by Adiva Geffen
None of the articles mentioned the cause of death, only that she had been brought unconscious to the Hadera hospital, where she was declared dead. Not a single word about suicide or jumping off a roof. Nor about who had brought her or where she had been buried.
I dug a little deeper and found the name of her manager. Danny Alray. I looked up his number and called.
“Danny-boy is not in the office. Can I help?” a secretary by the name of Yohi asked while chewing gum in my ear.
“When can I talk to him?”
“What about?”
“I’m doing some research for a movie about Avital Gal.”
“Movie? I haven’t heard anything about a movie. You need to talk to Danny, then,” Yohi became so scared she forgot to chew. “How come they’re making a movie without involving our office?”
“The family wants to commemorate her name.”
“Hold on,” she said. I knew she was calling Danny-boy.
She was back on the line a moment later. “He says you can’t do anything without checking with him first.”
“But I’ve got the family’s permission.”
“The family has nothing to do with it. He’s got a contract.”
“She’s dead. There aren’t any contracts with dead people, unless he’s—”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted me. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
“I just want to know where she—”
Slam. She hung up.
I called the hospital where Ehud was still in intensive care and tracked down Avner Surer, a tasty ophthalmologist who once gave me a thorough examination while his wife was vacationing in Holland. A few charming memories, along with some spine-tingling, sinful recollections. I asked him to dig up a few details about the journalist for me. He promised to try and find out from his colleagues when Ehud would be transferred from intensive care to a regular hospital ward, allowing me to finally pay him a visit. “So, you and he…?” he asked suggestively.
“Not really,” I reassured him. “I just need to check something with the guy.”
“Got it. By the way,” he whispered like a hoarse Berlin bartender, “Rina is going to Disney World with the kids for a few days.”
“I’m sure the kids are in for a treat.” I ignored his unspoken indecent proposal. With all I’d been going through, the last thing I needed was to start screwing around with a married man and hear all about his wife’s migraines. “I’m going out of town for a few hours, but I’ll be back toward evening. I’ll be waiting to hear back from you.”
“That’s it?” he asked, sounding very disappointed.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Get yourself a nice nurse and take her out for some sushi.”
He laughed and promised to find out everything for me. An adulterer, but a pretty decent guy.
◊◊◊
Once again, I was on my way to Yokneam. This time, Sammy was right behind me, whining and carrying on in the backseat. I was having fun already.
26
Sammy was wrapped in a red wool coat. God only knows where she’d found it, but it made her look like a crimson balloon. In her hair, she’d stuck a comb embedded with precious plastic diamonds.
“Is this what you think an investor looks like?”
“You said he’s the king of rum baba, darling,” she reminded me, “so we’ll give him the queen of all investors.”
When he saw us nearing, Ginger clenched his lips, trying hard not to laugh at Sammy’s outburst of creative fashion genius.
◊◊◊
As always, Sammy was right.
The moment Baba noticed us, he rushed over and gave us his best King of Rum Baba pose. One look at Sammy’s dreadful sunglasses and coat made it clear to him he was dealing with a major-league backer. He started to fuss and sing and dance, the only mention of my lost sister, Daria, came as an afterthought. He’d read about her death in the newspaper and was terribly sorry. He also tossed in a comment about her not really being my sister.
I ignored it. When caught lying, it’s best to acknowledge as little as possible.
Two minutes later, our table was covered with delicacies, piles of cream in every imaginable color, glazed chestnuts, and rum babas galore. Baba Joe continued fluttering about us while praising his pastries.
There was no trace of Rohik, the soft-hearted waitress. Instead, a young bespectacled man stood and stared at Sammy in bewilderment as she gobbled up commercial quantities of cream, dough, and sugar, not forgetting to roll her eyes with pleasure between bites. Baba also watched her carefully. Each rum baba that slid down Sammy’s gullet brought him closer to the light at the end of the Yokneam tunnel.
“Well?” he asked.
“Divine,” she declared and leaned back in her chair.
I took advantage of that sweet moment and asked Baba if he could tell me about Galia. He stared at me blankly.
“Come on, Baba, don’t you remember? Galia. The waitress who used to work for you.”
Baba shook his head slowly.
Sammy took the opportunity to make herself scarce. She pushed up from her miserable chair, apologized, and asked for restroom directions. Baba played the obsequious guide then returned to the table anxiously.
“She liked it, didn’t she?”
I nodded.
“You think there’s a chance that…?”
“Sure. Sammy has the instincts of a shark and pockets deep enough to make your rum babas a national sensation. Just so you know, she never makes a move without me.” I decided it was time to apply a little pressure. “Talk to me, Baba. Galia used to work here, didn’t she?”
“Two years. Who told you that?”
“Last time I was here, your waitress said something about a Galia who used to work for you and probably knew Daria.”
“Why are you asking about her?”
“Look, I really need to talk to her. I think she can help.”
“That girl is a little messed up, so let’s keep this between us.” He hesitated for a moment, then looked me in the eye and said, “Gali was like a daughter to me, until—”
“Gali?” I interrupted him.
“Yes, she changed her name, you know…”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
“Just so we’re clear, this stays between you and me,” Baba stressed.
“Of course.”
“To make a long story short, one day I come here and find there’s money missing from the cash register.”
“She stole from the tips?”
He snorted with contempt. “Tips? I’m talking about real money, lots of it. Gali was a shift manager. I trusted her like I trust my own kids.”
“What did you do?”
“I talked to her. She denied everything at first, screamed that I was just like everyone else, that I only thought about money. Then she admitted everything, cried a little, said people like me disturb the light. Me! Like it was my fault!”
“Was there something going on between you two?”
“God forbid! I loved her like a daughter. My wife and children loved her too. She didn’t have parents. It doesn’t matter; she was a part of our family. We spent holidays and weekends together. Friday dinners. We used to do everything together. Things turned bad only when she…” He went silent.
“When she…?” I urged him on with a smile.
“When she met that doctor and started going to his workshops. It flipped her out completely.”
“Was that why she quit working for you?”
Baba turned serious. “When she admitted to the theft, I asked her to return the money. She said she couldn’t. I asked her what she’d done with my money, and she said it all went to a good cause.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“She said she hadn’t taken a dime for herself. She even had the ner
ve to tell me I should be happy my money was being used to help a higher cause.
“Rohik used to meet her from time to time. I heard everything from her. She said Gali had moved to a house in the settlement. We haven’t heard from her since. Pity, she was a talented girl. She had the potential of managing one of the Baba Joe’s Cup of Joe branches I’m planning to open with your friend.”
“Where do you think the money went?”
“If you ask me…”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“These workshops…I heard they cost a fortune. People need to mortgage their own mothers to get in there.”
“You think she stole money for that?”
Baba shrugged.
“And after that she just vanished? You have any idea why?”
“About three years ago, a friend of hers died,” he said sadly.
“Anyone you knew?”
“Some famous model or actress. She wasn’t from around here. What I know from Rohik is that Gali took it real bad. One day she just took off without a trace.”
“You think she was scared of something?”
“Not from me, I never even considered going to the police,” he said apologetically. “But she didn’t even give us a chance to forgive her. We all missed her — me, my wife, the kids.”
“And you never tried to look for her?”
“I asked Rohik to convince her to talk to me. I would have helped her. But she just vanished into thin air. She’s no longer in that house of theirs either.”
“How do you know?”
“Because every now and then, girls who live there show up and ask me if I’ve seen her, if she’s called me, or if I know any of her friends. Maybe she stole something from them too.”
“Do you have any idea what goes on in that house?”
Baba just shrugged. “Should I get more rum babas?”
Sammy came back just in time and delighted Baba by devouring two more rum babas — one crowned with a strawberry, the other with a lemon slice. Then, from the depths of her purse, she pulled out a notebook that looked like a first grader’s.
“Now tell me all about your big ideas,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I have a dream that one day this entire nation will eat rum babas. I’m thinking about opening branches from north to south, including some in Tel Aviv.”
“You’re not thinking big enough, Baba.” Sammy scribbled in her notebook. “Tel Aviv? Think global. I’m thinking New York, Paris, London.”
Baba’s face turned three shades of red. “My thoughts exactly. Tel Aviv’s too small. So what’s next?”
“We need to prepare a business plan,” said Sammy. “What are we talking about here, just rum babas and coffee? More pastries? A bakery or a coffee shop? Square feet per branch, number of employees, costs, pricing, freezers, industrial equipment. What about soup? Dikla told me everyone here is talking about Joe’s soup of the day. Then we need to discuss the transportation of…” Sammy continued to chatter at Baba. He thirstily drank in her every word and took notes feverishly.
Before we left, he promised to work on a detailed business plan and call us as soon as it was ready so Sammy could present it to all her eager, rich business associates. We promised to try to find Galia and tell her he and his wife love and miss her and that everything had been forgotten and forgiven. They just wanted her to give them a call.
He walked us to the car, shook Ginger’s hand as if he were another potential investor, then asked Sammy if this was her first visit to Yokneam.
“Why?”
Baba turned to Ginger and said, “I suggest you take my guests to see Yokneam Mound. It’s an amazing place. Besides, you should see how this city is developing into a real metropolis.”
“We’re actually not in any hurry,” Sammy said, making Baba smile. “All right, Ginger, let’s take a tour of Yokneam. I haven’t been to Jezreel Valley since my fourth-grade school trip.”
◊◊◊
“Everything’s changed here,” I explained to her as the vehicle started climbing toward Upper Yokneam, passing neighborhoods built in the fifties.
“What’s different, Shoshkowitz?”
“There’s an expressway now, bringing Yokneam closer to the big city and attracting lots of young couples. It’s a great place to live. There’s work around here, a better quality of life. Take a deep breath and see for yourself.”
She snorted with contempt. Sammy was definitely a city mouse.
“Let’s start with Yokneam Mound, then, like Baba suggested,” said Ginger. “You can see the entire area from up there.” He took a hard left onto a dirt road. Sammy’s weight shifted to her bad knee and she drew a sharp breath. Ginger drove up the mound and stopped at the edge of a cliff.
Sammy limped out of the car, sat on a rock, and examined the area.
“It feels kind of spooky here,” she finally said. “Don’t you think?”
“The only thing I feel is the need to go to the bathroom.”
“Stop being such a child. Just look around you.”
“I’ll tell you something,” Ginger butted in. “I have secret intel I share only with my best friends. This is not just any old mound we’re standing on. This mound hides Israel’s greatest national treasure — missiles with nuclear warheads.”
“Aren’t they buried under the Bahá’í Gardens in Haifa?” I matched his secret intel with some of my own.
Ginger gave me a contemptuous look.
“You’re both just talking nonsense,” Sammy snapped. “Every idiot in this country has some secret intel he got from someone who knows someone who knows everything about our nuclear warheads. Yeah, right. Listen to me, Shoshkowitz, forget about your bladder and the missiles, focus and tell me what you see,” Sammy insisted.
“Green valley. Hills. What am I missing?”
“This place is just sizzling with mysticism and spirituality. Even the Templars settled here because of it. You can feel it in the air.”
“The Templars were goddamn Nazis.”
“Enough with the politics,” she scolded me. “Stop trying to be funny for one minute and listen. This place has a lot of history. Over there, on the Carmel Mountains, the prophet Elijah slaughtered the prophets of Baal then rushed to the valley to meet Ahab, the king of Israel. And right in front of us is Nazareth. You know, Jesus and all that. Look hard and you’ll see a small hill — Mount Tabor. Not only did it house the camp of the soldiers of Israelite general Barak Ben Avinoam, but it will also one day be the place where the Torah will be given to the people of Israel. You starting to feel the ghosts, Shoshkowitz?”
“Mount Tabor is also where Jesus got his promotion and turned into the son of God,” I added smugly. I know a few things too.
“Exactly. And who else became real close to the almighty? Who else, Shoshkowitz?”
“Moses.”
“Bingo. And Elijah, both of whom lived and breathed around this area. It’s not a coincidence, Shoshkowitz, it can’t be.” Then she shrieked excitedly and gave me a rib-cracking hug. “Shoshkowitz, this entire place is about history and prophecy, the past and the future, divinity and impurity. Here, in this great valley, the last war will take place, The Gog and Magog war.”
“Also known as Armageddon,” I mumbled.
“Exactly. Armageddon, a word originating from the name of Mount Megiddo. It is right here that the last war will take place, the Gog and Magog war, after which only true believers will remain alive. Do you get what I’m saying, Shoshkowitz, or do I need to send you back to fourth grade?”
“Do you know who Gog and Magog are?”
“A pair of Siamese twins not separated at birth?”
“Nice. Actually, it’s the name of King Gog from the land of Magog. He’s about to annihilate the word’s armies and give the sons of darkness a final b
low.”
For some reason, Sammy found that bit of information extremely amusing.
“What’s so funny? This is the apocalypse we’re talking about — only those who accept the yoke of heaven will survive.”
“What’s obvious is that here, in this great valley, the new world order will be determined. God, so much bullshit in one place! And it’s here of all places that they…” She froze as if she’d just seen Gog coming from the land of Magog.
“That they what?”
“This is where the prophetess Deborah and her army general, Barak Ben Avinoam operated. Remember, Shoshkowitz? The Book of Judges.” Sammy gathered up all her woes and extra weight and rose from the rock. Like a woman possessed, she screamed into the valley, “Until that I, Deborah, arose, that I arose a mother in Israel.”
“Arise, Barak, and lead thy captivity captive, thou son of Abinoam…”
Ginger watched, somber, when he heard us reciting from “The Song of Deborah.”
“Mount Tabor is where Barak and the prophetess Deborah embarked from. Spirit and matter, Deborah and Barak.” She stopped for a moment and gave me the look Columbus must have given his first Native American. “You remember the name of Barak’s older sister?”
I nodded. “And Deborah is the spirit…”
“That’s what I thought. The daughter of God, the great woman, the great spiritual leader. I have this itch right between my fingers. Shoshkowitz, I’m a genius. It’s not a coincidence that they’re here, got it? And the solar eclipse represents the greatest threat, the victory of the sons of darkness. It’s a prophecy of doom.”
“The delivery guy! I told you he wasn’t screaming that mantra for nothing.”
“Well, Shoshkowitz, looks like this has suddenly gotten very interesting. Enough rambling. It’s time we got home. We’ve got work to do.”
27
We dropped Sammy off at her house, grumbling about her knee as she limped away.
“Take me to the police,” I told Ginger.
“Why? What have you done this time?” Ginger had no sense of humor, but at least he could drive.
“I want to pick up my cell phone.”