75
BERLIN, TIERGARTEN, MARCH 2015
Ya’ara recoiled at the sight of Sayid’s pale face appearing suddenly through the freezing morning fog. She hadn’t expected to see him when she went out to the Tiergarten for a vigorous morning run.
“You gave me a fright,” she admitted. “What are you doing here?”
“The same as you, apparently. I’ve come to run.”
Ya’ara looked at him with a smile on her face. “Very trendy, Sayid,” she said. “In which part of town did they sell you that?”
He looked at her in surprise, and Ya’ara tried to tear her eyes away from his odd running suit, which was a mixture of purples and murky browns and zippers everywhere, and wondered if it was worth taking him on a quick shopping spree in sporting goods stores. She decided against it.
“You’re usually very conservative when it comes to your clothes. Conservative and elegant,” she quickly added.
“You’re right. But I’ve decided to let myself go. To spread my wings. To discover the new Sayid.”
If this is the new Sayid, they may have to rethink all the training that had led him to the point in time at which he purchased that unsightly running suit, she thought, knowing very well that she would never voice such superficial thoughts out loud. Everyone’s entitled to their own taste, even a taste as shocking as Sayid’s. And he, despite everything and without doubt, was her favorite cadet.
“Follow me!” she called out to him, and set off at a quick pace, leaving him behind. He gathered himself and raced after her, but she moved farther away from him, as fast as the wind.
“I’ll wait for you by the monument,” she shouted to him.
The mist seemed to swallow her up and hug her coldly to its bosom. Sayid imagined seeing the dust clouds she had left in her wake. But the problem was, he thought, that they were in a country where there was no dust in the winter. Sayid cursed himself. He was doing too much thinking and clearly not enough exercising. And anyway, how come he had bumped into Ya’ara of all people so early that morning, in the middle of a huge park, with no chance of running at her pace, of being as fast as she was, as determined as she was. He pictured his slender body in his beautiful new running suit, and despite the pain in his side that was getting increasingly worse by the minute, he derived a brief moment of pleasure from the thought of himself bounding gracefully through that German park in his magnificent sportswear.
When he arrived breathless at the monument, Ya’ara was already coming to the end of her stretching exercises. She was bent over supplely, her hands gripping her ankles, and she peered at him through her mane of hair, seeing him upside down. What a miserable sight I must be, he thought, still trying to regulate his breathing, his body tilted to the left, his right hand over the area of pain above his waist.
“Don’t stand still,” she said to him. “Keep walking, and then do some stretching.”
He walked around her in circles.
“Enough of that, Sayid,” she said. “Only dogs walk in circles. See that tree, over there? Walk there and back.”
After he returned, Ya’ara approached him and gave him instructions on what he needed to stretch and how to do so. He could feel his hamstrings stretching to a point at which he feared they were going to snap like strings on a guitar, and he eased up a little. “That’s great,” Ya’ara said. “Listen to your body. Only you know exactly what you feel. Don’t do more than you’re capable of doing. And just so you know, every day you run, you’ll be able to do more.” He nodded, barely able to utter a word. “This is your first run in a very long time, right?”
He confirmed that with a wobbly nod of his head. There’s no hiding from that witch, he thought in an outburst of hostility. “To think I slept in the same bed as her,” he whispered to himself.
“Did you say something?” she asked.
“No, no, nothing at all,” he responded, his face turning red.
• • •
“Well, how is it?” she asked?
“How’s what?”
“The course, everything we’re doing, the things you’ve been through, the other cadets.”
They were walking slowly side by side, in the direction of the park gate.
“Incredible, for the most part. Half the time I can’t believe the things I’m doing, that I’m with this group.”
“Is it a good incredible, or do you ask yourself: What am I doing here at all, how did I end up in this thing, how the hell do I get out of here?”
“You said if someone wanted to leave, they could, right?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I don’t want to leave. I haven’t for a second, even after what happened to us in England. I hope I’m good enough to stay. I know I still have a lot to learn, that I’m not good enough yet, not quick enough, even my running suit . . . But this course, and what awaits us in particular, means a great deal to me. Do you get that? I have to stay.”
“No one wants you to go, Sayid. On the contrary, I see great things ahead for you. You’ve shown us that you have capabilities and courage. You may feel sometimes that you’re different from the others, but if you take the time to notice, we’re all different.”
He smiled at Ya’ara but she noticed the shadow that passed him across his face.
“What’s up, Sayid? What’s troubling you?”
“Look, you’re familiar with my story. I don’t have a family, and I’m willing to think of this unit as my family, and still I can’t figure out how, with this kind of lifestyle, with all the long trips we can expect and all the secrets we need to keep, how I’ll ever find someone. You know I’m not a child any longer, and I want to have a home. And a family of my own.”
“Those things work out in the end. Or so I hope, at least. Otherwise, you and I will end up sitting next to each other in a retirement home somewhere, our shaking knees covered with blankets, staring into space, with the knowledge that at least we have each other.
“Yes, that’s the exact scenario that frightens me,” Sayid said, deciding that the conversation needed a lighter tone. “I don’t think you’ll be a very sympathetic old lady,” he continued. “And to tell you the truth, I can’t picture you in a retirement home. And besides, I have a relative who lives in a retirement home and she doesn’t sit around and stare into space at all. She’s like the Energizer bunny. Didn’t you once promise me that kind of a future? In another conversation we had?”
“I have this same conversation with myself all the time. You may have been party to one once . . . And yes, I don’t think it’s normal for a young woman of thirty and a bit to think so much about growing old. I met someone a short while ago, a woman in her nineties. She actually made me feel optimistic. You can still be fascinating and interesting and beautiful even at a very old age. It’s just a matter of luck, that’s all you need.”
“We still have a few more years to go. And don’t forget you promised things would work out.”
Work out, work out, sure they’ll work out, Ya’ara thought. How the hell am I supposed to know?
76
BERLIN, MARCH 2015
She was surprised to see that Michael had written to her. He didn’t do so very often at all. Almost never. But that was definitely his email address that appeared in her inbox with a message bearing the title: “A letter to Ya’ara.” He wrote:
I was driving yesterday along the road up to Jerusalem. The sky was covered with clouds, but golden rays of sunshine were piercing through them, like spotlights in a giant theater. Tu BiShvat is just around the corner and the mountains were indeed filled with almond trees. Beautiful almond trees in full bloom. And every year I’m amazed anew by just how beautiful and perfect those blossoms are. I swear to you, Ya’ara, it’s the most beautiful landscape I know. The terraces all around were green, a kind of light green, almost phosphorescent. And furrowed fields of wild mustard plants. And standing in this sea of colors were large gray boulders, which were here before us and will still be
here long after we have gone, wet from droplets of rain or dew, the films of water glistening far into the distance, like patches of ice. The road was open and the air turned misty all of a sudden, but I could still see the view, because a soft light was dripping through. And growing, too, along the side of the road were bushes in bloom, with dark yellow flowers, a deep and beautiful yellow, like honey. Like your hair. I don’t know what they’re called, maybe I’ll check it out, or maybe I’ll leave them nameless. And those almond blossoms again, pink and red, more and more of them, growing on the very edge of an abyss. And pink cyclamens among the rocks. If I were a romantic man, I’d write: Bouquets of cyclamens, and every single one for you, Ya’ara. Instead, I’ll say that I’m thinking of you over there in that cold, bleak winter, and think you should come home.
77
ISRAEL, WESTERN GALILEE, MARCH 2015
The spacious holiday cabin looked exactly as it had when they all met there for the first time. They left Berlin separately, with some of them flying directly to Israel and others stopping for a day or two in another European city. They had already grown accustomed to the never-ending practice of trying to break common patterns.
They were sitting in a circle again, all eyes on Ya’ara and Aslan by her side.
For several minutes the room remained silent. It was a peaceful silence, but also contained a dimension of solemnity and festivity.
“Today we come to the end of months of exhausting training,” Ya’ara spoke, her voice low and soft. “Like most of the things we did, the training wasn’t routine. You were thrown into the deep end from the very beginning, and you proved to be great swimmers. I’m proud of you. There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side for the task of carrying out operational activities. From today, you are all combatants in a semiofficial and highly classified unit, a special ops unit. We don’t exist anywhere. There are no records of us anywhere, there’s no law that recognizes us, there’s no clause in the state budget that’s earmarked for us. But it’s time you knew just how high up the chain of command this thing goes. The unit was set up in keeping with a personal directive of the prime minister, and we are conducting missions he assigns to us for the purpose of safeguarding the security of the State of Israel. I have no idea what this unit will look like further down the line, but we’re going to make every effort to stave off its institutionalization for as long as possible. For as long as you and we are here”—she gestured to include Aslan among everyone else—“we’ll continue in this manner. We’ll maintain the ability to act quickly, forcefully, and aggressively, emerging out of nowhere and going back to nowhere when the job is done.”
The eyes of the cadets displayed stern intentness and pride. Ya’ara focused her gaze on Helena and recognized a deep sadness in her face, overlaid, however, with determination. Helena had disappeared for two weeks, and she was different when she came back. She didn’t offer any explanation and Ya’ara didn’t ask for one. But she knew that her cadet had finally found her place, even if she had been forced to make some hard decisions to do so. Forced to let go. She believed she knew what it had entailed. She could see the distance that had opened up between her and Ann. She could see that Helena was making a concerted effort to keep as far away from her as she could, positioning herself at the farthest point from the person who had once been her best friend on the team, and maybe even more.
“Despite the fact that we don’t exist anywhere, it’s only fitting that we have a name. It’s my and Aslan’s joint decision. You recall we spoke about it at the end of the debriefing in Berlin, and I’m pleased you agreed to the unit name we proposed, Sirocco. We’ll be the fiery hot storm that lays waste to whoever rises against us. It may sound poetic and dramatic, but it’s the truth. Today, we, you, are joining a long line of Hebrew warriors, and we will play our part in the struggle to ensure the existence of our people and our country with the utmost dedication.”
Ya’ara leaned toward her backpack and pulled out a large crystal, in shades of brown and silver, with a touch of purple in each.
“This crystal is from a quarry in the Jerusalem mountains. A specialist jeweler has set eight small cuttings from it into gold pins. The pins are similar but not identical. Each pin is slightly different from the others. Each pin is a unique creation, a combination of prehistoric nature and the hand of an artist. This crystal contains sufficient material for the pins that will be given to every individual who joins Sirocco over the next hundred years. And today, each and every one of us will receive such a pin. They won’t be worn outside Israel. Due to security considerations, and also because it’s a kind of oath.” She opened the black box resting next to the crystal. Glittering in the light, on a dark piece of velvet, were eight gold pins set with a shard of the crystal. She passed the open box to Batsheva, who was sitting to her right. Batsheva selected one of the pins and handed the box to Helena, who chose one of the pins almost at random and aggressively jabbed it through the fabric of her blouse. The box went from one to the next, and ended up back with Ya’ara. She took off the thick sweater she was wearing and pinned the piece of jewelry to the T-shirt she had on underneath, on the left side. “Near the heart,” she said with a smile, and put on her sweater again. Just then, there came a loud knock on the door. “Excuse me a second,” Ya’ara said, before standing up and going over to open.
“Have I come at a good time?” the prime minister asked.
• • •
“You couldn’t have picked a better one,” she responded. She saw the prime minister’s bodyguard staying back, signaling to her that it was fine, he’d remain outside. “Friends,” she said, returning to the center of the room, her guest by her side, “please welcome the prime minister of Israel.”
• • •
The prime minister and Ya’ara walked slowly down the narrow road. A thick fog had settled, and visibility was very limited. Tiny rivulets of water trickled and wound their way along a ditch by the side of their path. The strong, clean smell of an Israeli winter enveloped them, dense clusters of short oak trees adorned the slope, and cyclamens painted touching pink patches of color among the rocks.
“How can they allow you to wander around like this?” Ya’ara asked, referring to the heavily manned security detail that accompanied him wherever he went.
“I’m stepping out on a limb today. They’ve allowed themselves to back off a little. No one knows I’m here. You have no idea of my sense of freedom.”
“You said some good things to them, to the cadets. I think your words will resonate with them. Thank you for the effort. I appreciate it.
“I have to tell you, Ya’ara, you’ve surprised me in a good way. And my expectations of you were high to begin with. I didn’t think you’d be ready to conduct operational activity so soon. I know how long it takes to train combatants.”
“As I reported to you, we did it the other way around. We started with the operational activity, and then we learned from it, we dealt with conceptualization and theory, and we put things in order.”
“Keep thinking outside the box. We need someone who thinks like that, too. Do you recall our discussing it? But do me a favor, take care of yourself. I understand what you did in Brussels, you created a situation in which you had the upper hand, the initiative, but if something had happened to you, I would have found that very hard to swallow.”
“I’m a combatant. That’s my job.”
He nodded in agreement and Ya’ara felt ready to ask the question that had been bothering her.
“Prime minister,” Ya’ara asked, “for a time I thought you had washed your hands of me. Was I wrong?”
“No, you weren’t wrong. There was an outcry about the operations you carried out and we were forced to remain silent and suspend all communication with you. A few of the old foxes guessed you were involved.”
One particular old fox, Ya’ara thought. For how long would Aharon Levin continue to keep track of her, she wondered.
“You’ve
made yourself quite a few enemies in high places.”
“I know,” she said.
“I’m pleased to tell you that you have a friend in an even higher place. I have no intention of giving up on you. I sent you out there, after all. But don’t do anything stupid. That’s an order.”
They walked alongside each other in silence. The prime minister took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Do you mind?” he asked. Ya’ara shook her head.
The prime minister lit the cigarette, and in the distance Ya’ara spotted the figure of a bodyguard standing at the precise point where she expected to see him, along the line of a closed perimeter. She was pleased. The security guards were doing their job properly. She and the prime minister turned around and started heading back.
“Isn’t it hard for you sometimes?” she asked.
“Yes, it’s hard sometimes.”
“Do you ever think of quitting? Of passing on the burden to someone else?”
“It never enters my mind.” The prime minister laughed. “It’s my life. It’s why I came into this world.”
For as long as you get elected, Ya’ara thought, but kept that to herself. And asked out loud instead: “How can we know why we came into this world? I, for example, don’t know. I simply exist.”
“You know. You know. When you come across your calling, you know.”
“So you think my calling is to be a combatant?”
“Your calling is to bring light to the world.”
“I’ve found a very odd way of doing that,” Ya’ara commented gloomily.
“I’m getting to know you, Ya’ara, and I think that’s what you’re doing. You have a special path to follow, and I know it’s a tough one. But I also know you’re going to do significant things in this world. You already have.”
“You’re enjoying that cigarette, aren’t you?”
A Spy in Exile Page 32