by Nathan Ronen
The prime minister looked at him aslant, quietly saying, “The event of the Legion of Honor ceremony was not publicized because of considerations related to our coalition with the ultra-Orthodox.”
“How are those two things related?!” Cornfield shouted, banging loudly on the table.
“Maybe because the ceremony in France took place on the Sabbath, and maybe because everyone knows that Arik Bar-Nathan’s partner is a Christian German woman, which might enrage the ultra-Orthodox.”
“I can’t believe my own ears!” the Mossad director kept yelling. “Are you totally in the clutches of the ultra-Orthodox? Every day, you make me miss the true leadership of the late Lolik Kenan!”
Ehud Tzur could no longer bear such public humiliation. He was willing to accept constructive criticism in a one-on-one meeting, but the fact that Cornfield was repeatedly berating him at a public forum like the Security Cabinet was crossing every line, as far as he was concerned.
He rose from his seat, shouting, “There’s a limit to the amount of crap I’m willing to take from you. One more word and I’m kicking you out, your role as Mossad director ending here and now!”
“You do know that if it wasn’t for Arik Bar-Nathan, this whole Bakery operation would never have happened,” Cornfield said, his voice calmer.
Tzur waved his hand dismissively, which angered the Mossad director. He looked at him quietly, his gaze assessing all of the attendees in the conference room. “Sir, I didn’t ask to return to this role. You asked me to do it since you failed in your previous appointment with your pilot buddy.”
Tzur did not react, allowing Cornfield to continue.
“I know I’m going to be leaving office within a prescribed amount of time. Soon, I won’t be here anymore. I don’t have an agenda and I’m not asking for anything for myself. Mr. Prime Minister, I personally have nothing against you. You’re a very smart, well-educated man with positive energy. The only thing I’m interested in is the country’s future and its best interests. I’ve taken part in the most brutal wars we’ve had here. I’ve gone through some terrible days. I never doubted our future and our strength. During these years, under your leadership, I’m beginning to doubt the country’s future as a democratic country, and it’s killing me.”
Tzur pointed at the door with a furious expression. Cornfield rose, like a scolded child, and left the room. Tal Ronen, head of Caesarea, shuffled out in his wake.
“Good riddance to that pathological pain-in-the-ass,” Tzur grumbled behind Cornfield’s back, assessing the faces of the cabinet members around the table, seeking expressions of appreciation for his wit. But the ministers’ fake smiles came nowhere near what he was looking for.
The prime minister appraised the table, muttering, “I hope it’s clear to you that anything said here is subject to the laws regarding state secrets, and any leak from this table will be investigated by the Shin Bet!”18
* * *
17Golani is one of IDF’s five infantry brigades, traditionally associated with the Northern Command. It is one of the most highly decorated infantry brigades.
18The Shin Bet, also known as the Shabak, the General Security Service (Hebrew) or Israel Security Agency (English), is Israel’s internal security service, charged with defending Israel against terrorism and espionage.
Chapter 17
Postpartum Depression
Three days had gone by since Eva’s fall. At the beginning of the hospital’s morning shift, she was taken off the ventilator. The sedatives and painkillers were eliminated, and only a drip of fluids was still being infused into her veins.
She began to blink about three hours after being disconnected from the ventilator, and some time went by before she tried to open one eye and then the other, blinded by the bright neon lights. Arik sat across from her, observing the process apprehensively. He stroked her face gently and called her name.
Her eyelids began to flutter. Arik’s voice, calling to her, distant and echoing, found its way into a frenetic, senseless dream.
Her eyelids did not manage to open, as if the lashes were sticking to each other. The eyelashes fluttered like a butterfly’s wings, beginning to tear themselves open. Blinding sparks stabbed her eyeballs with needles of pain. She heard discordant, randomly paced electronic beeps, blending together.
At some point, she recognized him and gave him a small, tired smile. He was overjoyed. Her face was still swollen, and the remains of blue-yellow hematomas were spread out across the top part of her face, but her right eye socket was a lot less swollen.
“Hi, love,” he called to her, stroking her hand. “How do you feel?”
“I feel like I’ve been run over by a steamroller. I have a headache, I’m dizzy, but mostly, my whole nether region really hurts,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Eva’s hand reached out to the area above her groin. Her hand froze when she discovered that her belly was no longer swollen as before. Suddenly, she realized she could not feel the baby move. She closed her eyes, reaching a mistaken conclusion, an uncontrollable tear rolling down her cheek.
“No, no, no! Don’t worry, Eva, darling, our baby is just fine!” Arik whispered to her.
She looked at him in disbelief.
“I’ll bring her over in just a bit,” he told her, hoping she would be glad, but Eva did not react.
“What do you remember?” Arik asked.
“I just remember losing my balance and rolling down the stairs of that hotel … What day is it today?”
She was amazed to hear that more than three days had gone by since she fell, asking fearfully, “Where are Leo and my mother?”
“They went back to Heidelberg. Little kids aren’t allowed in here, and I asked your mother to go home so that Leo can return to the familiar environment he loves at his daycare center.”
“I want to pee, please help me up,” Eva asked in a weak voice and tried to cough to clear her throat, where the ventilator tube had been inserted.
“Oww!” she yelled out. A terrible wave of pain stabbed through her lower belly.
Eva tried to get up, but experienced severe nausea. She was overcome with dizziness and sat up in bed, leaning her head on his chest, her arms limp, with no strength to rise. She felt exhausted.
“The doctor said those are side effects of the sedatives,” Arik explained, gently stroking her back, “as well as all the contusions on your body. Your back hurts because you’ve been lying down for a while. Prof. Gensburger promised me that the dizziness and vertigo will pass soon.”
His eyes sought out an available member of the medical staff to ask whether Eva was allowed to get up, or whether she should urinate using an appropriate receptacle while in bed. But everyone was busy dealing with other patients.
“Help me up,” she asked.
“Maybe that’s not such a good idea?” Arik suggested, trying to dissuade her from standing up. But Eva wanted to be independent. It was an essential part of her.
He thrust two strong hands into her armpits. Grabbing her shoulder blades from behind, he hoisted her up gently and placed her on her feet. She cried out in pain. Her ribs and her arms ached. She tried to walk, but her body dropped like a rag doll hanging from a torn wire. Arik grabbed hold of her and stood behind her. She placed her feet on his, and together they hobbled slowly toward the bathroom. Arik sat her down on the toilet.
“Get out, I’ll be fine,” Eva requested wearily.
But he refused. “Eva, I’m staying here. Do what you need to do, don’t be self-conscious because of me.”
She had to put forth an immense effort. Occasionally, she let out sounds as if she wanted to throw up, but there was no food in her stomach. The contractions of her uterus and the C-section incision were very painful.
“I’m thirsty. Please bring me a glass of water.”
Arik helped her back into
bed, raising it into a half-seated position. He went out to look for a doctor and receive permission to give his wife water. The nurse on duty gave him a swab along with a bandage and a cup of sweetened tea in order to moisten Eva’s lips.”
“I feel dirty. My entire head itches horribly.” She grabbed hold of her hair, which was crusty and sticky with congealed blood. “Could you wash me?”
Arik called the nurse, who brought over a special plastic wheelchair that could be positioned in the shower. The three of them entered the shower enclosure. Arik helped Eva take off her clothes, bathed her gently with a special sponge, washed her hair with a medical shampoo brought over by the nurse and combed her pretty hair. He noticed the scar from a horizontal incision in her lower belly, and the nurse covered the stitches with Polydine ointment and changed the dressing.
The nurse handed him a large towel. Arik wiped off Eva’s body gently, dressed her in a green hospital gown, and they returned to her room. The doctor on duty, young and wearing glasses, asked Arik to stroll through the hospital corridors with Eva for a bit, for as long as her energy permitted, in order to ease the disorientation and dizziness. She took the lead, walking drunkenly while Arik held her waist from behind. Her expression was one of extreme sadness. She grew tired very quickly and asked to return to her bed.
“I suggest you go down to the Carrefour Market across from the hospital and bring your wife a few of those high-waist ‘granny panties,’ the kind that holds the belly in efficiently, and a few feminine items …” the young nurse said. It appeared as if Arik did not understand what she meant, and so she took out a notepad and wrote him a note in French.
“Buy medical soap, a breast pump, a large towel and washcloth, shampoo with conditioner, a hairbrush, a pack of heavy-duty pads, and toothpaste and a toothbrush, since I think you’ll already be discharged from the hospital tomorrow,” she said in broken English.
Arik looked at Eva, who seemed exhausted.
“Should I bring you our daughter?” he asked, hoping to encourage her.
She looked at him with a distant sort of gaze. “My boobs hurt. My breasts are exploding with milk. Ask them for a pump so I can reduce the pressure.”
“Why don’t I bring the little one and you can breastfeed her?” Arik suggested.
“With all the drugs I’ve been on, I’m not sure I can. I’m tired now and I want to sleep. Why don’t you bring the little one later?” Eva replied in a depleted voice.
Indeed, she fell asleep immediately, and Arik called her mother in Heidelberg to tell her the good news.
“Yes, Frau von Kesselring, the moment she wakes up, I’ll make sure the two of you can talk, I promise.”
When Eva woke up, she displayed a distant, detached expression, as if he were a stranger. She had withdrawn into herself and her body language, too, conveyed a turtle’s desire to hide inside its shell.
Arik called her mother, attempting to cheer Eva up. “Meine liebe, it’s your mother and our son Leo calling from Germany,” he handed her the phone.
She looked at him with distant, reticent eyes, as if disoriented in space or time, and refused to take the phone from him.
“I’m still tired. Maybe later,” she said, her tone polite and apologetic.
Arik looked at her in concern. They had a longtime couple’s radar. He was sensitive to Eva’s well-being and asked her in a low voice, “Are you okay?”
“No, not at all. I want to go home,” Eva began to whimper like a little girl, her weeping gradually increasing.
Arik was stunned and paralyzed. His hopeful expectation of an easy recovery shattered at that moment. He stammered an apology to Eva’s mother, who was still on the line, and quickly hung up.
Prof. Gensburger arrived. Arik told him about Eva’s pain and her distant behavior. He was asked to leave the room while the senior doctor stayed to talk to Eva.
About fifteen minutes later, he stepped out and invited Arik to his office.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but I believe Eva is suffering from a type of depression. I’ve invited a German-speaking psychiatrist who is doing his residency here to come see her in order to diagnose her condition.”
And indeed, several minutes later, Dr. Friedrich Wolf, a resident at the hospital, arrived and went in to talk to Eva.
About half an hour later, Dr. Wolf joined Prof. Gensburger and Arik in Gensburger’s office. He looked at Arik and explained, “Postpartum depression or melancholy is a natural sensation experienced by fifteen percent of new mothers. However, beyond this normal phenomenon, also called ‘the baby blues,’ there are circumstances where the sadness becomes longer, more prolonged, and sometimes even acute and severe, turning into clinical depression.”
“What am I supposed to do, then?” Arik asked.
“Be you, be her lightning rod, love her, and quietly take in anything that arrives, good or bad,” the psychiatrist explained. “Your wife has experienced very severe trauma. As an analogy, imagine that she’s riding an emotional roller-coaster, rising and falling, which might be expressed as an inability to fall asleep, excessive sleep, eating disorders (eating too much or too little), descending into sadness, and a feeling of anhedonia, which is an inability to feel pleasure, expressed in statements of low self-esteem, accompanied by bursts of crying and mental despair.”
“So, what should I do about the baby?” Arik asked, feeling helpless again. “Should I bring her so Eva can breastfeed her?”
“Don’t worry about the baby. We’re feeding her formula and she’s fine,” Dr. Wolf replied. “Let your wife bounce back at her own pace. Symptoms of postpartum depression might also be expressed as difficulties in taking care of the baby, displays of anger, and great agitation. A mother suffering from postpartum depression might have a hard time taking care of herself and of her baby, be frightened of staying alone with the baby for long periods of time and develop negative thoughts about the baby and herself. When those factors converge, the new mother’s feelings of emptiness and anger at herself increase, which intensifies anxiety or panic attacks.”
“I can’t understand this,” Arik said. “Eva was so looking forward to this girl and was so happy during her pregnancy.”
“Mr. Bar-Nathan,” Prof. Gensburger began.
Arik quickly corrected him. “Call me Arik, please.”
“Arik,” the professor said, his tone paternal, “birth is often a traumatic, painful, frightening, and stressful experience, creating circumstances of ongoing stress. We should also take into account that she has been coping with a lengthy, ongoing pregnancy and extreme hormonal fluctuations, which might lead to prolonged and incomprehensible outbursts of weeping. Add in the severe posttraumatic physical effects she’s suffering, including a concussion, a fracture in her eye socket, a broken arm, and cracked ribs. All these factors feed the fire that is postpartum depression.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Arik asked impatiently.
The psychiatrist said quietly, “The first thing is to get her out of here. A hospital isn’t a good place for rehabilitation. Take her to some quiet convalescent home, preferably in her natural environment, in which she can receive short-term, focused medication in order to stabilize her mood. She needs time and rest. Hire a nanny to take care of the girl, and when your wife is ready, she herself will ask to hold the baby. Because of the medication she received, she can’t breastfeed the baby. We’ll give her additional medication to dry up her milk. Don’t apply pressure her. She needs lots of patience and love from you.”
“How long?” Arik asked.
“There’s no textbook answer. As long as it takes,” was the answer.
Arik cast his eyes downward. The realization struck him like lightning. While, in the past, he had divided his time between a demanding job and his family, he knew and understood that at this particular time his place was with Eva. Other people would have to handle the Israel
i nation’s ongoing security issues. His beloved’s heartbreaking weeping, along with her desire to go home settled it once and for all.
Arik decided the time had come to take her to the scene of her childhood in Heidelberg, Germany, where she would feel most protected and safe, in the bosom of her family and her close friends.
He went out to the corridor and called his friend Hans Gerhard Kohl in Germany’s Federal Intelligence Service, the BND. In the last year, Kohl had been appointed as head of the agency, and was residing in Berlin. The two men had met and worked together, collaborating exceptionally well when Arik had headed the Mossad’s European bureau in Paris.
Hans did not answer his cell phone, but his voicemail invited Arik to leave a message.
“Hans, it’s Arik Bar-Nathan. I’m in Paris, and I need your urgent recommendation for a good private clinic in the Heidelberg area for my wife, Eva.”
Within minutes, he received a text message stating, “With the prime minister at a meeting. Atos Klinik Heidelberg. Phone no.: 49-622-1983-9200.”
“I’ll talk with the clinic director,” Dr. Wolf offered when Arik mentioned the Atos Klinik to him.
Arik decided he would book a private ambulance and drive Eva and the baby to her home in Germany, where she would be on her own turf. There, he would surround her with love along with little Leo and Eva’s family. And perhaps later on, she would also want to see her friends.
He only wanted to let Cornfield know that he was not returning to work for the time being and that he had no idea when or if he would be returning. But he decided he would wait and do it from Heidelberg.
Chapter 18
Atos Rehabilitation Center, Heidelberg