The Critical Offer

by Yitzhak Nir

  Billie yawned, closed her eyes in desperate agreement and continued dozing.

  “Do you know why this enterprise is still holding together and not disintegrating?” Adam asked suddenly. “In my opinion, and I’m a mere Jew that has already come to his own conclusions, is the conflict and being in a constant state of war. If I were prime minister, I would make certain, of course behind the scenes, and with a proper amount of cynicism, to continue with a low-intensity struggle like that forever!”

  …How right he is… Gershon added silently to himself.

  Dahlia returned with a chocolate cake and declared: “Dear professor, honored Knesset, it’s time for a coffee break! Who wants what?” She approached the table and filled four double paper cups “So you won’t burn your fingers.”

  The sun began disappearing behind the old shingled roof and the light on the verandah became faint. After drinking their coffee and praising Dahlia for her handiwork and after Billie was also gratified to receive a brownish snack that the professor pulled ceremoniously from his pocket, a meditative silence fell on the four men.

  Daniel Safran rose to refill his cup and Gershon took the opportunity to take him aside for a private conversation:

  “Professor, are you only capable of frightening your listeners? Aren’t you one of us? How would you act differently than the prime minister?”

  Billie, who understood that her leash had been loosened, leapt towards the cookies.

  “Down, Billie!” The dog stretched out on her back, wagging her tail hesitantly and regarding her master with pleading eyes.

  “See here, Chief, you are forbidden to talk politics, and I won’t infringe on that. But you, who have a degree in philosophy and international relations, will certainly draw the correct analogy from my small lecture. In any case, if I could have advised Dr. Theodore Herzl back in 1894, before the Zionist Congress in Basel, Switzerland, I would say to him in a Viennese accent, (as you know, I am of German origin) as follows:

  Look, Dr. Herzl, don’t think small. The Jewish nation is much bigger than the Jews in Eastern Europe alone. As they say in America, think big! The Jews need an ally! England and eventually, America, will turn out to be broken reeds that can’t be relied on. You must make a covenant with the largest power in the world. From them will come our salvation…”

  He smiled and continued, “Gershon, compare our situation to a bottom league talented but problematic football team, that is owned by the United States. Imagine that the team’s managers in Israel are looking for new owners so as to rise to the heights of world football, after the present owners have lost all interest in the team…”

  “Well, who would want us?”

  “You’ll figure it out on your own. I’m not allowed to discuss it, nor are you. When are you retiring?”

  “September first, this year.”

  “Good. Then we should meet on November first, when you are already a soldier released from service. You are destined for great things, my dear commander!”

  Gershon’s expression suddenly became serious and his blue gaze narrowed with suspicion: “What are you referring to, professor?”

  “Oh nothing, nothing. But maybe we should finish my small lecture that was stopped in the middle.” Billie gazed at him raptly and Dahlia rose and declared, “Maybe it would be a good idea to continue another time?”

  “I have to get back home early today,” Adam apologized, and Billie began barking at a black cat that was creeping along the green, vine-covered wall.

  Gershon was silent; pondering what had been said and left unsaid on his verandah, and finally declaring: “Terrific, guys. It was a pleasure to entertain you and I hope there will be other opportunities to reconvene such a thought-provoking parliament to continue where we left off. Thanks to Professor Safran for his leadership and to Dahlia for her contribution to the success of the event. Drive carefully and thank you all again!”

  “Adam, wait a minute.”

  “Chief?”

  “Would you attend another meeting like this?”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” Smiling, he clicked his heels, his ponytail flowing down his back.

  “I would like to discuss with you what was said here today. Can you find time to meet with me at your place?”

  “Gersh, any time. Your wish is my command!”

  “Thanks, Adam. Have a good week!”

  …I wasn’t given any concessions today. Everybody was right in their way, but together we seemed to lose direction… he said to himself. And while gathering up the leftovers, he raised his glance to the blue sky.

  * * *

  Four thick, white vapor trails were streaming from a high-altitude cruising passenger plane. While following the icy trails high in the sky, he suddenly noticed a gray-white drone, floating silently over the neighboring houses and climbing high above him, while turning to the south. His face tensed and his scar signaled his anger. He pulled the old Omega watch from his right sleeve and said to himself aloud: “Fifteen twenty-seven.”

  Then he dialed Chaim Eshel, the Civil Aviation Authority director.

  “Hello, Gersh! What, are you having a barbecue?” Chaim answered, while children’s voices could be heard in the background.

  “Chaimon! How are you? Well, I also deserve a steak once in a while, don’t I!”

  “Definitely. With a heart of gold like yours, cholesterol can’t be a problem, Gersh.”

  “Listen, Chaimon, a gray-white drone just flew over. It was cruising at a low altitude, and then it climbed southbound, maybe in the direction of Tel Aviv.”

  “Oh, those rascals again. Did you notice any details, Chief?” he asked without interest.

  “My eyesight isn’t what it once was, and I wasn’t wearing glasses.”

  “Listen to me, Gershon, it’s a problem. You’re not the only one reporting these things. Your whole area is plagued by drones, most of them unlicensed, but we don’t have the manpower to enforce the law, especially not on the Sabbath. Like you always say, Gersh, we’re a country under construction…” he laughed. “And apart from that, you know that the police are already operating two hundred drones. Maybe it was one of theirs? I’ll check with the police superintendent.”

  “Haimon, listen. It looked to me like something different: heavy, big, like the American V-22.”

  “Gersh, calm down! It’s already been forty years since you flew a plane, and without glasses at your age… In any case, we’ll always be glad to receive air support from the powers of darkness. When can we meet for a beer?” he asked, while children could be heard shouting behind him.

  “Let’s hope it’s before the Messiah comes.”

  “I’ve got to go! Shabbat Shalom, Gersh. Start wearing your glasses like the rest of us!”

  “Inshallah. Have a good week!”

  Chaim’s explanation did not satisfy him …At least it isn’t anything personal against me…he thought, carrying the rest of the leftovers into the kitchen.

  The vapor trails unraveled and metamorphosed into white, fluffy plaits, floating with the upper winds and lazily blended with the woolly clouds that emerged from the west, above the sea. The approaching evening transformed their colors into a golden mosaic that slowly turned a pale red and finally a misty purple-gray.

  Above them spread the sky: deep, blue and remote.

  A Steel Seagull

  March 3rd, 2025

  The air was clear and very cold.

  White, fluffy clouds sailed at a high altitude through a deep ultramarine sky, creating imaginary pathways that changed shape harmoniously. Icy feathers joined together to resemble a flock of sheep silently grazing beneath the heavenly fields stretching above them.

  Gershon was sitting on a bench on the boulevard, opposite Falafel Momo, slowly biting into his portion.

  It was a cold winter’s day, crystal clear, as was usual
after rainstorms. From afar he could make out the fifty-story Independence-Towers rising above the old Reading Power Station’s chimneys, where Dov-Hoz Airport had once been located. He sat on the bench with his Sig Sauer calmly attached to his waist, the two cars in visual range and his still warm falafel in his hand. His silvery toupee and mustache were also securely in place.

  But nevertheless he didn’t feel protected.

  The stream of people entering and exiting NATA-Nordau Metro Station and the trains thundering under his feet hardly drew his attention. His brain was busy contemplating the test result. Fear for his health had become firmly established in his being, with no escape.

  He glanced at his watch: “Twelve minutes past one and no sign of Li-Lan coming down the street,” he said out loud, straining his eyes, which had seen better days. Shauli and Guy waited in the silver Škoda that was parked illegally on the boulevard’s sidewalk. The black Chevrolet was parked just behind them.

  Finally, when he had almost given up and had started walking towards them, licking the rest of the tahini from his lips, he spotted her tall figure, wrapped in a red, shiny ski jacket, a purple ribbon in her hair, striding towards the kiosk from the direction of Nahum Street, the location of the Chinese Consulate.

  …Such an elegant, restrained walk knowing its own worth… He returned to the bench, slightly limping on his left foot, like someone who was totally engrossed in his falafel, and waited for what would happen next.

  “I want a portion of falafel and a bottle of water,” she requested of Momo, who was wrapped in an old army-issued ‘Dubon’, alpine coat, covered in splatters of cooking oil.

  She slowly turned around, waiting, and saw him sitting and staring at her with his large blue eyes, a reddish scar decorating his forehead above his right eyebrow, and his mouth partly smiling, partly questioning.

  His heart accelerated. Finally, he raised his free hand and waved a greeting. “Pretty woman, may I ask you a question?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, and immediately narrowed again in an attempt to remember.

  “I’m Jerry, the guy that once returned your bill after it fell on the road in the rain. Do you remember? I am Jerry!” His pale face reddened and he felt that the usual low, steady voice emerging from his throat sounded hoarse and high-pitched. …Stay calm, Gershon. You’ve broken the rules a bit, but still haven’t caused any damage…

  “I remember very well. You were little rude to me, asked me why I like falafel. Maybe you think all Chinese people eat only wonton soup and eggroll all their lives.” She raised her upper lip slightly in a small smile, speaking a charming mixture of Hebrew and English that he longingly remembered.

  …Delicate, detached and offended… he thought to himself.

  “No, no, I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you. I only wanted to know. After all, Chinese cuisine is so delicious!” He hurried to justify himself.

  “It is okay, mister,” she said in English and continued to sniff the odor of frying falafel with closed eyes and a soft purr of pleasure.

  “Tel Aviv very cold, hot falafel very good,” she laughed in Hebrew, revealing two rows of white teeth, a shining porcelain smile that he had also remembered and longed for.

  …Not just beautiful, but nice too… “I come here sometimes. I’m glad you do, too.”

  “I like lunch break Chinese Embassy, so I come here. Today I’m looking for a shop near the embassy, shoes for a lady, you know, but me don’t give up eating falafel!” she said, turning towards Momo to receive the warm bag of falafel.

  “Thank you, Momo!” she said, sitting down next to Gershon on the vacant part of the bench.

  “You agree I sit here and eat? The sun so nice, but very cold, like Beijing in winter.” She smiled, not waiting for a reply.

  Gershon suddenly felt like a teenage boy in the Gadna army training camp for youngsters, many years before, when beautiful Mira, the queen of the eleventh grade at their high school, had sat down beside him.

  For a moment he was speechless… Easy, easy Gershon, don’t make a fool of yourself… He took two deep breaths to calm down, looked into her eyes for a long moment and then he held out his hand and took her free one.

  Her pale hand that was a soft shade of ivory, with long fingers whose skin was almost transparent, with tracings of bluish veins and rosy-red nails, did not pull back but returned the pressure, refraining from withdrawal.

  Days later, lying alone in bed, he would return to that moment in amazement at how it had transformed him: “I no longer lose my self-confidence in the presence of beautiful women,” he said, smiling to himself in the darkness, turning on his side and sinking into dreamless sleep.

  They sat side by side, chewing and chatting, holding one another’s hand. Also due to the cold…

  An observer might be reminded of a line in an old war song: “…thus they talked for hours, no one would know about what…”

  But Shauli and Guy, his bodyguards, were born in a different era. Their job was to look after him, and that’s what they did without humming any old war songs. And he decided that the situation did not require any reporting. …In any case I’ll delay my report for the next few days. Paperwork can always wait; life sometimes couldn’t…

  Finally they rose from the bench and walked westbound, hand in hand, crossing the streets towards the garden of Independence Park. Gershon lightly signaled thumbs-up to his bodyguards, indicating that they follow them closely.

  “I would like to show you something remarkable,” he said in a soft voice.

  “Isalia everything is remarkable,” she laughed.

  “What’s Isalia?”

  “Come on, it’s your State of Israel, as we say Beijing…” She smiled.

  “No, no, really, I want to show you a statue, a monument of the history of Israel,” he said reverting to English.

  “Okay, mister. I’m on a lunch break. Where is this statue, you said?”

  “Very close by, further inside the park. I’ll show you.” And he continued to lead her westbound through the garden, knowing he was protected. He felt calm and almost cheerful, like a boy enjoying an exciting adventure. …If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t dream of taking a walk like this… He gave himself permission, overlooking the rigid rules of conduct applied to top-secret senior officials…

  They arrived at a sandstone cliff and walked its length through the well-kept park, towards the Seagull Monument rising up above the cliff, at the foot of the Hilton Hotel.

  To the west the sea was stormy. Terrified gray-winged and black-beaked crows were swept away by the wind, attempting to land on scraps of food, and their screaming was swallowed up in the rising and falling hum of the wind.

  Shauli maintained some twenty yards’ distance from them, wearing dark army pants, a multi-pocketed black jacket under which was hidden a Glock pistol with four magazines, a toothed commando knife, an earpiece with curly wire dangling on his collar and the rest of his service toys. Guy crawled slowly behind them in the silver vehicle. He stopped near the sidewalk on Hayarkon Street, maintaining eye contact and RF plus Wi-Fi communication with his partner, with the men in the black Chevy and with the couple walking away. Afterwards, he sent a laconic encrypted message that “the prince had entered a threatened area with an unarmed companion, he is being closely watched and there is no personal security risk.”

  Gershon was well aware that his actions might be considered as breaking protocol, but he relied on his bodyguards completely. They had already observed him in much stranger places than this and in encounters with far more unusual characters. They would report his activities to the Personage Protection Unit only if it was absolutely necessary and approved personally by him. They would never allow others “on our side or theirs” to harm him. Gershon also enjoyed playing with his new toy: an elegant digital wristwatch, one of whose three buttons was a red panic button with GPS loc
ating system that would alert his bodyguards at any time. The other buttons - green and yellow, enabled him two-way communication with his bodyguards when required. It was a kind of encrypted Red-Bird that they had affectionately nicknamed it: “the nightingale.”

  …Cherchez la femme… He chuckled to himself silently, while ensuring that the area was clear and secure. …There are some advantages to being shaken up by medical checkups; my daring with beautiful women is increasing…

  The wind became colder and stronger the further up the path they went. Almost naturally, he moved his right hand around her slim waist under her ski jacket, allowing himself to lace the fingers of his left hand in hers and tuck them inside his black Uniqlo jacket.

  They stopped under the monument depicting a huge steel seagull rising up with spread wings on rusty iron legs at the top of a cement column, eternally looking out towards the sea. Gershon told her about the young pilots with their light plane, who had attempted to stop an Egyptian destroyer from bombarding Tel Aviv during the 1948 War of Independence, but whose fate was to be shot down by a fast-flying Egyptian fighter plane. Many years later, the Seagull Monument was erected on this cliff, overlooking the sea, in their memory...

  Li-Lan surveyed the metal bird; her face grew serious, and she squeezed his hand. She wiped away a tear from her left eye with a tissue, removing a pair of elegant Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses from her bag and placing them on her.