No Medals Today

by Shlomi Tal

“Are you a passenger, sir?” Mr. Assis asks Yechiel.

  “No, sir. I am here to meet him on behalf of the Foreign Ministry.”

  “In other words, you have to exit through the visitor’s gate, and you cannot go through customs.”

  “I know that, sir. It’s not my first time here, and I have no intention of going anywhere I am not permitted to go.”

  “Well then, gentlemen, there’s been a change today.” Mr. Assis suddenly smiles from ear to ear, the threatening expression gone now from his face. “Both of you, take these carts through green and go in peace. I will follow you and signal to the customs officers not to examine your luggage.” As he straightens up, he adds, “Please wish the wounded a speedy recovery on my behalf.” We hadn’t expected such a generous gesture, and we rush out as instructed. I help Yechiel load the seven bags into his car. He will get the packages to the various recipients, who are all employees of the Foreign Ministry and security forces.

  Now everything is tangible. Suddenly, I feel an intense longing for Tzipi. I want to hug her naked body close to mine, to escape into her embrace and unite with her. Is it an escape from reality or genuine love? Maybe it’s both. But before that, I must return to the reality of my parents’ home. The way my parents are coping with my brother’s injury elicits my highest admiration. They are consoled by the fact that their other two sons, my brother Danny and I, are serving in “safer” places.

  ***

  That night, in bed, Tzipi and I lie embraced, our passion spent. The desire that burned in us brought us both to such heights of ecstasy that Tzipi had to smother her moans in a pillow to keep from awakening her parents, who are sleeping in the adjacent room. I lie on my back with Tzipi in my arms. At last I can think clearly. Meeting Tzipi’s parents was most difficult for me. We all wept bitterly. Now, I feel relaxed, Tzipi in my arms, a wondrous calm descending on me. This morning I woke up in Paris. It seems so far away now—it feels like a week ago. Now it’s time to sleep a little.

  “How is Yehudah? I understand you visited him,” Tzipi says, disturbing the calm with her quiet voice and bringing me back to reality.

  “Yes, I went there with Mother, but they wouldn’t let me wake him up. I saw him sleeping in the bed. He looked like a small child, with a serene expression on his face, as if he hasn’t been injured at all. Who knows how he will look when his recuperation is over? Tomorrow we will visit him again. Do you want to join us?”

  “Yes, of course. What’s Yehudah’s condition? I almost never get to talk to your mother. She was here with your father virtually every day during the seven days of mourning, but she mostly played with the grandchildren. Afterward, she called a lot, and also took the children once for a day and a half. When she visited us, I thought that she had suddenly aged. She seems so disconnected from reality—it is as if she is caught up in a nightmare that she is waiting to be woken from. When I phoned her, she kept the conversation short, as if I was disturbing her. Or, perhaps she didn’t want to bother me.”

  “I will answer your points one by one, Tzipileh. Yehudah is healing slowly. When I was at the hospital yesterday, I heard that he will be moved to rehab in about two weeks’ time. You know my mother; she had thought that her difficult days were over and that she had reached her time of peace and quiet with three children and two grandchildren, only to have it disrupted and overthrown by the war. She sees so many people around her grieving—maybe she feels guilty that Danny and I are not at the front. It may be that memories of the Second World War and the War of Independence also haunt her. I hope you weren’t offended by her.”

  I stroke her head, playing with the long hair that hangs below her shoulders. From time to time, I plant a kiss on her head, enjoying the unique fragrance of her hair. I feel serene in a way that I haven’t felt in a very long time. I’m home in Israel, Tzipi is in my arms, the children are asleep in the room next door. What more can a man ask for? I feel great that I can disconnect myself from reality, even if only momentarily. Tomorrow I will return to the war. Now, I am in nirvana. It’s wonderful to know that I can exist in the here and now without being dragged into the past or trying to predict the future.

  After a few minutes of silence, when I have almost fallen asleep with a smile on my lips, Tzipi suddenly says, “And Chantal?”

  At first, I think I’m dreaming. Gradually, it sinks in that the question is from Tzipi and not part of a dream. In a quiet voice, as calmly as I can, I ask, “What about Chantal?”

  “Are you planning to move out and live with her?”

  “Who told you such rubbish? Where did you hear the name Chantal?”

  “You’re not answering such a very simple question,” she says calmly. She sounds as if she is enjoying grabbing me by the balls and squeezing hard! “I know the woman exists; I want to know what I have to do now. I’m asking because I want to know what is going to happen to my children and me.” I notice that she says “my children” and not “our children,” as if I have no say in the matter. “I can’t be more explicit than that, so please answer me directly and candidly.” I am very familiar with that calm, quiet voice that seems to flow directly out of her sharp nails and not her mouth.

  Tzipi is still lying in my arms. I caress her head gently, take a deep breath, and exhale slowly. I try to embrace her, but she recoils, raising herself to lie on her stomach, supported by her elbows. She leans her head on the palms of her hands. Her gorgeous breasts are revealed in all their splendor. To gain time, I use the best method I know. I say, “I need to pee. I’ll be back at once.” I get up quickly.

  Tzipi turns over on her back and pulls the sheet up over her breasts. “Are you trying to use your tired old trick? Answer me before you go to make up a story to bluff me with.” I don’t earn even three minutes for thought with my ploy.

  I turn around to her, naked. Not a single lamp is on, but there is enough light from outside to see her clearly. Her gaze is fixed on my eyes, and she’s tense. I have no escape.

  “If you tell me where you learned about it, I will tell you everything you want to hear,” I say, still trying to buy a little more time.

  “If you will be truthful, and not just say what you think I want to hear, then I will tell you how I heard about it.” She is adamant. It’s not worth arguing with her.

  “Tzipileh, you know I love only you. Yes, I did get caught up in an affair with Chantal. She has something that drew me to her, but it’s over. I swear it is really over and she also knows that.” I intentionally don’t say when it ended. “That is the truth, but not the whole truth. The rest isn’t important. We’ll talk about it quietly another time, and then, if you wish, I will tell you the whole story. Now, I want to know where you heard about it.”

  “Irit told me. On the second day of the war, I took her to school. She befriended Suzy, the English teacher. When Irit had nothing to do, she would go out with Suzy. As you know, Suzy is single and loves having fun. They went out together several times in Paris. Suzy is a close friend of Dina, Emi’s wife from when they both lived in Israel. Shall I go on?”

  Clarifications

  All the quotes from the press in Israel are authentic. I allowed myself to alter dates, so it is possible that an event that is written as having occurred on a particular day of the war actually took place on a different day.

  Almost all the African countries did cut off diplomatic relations with the State of Israel. Here, too, I allowed myself some license to change some dates for the sake of the story.

  Amnon Ben Nathan, OBM, the son of the ambassador to Paris, was killed in the war, although once again I altered the date. The death of the ambassador’s son significantly affected the conduct of the French Government during the war.

  The film Emmanuelle premiered in 1974. It was screened for nine years in the same cinema on the Champs Elysées.

  Pinchas Sapir, the Israeli minister of finance, did visit Paris on a unique fundraising mission. Here, too, I predated his visit.

  * * *

&nb
sp; [1]In January 1969, the French government arms embargo on Israel (which was created in response to the 1968 Israeli raid on Lebanon) prevented the first thirty Mirage 5 aircraft (which had already been paid for by Israel) from being shipped. (IAI Nesher)

  [2]DIP: accepted acronym for diplomatic mail.

  [3]CB: acronym for the Communication Bureau—the communications department that exists at all the embassies.

  [4]IAI: acronym for Israel Aerospace Industries.

  [5]A “slot” is a defined interval of time allowed for a plane to take off or land at a specific airport. The “slot” is necessary to avoid collision with other aircraft during takeoff and landing. Similarly, there is an “air slot” that allows any flight to move within a specific air space, which also prevents collision between planes.

  [6]The International Air Transport Association is a trade association of the world’s airlines.

  [7]Fuel vouchers were given to diplomats to buy gas at a lower price, since, according to the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations (1961), diplomats are exempt from paying duty on fuel, as well as other commodities.

  [8]French for “Shit!”

  [9]SDECE: acronym for External Documentation and Counter-Espionage Service. In 1982, the organization was disbanded and in its place the General Board of External Security (the DGSE) was established.

  [10]Pied noir: literally, “a black foot”; the name given to the French Europeans who lived in Algeria when it was a province of the French Republic. With the withdrawal of French troops from Algeria and its opening to independence, most of the “black feet” returned to France.

  [11]CRS: Compagnies Républicaines de Sécurité: the department of the French national police whose purpose is to suppress riots. This group is well-known for its strict attitude toward demonstrators.

  [12]The General Confederation of Labour (France) is a national trade union center, the first of the five major French confederations of trade unions.

  [13]“Lone Soldiers” are servicemen from abroad who don’t have immediate family in Israel.

  [14]The English translation of the Shema is taken from the Hebrew-English Siddur, Tehillat Hashem, Nusach Ha-Ari Zal.

  [15]RAS: the acronym for “rien a signaler,” or “nothing to report.”

  [16]The Russian AK-47 assault rifle was designed in 1946 by Mikhail Kalashnikov. It is now also manufactured in Florida.