directly to Hadassah Hospital, and you’ll make a huge scene until they fix my eyes. How’s that?” He gambled she didn’t know the Michener Eye Center would be shut down for renovations.
“Now you’re trading?”
He laughed, threading his arm in hers. “Quid pro quo.”
Elizabeth McPherson stepped closer to her father. “I came to mend fences.”
Father’s shriveled face twitched. “Fences?”
“That’s how we say it in America.” She realized the phrase didn’t work in Arabic. Looking up at the patch of blue through the skylight, she explained, “To fix our relationship.”
“Like this you come?” His gnarled hand motioned at her clothes.
She smiled. “This is how I dress when I talk to judges.”
Hajj Mahfizie mumbled something, and a moment later a blanket was draped around her shoulders, its coarseness scratching the back of her neck, its odor musty.
Elizabeth shook off the blanket, which fell on the floor around her feet. “It’s time you accepted me the way I am, Father.”
A murmur passed through the crowd. Several young men stood up.
“You know what I’ve done for Palestine. I’m a modern woman, very successful in my profession. It’s time you see there’s much to be proud of me.”
“Leave!” Father waved his hand. “Go!”
She stumbled backwards but steeled herself. “We should discuss the ceremony.”
Complete silence was the only response. Two men stepped in to support Hajj Mahfizie.
“It’s not every day that your daughter becomes,” she hesitated, “Hero of Palestine.”
The men burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” She grew angrier. “You think women can’t be heroes?
Their laughter quieted.
“You think only guns and bombs and suicides demonstrate courage?” She was yelling now. “You’re wrong! The bravest deeds are done quietly. What I did for Palestine no one else could do. And many women can provide unique services too. You cover us up in blankets, but it must change.” She paused, thinking she heard Father say something.
He didn’t move.
“I thought I’d keep it a surprise, but I might as well tell you now that on Wednesday, from the stage on the main street of this camp, I plan to announce the formation of the Palestinian Women Advancement League.”
Father was pointing at her.
“And this organization will dedicate itself to Palestinian women of all-”
Someone shoved her from behind, and she fell to the floor. The rough blanket was thrown over her, and strong hands lifted her.
She struggled to free herself. “Let me go!”
Someone kicked her. The pain made her fight harder. She managed to release one arm and felt her hand slap against a face. “Release me immediately!”
A fist punched her left kidney, paralyzing her.
They carried her, wrapped in the coarse blanket. A door screeched, and she was dropped to the floor, the air knocked out of her.
Through the fog of pain and fear, Elizabeth heard the door being locked.
After returning from Hadassah, Rabbi Josh had visited a pharmacy and bought tiny scissors, bandages, and a tube of ointment. Back in his room, he propped his right foot up on a chair and pulled off bits of skin from each blister, gritting his teeth. In the back of his heel, a large blister had not yet burst. He popped it.
A knock came from the door, and Professor Silver entered. “Oy!” He gazed at the rabbi’s foot. “What have you done to yourself?”
“Jogged too long in the wrong shoes.” Remembering Tara’s suspicions, the rabbi asked innocently, “How did your eye procedure go?”
“It was postponed,” Silver said. “Could you-”
“Postponed?” He pressed the blister, which oozed clear liquid. “Wasn’t it an urgent thing?”
“Not at all. A little tinkering with one of my eyes. Nothing serious.”
The rabbi glanced at him, wondering why he was lying, and with such ease! “It’s not getting worse?”
“At my age every bodily function is getting worse.” The professor removed his black beret and rubbed his thin hair. “I don’t sweat the little things.”
Rabbi Josh took out the supplies, arranging them on the table. “Nothing serious?”
“Thank God.” The professor touched his black-rimmed glasses.
Fearing his face would betray his dismay, Rabbi Josh bent forward to look closely at his foot. “I’m glad,” he said, feeling the exact opposite. He brought the pointed edge of the tiny, half-moon scissors to the popped blister while pinching the skin between a finger and a thumb to raise it. “I was wondering about what you overheard.” He began to snip at the raised skin, twisting his face as the burning intensified. “Between Masada and Al.” He clipped the skin in a circle, tearing off the last bit, which hurt even more. “Could you tell me again?”
“Again?” The professor puffed air. “They were doing it.”
Rabbi Josh resisted the urge to glance at Professor Silver. “You sure you heard it clearly?” He pulled a loose piece of skin from his toe, and it trailed a patch of healthy skin that detached with the sensation of red-hot iron. He groaned.
“You need a doctor.” Silver peered at the foot.
“Happened before. I get carried away with exercise.” Unscrewing the tube of ointment, he repeated his question, “Did you hear them clearly?”
“I think so.” Professor Silver’s friendly tone was touched by impatience. “It was a very traumatic night.”
The vision of Raul’s white face pounced on Rabbi Josh’s mind like a stalker who had waited for the right moment to strike. He pushed the vision away, but his hand clenched the tube so hard it sprouted a long, gray worm of ointment on top of his bare foot. He smeared it over the blisters, twisting his face at the pain. “It’s important for me to know what she said exactly.”
“That’s a lot to expect from an old man’s memory.” Silver chortled and put his hand on the rabbi’s shoulder. “Joshua, my dear friend, you are suffering. I know, I’ve been there myself, when my beloved son died.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Grief is a process. Let it take its course.”
“But did she-”
“Forget about Masada. Her errors are rooted in her failure to grieve properly for her loss. She hasn’t healed for decades.” He patted the rabbi’s bowed head. “One day, Joshua, when you recover, when you’re stronger, then you can try to help her. But not now, when you are so tortured.”
Rabbi Josh looked at his left foot, which was still laced up in his shoe, and dreaded what was waiting in there.
“Oh, almost forgot. You remember the package I gave you at Newark Airport?”
The rabbi hopped to the suitcase that lay open on the floor. Digging under shirts and socks and underwear, he found the package. “Here it is.”
Silver held it with both hands.
It occurred to the rabbi that he should have looked inside it. “No contraband, I hope.”
“I only deal in words.” The professor grinned, pushing up the thick glasses. His hand searched for the doorknob. “Good night.”
“Levy.” He waited for the professor to turn. “Rabbi Yehudah Ben-Tabai said: Don’t be like the lawyers; when the accused suspect comes before you, treat him as guilty, and when he repents, treat him as innocent. In other words, if a guilty man exhibits sincere regrets, he’s entitled to be treated as innocent.”
The professor stood at the door, holding the package, his thick glasses preventing Rabbi Josh from reading his expression. “The problem is, my friend, that nobody is innocent.”
Masada beckoned the bartender. “I can’t wait for the Senate to vote. I’m tired of Ness’s tricks. You want to hear the latest?”
Tara ordered two beers. She cradled her chin in her hands, elbows on the table, and listened to the story of how Ness had purportedly stopped Silver’s surgery.
“Lenin isn’t so innocent.” Tara punched a key, and her laptop came to life.
“His name is Levy, not Lenin.”
“It’s not Levy, either. It’s Flavian.”
A teenage boy passed between the tables handing out yellow flyers for the protest rally at the Jaffa Gate tomorrow evening. Masada wrapped it around the sweating beer glass to soak up the moisture. “I know him as Levy. Must be his Italian birth name. How did you find out?”
“I called the absorption ministry.” Tara hit another few keys on the laptop. “Remember the interview in your garage, when you gave me lousy answers?”
“You asked lousy questions.”
“Before the interview, we were adjusting light and sound.” Tara turned the laptop to face Masada. “Priest e-mailed this clip to me.”
The screen showed Masada’s garage, the light-blue Corvette in the background. Tara walked into the frame, counted numbers, raised four fingers in the air, and appeared brighter as the lighting was changed. A voice said, “Don’t mind me. Just getting something.” Professor Silver passed behind Tara and got into the Corvette.
“He was searching your car. What for? A memory stick”
“I don’t blame him. He begged me to give it back to him or destroy it, and I risked his life by keeping it.” Masada brought the beer to her lips but lowered it before drinking any. “He was desperate. He had to look for it himself.”
“Behind your back?”
“He was afraid. He’s got no one in the world.”
Tara shut the laptop. “Why are you making excuses for him?”
“Why are you trying to indict him? It’s Ness’s idea, isn’t it?” Masada was flushed with anger. “Levy is just a scared old man, that’s all. Sick and scared and trying to act brave.”
“Sick and scary. Your dear Lenin is the key to the whole thing. He’s the-”
“Good night!” Masada slammed a few shekels on the table and left.