Look for Me

by Edeet Ravel

  “Of course,” he said. “We were in the same unit. Come, let’s have coffee. Have you had supper?”

  “No, but I can’t eat so soon after seeing those mice.”

  “Poor Jacky. Remember him from before?”

  “Of course. Who doesn’t?”

  “It’s the drugs that did it.” I followed him to the dining room. We sat by the window, next to the table I’d shared with Rafi four days ago. Coby told the waiter to bring us coffee.

  “Once you start mixing them together, anything can happen,” he said, still on the subject of Jacky’s history. “Once you lose a sense of boundaries … once you stop saying, this yes, but this no, you’ve had it. With drugs, that is. Maybe with anything …”

  “How’s business?”

  “Well, lousy of course. The war … If you ever need a room, let me know. If you and Rafi ever need a room, just say the word.”

  “Why would we need a room? I have my own room.”

  “Well, you know, room service, a hotel, everyone likes hotels for a change.”

  “Anyhow, I’m married. So is Rafi.”

  “Rafi’s been through a lot.”

  “He’s lucky. He has a wife, a steady income, a well-behaved daughter, a penthouse apartment. I don’t feel sorry for him.”

  Coby raised his eyebrows and gave me a deeply skeptical look. He didn’t believe I meant what I said, but he let it drop.

  “Coby, do you know anyone in Intelligence?”

  “In Intelligence? Why?”

  “Not just some clerk but an officer, someone with access to files. Do you?”

  “I don’t know, I have to think. What’s this all about?”

  “My husband. I found out that information about him is available in army files. I need to find someone who can get into those files.”

  “Why not just ask them?”

  “I’ve asked them a million times, of course! They don’t want to tell me for some reason. I thought they didn’t know, but I just found out that they do know. They know, but they don’t want to tell me. So I need someone who can go into the computers and tell me.”

  “If they’re not telling you, there’s a good reason,” Coby said.

  “Like what?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. But there has to be a reason.”

  “But what? What could it be? I’ve thought and thought, and I just can’t figure it out. He isn’t in an institution, he’s alive. He’s alive and he lives alone.”

  “Maybe he’s left the country?”

  “No, the detective checked. He hasn’t left.”

  “Maybe he left without anyone knowing.”

  “You have to show your passport no matter how you leave. He doesn’t even have a passport, he never applied for one.”

  “Maybe he’s working in espionage.”

  “Espionage! That’s a joke. He spent practically his entire training period in jail—for wearing pajamas under his uniform, for talking back—once he even peed on a whole bunch of grenades. He and some other guys, but he was the initiator, they were having a contest. He hated the army. He deliberately shot in the air at target practice, he begged to be put in laundry, and finally he got his way, he got to do laundry. If he were a spy, this country would be in big trouble.”

  “You never know. People change. Spying isn’t the same as fighting.”

  “I wish you knew him. That’s the last thing he’d do. He doesn’t have any qualifications.”

  “Well, that’s all I can think of. I can’t think of any other reason.”

  “Do you know anyone who can find out? Please?”

  “Let me think for a minute … Let’s see. I do have a cousin, I’m not sure exactly what he does, but maybe. I’ll talk to him. But if the army has a reason, my cousin is going to have the same reason.”

  “Just try. Please.”

  “Sure, I’ll ask him. Do you have your husband’s ID number?”

  I wrote down Daniel’s ID on a napkin and Coby slid it into his pocket. “All my hope is on that napkin,” I said.

  Coby smiled. “I won’t lose it, I promise. Where do you know Rafi from?”

  “We go to the same activities. We’ve been at the same events lots of times, but we never talked to one another until the demo last Saturday, in Mejwan. Or rather in Ein Mazra’a, they wouldn’t let us into Mejwan.”

  Coby shook his head. “You guys are so clued out, it’s hard to fathom.”

  “We’re not clued out.”

  “Yeah, well. You only see one side.”

  “Rafi said you lynched a Palestinian,” I said.

  “I didn’t lynch anyone.”

  “Yeah, but he says you were there.”

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “And someone’s balls got shot at.”

  “There were lots of incidents. It was so long ago, you can’t possibly expect me to remember. And if they could have, they would have torn us to pieces too. Luckily, we were too strong. What does it matter, anyhow? It’s water under the bridge now. We tried peace, we tried negotiating, we tried giving them what they wanted, and now we’re under attack again.”

  “Yes, we gave them what they wanted. You can now be owners of your own house. But meanwhile we’re just going to move into another room, and another room, and also we’ve got the keys and also we’re just going to stay in charge of the water, we hope you don’t mind. And oh yes, we still need to post a few guards in the kitchen, and if we kill someone who walks in the garden without our permission we’ll be fined two shekels, is that okay with you?”

  “Yeah, well. Trust takes time. And you see, we were right not to trust them.”

  “Maybe they were right not to trust us.”

  “Maybe. Maybe we’re both right. Maybe we’re just doomed to go on killing each other forever. I personally am planning to move. I’ve had it.”

  “Move where?”

  “My wife has relatives in Boston. We’re thinking of going next year, but we might be able to pull it off sooner. I want my kids to grow up in a seminormal environment.”

  “Will you do the same thing in Boston? Hotel management?”

  “Maybe, or maybe I’ll go into business with my wife’s uncle.

  We’ll see.”

  “You’ll miss things about this place.”

  “Yes, but there will be things I won’t miss … Seen any good films lately?” he asked. He began talking about European and British directors and their best and worst films. He was mad about Mike Leigh. Bertolucci had a bad-movie phase, he said, but Besieged was a masterpiece. He said he used to like Kieslowski, but now he thought he was just a voyeur. Some movies aged well, like Wild Strawberries, but others lost their appeal with time, as audiences became more sophisticated.

  His conversation helped me forget about the mice, and I took him up on his offer to have dinner, though I insisted on paying. By the time I left the dining room it was eight in the evening, time for the sea.

  FRIDAY

  RAFI PHONED EARLY ON FRIDAY MORNING. “Are you coming to South Lifna?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Do you want a ride? It’s lonely going down on my own. I was supposed to take Dudu but Hagari’s sick, he can’t come.”

  “I was planning to go with Odelia. But maybe I’ll call her— she already has a full car.”

  “I’ll pick you up at noon, then?”

  “Fine.”

  “Have you made any progress with Daniel?”

  “I may have something.”

  “I’ve been asking around, too.”

  “Any luck?”

  “I’m not sure. My youngest brother’s girlfriend, maybe. But I have to talk to her in person. How are you, Dana?”

  “I’m restless.”

  “Well, we have a long day ahead of us. What will you do until noon?”

  “Volvo wants me to read to him.”

  “Can’t he read himself?”

  “He says his shoulders get tired.�
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  “What will you read?”

  “I’m not sure. I think he has something by Appelfeld.”

  “That should cheer you both up.”

  “Actually, those books have a calming effect on us. What about you?”

  “I’m taking my daughter swimming. See you at noon.”

  I spent the morning reading to Volvo, as promised. He lay on his bed with his eyes shut, but I could tell he was listening to every word. He would have been happy for me to go on all day.

  “That’s it, Volvo. I have to go out now,” I told him.

  “Where to?”

  “Just out with some friends.”

  “You are a person of many mysteries.”

  “I’m not, really.”

  “Just one more chapter.”

  “You can read the rest yourself, Volvo.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “You’re not blind. You’re not paralyzed. I don’t know why I read to you.”

  “I like being read to. Don’t you think I deserve some crumbs of pleasure?”

  “We all deserve some crumbs of pleasure. I have to go now.”

  “I’ve been thinking lately that I might be gay.”

  “We’ll talk about it another time, Volvo.”

  “I had a very erotic dream last night involving Alex. It took me entirely by surprise.”

  “Well, Volvo, that would be great. Any change would be good for you. I have to go, though. Rafi’s coming to pick me up.”

  “Does his wife know?”

  “Why don’t you call and ask her?”

  I went to my flat to get my camera ready. Rafi knocked on my door a few minutes before twelve. “I’m looking for Dana,” he said when I answered.

  “I think I have everything.”

  “You don’t have to bring water, I have a whole crate in my van. Dana, you look as if I’ve come to arrest you.”

  “I shouldn’t be going down with you. I should be going with Odelia.”

  “Well.”

  “Yes, well.”

  “I’m really happy you’re coming down with me,” he said.

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Friends! Don’t exaggerate … Aren’t you going to lock your door?”

  “Oh …yes,” I said vaguely, and looked for my house key in my knapsack. I often left my door unlocked. “I can’t find the key. Hold on.”

  I went back inside, took a spare key from a glass bowl in the kitchen, and locked my door.

  I followed Rafi to his van, climbed up to the passenger seat. “I spoke to Coby yesterday,” I told him as we set out. “I’ve seen him around, but we never talked before. But there was a mouse under Jacky’s sink, five mice actually, and Coby sent the guard, Marik, to get the mice. Marik once saw me naked by accident, ages ago, and he’s still embarrassed every time he sees me. After he got rid of the mice I had dinner with Coby and he said he has a cousin in Intelligence, he’s going to ask him about Daniel.”

  “How did the guard see you naked? Through the window?”

  “No, on the street. The air from the sidewalk grate blew my dress up. As luck would have it, that was the one time in my life I wasn’t wearing underwear.”

  Rafi burst out laughing. “You’re full of surprises, Dana.”

  “Maybe Coby’s cousin is the one.”

  “That would be great, Dana. Seat belt, please.”

  “But Coby said he isn’t optimistic.”

  “Why?”

  “He says if the army has a reason for not telling me where Daniel is, his cousin will have the same reason. He thinks Daniel is a spy. What a laugh.”

  “That really does seem unlikely. Who could he spy on? He doesn’t speak a word of Arabic, and instead of blending in, he stands out. Besides, I don’t think we have a lot of spies these days. Espionage is mostly technological now.”

  “I feel I’m getting closer. I feel I’m really getting close, after all these years. I just have to find the right person … Where are we meeting, by the way?”

  “The gas station. We’re going in through the southern end of Lifna.”

  “Too bad we’re going on Friday instead of Saturday. All the fanatic settlers will be out.”

  “The rabbis really wanted to come. There’s supposed to be a joint prayer session. So we’re compromising by starting late, to accommodate people who work Friday morning.”

  “I’d like to photograph that, the praying. I have some very good photos of the cave-dwellers from the summer.”

  “I’d like to see your photographs. Where do you keep them?”

  “In shoe boxes, under the bed.”

  “Are they mostly color or black-and-white?”

  “Depends. I’m not really that good.”

  “I think you are.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I have your book.”

  He was referring to Seaside, the book of photographs Beatrice had produced. She had chosen my beach photos for the collection: our families on the beach, Palestinian families on the Coastal Strip beach, back in the days when there were fewer curfews and it seemed there might even be peace. She’d chosen her favorite photograph for the cover: a father with two girls, one in each arm, walking into the sea, the water already up to his knees. The faces of the two girls were turned toward the camera, tiny faces just above their father’s shoulders, one under a white sun bonnet, both girls smiling blissfully, as if to say, Can anything be more perfect than this? The father can only be seen from the back, a streak of dark fuzz running down his spine. Is he a Palestinian father or one of our fathers? I won’t tell.

  Rafi said, “I didn’t know Palestinians swam with their clothes on. Your book made me realize that I don’t know the most basic things about them.”

  “Some wear bathing suits.”

  “Hard to believe there was a time you could go to the strip just like that, and take pictures at the beach,” Rafi said, shaking his head.

  “I had so much fun. You can’t imagine how great it was. We got along really well—they were always inviting me to come home with them. I played with the kids, we built sand castles. People were in a good mood back then.”

  “How did you communicate?”

  “That was never a problem. Most of the men knew Hebrew, and some of the women spoke a little English. And there’s always sign language to fall back on. I should learn Arabic, but it’s such a hard language.”

  “If you had it in school from first grade you wouldn’t find it hard.”

  “Yes,” I said, “compulsory Arabic from first grade. Then we’ll know the Messiah has arrived.”

  “A few years ago we actually had the illusion that things were getting better. There was talk of making Arabic compulsory, and we really believed it might happen.”

  “I want a child,” I said, remembering the little bcobys I had held at the beach. “You’re lucky you have a daughter.”

  “I can give you a child if you want, Dana. My wife wouldn’t object.”

  “Two wives!”

  “No, one wife. But I’d help you out as much as I could.”

  “I feel I’m going to find Daniel soon. I want his child. And I can’t believe Graciela wouldn’t mind, no matter what she says. She’d mind a lot. Any woman would.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence in the car. We’d brought up the forbidden topic. “Just an altruistic offer,” Rafi joked, trying to break the tension.

  “I’ll keep it in mind. Free sperm. You’re right, you don’t get that kind of offer every day.”

  But we were still embarrassed. I wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but I looked out of the window instead.

  At least eighty cars were already parked at the gas station near the border of the South Lifna Hills. People were standing in small groups and talking, or buying coffee and snacks at the little convenience store, or using the washroom. The gas station was on an isolated strip of road; you couldn’t see any towns or cities in the distance, only neat, alternating ban
ds of green and taupe, and beyond them the indistinct mauve dunes of the desert. Near the station, scattered randomly as though abandoned or misplaced, were the usual mystifying objects, the exact nature of which no one could guess: some sort of steel tower; a cement cylinder; equipment and machines that appeared to have been designed for complicated engineering feats. I took a photograph of these unidentified bits of civilization; they captured the improvised feeling we all carried within us. We didn’t know where we were going and we wondered how we’d lasted this long on such flimsy foundations and muddled efforts. The myths we grew up on tried to compensate us, but myths were slippery by nature. In fact we were lost, walking on air, inside air, falling.

  The organizers handed out tape and flyers in three languages: messages of peace printed in bold letters on white sheets of paper. We taped them to our cars and then we taped numbers on our fenders. Rafi’s van was tenth. Then the organizers gave instructions, explained the mission. I didn’t listen carefully. The instructions didn’t vary much from activity to activity: no violence, no getting into arguments with army or police or anyone else we encountered. All interactions would be handled by trained negotiators. A lawyer spoke to the crowd; the cave dwellers’ hearing had been postponed, which meant their eviction was on hold. It was good news, she said, relatively speaking.

  I wandered away from the gathering and caught a glimpse of Ella leaning against her blue car and staring out into the distance. She was holding a cup of coffee in one hand and tentatively touching her cropped hair with the other. The sign taped to her car window read: Everyone has a right to a home. I took a photograph of her with my zoom lens; she looked as homeless as any cave dweller.

  We didn’t leave until two o’clock because one of the lawyers who was involved in the South Lifna trials had been held up in court; he’d been trying to stop the deportation of foreign activists. When he finally arrived, we returned to our cars and headed out across the invisible border between our country and the occupied territories. The landscape changed at once: green was replaced by gray and pale brown; there was no irrigation here. The hills on both sides of the road rose and fell gently, as in a child’s drawing of mountains. As we neared South Lifna, we saw distant figures watching our procession from the mountains, tiny people against the pearl blue afternoon sky. They were not allowed on the road; this was a restricted highway, built for the settlers, and it was off-limits to Palestinians. Despite the distance between us, we felt their gratitude; you could tell they were happy we’d come from the way they stood there, their bodies very still, as if they were afraid to break the spell of good luck that had brought us here.