by Nathan Ronen
The woman who sat down across from him was in her eighties, wearing an elegant muslin dress from the fifties. A gray mink coat lay across her shoulders, and a small hat rested on her head, with an attached netted veil shielding her face. She was stout, busty and not particularly tall. A large silver cross dangled onto her chest. She looked like a figure from a lost world, a heroine of silent black-and-white movies from the early twentieth century. A figure frozen in time.
He examined her hands, which were the hands of a mature woman who had apparently never engaged in physical labor. Her fingernails were clean and well groomed. The direct, piercing look Arik aimed at her surprised her, and she smiled warmly in return.
Her smile was appealing. Arik looked in her green eyes and realized why he instinctively liked her. Her outfit and the color of her eyes reflected his mother as he remembered her in old photos from Warsaw, which she maintained zealously in an old photo album. She was wearing a suit from the 1930s, with a hat adorned with a feather, holding the hand of an unfamiliar man, apparently her first husband.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Marquise Agnes de Reims, and I am the volunteer manager of the orphanage next to Notre-Dame de Reims Cathedral.”
Arik smiled at her and merely nodded.
They were to share the compartment for the next three hours, until Reims, where Arik would connect with the train that would take him to Heidelberg, Germany.
“You live in Paris, Monsieur…?” she asked in an attempt to find out his name.
“No, I’m not from France,” he replied in good French with a slight foreign accent.
She looked at his hands, searching for a wedding ring. “Married?”
“No, I’m not married,” he replied.
“Excuse me, but why not?” she asked him openly, embarrassing him.
“Maybe because I’m not that great when it comes to relationships,” he answered.
She examined his face and eyes, saying, “I find that hard to believe. You look like such a nice person, and you’re a handsome man. What’s your problem? Don’t you like women?”
“No, my problem is not with women. I like women. Believe me.”
“So what’s the problem?” Her large emerald eyes honed in on him.
He felt like telling her it was none of her business, but her childish innocence and her freedom in asking him the most personal questions, despite the fact that they were perfect strangers, won him over and challenged him.
“So the problem is picking up women?” she asked.
“Starting the relationship is never the problem, but maintaining it and ending it is.”
“I don’t understand.”
Arik took a deep breath and said: “It takes a special kind of woman to get used to a career like mine.”
“Pardon me for prying, but what exactly do you do?”
“Let’s say I’m a sales agent, and I travel a lot.”
“So what’s the problem? Can’t the woman in your life come along on these trips of yours?”
“No, she can’t. That’s why it takes a very special type of woman to be willing to stay behind and wait for me.”
“And you’ve never met a woman like that?”
After a brief pause, Arik said, “I did, actually.”
“Excellent! How do you feel about her?”
“I love her and I miss her very much,” he said quietly.
“And you’ve told her this?”
Arik squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He found this direct exchange embarrassing.
“I already told you I’m no good at relationships.”
“I’m sure she knows you love her. When someone makes us happy, even if he hurts us, you can’t hide it.”
Arik wanted to tell her she had no idea what she was talking about. In the world of masks and shadows in which he lived, he was used to concealing and lying without batting an eyelash, as if he were stating the most honest truth, buried deep in his soul. He was so good, he could lie successfully even on the most sophisticated lie-detector test.
She examined him like a preschool teacher eyeing a naughty toddler. “Monsieur, I wasn’t always an old widow who dedicates her time to the church and to charity work. I was once one of the most desired women in France, and I want to tell you that women can see things in men that they themselves don’t see, or perhaps repress and prefer to deny.”
His lips quirked in a fleeting smile. He raised his armor of cynicism from deep within himself and asked: “Really? And what do you see in me, Marquise? What’s the thing I don’t see or don’t want to see?”
She was ruthless. “You seem like quite a complex person, but like most men, what you want, what you really yearn for, is simple.”
“And what’s that?” he taunted her.
“You want what most of the children in the orphanage I manage want.” She displayed her hand to him, counting out three fingers with her other hand. “You want to be loved, you want to be understood, and you’re afraid of being alone.”
Arik burst out in nervous laughter. “I’d like to win the lottery, while I’m at it,” he replied sarcastically.
“Yes, that too,” she agreed. “Like many men, you have a tendency to use a protective layer of sarcasm that allows you to avoid dealing seriously with emotional problems.”
He shrunk in his seat.
“And as for the lottery, the moment you believe in yourself and understand what’s truly important to you, God will bring the right woman into your life, and then you really will feel as if you’ve won the lottery.”
He stayed silent. The inconceivable ease with which she had inserted a finger into his soul and effortlessly peeled away the armor that had protected him for many years left him speechless.
“You know, there’s a cliché I often quote to my children. Happiness is the only thing that, when you share it with someone else, only multiplies itself.”
This was already too much for Arik. He apologized and went to look for the diner car, claiming he was thirsty.
“Marquise de Reims, can I bring you anything—water, tea, coffee, a soda, a croissant?”
She shook her head, picking up on his embarrassment and merely flashing a private little enigmatic smile.
He felt the need for a strong, potent drink.
The bar in the diner car was open, with the waiters preparing to serve dinner in the restaurant. He ordered a Rémy Martin cognac and a small glass of Grand Marnier orange liqueur.
“Are you waiting for someone?” the barman asked, nodding at the second glass.
Arik shook his head and poured the liqueur into the cognac snifter, swirling the glass. The French barman’s eyes gaped in wonder. No bartending school had ever taught him about a cocktail of this kind, which Arik called “the Gideon Perry cocktail,” The strong, sweetish amber liquid boosted Arik. Thoughts raced through his mind, making him feel restless. That strange woman had placed his face before a mirror of insight and then cruelly hit him in the face with it.
He was a rational person who did not believe in fate or in God. But was it merely the hand of fate that had placed them in the same train car? Was someone sending him a sign of some sort? Years ago, he had resigned himself to the fact that he had to choose between work and family. He understood that in order to sustain the dream of a Jewish state in the hostile Middle East, someone had to protect it. He realized he was one of the country’s gatekeepers, and the price he had to pay was relinquishing his own needs. He had never resented it. His narrative was that the world was comprised of good people who needed sheepdogs in order to keep the wolves at bay. He was a good, skilled sheepdog. He actually liked the role that had helped him heal his childhood self-image. But now he was looking for meaning beyond his role as watchdog; he wanted a family. He remembered the look of misery in the eyes of Lilith, the Mossad director’s lustful wife.
“It’s Arik. I’m an idiot and I miss you and little Leo,” he said, full of an excitement that he himself could not understand.
“Where are you?” she raised a question that he would previously not have answered.
“I’m on a train from Paris, on my way to see you. I’ll be in Heidelberg around noon.”
“Today? I’m so sorry. I’m leaving for the university soon, and I have a busy schedule until this evening. Why didn’t you call earlier? I would have canceled…” she said, her disappointment obvious.
“I’m sorry. You know what it’s like in my line of work. I didn’t know until tonight that I had a window of opportunity.”
She stayed silent, feeling flustered.
“It’s fine. I’ll walk around the city a bit. I need a few hours of rest. I’ll call you from downtown this afternoon and we’ll coordinate, okay?”
“How long are you here for?” she asked, apprehensive.
“For as long as it takes,” he replied enigmatically, and she knew she should not ask any more questions.
“I’m really glad. We’ve missed you very much. I love you. Take care of yourself. And by the way, apparently congratulations are in order for us. I think I’m pregnant again.”
But Arik had already hung up and didn’t hear her.
Chapter 83
Heidelberg, Germany
Arik chose to sit at a café near the Neckar River, ordering a locally brewed beer and an entrée of bratwurst sausages in spicy curry sauce. The weather was sunny yet cold, as expected; autumn had arrived early this year in Northern Europe. The chestnut trees in the avenues had already begun to shed their reddish gold leaves. Across from them, the massive fortress towered proudly above the ancient city. He climbed on foot up Königstuhl Hill, on which the castle was located, touring the various museums. The town was teeming with German tourists. He sat down in one of the corners of a large heated tent and listened to the sounds of a German brass band playing Bavarian oom-pah folk tunes with a waltz rhythm. The audience was singing along enthusiastically with the orchestra, while sipping from giant beer steins, which were held up and rocked from side to side, and gobbling sausages and warm sauerkraut.
His Steiner gun was still held against his body in a special armpit holster. As he had arrived in France in a military aircraft that had flown Admiral Lacoste and him to a NATO military airport near Paris, he had not gotten the chance to deposit his weapon at the embassy in accordance with the usual procedure. He had also not been inspected by customs or border patrol.
In the afternoon, he called Eva, full of anticipation.
She answered immediately. “I’ve been waiting for you. I canceled everything, and Leo’s with my mother. Where are you?”
“I’m in the Old City, listening to oom-pah music, drinking beer and scarfing down sausages.”
Eva laughed heartily. “Walk over to the central square, where you’ll find a statue of Emperor Ludwig riding a horse. I’ll meet you ‘under the horse’s tail,’ as we say in German: unter der schwanz. I’ll come to you from the university, and then we’ll go to my apartment. Leo will stay with my mother.”
“You rented an apartment?”
“How long could I live with Mother? How long could I wait for you?”
Eva arrived within fifteen minutes. She looked wonderful in her black wool coat. Her blond hair was shorter, and she looked more like an elegant businesswoman than a university professor. They hugged and kissed at length.
“I’ve missed you,” Eva said.
“I’ve missed you too,” Arik said. He felt his heart beating, like a teenage boy meeting the girl he loved.
She drove her red Porsche. The evening was bright and very cold. The car skidded somewhat in the turns due to the ice on the road, until she reached her destination, stopping in the parking lot next to an elegant residential building.
She opened the heavy wood door and said warmly, “Meet Felicia.” Arik was expecting a maid or a roommate. He was relieved to discover Felicia was none other than a beautiful Persian cat with a flat nose and large blue eyes. Arik tried to pet the cat with the spotted silver fur, but she bit him aggressively. He cursed and retreated, examining his bleeding hand.
“That’s how Persian cats are; they’re jealous and not particularly sympathetic to strangers,” Eva said, taking Arik’s hand to assess the damage. She kissed his palm, bringing alcohol to cleanse the wound and a Band-Aid.
The apartment consisted of two floors. The first included the living room, which featured a giant oak bookcase heavy with books on theory, medieval philosophy, history and theology in various languages. Eva turned up the heat in the big coal fireplace, placed a kettle full of water over it to increase the humidity in the air, and prepared to go up to the bedroom on the second floor to change.
“Come with me, Arik. Take off that silly suit of yours. What’s the deal with those appalling colors? I’ll give you a robe that belongs to one of my brothers and a comfortable tracksuit.”
They climbed the carpeted wood stairs to the bedroom and bathroom area.
Beside Eva’s large pinewood bed hung a small picture framed in old painted wood. It was one framed page from an old edition of A.A. Milne’s classic, Winnie-the-Pooh.
Arik leaned in to observe the illustration closely. Piglet and Pooh were walking through the forest. The caption under the drawing quoted a sentence in which Piglet asked the bear: “How do you spell love?” while Pooh replied, “You don’t spell it—you feel it.”
Arik straightened, smiled and embraced Eva. They soon found themselves making love, magnetized to one another with uncontrollable lust, like two parts of a single whole that had been seeking each other for some time. Embarrassed, Eva covered Arik’s mouth with her hand in order to suppress his cry when he came. Arik rested a bit and immediately fell asleep, sated like a baby who had just been suckled.
During the last two weeks until the operation in Morocco ended, he had been sleeping too little, while in this apartment, close to Eva, he felt security and peace.
Eva covered him with the thick down duvet and went to shower and put on comfortable indoor clothes. When she returned, Arik was still sleeping. She looked at him affectionately, kissed his forehead and went down to her kitchen. She prepared Israeli vegetable salad, a shakshuka dish of eggs in spicy tomato sauce, an olive medley, soft quark cheeses and fresh bread, which she had asked the maid to buy earlier in the nearby Turkish market.
Once the table was set, she went up to wake Arik. When she merely touched his shoulder gently, Arik leaped up as if snake-bit and rolled sideways in bed, his hand fumbling for his gun, which he thought he had hidden under the pillow, in a mindless survival reflex. It was not there. This aerobic exercise caused Eva to burst out in laughter.
“Shush… Calm down, my Israeli macho man. You’re in a safe place. I put your cannon in a drawer while you were sleeping.” She stroked his head affectionately. “Come shower and put on something warm and comfy, and let’s go down for a light dinner,” she told him softly, kissing him on the lips.
Arik smiled indulgently. “Come back to bed with me. I want to nibble on you a little longer.”
“Not now. The food’s getting cold. I’m waiting for you downstairs in the kitchenette. Here’s a clean towel for you, a robe and some slippers.”
The light dinner Eva had prepared was a pleasant surprise. The salad was seasoned with olive oil and lemon, the olives and the soft quark cheeses tasted like home, and the chilled Riesling wine and the fresh bread were refreshing additions to the shakshuka. Arik did not forget to raise a glass to toast Eva’s winning the ‘Spinoza prize,’ while Eva rose and brought the certificate and the medal to the table with unconcealed pride.
“What are you doing in Germany, Arik,” she asked cur
iously, “and how long can you stay?”
“I was in the area for work reasons, and unfortunately, I have to go back soon. But I can steal a weekend to spend with you and Leo.”
“I’d love that,” Eva said. “Tell me, darling, did you hear what I told you on the phone this morning?”
“No, I don’t remember, what was it?” he asked with a big yawn.
“Never mind. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
They made love and then drifted off, spooning all night as they slept.
The family weekend in Heidelberg was wonderful. It had been quite a while since Arik had felt so relaxed. They took long walks with the baby in his carriage in the wonderful parks near the river, dined at pubs along the way, and mostly, enjoyed spending time together in brief intimate conversations, caresses, back-scratching and affectionate hugs, with a glass of warm schnapps in front of the burning hearth. Arik resumed being the proud father, falling asleep with Leo on his chest while Eva took their picture.
The pleasure he was taking in his family made Arik forget the hazards of his profession, and his tough, confident façade as deputy Mossad director cracked. His role as a father, enjoying his young son’s sweet laughter, confused him. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t told Eva that he had come especially to be with her. Why, like a cat after thousands of years of domestication, he still felt the need to cover his tracks.
On Sunday, early in the morning, the phone rang. It was his office manager Claire. Arik grabbed the Chameleon and went into the bathroom in order to talk securely. Claire told him that Alex had left him an urgent message about the cakes that needed to be picked up from the bakery. Arik understood that more comprehensive information had come in about the 200 tons of enriched uranium-235 concealed in barrels within the secret warehouse in the airport in N’Djamena, Chad. Claire also informed him that Galili wanted to see him as soon as he returned to Israel.
Eva knocked on the bathroom door. “Everything okay?” she asked in concern.
“Sure, I’ll be right out,” Arik replied, opening the door and allowing Eva to come in as he picked up a toothbrush.