The Keeper

by George C. Chesbro

  “It’s good to see you, babe. God, how I’ve missed you!”

  “Are you all right, Mom?”

  Jade looked hard into her daughter’s face. “Yes. But are you all right? Is something wrong?”

  Fatima shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve never been happier, Mom.”

  The words hurt Jade deeply, but she took care not to let the pain show in either her voice or on her face as she pulled back slightly and caressed Fatima’s cheek. “Why are you here, babe? I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you, but you know it’s not safe for you to come home.”

  “You’re here.”

  “And I probably shouldn’t be. But I can take care of myself as long as I don’t have to worry about your safety. How did you get here?”

  “I took a taxi. I have to talk to you, Mom.”

  “Don’t those people have a phone in that place?”

  Fatima stiffened slightly. “That place is my home, Mother, and those people are my family.”

  Jade again felt a stab of pain in her heart, but this time she blamed herself. She knew that there was a whole host of resentments, known and unknown, inside her that she was going to have to learn to deal with if she was ever going to make her family whole again. “I’m sorry, babe,” she said, sitting down in a kitchen chair and taking Fatima’s hand. “Please. I don’t want to use this precious time to argue. What do you want to talk about that is so important you couldn’t use a phone?”

  Fatima averted her gaze, and Jade saw color rise in the girl’s high, sculpted cheekbones. “Mom … this is so hard for me. There’s no easy way for me to tell you this, so I’m just going to have to come out and say it. The Rebbe has asked me to marry him, and I’ve accepted. I feel like the luckiest woman on the face of the earth, and I’d like your blessing.”

  “Excuse me, Fatima,” Jade said evenly, rising from her chair. This time Fatima’s words had caused no hurt, only profound shock, and she did not want her daughter to see her start to tremble or erupt in rage. Thoroughly dumbfounded, she stared into Fatima’s face. She felt both numb and cold, as if she had been hit by a bullet that had missed her heart but passed through her spinal cord. “I’ll be right back.”

  She went into the living room and over to a small wet bar sep up in a corner. She stood at the bar with her hands on the marble top, watching them shake. She had an urge to laugh, but she knew that laughter was the one thing Fatima would never forgive. Her daughter was deadly serious.

  She took a tumbler from a glass shelf, put in a generous amount of ice from the bar’s small refrigerator, and then filled the tumbler with Scotch. Never in all of her years in the military, not even in the midst of her most prolonged and dangerous assignments, had she ever drank to relieve fear, tension or anxiety. But there was a first time for everything, she thought with a grim smile, and this occasion definitely called for a stiff drink. She drained off the glass, and then set it aside and once again held out her hands to examine them. They were steadier. There was a stinging sensation in the pit of her stomach and a sour taste in her mouth that she knew had nothing to do with the strong liquor. She refilled the tumbler, and then walked back into the kitchen.

  “You certainly are a bundle of surprises,” Jade continued in a casual tone as she sat back down at the table.

  Fatima went pale, and confusion swam in her eyes. “That’s not an appropriate response, Mom.”

  Jade sipped at her drink, then set it to one side before leaning forward on the table and staring hard into Fatima’s eyes. “You want an appropriate response, babe, I’ll give you one,” Jade said in a voice that was steady but soft, just above a whisper. “There’s no easy way for me to say this to you, so I guess I’ll just have to come out and say it. I’ve got no time for this latest insanity, Fatima. You’re fifteen years old, and Yunis Dockowicz must be at least thirty years older. That’s not appropriate. You want my blessing? For your engagement present, I’ll have the son-of-a-bitch arrested for sexual abuse of a minor.”

  Fatima recoiled as if Jade had struck her. “He’s never touched me!”

  “He’s fucking your mind, my dear,” Jade replied evenly, taking another sip of her drink as she coolly met her daughter’s shocked gaze. “Any man his age who’d even think of asking a fifteen-year-old girl to marry him has to be a real slimeball, and you’re crazy to even consider it. Sorry if my bluntness offends you, but what you just told me is such a brain fart that I don’t know how else to react. You want to marry a lecherous, middle-aged religious screwball and then presume to lecture me about what’s appropriate?”

  Fatima screwed her eyes shut and shook her head back and forth like a wounded animal. “You can’t possibly understand because you live in this world,” she said in a voice that quavered. She put her shaking hands to her face. “You have no faith. You don’t believe in God, but God does exist.”

  “And she talks to you.”

  “Very soon God will reveal that the Son is alive, with us here now on earth.”

  “In the person of Yunis Dockowicz.”

  “Yes!” Fatima shouted. Suddenly she took her hands away form her face and slapped her palms on the table. “Yes! The Rebbe is Mosiach, Mom!”

  “Calm down, Fatima. I’ve got a lot more reason to be upset than you do. Did your Rabbi tell you he was Mosiach?”

  Fatima took a deep, shuddering breath, then shook her head. “No. Not in so many words. But everyone knows it. It’s just about all anyone talks about. It just seems so natural, this knowing and talking about it to share the joy. Things are so different there.”

  “I can believe that,” Jade said dryly.

  “When I leave, like when I come here, it feels so strange. Maybe you think we’re crazy, but we’re not. You people here in the world are the crazy ones, because you close your hearts and minds to God. When I leave there, I feel like I’m visiting another planet.”

  Jade allowed herself a small sigh. Despite her casual tone and demeanor she still felt shocked and bewildered, but she no longer felt pain, anger, or even sadness. She felt like she was talking to an eccentric stranger, and she knew that her daughter had drifted very far away from her, coming ashore in a place where nothing she could do or say could touch her. There was nothing she could do but wait and hope. She would not condemn, but neither would she indulge.

  “You are living on another planet, Fatima,” Jade said quietly. “If Dockowicz himself believes he’s the Messiah, then he’s a candidate for admission to a mental hospital. I’d say you were too, but I don’t believe it’s true. There are a lot of people - Muslims, Christians, what-have-you - as well as Jews running around loose expecting a savior to drop out of the sky sometime next week. When the week passes with no Messiah, they say it will be the next week. You’re not psychotic, but this belief system that has your otherwise fine mind all twisted up most certainly is. Why don’t you take some time by yourself to seriously consider that? Talk to other rabbis and Jews who don’t live in Hebron Nablus. My prediction is that you won’t find a single Jew - Reform, Conservative, Orthodox or Hasidic - outside of that place who won’t scoff at the notion that Yunis Dockowicz is the Messiah. And they’ll be as shocked as I am to hear that he asked you to marry him, or that you’d consider it. What he’s got there in Hebron Nablus is a tiny fringe cult of fanatics, and you’ve plopped yourself right into the center of it. Be a Jew, Fatima, but don’t be a lunatic.”

  Fatima didn’t seem to be listening. Her face was again flushed, and her eyes shone with a fever glow. “The Rebbe himself will announce it soon, when the time is right. Then God’s kingdom on earth will be put in place. It will be wonderful for you too, Mom, because none of what’s happening to you now will matter. The people who tried to hurt us will be punished.”

  Jade’s sigh this time was even deeper. “I’m certainly relieved to hear that.”

  “You can be sarcastic all you want, but it’s still true. When the Mosiach is revealed miracles will happen. There’ll be no more war or killin
g, no more pain and hunger. Age differences between husbands and wives won’t matter, because we’ll all be like innocent children in the eyes of God.”

  “Ah. Now that is definitely something Dockowicz told you.”

  “Yes! But he didn’t have to tell me! I already knew! Mom, everybody else is so happy for me! They know it’s the will of God!”

  “Hold it, Fatima,” Jade said in a tone that had grown harsh as she abruptly held up a hand that silenced her daughter. “You listen to me very carefully now, because I’m going to give you the drill. Here and now it’s your mother’s will that counts, not God’s, and certainly not Yunis Dockowicz’s. You can marry anyone you damn well please once one of two things happen—either the Kingdom of God does arrive and everyone’s dancing around the planet making nice with each other, or you turn eighteen, whichever comes first. Until then you’re still a minor, and you’ll do as I say. Our agreement was that you could live in Hebron Nablus and go to their school in order to explore your Judaism and feed your faith. I don’t want you there any longer, but I’ll stick to our agreement because, frankly, I can’t think of any safer place to put you right now. But I don’t want to hear any more of this marry-the-Rebbe crap. You’d better make my position clear when you get back there, Fatima, or I’ll go to Hebron Nablus and do it myself. I don’t have time to deal with this any other way now, but I will deal with it eventually if I have to. What I’ll do if I think that horny creep is still hitting on you is, first, punch his lights out, and then I’ll yank you out of there so fast you’ll leave a vapor trail. Do I make myself clear, Fatima?”

  The girl’s face had grown ashen. “I’ll divorce you, Mom,” she said in a voice that cracked as she put a trembling hand to her face. “I swear I will. If you won’t give me permission to marry the Rebbe, I’ll go to court. I’ll tell the judge it’s impossible for you to supply the spiritual encouragement and nourishment I need. There are precedents; I’ve already looked into it.”

  Jade abruptly rose and stalked across the room to where a phone was mounted on the wall, snatched the receiver off the hook and dialed the local taxi company. She spoke curtly to the dispatcher, hung up and turned back to Fatima. “There’s a cab coming to pick you up and take you back home,” she said in a flat voice. “It’ll be here in a few minutes. The driver has been instructed to pull in the driveway and honk. Wait inside, with the door closed, until it gets here. It’s been a long, rotten day, and I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

  Jade waited until she was in her bedroom, with the door firmly shut, before she burst into tears. She threw herself onto the bed and buried her face in a pillow to muffle the sound of her sobbing.

  Chapter Twelve

  i

  From the moment Jade landed she could tell by the way she was treated that Shin Bet and Mossad knew she was in the country. Despite the fact that all of her covert missions had been in the Middle East, she had never, at least not to her knowledge, been in direct contact with an Israeli intelligence operative. But the information she’d gathered had undoubtedly been of considerable use to the Mossad, whether obtained through intelligence sharing with the United States or covertly through Mossad operatives who’d penetrated the Pentagon. The Mossad obviously knew who she was and what she had done; although she had not been working for them, they obviously appreciated the risks she had taken, and the Israeli intelligence services had their own way of showing it.

  At Ben Gurion Airport she was whisked through Passport Control and Customs with only a cursory examination of one suitcase, and everyone she dealt with—from the driver of the mysterious “courtesy limousine” that had been waiting for her at the airport to the staff at the outrageously expensive hotel where her reservation had been transferred and her bill pre-paid—was rigorously courteous, constantly expressing their desire and readiness to meet her every need.

  But neither Mossad nor Shin Bet could guarantee her success here; indeed, they would never even agree to talk to her, much less give her the information she needed. Everything depended on the good will and trust of the couple she had come to see, and all of the official Israeli courtesy in the world wouldn’t assure that they would agree to meet with her. She was not even certain that Abraham and Mabel Aden still lived in the same house, or were even still living in Israel.

  She was well aware that in the past her in-laws had resented and disliked her as much as her parents had resented and disliked Max. She’d had little to do with her husband’s parents during her marriage, and had had no contact at all with them since Max’s death. Now it was this man and woman who might hold the key to her survival, but she had not even tried to contact them to tell them she was coming for fear that her request to see them would be rejected out of hand. She was hoping that the fact that she was already in the country might give her a slight advantage.

  When Jade called the old number in her address book it was Abraham Aden who answered the phone. He was, of course, very surprised to hear from her, and even more surprised to hear that she was in the country and would like to meet with him and his wife at any time that was convenient for them. Although Abraham Aden’s tone seemed distant, if not cold, Jade was told that he and his wife would see her at their home, and she could come immediately if that suited her. Jade thanked him, and noted that her hand was trembling when she hung up the receiver.

  Her “courtesy limousine”, with its smiling but taciturn driver, was waiting for her when she came out of the hotel’s entrance. She was grateful for the convenience, for the car’s license plates and the sphinx-like man behind the wheel would guarantee her safe and quick passage through the various checkpoints they would have to pass on her journey from Tel Aviv to the Aden’s home on the West Bank.

  Throughout the fifty-five mile, ninety minute drive, Jade continually glanced back through the rear window. Traffic on some stretches of road was relatively light, and she was able to take note of most of the various cars that appeared and disappeared behind them. There did not seem to be anybody following them, but she could not be certain of this for accumulating dust and the sun’s glare made it impossible for her to keep track of all the cars and trucks.

  Despite the absence of evidence, she continued to feel the presence of someone following her. During her El Al flight she had surreptitiously scanned the faces of her fellow passengers, but had not seen anyone who looked familiar or acted suspicious. Getting into Israel on such short notice was not something everybody could do, which meant that anyone who had managed to follow her onto the plane probably carried an American or Israeli passport, might very well be Jewish, and did not have anything suspicious in his or her background.

  Yet still she felt the presence. It occurred to Jade that losing this person, if and when she wanted to, might prove more difficult than she had first thought.

  As her driver turned off the highway and headed down a rutted dirt road leading to the kibbutz where the Adens lived, Jade looked to the horizon on her left, knowing that she was now less than a mile from the site where her grandparents had been forcibly removed from their home and land to make room for a Jewish settlement. She was very conscious of the fact that she was on land over which Muslims and Jews had spilled blood for generations, but she felt no particular emotional stirring. She felt no special bond with the land the Arabs called Palestine, or, for that matter, with Arabs. What she felt most was American; she always felt more American when she traveled than when she was home.

  Both Abraham and Mabel Aden came out the front door of their home and stood on the small porch as Jade’s driver pulled into their narrow driveway. She could not tell from the expressions on the white-haired couple’s faces what her reception would be, but she was here at their invitation, and she took the fact that they had come out to greet her as a good sign. She got out of the car, walked up on the porch and held out her hand.

  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Aden,” Jade said, smiling. It struck her that both the man and woman had pale blue eyes, which she did not remember noticing befo
re. “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me.”

  The husband and wife exchanged glances, as if to see who would speak first. To Jade they appeared nervous, but not unfriendly. It was the woman who finally spoke. “What kind of talk is this, Jahli, agreeing to see you? Abraham and I are glad that you’ve come to visit. We’re happy to see you.”

  Jade felt a lump in her throat. She breathed a sigh of relief, and her smile grew even broader. “Thank you for those words, Mrs. Aden. I’m happy to see you. I’m just … sorry it took me so long to come here.”

  The man and woman again looked at each other, and now they seemed mildly embarrassed. Finally Abraham Aden cleared his throat as he pointed to the limousine and its driver, who sat impassively behind the wheel, staring straight ahead. “Government car and driver. Very fancy.”

  Jade shrugged. “Friends in high places whose faces I’ve never seen and whose names I don’t know.”

  “Come in, Jahli,” Mabel Aden said as she and her husband moved aside to allow Jade to enter the house through the door the man held open for her. “Welcome to our home.”

  Jade walked through the door, which opened directly into a small living room where the walls and several shelves were decorated with religious icons, framed photographs, and other personal memorabilia. There were numerous pictures of Max, but none that included her or their children.

  Jade eased herself into a faded, overstuffed armchair when Abraham Aden indicated she should sit. and he sat down on a threadbare, maroon sofa across from her. Mabel Aden excused herself and went into the kitchen, reappearing moments later with a tray holding a pot of steaming tea in a knit cozy, cups, and a small plate of cookies.

  “Thank you,” Jade said quietly, reaching out and touching the woman’s trembling hand.

  “Jahli,” the woman said in a slightly strained voice as she finished pouring the tea and straightened up, “there is something I must say for both Abraham and myself. Since Max died we have had plenty of time to think and to see things differently. The death of one’s only child brings many things into focus. We would like to apologize for the way we treated you. It was not right. We have so wanted to see you and the children. We should have been in touch, but … Abraham and I just didn’t know how.”