by Joan Hess
“Why don’t you tell him that you’re a spy, then ask him?” Theo suggested, increasing the pressure on the gas peddle until they were bouncing wildly down the middle of the road. A dark-skinned shepherd in the middle of several dozen goats gave them a cold look. The goats did not. Theo waved anyway.
“Watch it, Bloom! We’re going to end up in a ditch if you don’t slow down. Hey, I mean it!”
Theo did as requested, noting with some satisfaction that the feathers on the cowboy hat were now, as Dorrie would say, denuded. They arrived at the kibbutz without further conversation. Theo left Sitermann to examine his hat and returned the keys to the lobby. He then walked down the sidewalk to Miriam’s duplex.
She wasn’t home. It was absurd to feel quite so disappointed; she was, after all, an adult woman with responsibilities. Grumbling anyway, Theo went to the dining hall to search for her. The downstairs was empty, so he continued up the stairs. The lounge was empty. Feeling less and less like a brilliant detective, he turned to leave, but the sound of angry voices stopped him.
They were coming from Yussef’s office, muffled by the door but strident enough to be heard with clarity. Theo edged across the room to stand near the door and eavesdrop, judiciously telling himself that he was engaged in such lowly behavior for Miriam’s sake.
“You lying bastard!” Sarah was not happy.
“I would never lie to you, my dear,” Yussef whined. He wasn’t especially happy, either.
“Forget that! I know what you’re doing, and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else figures it out. You’re endangering the kibbutz, not to mention your family. When will it stop, Yussef?”
“You’re beginning to froth about the mouth, my dear. Why don’t you sit down so that we can discuss this without being heard in Jericho, or Toledo?” Yussef was still whining, but there was a cold edge to his voice. After a minute, he added, “Now that’s much better, isn’t it?”
“Go to hell. I’m leaving.”
Theo scurried across the room and down the stairs. He kept up his pace until he was a goodly distance from the dining hall, then sat down on a bench to catch his breath. The snippet of conversation between the Navas was very interesting. If only he could decide what it meant.
Loosening his tie and unbuttoning the jacket of his suit, Theo settled back to ponder the implications. Could Yussef be involved with the Sons of Light in some obscure way? Sarah was not the sort to be sympathetic to a politically extreme cause, and certainly would not be delighted to find out her husband was. He shook his head as he tried to place Yussef in the role. Too dangerous. Murder? Probably not. Yussef was more concerned with wooing Miriam with wine and flattery. Where was she?
Theo repositioned his necktie and rose before his thoughts could linger on Miriam. Out of the question. Foolish, unwarranted, and presumptuous. Again. Self-discipline affixed as tightly as his necktie, he went to the children’s house.
Judith was not conveniently situated in the playground. From the interior of the building he could hear the usual toddler battle, complete with squeals and thuds. Several women’s voices pleaded for detente, but none of them belonged to Judith. Unable to bring himself any closer to what promised disfigurement if not death, Theo went back to the guest rooms.
Where he found a tremulous Judith, sitting on the balcony outside his door. They went inside and sat down.
“Mr. Bloomer, I’d like to speak with you if it’s not too much trouble. It’s—it’s about that package that I carried in my suitcase for Hershel. I talked to Dorrie, and she told me about the explosives and the CIA. What will they do to us?”
“It remains to be seen,” he answered gravely. “Have you discussed it with Hershel?”
“He admitted that the package contained plasticine, an explosive. Hershel said he hated to have me carry it, but that tourists are never bothered coming into Israel. He was right about that. They just waved us through the gate. Hershel and Gideon were hung up in another line for almost an hour.”
“Did he explain how they had the money to buy the explosives from an arms dealer in the first place?” Theo tried for an expression of mild curiosity.
“No, only that Gideon bought it in Athens and ordered Hershel to trick me into transporting it. Hershel said that he felt totally miserable about deceiving me, especially when we were on the brink of love, but that he couldn’t dissuade Gideon. Gideon had the forcefulness of one of those evangelist preachers on television.”
“So Hershel agreed, albeit reluctantly, to lie to you. I suppose he showed you the pot, then went away to wrap it? That was not wise of you, Judith.”
“But I love him; I had to do it for him,” she said. She tugged on the end of her thick braid; hairs sprouted like cilia on a begonia stalk. “For the first time in my life I felt terribly romantic and daring. I wanted to do something dangerous to let him know how much I loved him.”
“I’m sure you did. The end result was rather grim, however.” He briefly described his journey to Hebron and the information he had gleaned for the price of sixteen cans of soda pop.
“Hershel told me about it,” she said in a low voice. “Ilana’s as crazy as Gideon was. Hershel says that every time she sees an Arab woman in a veil, she gets very puffed up about feminists’ rights and Third World mentalities. The whole thing was actually her fault, since she packed the explosives and left them too close to the wall. Hershel said that they agreed beforehand only to frighten the Arabs in the neighborhood so they’d stop bothering the Jews. He and Gideon were both upset about … what happened. We had a long talk so that I could assure him of his innate human worth.”
Theo tried to imagine Hershel in earnest conversation with Judith, or anyone else. Apparently he had poured out his heart to his future wife without regard to his co-conspirators or lifetime loyalties. Like Bermuda grass, love did move in mysterious ways. “So they did not actually intend to cause any deaths?”
“Of course not, it was an accident. Poor Hershel has had a difficult life, and now he’s found happiness. Please don’t let anything happen to him because of this, Mr. Bloomer. You’re the only one we can trust.”
Tears welled in her eyes, then crept through her eyelashes and streamed down her face like glistening snail tracks. Her hands remained clasped together in front of her and her eyes locked on his. If she continued to lean forward on the edge of her chair, she was apt to end on her knees in front of him in the classic supplicant’s pose. The idea was distressing.
“I’ll do my best,” he soberly assured her. “It’s impossible to determine what will happen in the bombing investigation, but the identity of the conspirators may be brought to the attention of the Israeli intelligence.” Delivered in person by Hopalong Cassidy. “It would be better for Hershel if he would come forward to confess.”
“But he can’t,” she wailed. “Children were murdered. Even though it was Gideon’s plan and Ilana’s misjudgment, Hershel could end up in prison for years. He said he wouldn’t ever tell the authorities about how the plasticine came into the country, but they might be able to make him talk. Ilana wouldn’t hesitate to offer our heads on a platter. Gili will probably decide that Dorrie and I murdered Gideon and Essie to hide our involvement. We’ll—we’ll end up in prison, too.”
“You have nothing to worry about, Judith. No one has mentioned any kind of motive in Essie’s death; I’m beginning to feel it was an accident after all. As for Gideon’s murder, Dorrie told me that you and Hershel were together all night, having a serious political discussion.”
She cut off a muted moan to blink owlishly through her glasses. “That’s right. It was intellectually enlightening. Hershel pointed out that not all work can be given equal importance, realistically, and the need for a balance of agriculture and industry has—”
“We can discuss that later, if you don’t mind. Since you and Hershel can provide each other with alibis, you shouldn’t worry about Gili.”
“Oh, we can,” she said gratefully. “I was
with Hershel the night that—that awful things happened, so neither of us is guilty of anything worse than being in a bedroom together before we get married. And we would never engage in—” She halted and gave him a prim look. “Well, you know. But what about Dorrie?”
“Gili doesn’t have a case against her. His accusations are based, I fear, on his desire to cause her as much inconvenience as possible, but he won’t be able to maintain it much longer. And although she was with you when you came through customs, she didn’t actually carry your suitcase or present a false declaration.”
Judith took a breath. “She had my suitcase because she insisted on putting forty pounds of shoes in it, and I refused to carry it. I carried her makeup bag for her. It weighed thirty pounds.”
“Oh, dear,” Theo sighed, glumly imagining Nadine’s face hovering inches above his head. “I think I’d better talk to Hershel about this, if you can persuade him to cooperate.”
“I’ll tell him as soon as I can, and thank you, Mr. Bloomer. I knew I could trust you.”
Theo escorted her out while she continued her babble of gratitude and her promise to produce Hershel. She did not kiss his hand, although she did glance at it once or twice. Theo closed the door and leaned against it. The wisest thing to do was drag Dorrie to the airport and leave. Let Gili try an extradition order. Let Judith go into battle with Goliath, since her David was on the frail side. Let Miriam mourn for her son in dignified solitude.
“Phooey,” Theo said to the bedroom.
18
“Your dossier ought to be on the best-seller list,” Sitermann said over dinner. “I stayed up half the night reading about you being blacklisted in Hollywood; McCarthy’s boys must have decided you kept communists under your bed like some people do chinchillas. ’Course chinchillas prefer cages and they aren’t red …” He chuckled at his wit, then stopped and added in an ostensibly sympathetic voice, “It was a shame about your wife, though. She just couldn’t take the ostracism from her friends, hey?”
“That’s correct,” Theo said calmly. He’d known Sitermann would contact his home office, or that of the FBI. The contents of his file were not difficult to predict. “My wife was vulnerable, and she cared very deeply about the people she thought were her dearest friends. She killed herself three months after the hearing.”
“Damned shame,” Sitermann said. “But there’s one little old pesky thing I’d like to ask, Bloom. I didn’t find anything about your so-called ‘intelligence work’ in the dossier. Are you sure you weren’t working for the bad guys?”
“Quite sure, but you’ll have to take my word for it. I have a question for you, if you don’t mind. Now that you know who bought the explosives and the intended use, do you have any idea who’s been funding the group? If I remember with any accuracy, plasticine is expensive, and the boys claimed they were broke.”
“Popadoupolis doesn’t run a discount supermarket, that’s for sure. He owns a private island and a yacht, and probably a harem. One of these days we’re going to have to do something about him. No, Bloom, I must admit that I hadn’t given much thought to the finances. What do you think?”
“I find it interesting.” He opted for a diversion. “What do you intend to do with your information about the bombing?”
Sitermann leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. “Well, it’s not for me to say. I sent off a report while I was in Hebron, and now I sit tight until the upstairs boys decide what to do. They may want me to report to the Mossad, or just slip away into the night like one of those desert critters.” Sitermann was once again a hardy Texan, although the accent came and went with the waitress.
“Lieutenant Gili might appreciate a glimpse of your report,” Theo said, both civic-minded and secure. Sitermann would not, under any circumstances, share his knowledge with an Israeli policeman. That would be too cooperative, and spies detested the very word.
“Sure, Bloom, I’ll consider it,” Sitermann said. “I think I’m going to go skinny-dip in the Dead Sea, put my manhood in the salt water and see what rises. You want to join me?”
“Thank you, but I think not. Dorrie’s been in her room all day, and I’d best see how she is. Have a nice swim.” Theo left the restaurant, but did not turn toward Dorrie’s room. Later would be soon enough. He went to Miriam’s duplex once again, feeling like a toy train on a circular track.
She opened the door almost immediately. “Theo, thank you so much for coming tonight. It’s been such a dreadful day, with Gili hounding me and everyone trying to be supportive, that I was about to take a bottle of wine to bed with me. The kibbutz would have been scandalized if I’d shown up with a hangover in the morning.”
They went into the living room. The furniture was slightly worn, but comfortable and inviting. The few knicknacks were of good quality, obvious souvenirs of an earlier time. Framed photographs lined the walls, most of them centered on a handsome, dark-haired man and a young boy. The houseplants in ceramic pots gave him a warm (and admittedly silly) glow.
“I have a night-blooming cereus that may produce a flower soon,” he told her, bending over a vine to pinch off a shriveled leaf. Too much water. “It’s taken nearly five years to develop a single bud, and I’m hoping it will wait for my return.”
“If it blooms while you’re here …?”
“Then I shall wait another five years.” He placed the leaf in the saucer of the flower pot. “Would you like me to open the wine and find some glasses?”
“Please,” Miriam said. “The bottle’s in the refrigerator and the glasses are above the sink. I should assume the role of hostess, but I’m just too tired.” While he was in the kitchen, she called, “You’re a patient man, Theo. Five years is a long time to wait for a flower; why not buy another plant?”
He returned, desired items in hand. “Why didn’t those of you who founded the kibbutz pay someone to do the initial drudgery?”
“Good point,” she sighed. She took the wineglass from him and drank deeply, then studied him across the rim. “I heard from my substitute at the registration desk that you rented a jeep from the kibbutz for the afternoon. Did you visit Massada?”
“I went to Hebron.”
“Oh.” A guarded expression spread across her face to encompass her mouth and ashen cheeks. “Did you tour Haram el-Khalil and the market? Some of my favorite glassware came from there.”
“Haram el-Khalil was impressive, but so was the building that was destroyed several nights ago by the Sons of Light. My guide was able to find a witness who was on the street just before the explosion occurred.”
Miriam put down the glass, ignoring the splash of wine on her hand. “What did the witness have to say, Theo—a bunch of anti-Jewish propaganda about terrorism without any justification whatsoever? It’s remarkable how quickly previous acts of terrorism against Jews can be forgotten. But, of course, if you give an Arab enough money, he’ll tell you anything you want to hear!”
“He described the jeep that was in the street the night before the bomb went off, and he also described the driver. It wasn’t anything I wanted to hear, but I listened.”
“And …?” The defensive pose evaporated with the single word. “The jeep was from Kibbutz Mishkan, wasn’t it?”
“But Gideon wasn’t driving,” he told her gently, wishing he were brave enough to put his arm around her shivering shoulders. “Ilana was the one who packed and placed the bomb next to the wall, Miriam. I’m afraid that Gideon was involved, and also Hershel, but neither of them went into the Arab neighborhood.”
She sank back, her forehead propped by her hand and her face hidden. “Are you saying that to make me feel better, Theo? If Ilana drove, then Gideon gave her the instructions. He’s hated the Arabs since his father was killed in the war, and he’s always talked of revenge, as violent as possible. I tried to help him learn to live with his grief, but he’s a sabra; I’m a transplanted American. He never believed I had a passion for Israel.”
“But he was wrong, w
asn’t he?”
“I care very deeply about the kibbutz, and I’d gladly give up my life to ensure its continued existence. Sy’s grave is near here, on the far side of the palm grove; Gideon’s will be there, too. That’s what I have left after living here thirty years—two graves and my husband’s name.” She gazed down at her hands.
Theo looked at her with compassion. She was calm, now, and lost in her thoughts. There was nothing he could say.
She broke the silence with a short laugh. “Do you know the Biblical story of Isaac and Abraham? God told Abraham to sacrifice his son, an innocent child, in order to prove his devotion. That’s the essential relationship we Jews have had with God for four thousand years. He still demands we defend his name, and we still obey, despite our incessant kvetching. All for this tiny land surrounded by Arabs who’d like nothing better than to drive us into the sea.” She shook her head as she stood up. “I’d better try to sleep now. Tomorrow I’ll have to make arrangements for the funeral. Thank you for coming, Theo.”
Theo joined her at the door, dismayed by her oppressive mood but unable to offer any encouragement. “Thank you for the wine,” he said with a small bow. Her response was inaudible.
As he walked back toward the guest house, he pondered the story of the sacrifice. As a Sunday-school student, he had preferred the melodrama of giants and slings, of lions’ dens and whale interiors, but he could remember the terrifying drawing of the bearded Abraham, knife poised above his head, and the cowering boy on a rock slab. He’d had nightmares for weeks afterward.
Dorrie came to her door in a bathrobe, her hair covered by a terry-cloth turban. “I washed my hair, but I haven’t begun on the conditioner yet. I’m seriously considering a mixture of the honey-and-herbs with the avocado this time, unless that sounds too insane. What do you think?”
“A fine experiment, Dorrie. The result will provide us all with useful data. Are you feeling well, my dear? I noticed that you did not come to the restaurant for any meals, and I was worried that you might be depressed.”