Asylum City
Page 9
He had to pull himself together and keep his nerves in check. Every little thing set him off. He was bickering with everyone. Yesterday he’d even lost it in court, virtually yelling at Judge Barak. Luckily, she didn’t make a big deal out of it, just declared a ten-minute recess to give him time to cool off.
Michal’s funeral was on the evening news. He knew he ought to be saddened by her death, but all he felt was anger. He was angry at her for filing a complaint against him and then getting herself murdered, angry at Aloni for making him take garbage illegal alien cases, angry at Regev for urging him to stick with them, angry at the whole pile of shit he was in.
He felt a small spark of optimism when he listened to Regev’s latest public tirade. The politician accused the migrants of murdering Michal, implying that the same fate was in store for anyone who had anything to do with them. Maybe he knows something I don’t, Yariv allowed himself to speculate. But that hope died as quickly as it hatched. He knew Regev too well. Blaming the migrants was just a knee-jerk reaction for him.
Inbar changed position in her sleep, throwing an arm over his chest. He flinched and moved farther away. The secret that lay between them was making him feel contempt for her. They were supposed to meet with a photographer yesterday, but he canceled at the last minute. He’d deliberately waited till the last minute. He couldn’t talk to photographers now. He knew she was disappointed, but she held her peace. Her silence aroused his contempt as well. Couldn’t she see that he was falling apart?
Throwing off the blanket, Yariv got out of bed. Outside, the rain was coming down hard. It was freezing cold, but he was sweating. On his way past the kitchen he saw the time on the microwave oven: 2:46 a.m.
He’d been calling Kobi several times a day. He had to talk to someone, and Kobi was the only one he could be open with. His friend knew the whole story, and their conversations were confidential. Yariv realized he was starting to get on Kobi’s nerves—he could hear it in his voice—but he couldn’t stop. He needed to hear him say that he had nothing to worry about, that the cops weren’t going to knock on his door any minute.
Yariv paced back and forth in the apartment, just like he did every night. Yesterday he read an article on the Internet about how the mind worked. It seemed the brain could protect itself by blocking out painful memories. They were simply erased. Maybe that’s what was going on with him. Maybe he couldn’t remember what happened that night because he killed her.
Chapter 21
ITAI was walking down one of the narrow streets in the Shapiro district adjacent to the old bus station. A group of teenagers were gathered on the sidewalk, smoking and talking loudly. Children were riding their bikes in the street. Two toddlers dressed in rags were playing on the curb. An old man was pawing through a trash can looking for plastic bottles he could redeem for a few agorot.
Itai climbed the stairs of a dilapidated building, making his way through the garbage strewn everywhere. The whole place reeked of urine. At least the cold weather had sent the cockroaches into hiding.
Drug dealers used to live here. The line of junkies waiting to score used to reach down the stairs and out the front door. The cops cleared them out, and the asylum seekers moved in. There were only a few Israelis left, those who were too poor to move, who were left behind and forgotten like always.
Itai knocked on one of the doors. Like all the other doors in the building, it bore a sign with a number, but it wasn’t the apartment number. It was the rent. Every now and then the landlord would show up, cross out the number, and replace it with a higher one. Several local rabbis had forbidden their congregants to lease apartments to migrants and the ban was having an impact. Rents were going up.
Why didn’t they understand that as long as there was no comprehensive solution to the problem, it was in their best interest not to make life any harder for the asylum seekers? When people have their backs to the wall, something’s going to explode, and you can expect a lot of casualties—to say nothing of the blow such behavior dealt to the basic values of Israeli society. It was a heavy price to pay.
Water dripped on Itai’s head from laundry thrown haphazardly over an improvised clothesline on the landing above.
He missed Michal. Their incessant arguments had caused him to regard her mainly as a thorn in his side. But now that she was gone, he realized how much help she had been to him, how much he had relied on her, how often he had sought her advice.
“Enough with those Africans already,” his mother shouted at him over the phone yesterday. “You’re driving your father and me crazy. What did we do to make you obsess over them?” Itai said good-bye and hung up.
He’d gotten an earful from Ronny, too. He told his friend to ask his wife to explain to Ayelet that he couldn’t take her out for the time being, not her or anyone else. “Asshole,” Ronny sputtered. “I don’t know how you did it, but she likes you. You need to get out there and have some fun, get laid. You still remember how to do it, don’t you?” He told Ronny he’d think about it, but he knew he wouldn’t. “Just wait. We’ve got reserve duty in a couple of months and I’ll be on your back night and day until you to understand how fucked up you are,” Ronny promised.
“IT’S Itai Fisher from OMA,” he called through the door when no one responded to his knock. A few months ago, Gabriel had overcome his embarrassment and agreed to show him where he lived.
The door was opened by a young woman wrapped in a woolen shawl. Itai vaguely remembered her face. He was hit by a wave of cigarette smoke mixed with the smell of frying and strong spices.
“I’m looking for Gabriel,” he said, retreating a few steps.
The woman gazed at him with hollow eyes and said nothing.
“Does he still live here?”
“I need medicine,” the woman said, coughing.
“Come to the office with me and I’ll see how we can help you,” he replied with a warm smile.
“There’s no food,” she went on. “No warm clothes.”
Itai stood there in silence. She was using a common tactic of asylum seekers. They made you feel guilty in order to get what they wanted, whether it was money, food, medicine, or help with the authorities. It worked very well on Michal, for one. He was more immune. As an Israeli, he already had enough things to feel guilty about, and the condition of the asylum seekers wasn’t one of them. We aren’t responsible for the situation in Africa, he reminded himself. They came into our homes as uninvited guests, trespassers. But now that they’re here, we owe it to them, and to ourselves, to treat them as humanely as possible. Guilt has nothing to do with it. Israel has no reason to feel guilty.
“Does Gabriel still live here?” he repeated.
“The children are hungry,” she said, gesturing behind her with her head and coughing again.
When Itai first started working at OMA, it infuriated him that on the rare occasions when he asked asylum seekers for something, they demanded something in return and almost never said “thank you” when you gave it to them. Meanwhile, he’d learned to keep his emotions in check, to maintain his distance. He’d come to understand that the weak need to manipulate others in order to survive. You couldn’t judge a hungry person by the same standards as someone who had plenty to eat. Whether he liked these people or not, he helped them because they needed his help. And that gave him satisfaction. “You do whatever has to be done,” he remembered his German grandmother saying. Unlike her daughter-in-law, she never complained.
He took a fifty-shekel note from his wallet and handed it to the woman.
“Gabriel left,” she said, as the bill quickly disappeared into the folds of her dress.
“Do you know where he went?”
“Nobody knows. One day he just left. The police came here looking for him.”
“Why?” Itai asked, his body tensing.
The woman didn’t reply.
“Why? Why were the police looking for Gabriel?”
“They said he murdered an Israeli woman.”
Chapter 22
WHEN Yariv learned that Galit Lavie was the prosecutor assigned to Michal’s murder, he nearly gave up on the attempt to find out if the cops were on to him. Galit was known for her keen instincts and unbending integrity. It goes without saying that he couldn’t stand her, and she didn’t give the impression of being overly fond of him, either.
The gag order on the case made him even more irritable. He was constantly fighting with Inbar, mainly over the wedding plans and all the money she was spending.
Despite his qualms, he strolled casually by Galit’s office and stuck his head in. She wasn’t there. Her intern, Zohar, told him she’d left early. Yariv realized he’d stumbled on a golden opportunity. He didn’t usually show much interest in the interns, but this one could be useful. One glance at Zohar with her dyed blond hair, manicured nails, and low-cut blouse told him she was on the prowl. He started talking about his single friends who were dying for a “serious relationship.” Her eyes lit up immediately. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d tell him everything he needed to know.
It wasn’t long before Zohar had revealed that the cops were looking for an African migrant with a scar on his face. Michal Poleg’s neighbor saw him do it. The investigation was being led by the lady cop Yariv had seen on TV, Anat Nachmias. They hadn’t gotten anywhere yet. The migrant was still in the wind.
Yariv felt a huge sense of relief. It was one of her Africans, that’s all. Michal was killed by one of the black guys she was so bewitched by.
He wasn’t guilty of anything. He didn’t kill her. How could he even entertain such a thought? He wasn’t a violent man. It was ridiculous to think he could be a murderer. What a relief!
Now he only needed to find out what Aloni wanted from him. He’d be meeting with him soon. Maybe he should talk to Regev first, just to give himself added insurance? He’d gotten a very flattering e-mail from him yesterday after his case ended with the deportation of another illegal.
Things were finally falling into place. In two months he’d be married, Regev had his back, and his whole life was ahead of him. All that was missing was for Nachmias to find the black guy.
Chapter 23
GABRIEL hurried to the alley behind the computer store where he had arranged to meet Arami. Everyone he passed seemed to look at him suspiciously, as if they could tell he was on the run. It was the same here as back home in Eritrea: the police were everywhere, spying on you, sniffing around, shadowing you. They probably had a thousand eyes and ears reporting anything unusual, scouting for the man with the scar on his face.
The last time he’d escaped by the skin of his teeth. Someone called out to the policeman in the park, distracting his attention. He released his grip on Gabriel without ever taking a good look at him. Otherwise, he’d be in prison now. He had to leave Levinsky Park. He couldn’t go home and he couldn’t go to the restaurant. No place was safe anymore.
Gabriel didn’t speak to anyone but Arami. He couldn’t trust anybody else. There were bad people around, people whose heads were messed up by what they saw in Africa or what happened to them in Sinai. Gabriel had also seen horrible things and been through hell and back, but he didn’t let it change him or make him forget what he’d learned at home. His parents had taught him to be a good person. But there were a lot of people here who weren’t like him. They no longer had a conscience or any scruples. Hunger didn’t help, either. Nor did alcohol.
Itai kept calling, but Gabriel didn’t answer. He was too scared and too ashamed. The shame got worse as the hours passed. Yesterday he left the little park he’d moved to and went to an Internet café where he finally made contact with his uncle in Spain. He told him he needed money to ransom Liddie, that if he didn’t have twenty-five thousand shekels in four days, they’d kill her. His uncle had been living in Barcelona for ten years. He had a good job working as a gardener for the city. Tears fell from Gabriel’s eyes when he recounted how he heard Liddie screaming and coughing. His uncle promised to send him around ten thousand shekels. That’s all he had.
Tomorrow or the next day his uncle would let him know where he could pick up the money. He was going to give it to someone in Spain who knew someone in Israel. That was the only way for them to transfer money. If he was lucky, in the end Gabriel might get eighty-five hundred shekels after everyone in the chain took their cut. He had thirty-six hundred of his own that he’d managed to save, and Arami had promised to give him another two thousand. Altogether, he’d have about fourteen thousand one hundred. Where would he get the rest?
Gabriel walked quickly, keeping his head down. It was best not to make eye contact with anybody.
A noisy group of Eritrean boys his age were coming toward him. He moved aside, hoping to avoid them.
“Hey, where d’ya think you’re goin’?” one of them demanded, blocking his path. He was a head taller and twice as wide as Gabriel, and he reeked of alcohol.
“Nowhere, excuse me,” Gabriel said quietly, trying to get out of his way.
“I asked you a question.” The young man grabbed his arm, pinning him in place.
“Please, I’m late for work,” Gabriel implored, raising his head.
Their eyes met for a split second. Realizing his mistake, Gabriel immediately looked down at the ground again. But it was too late. He could tell the boy knew who he was, that he’d recognized him. He’d seen it in his eyes.
Alarm bells were ringing wildly in Gabriel’s head. He had to move fast. He managed to free himself from the boy’s grasp and started running.
“He’s the guy they’re looking for, the guy who murdered the Israeli. Grab him,” he heard the troublemaker shout to his friends.
Gabriel kept running. He had no idea where he was going, but he had to get away.
“Stop!” The running footsteps behind him were drawing closer.
A passerby tried to intercept him, but he managed to evade him. He was running as fast as he could. He couldn’t get caught. Not now. He needed every minute of the few days he had left to free Liddie. He had to get off the main street. If he stuck to the back alleys, he might be able to escape.
At the first chance he got, Gabriel turned right into a narrow alley. Children were jumping on a tattered mattress in the middle of the street. He veered around them and then around a group of women arguing in raised voices. A man sitting next to a drum of burning coals followed him with his eyes.
Gabriel was gasping for breath, but he couldn’t stop. He had to keep running. Liddie’s life depended on it. He looked behind him. Two of the Eritrean boys were still chasing him.
He turned into another alley, and then another. A garbage truck was blocking the end of the street. Gabriel leaped over a pile of garbage and squeezed past the cans, ignoring the curses flung at him by the sanitation workers.
He twisted his head around again. He’d put more distance between himself and his pursuers. He might just make it, he thought, turning into another alley and finding himself in front of a concrete wall. Gabriel stood there panting. He was dripping with sweat. It was the end of the line for him. He was trapped.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel saw an old man with a cane entering the building on the corner. Maybe he still had a chance. He raced over and slipped inside before the old man could close the door behind him.
The room was large and bright, filled with rows of wooden chairs. At the far end was a small platform and on it a table covered in a white cloth. The odor of floor polish hung in the air.
They were all alone, just he and the old man, surrounded by silence. The room made Gabriel’s head spin. It took him a while to get his bearings. It was as if he had stumbled on an oasis in the middle of the desert. It was so different from everything around it, so pure and clean. A thrill went through him when he realized where he was. H
e hadn’t been in a church since his father was killed several years ago. He couldn’t stand to hear the voice of another preacher, to see someone else standing where his father should be.
He looked around for a cross or a statue of Christ. There weren’t any. It wasn’t the kind of church he was familiar with. Instead of the figures of Christ he expected to see, there were only Jewish symbols.
Gabriel looked at the old man. His cane was on the floor and his hands were raised in the air. “No money, no money,” he kept repeating. Gabriel stared at him in dismay, not knowing how to respond. He’d never seen an Israeli look so terrified. This one was wearing a hat. Michal once told him the Orthodox Jews were the worst, that he had to keep away from them. Itai said that was nonsense; there were good ones and bad ones and she shouldn’t generalize. As usual, Michal insisted she was right. It was the Orthodox Jews who forbade renting apartments to migrants, she shouted at Itai, and they were the ones behind the smear campaign. Besides, the Minister of the Interior was Orthodox.
The old man with his hands raised didn’t look frightening at all. On the contrary. Gabriel’s heart was moved by his defenselessness. He wanted to reassure him, but he didn’t know how.
“Okay, okay,” he said with a smile. The old man didn’t move. Gabriel did the only thing he could think of. Crossing himself, he genuflected toward the altar.
Stunned, the man dropped his arms. They were standing there side by side in silence when they were startled by loud knocking on the door. Someone called out in Hebrew. The old man gestured for Gabriel to follow him. As he led him into a side room, they heard the front door open, followed by the thud of heavy footsteps.
Chapter 24
WHEN he left the women’s shelter, Itai decided to make his way back to OMA on foot. He needed time to clear his head. He dealt with hardship and human distress on a daily basis, but no one he encountered was more wretched than the women in the shelter. Crammed into a tiny apartment, they slept side by side on filthy mattresses on the floor, surrounded by battered toys, broken strollers, and charred pots. The rooms stank of unwashed bodies.