by Connor Black
“He loved children,” Anat said after a moment. “He and Ella wanted at least two of their own.” As two soldiers raised the stretcher, she reached out and touched her partner. “I am going to go back with him.”
We all nodded, understanding that Uri should be accompanied by his partner.
After they’d left, we surveyed the room.
“They were going to bring the kids in here, weren’t they?” Haley asked, seeing the arrangement of rugs and chairs, all designed to face the table where the device had been. “A school assembly where they were all to come in and simply die.”
I nodded somberly and walked to the window. Picking up a piece of the curved metal I’d seen thrown inside by one of the militants, I said, “Have a look at this.”
Both Haley and Joe immediately noticed the Hebrew stenciled on some of the scraps.
“Jesus, they wanted this to look like the IDF dropped the device. That this was their doing,” said Joe.
“Pictures of dead schoolchildren next to fragments of Israeli shells. It would have crushed any chance of peace here for decades.”
“Who does this? Who kills their own children?” Haley asked.
None of us replied. We all knew that the idea of human shields, of sacrificing adults and children alike, was seen as a tool, a tactic. One tragically used by desperate extremists around the world. We couldn’t stop them all.
Just this one.
But one nonetheless.
Part III
Auckland
11
After Uri Novgorod had been laid to rest, Anat asked to come with me back to New Zealand to do the things that Uri had always wanted to do. We sailed the Auckland Harbor, hiked the Milford Track, bungeed the Kawarau Bridge, and walked the Franz Joseph Glacier. But we also took the time to stop and soak it all in, strolling the peaceful beaches of the North Island’s east coast and lounging in the long grasses of the Far North.
When she was curious, I told her stories of the Maori, the land, and the sea. When she was quiet, I let her have the space to grieve. And when she wanted to talk, I simply listened.
He’d been her partner. Her brother. They’d had a bond of unconditional trust that I understood all too well, as it was the same connection Joe, Haley and I had. Coming to New Zealand, doing all the things Uri had talked about, was her way of writing a final chapter. Of putting him to rest.
We’d eventually come back to Auckland, to my home on Cheltenham Beach. She loved the old villa and the stories of my grandparents that lived in every creaky floorboard. Sitting on the deck a few steps above the beach as the shadows lengthened, we finished the snapper caught earlier in the day.
After eating in near silence, Anat set down her plate and said, “That was perfect, Jackson. Everything.”
She stared out over the water, across to Rangitoto Island. She was still and at ease, and I knew she meant more than just dinner. I reached out and placed my hand on hers. She looked me in the eyes and then rested her head on my shoulder.
Nothing more needed to be said.
The next morning, I woke to find her side of the bed empty, the house still and silent. Coming back to New Zealand, to this old home, had always been my way to reset. To recharge and prepare for whatever was next. It seemed the visit here had done the same for Anat.
I suppose I should have been sad. But instead, I found myself feeling rather peaceful. There was serenity in the fact that we’d enjoyed one another’s company, and in that enjoyment, she’d healed enough to carry on.
I pulled myself out of bed and went to the window, opening the curtains to find the calm sea glistening in the bright morning light. The pōhutukawas on Rangitoto were soaking in the sun, and the island radiated beautiful emerald green. A few clouds, light and tiny as cotton balls, hovered above, taking their time across the sky.
In front of the window is a single chair and table. It’s where my grandfather would sit in the mornings. He’d open the window and, watching the sea—it’s movement, colors, smells, and sounds—could tell you what the weather would be for the day with surprising accuracy.
I sat down there myself, and noticed my bronze IWC was resting on the table. Anat had worn the watch since taking it in Tel Aviv. She’d mocked its thickness and weight so often that it had become a bit of a joke between us.
It seemed that weight had now been lifted.
I picked it up and saw a necklace beneath. It was the delicate gold chain and star of David she wore. I held it up, and let it twist and sparkle in the sun as a new day began.
Author’s Note
Over the course of several visits to Tel Aviv, I found myself constantly walking the streets after work. I’d take in the sounds, smells, sights, and tastes. And much to the annoyance of my Israeli colleagues, my questions about local people, food, religions, and history were endless. I sincerely appreciate all of the stories they were kind enough to share.
Thanks for reading Poison Wind, and I hope you enjoyed Jackson’s latest adventure. Self-published authors sincerely appreciate the support of readers like you. In fact, we rely solely on your reviews and recommendations. So if you enjoyed the story and have a minute to spare, please leave a review on Amazon or share a link on Facebook. And if you do, send an email to [email protected] so that I can thank you personally.
Kia kaha.
About the Author
Connor Black is a UX design consultant in California. He lives with his wife, a New Zealander, and their two sons, who are dual citizens much like Jackson Chase.
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@ConnorBlackBks
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Also by Connor Black
Exposure - Jackson Chase Novella No. 1
Troubleshooters - Jackson Chase Novella No. 2