by Andrew Kane
“You too? What?”
“My parents are also survivors.”
“Survivors? Are you Jewish?”
She nodded. “Also a long story.”
He saw that she too would prefer not to go any further, at least not for now. “That’s okay. We did say one thing.”
“Yes. We did.”
The veal Marsala was served with roasted new potatoes and broccoli sautéed with mushrooms and garlic. Martin was impressed. The food was better than he’d anticipated and, after two glasses of wine, he stopped feeling the need to turn away from her whenever things grew intense.
After dinner, he helped her clear the table and do the dishes while they indulged in a pint of coffee Häagen-Dazs. They shared a single spoon, passing it back and forth, observing each other carefully, until she took an entire spoonful for herself.
“Where’s mine?” he protested.
“Here,” she said as she pulled him into a cold, silky sweet kiss.
He awakened a few hours later, bathed in sweat, jolted into consciousness by a dream he couldn’t recall. His heart racing, he wondered where he was until he felt her hand on his arm.
“Are you all right?” she asked, half-dazed.
He wiped his forehead with his hand. “Yes,” he responded hesitantly, suddenly realizing it was the middle of the night. “What time is it?” He turned to the night table and saw that it was 1:15. Earlier than he’d thought but later than he’d hoped.
“One-fifteen,” he announced as if it should mean something. He pulled the sheet off and sat up on the side of the bed. “I really should go.”
“Yes, I suppose you should.” Her disappointment was evident.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that…”
“I know,” she interjected, maneuvering herself up behind him. “You don’t want to have to explain to your little girl why you were out all night.” She wrapped her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder.
He was surprised to feel himself once again aroused. They had already made love twice, and now his body was telling him that he still wanted more. He was beginning to worry about this power she had.
She began kissing his ear. “Do you have to leave this minute?” she whispered.
“I suppose I could stay a while longer.”
He made love to her again, yet still it didn’t seem enough. Nothing could quite bring him to where he wanted to be. Trapped in his physicality, all he could do was follow his cravings. It was the only way he knew to join her, to become part of her. And when it was over, he was left once more with emptiness and the certainty that separating from her would grow ever more anguishing with time.
He dressed as she lay in bed, listening to the sound of her breathing. When he was finished, he looked at her. She lay naked on top of the sheets, facing him.
“I’ll call you later,” he said.
“Wait!” She got up, wrapped herself in the sheet, took his hand and led him to the front door. “A lady should see her visitors out.”
They reached the door. She put her hands on his face as the sheet dropped to the floor. They brought each other closer and fell into a long, hard kiss.
“Good night,” she said, turning the door latch.
“Yes, it was,” he replied.
He turned to leave, when a sudden unsettled feeling came upon him. He figured it was probably a reaction to the dream that had awakened him, though he still couldn’t recall its content. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw the bookcase in the living room, remembering that something about it had bothered him earlier, though he was still at a loss as to what. He wondered for a moment if the dream and the bookcase were somehow connected.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sure.” He hesitated. “Just tired.”
She looked at him with a curious expression, as if she didn’t quite believe him. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay then, talk to you later.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Later.”
They parted with an awkward embrace, reflective of the abrupt, inexplicable turn in his mood. And as he walked down the hallway, he wondered what exactly had happened – whether his mind was playing tricks on him for fear of a relationship, or if there was something else that he didn’t have a handle on. He was angry with himself; it was just like him to bring a lousy end to a perfect evening.
Once again, it became apparent that it was indeed time to consult his own shrink.
She closed the door behind him, confident that, despite her revelation, she had given away nothing that could compromise her. And yet, she still wondered what had bothered him. Could it have been something in the apartment, or something else that happened during the evening? She drew a blank.
Bewildered, she walked to her bedroom. Maybe a hot shower and a good night’s sleep would help her figure things out. Maybe Martin Rosen simply had an acute case of the jitters and was freaking out over the intensity of the evening. That might be it, she mused; after all, it made perfect sense. Especially to someone who was having a few unsettled feelings of her own.
She came into the bedroom, tossed the sheet back on the bed and stood naked for a moment, observing herself in the mirror. She was 29 years old, as fit as she’d ever been. She worked hard to look this way, to have something she could use to her advantage. She thought about some of the men she had been with, many of whom had nauseated her. But she always did whatever was needed to get the job done.
She took her fingers and gently ran them down her torso, from her shoulders to her thighs. The feeling excited her; she shivered and felt warm all at once. An image of the man she’d said good night to just a few minutes earlier entered her mind and her excitement grew. She tried to fight it, to see this as merely another mission, but this time she knew something was different. She was used to clarity, had thrived on it her entire life, and here she was, for the first time, leery. She turned from the mirror and walked to the bathroom.
She stepped into the shower; the warmth and pressure of the water felt soothing. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to thwart the strange wave of sadness that was slowly gaining ground. Disheartening thoughts raced through her mind, thoughts of the life she’d been leading all these years; questions about her future, what awaited her as she grew older and alone. Usually, she was able to ignore such notions, but this time they’d caught her off guard. She sensed something happening within, an uncertainty she’d never known.
She cursed herself for weakening, for succumbing to a silly, fleeting instinct to let go. But something about the man had seemed to grant her permission. She would have to be more careful; simply seduce him like all the others, get what she needed and be on her way. Yes, that was exactly what she would do.
Convincing herself of this, she swallowed hard and silenced any doubt that she would succeed.
chapter 21
Galit Stein was the only child of Nathan and Eva Stein, two Polish war refugees who had survived the Dachau concentration camp, having escaped the crematoria, and found a new life for themselves on kibbutz Kfar Giladi in the north of Israel. Nathan was 12 years old when he first set foot on the shores of what was then called Palestine; Eva was 10. Although each had spent at least two years in Dachau, they hadn’t met until after the liberation, in a Red Cross infirmary in Switzerland where they were nourished back to life. They had both lost their entire families, a commonality that drew them to each other and eventually rendered them inseparable. Within six months, Nathan was tall, muscular and restored to health with a resilience unusual even for the young and strong. Eva, however, remained frail and vulnerable.
Nathan had sworn to protect Eva, to stay by her side and never leave, but the Red Cross had other plans. Eva had distant cousins in London, and arrangements were made for her to be sent to live with them. Nathan had no one, but the “d
o-gooders” were exploring adoption possibilities in America. Their only chance of remaining together was with a man named Mordechai Katz, a representative of the Jewish Agency who was secretly recruiting refugees to be smuggled into Palestine.
At first, Katz had been hesitant; Nathan and Eva were on the young side for the Agency’s operation. Transit for Jews to Palestine was illegal and fraught with all kinds of danger, not the least of which was confinement in a British internment camp if apprehended. But Nathan’s determination knew no bounds, and Katz eventually came around to see that the boy was exactly what the Zionists needed.
They traveled on a boat with hundreds of refugees through the Mediterranean and, after several weeks of evading British cruisers, they finally came ashore one late-June evening in 1947 on a deserted beach called Nahariya. From there, they were taken to a small kibbutz near the northern border, shown to their quarters, and given food, baths, and cots to rest out what remained of the night. With daybreak, they were sent directly to the fields.
In the years that followed, their existence was challenged by the earth, disease and their Arab neighbors. The fighting never seemed to cease. But the kibbutz also had its joys, the sense of family, belonging, purpose. Midnight campfires, song and dance – anything to drown the despair.
Some left, seeking passage to America in hope of something better. But Nathan and Eva remained. Together, they were determined to make this place their home. Eight years after they had arrived, they were married.
Eva had healed some and had grown stronger in body and spirit. Yet still, on their wedding night, the first time Nathan came to her, she reacted with terror. He was soft with her, as he always had been, offering to leave their consummation for another time. She cried in his arms for hours, and then spoke of things she had never before revealed.
Her voice filled with shame, she recounted how it was that she had been able to stay alive in the concentration camp, how one guard in particular had singled her out for his pleasure. The first time it had happened, she was lying with her mother in a small bunk when the guard came for her. Her mother resisted, holding her tightly, but the guard decided to take her mother also. Outside the barracks, the guard pulled Eva from her mother’s grasp and shot her mother in the head. From that moment, there would be no more resistance.
Nathan stayed silent, holding her, wishing he could extinguish her agony. But all he could do was listen and understand. And understand he did. He had his own stories, though he would never bring himself to recount them.
In the weeks that followed, the young bride and groom slowly found their way with each other beneath the sheets. They had been lovers long before they had ever made love and, while their pleasure was inevitably marred by ghosts, they would remain lovers forever. They created their way, grew comfortable, and were at home together.
They lived for each other and for the family they hoped to make. Yet, despite their determination, nature defied them. After almost two years of trying to conceive a child, it became apparent that something was wrong.
The kibbutz doctor delivered the news with a morose expression on his usually spirited face. Eva’s internal organs had sustained permanent, irreparable damage from trauma. The doctor asked no questions, he had known Nathan and Eva since they had arrived, knew where they had been. The rest remained unspoken.
The following year, Nathan and Eva fought and survived yet another war against the Arabs, while many of their friends weren’t as fortunate. Whatever their travails, they chose to be thankful, to abide in their faith that God had kept them for a reason. They clung to each other yet again, finding joy in what they had, in simply being alive.
In 1967, the worst war of all came, at least for them and their neighbors. The Syrians hit the kibbutz hard. There were many casualties. Several women were widowed and many children orphaned.
The kibbutz continued to care for these children as it always had. It was an integral part of their structure that all children, regardless of family, be provided for by the community. There was no need for private adoptions or anything of the sort.
But Nathan and Eva had an idea of their own. It concerned the youngest of these children, an 8-month-old baby girl named Galit, whose mother had died during her delivery and whose father had just been killed on the northern front. The father had been a close friend of the Steins, and Eva had already developed a surrogate relationship with Galit since birth. For all intents and purposes, Eva was as close to a mother as Galit had ever had.
The kibbutz council agreed, for Galit’s sake, and because this was a fitting consolation for two of their finest. The adoption was legalized within a few months and the infant, whose name means “small wave” in Hebrew, became for Nathan and Eva a small wave of bliss in a largely wretched sea.
From her earliest years, Galit was well acquainted with strife. The kibbutz was only a few miles from the northern border and surprise attacks by enemy rockets were commonplace. Barely a month passed without a casualty. When she was 4 years old, a band of terrorists attacked her school and killed two of her friends. Galit’s injuries were superficial, and she was home from the infirmary by nightfall. That was the day the strife turned into hatred, the moment that Nathan and Eva Stein began teaching their daughter about good and evil.
The lesson crystallized in 1973, when the Syrians again attacked the kibbutz on Yom Kippur day. Galit, her parents, and most of the kibbutz members were caught off guard while praying in the synagogue. They were not religious, not in the traditional sense, but Yom Kippur was still a holy day to them. Until that year.
The destruction was unmatched, more than half the kibbutz was wiped out, and Nathan lost his right leg to a shrapnel wound. Galit and Eva were safe, but the trauma and desolation would forever haunt the young girl.
When Nathan Stein returned from the hospital, he was a different man. Aside from the loss of his leg, the attack on Yom Kippur had been too poignant a reminder of his childhood, when the Nazis, too, had attacked the Jews of his small Polish village and herded them away on the High Holidays. His strength now transformed into bitterness, he could no longer hold his tongue about the worst things he had known. He began to speak openly to his daughter of all that had happened. He became obsessed and believed it his duty to pass that obsession on to her.
In the beginning, Eva objected and admonished her husband. But soon Galit began asking about her adoption, why her parents were older than her friends’ parents, and why she had no brothers and sisters. Eva herself could no longer evade the truth.
In their divulgence, both Nathan and Eva found an unexpected sense of relief. The burden was no longer theirs alone, the suffering could be shared. For Nathan, there was no question about the self-serving nature of his actions. He had convinced himself that he was behaving in Galit’s best interest, for her betterment as a Jew and a human being. For Eva, there remained a conflict between the guilt she felt over tainting Galit and her belief that only the tainted survived.
By the time Galit was 10 years old, she understood more about life’s travails than most grown-ups. She also understood that there was little she could do to bring her parents true happiness. Her father’s every breath and action were imbued with venom, her mother’s sadness unending. And her own helplessness fostered within her the singular purpose to one day capture and smite the terrible demons who had wrought all this ruin.
Kibbutz life stressed discipline, fraternity, hard work and perseverance. Everyone was equal, no one special. But when Galit entered the military at 17, as all Israeli women, that changed. Aside from her obvious physical beauty and charm, which attracted the attention of her superiors, her uncanny ability to learn new languages and pass for a young woman of several nationalities made her an excellent candidate for certain foreign intelligence operations.
For her, the choice was simple. She could do an ordinary three-year stint in the army, like most of her peers, return to the kibbutz, f
ind a husband and raise a family, or she could at last pursue the dream for which she had longed. In this decision, and in every subsequent step she took, she became more the daughter of Nathan and Eva Stein than she could have been had she emanated from their own flesh.
chapter 22
Jacques Benoît wore his satisfaction in his smile. He couldn’t help himself, Martin figured. The news about the Gamatron/LMI merger was a day old, and no one who read the newspapers would have missed it. The stock had almost tripled in value.
“Good morning,” Martin said.
“Good morning to you, my dear doctor,” Benoît replied.
“You seem to be in an up mood.”
“Observant of you to notice.”
Not really. “An occupational hazard,” Martin replied.
“Ah.”
“To what should we attribute your jubilation?”
“Nothing much, just that the stock I told you about took a little jump yesterday.”
“So I saw.”
“You watched it?”
“I read the financial section every day.”
“Oh,” Benoît said.
“I’m glad you brought that up though. I think we probably need to talk more about it.”
“What more is there to say?”
“It’s important to our work together that you understand where I was coming from,” Martin said.
“I believe you made yourself perfectly clear. It would be unprofessional of you to confuse our relationship by accepting a favor from me, especially a possibly illegal favor.”
“Was it illegal?”
Benoît seemed to consider the question. “It’s a gray area. The information I received was just speculation, of course, but my sources are usually well placed. It goes on all the time – certain individuals have an advantage over others by getting more reliable and timely information.”