“They might not let us come on Shabbat,” he said. “I’ll find out and call you back.”
She called Rania while she waited for his call. Rania let out a long breath that came out as a little whistle.
“I do not believe he is guilty,” she said.
“Neither do I,” Chloe said. “But maybe all those stories about him losing the gun were lies.”
“I saw the gun,” Rania said slowly.
“What do you mean you saw it? Where?”
“Yesterday. I went to the Palestinian American’s house, and I searched everywhere. I did not find the gun. But then soldiers came. I hid in a tree and watched them come out.”
Chloe smiled to herself. She could picture Rania, in her long jilbab, scrambling up into a tree so she could spy on the army. She wished Rania had called her to go along.
“But you said you saw the gun.”
“When the soldiers came out, I saw one soldier hand a gun to the commander of the search. And it was not his own gun, which he had around his neck. I just don’t understand how it could have been in the house.”
“I wonder why they went there to look for it,” Chloe said.
“Yes, and why they tested it against the bullets you found,” Rania said.
Chloe’s phone beeped, letting her know there was another call coming in. “I’ll call you later,” she told Rania.
“We can go tomorrow,” Avi said. “Take a sherut from Ariel, and I’ll pick you up at the bus station.”
“Right, then,” Chloe said. She had adopted that manner of ending a call from Tina, she realized. She needed to find a new one quick.
Rania strode into the Ariel police station. Someone might think, seeing her going in and out of the settlement, that she liked it. She didn’t. She would rather never enter one again. But she had thought about her options very carefully. She could talk to Captain Mustafa, or she could talk to Benny Lazar. Besides the fact that it was Friday, and the captain would not be working—but she had his mobile number, so she couldn’t really use that excuse— she could not imagine how the conversation would go. If she was going to convince him that the soldier had not killed Daoud, she would need to tell him something of what she knew about Elias and Ron and Daoud, and she could not. She hoped she would be able to have this conversation with Benny without revealing secrets that were none of his business, but, if it came down to it, she would rather tell an Israeli, even a settlement policeman she could not stand, what she had learned than tell her boss.
She ignored the receptionist and walked up to his office as usual. As usual, he did the eyebrow thing.
“Congratulations,” he said. “It’s done. Ron Binyamin killed Daoud al-Khader.”
“He did not,” she said. The eyebrow went up again. “And there is no need to congratulate me, because I had nothing to do with his arrest.”
“The army found his gun on a tip from the muhabarat,” Benny said. “I assumed it came from you.” He leaned his chair back perilously on the back legs and balanced his socked feet on the edge of his desk.
“It did not.” She thought feverishly. It made no sense. Why would the muhabarat, the Palestinian secret police, have information about an Israeli soldier’s weapon? One thing she had seen yesterday seemed like a possible connection. Abdelhakim had been in the area, and he was close to Abu Ziyad, who had ties to the muhabarat. Could he have been involved in setting up the search? Could he have planted the gun? And how much of any of this should she say to Benny?
“The soldier did not have his gun,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“That soldier, Ron, left his gun in that house,” she said. “But then someone else took it.”
“Who took it?”
“That I cannot tell you. I will not tell you,” she said when he beetled his eyes at her. “But that person said he lost it too.”
“A lot of losing going on,” Benny said. He scribbled something on a yellow notepad in front of him. She couldn’t tell if he was making notes or just doodling. Especially since Hebrew writing looked like doodling to her anyway.
“The most important thing is,” she said, “that I searched that house top to bottom just before the army got there. And the gun was not in that house.”
“What are you saying? You think the army planted it?”
“It’s possible.” A lot of things were possible, and none of them made much sense to her. Why would the army want to frame one of their own for killing Daoud?
“How did they know the gun belonged to Ron?” she asked.
“Every gun issued by the army has a serial number,” he said.
“And how did they know to test it against the bullets Chloe gave you?”
He shrugged. “They read the same reports you did. He had been in the village. He had fought with the kid who was killed. Why are you asking so many questions? Just be happy it turned out to be the army this time.”
“It was the army last time too.”
“Touché.” He took his feet off the desk and stood up. He gathered up the top layer of papers on his desk—including, she noted, the top sheet from the pad he had been doodling on while they talked—and put them into a briefcase.
“It’s Friday afternoon,” he said when she looked at the clock. He ushered her out and locked the door. “I’m going home, drinking a couple beers, and tomorrow I’m going to play matkas.”
“What is that?”
“A game where big men try to hit a little ball.”
Did he make it sound filthy on purpose? “Have a nice time,” she said.
She sped up and bounded down the steps before him. If any Palestinians happened to be coming into the police station, to report that settlers had killed their sheep or whatever, she did not want to be seen leaving with him. There were enough rumors about her already.
Chapter 45
The last thing Rania felt like doing was celebrating Hanan’s engagement to Elias.
She was dead tired, she had a lot on her mind, and she was irritated that the girl refused to take her advice. Nonetheless, she, Bassam, and Khaled dutifully joined the throng of well-wishers crowding into Hanan’s parents’ house in Kufr Yunus.
The house was not large. The modest living room was crowded with women and girls, while men lounged in the courtyard, drinking tea and smoking argila. Rania saw small plates that had clearly once contained sweets but now held only a few orphaned nuts and blobs of honey. Khaled ran to join a group of children playing with balloons near the chicken coop. A stooped man in a long white robe greeted Bassam with an arm slapped around his shoulder. In a second, they were deep in conversation. Rania silently said farewell to the men in her life and started for the women’s room where dreary gossip about nothing awaited her.
She stopped in the doorway between the two worlds and watched Hanan’s little sisters painting her hands and forearms with the mud-like henna. Hanan was unusually subdued, but the chattering women sitting around the edges in their flowing, white headscarves did not seem to notice. Hanan wore a white bridal dress straight out of a Lebanese magazine, with a strapless bodice that angled from her right shoulder to just above her left breast. Later, Elias would sit next to her for the ritual part of the evening, but now he was tucked away somewhere among his brothers and cousins. Rania had not noticed him. She picked out Ahmed by his height, surrounded by a cloud of argila smoke. Where Ahmed was, she had no doubt Elias was near.
“Um Khaled, good evening.”
She turned to see Yusuf on the porch. “Mabrouk,” congratulations, “on your brother’s engagement.”
“Mabrouk to you,” he said. “I hear the Israeli soldier who killed Daoud has been arrested.” She wondered how the news had traveled so quickly, but the riddle did not persist for long. Abdelhakim materialized next to him, along with a young man she knew but could not place.
“This is Issa, Abu Wael,” Yusuf said. Daoud’s brother. She had never met him, but the resemblance was striking. For a second, she could not
help thinking about how Issa would look in a long wig with rouge on his cheeks.
“Tsharafna, Abu Wael,” she said. She wasn’t sure whether she should congratulate him on his cousin’s engagement or express condolences for the loss of his brother. It seemed safer just to say it was nice to meet him. He nodded.
“How is your mother?” she asked.
“She is well, thanks. Still grieving, of course. But she is pleased that the soldier has been apprehended. Yusuf tells me you are responsible for that. You must come to visit, so that my mother can thank you herself. Perhaps now we can sue the army.”
“I am not convinced the Israeli soldier killed your brother,” she said on a whim. This was not the place where she had meant to have this conversation, but he was here, and the subject had come up. His mouth turned down a little.
“Why do you say that? I understood that it was you who matched the bullets from the soldier’s gun to Daoud’s wounds.”
“It was not really me,” she said. “My friend, an American, took the bullets that were found by Um Mahmoud to the Red Cross in Salfit. They did the tests.”
“No matter,” he said. “We owe you gratitude nonetheless.” He seemed content to return to his original premise, that she was the hero of the hour. The fact that he did not ask why she thought the soldier had not killed his brother made her deeply suspicious.
“Have you known Yusuf and Abdelhakim for a long time?” she asked.
“Yes, we were all in college together.”
“At Al Quds Open?”
“An Najah,” he said. “Abdelhakim and I majored in Islamic Studies. Yusuf was only interested in politics.” He grinned at his friend. Apparently, this was an old bone of contention.
“Abu Wael, could you come with me for a moment?” she said. “I do not see my son, and I am afraid he may have climbed a tree or something. I would not be able to get him down.”
“Of course,” he said. “I will get my friends to come as well.” He started to gesture to Abdelhakim and Yusuf.
“Oh, that is not necessary,” she said. “Whatever he has gotten into, I am sure he will not be difficult to extract.”
He hesitated. She smiled to herself, wondering if he feared she would try to seduce him. She forestalled his decision by striding down the steps. He followed her. She knew exactly where Khaled was, of course, but it was true she could not see him because he was at this moment at the bottom of a pile of children fighting over a half-deflated soccer ball. She walked by them, checking momentarily to see that her son’s head was not being smooshed under anyone’s foot or knee.
“What does your son look like?” Issa asked.
“He is seven years old and has light curly hair and a wonderful smile,” she said. She smiled, picturing him as she described him. “I saw him running this way a few minutes ago,” she said, taking off in the opposite direction from where her son was playing.
He followed, with only a doubtful glance backward.
Shouts exploded from the children, and they were all up and running now, chasing the ball and each other. She saw Khaled’s little legs carrying him toward the front of the house, and she quickly disappeared around the back, so that Issa would not catch sight of the distinctive blond curls.
“Abu Wael,” she said, as soon as they were far enough away from the nearest party-goers. “I need to ask you something.”
He looked at her doubtfully, clearly suspecting a trick, and she hastened on.
“Did you threaten your brother’s life because he was gay?” She used the word she had learned from Tina, mithli. He looked confused.
“I do not understand,” he said.
“Because he loved other men rather than women,” she said. She could have made life easier simply by saying luuti, but her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.
“That is not true. How can you say that?” His face was the color of ripe purple grapes.
“Elias told me you found them together in the Palestinian American’s house,” she said. This was not how she had meant for this conversation to go. She had not thought it out. If somehow the story Elias had told her was not true, she had just revealed a damaging secret about him on the night of his engagement party. But then Elias would have only himself to blame.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Issa said. “My brother was not homosexual. I have never been in that house.”
He wheeled and walked quickly toward the front of the house. She rushed after him, catching up just before he turned the corner.
“I am going to find out the truth,” she said. “If you don’t tell me, someone else will.”
“You are a curse,” he hissed at her.
By the time she got back to the courtyard, he was huddled with Abdelhakim and Yusuf, talking hard. All three of them glared at her as she entered the house. She had no doubt he was telling them she was a horrible, wretched woman out to destroy his brother’s reputation. She assumed and prayed he would not tell them what she had said about Elias. She shook her head at her own idiocy.
Their voices carried just slightly, and, as she crossed the threshold into the living room, she thought she heard the words “American” and “weapon.”
Chapter 46
Chloe was half-sure that the guards at Military Prison Six would tell her she couldn’t visit. That had happened every time she had gone to visit anyone in Israeli custody. But, this time, they merely took her ID and told her to follow them.
“Can my friend come, too?” she asked. She remembered how easily she had blown her last conversation with Ron. It might help to have Avi as a go-between again. But the guard shook his head.
“One at a time,” he said.
“Go,” Avi said. He took a paperback copy of Brave New World out of his back pocket and looked around for somewhere to wait. Chloe felt mildly shamed. She was still carrying The Da Vinci Code in her backpack.
She followed the guard through a series of gates and tunnels before arriving at a dungeon-y cavern where Ron Binyamin was waiting, his legs in shackles and his hands cuffed in front of him. She remembered meeting Rania with her hands cuffed behind her. Soldiers charged with murder, she thought, were given a slight privilege over Palestinians charged with knowing too much.
They sat opposite one another across a table of gray-green metal, in metal chairs bolted to the floor. As if anyone would try to steal them. Or perhaps it was to prevent anyone from trying to move closer to one another, despite the presence of four armed guards in the four corners of the room. The long table had chairs for ten pairs of visitors, but she and Ron were alone in the room. She did not know if that was because he was considered high security and kept in isolation or simply because no one else had visitors right now.
She wanted to ask him, but it didn’t seem like the right question to get started with. She decided on a neutral “How are you?” instead.
“Okay,” he said.
Silence. He had asked to see her, so what was he being so reticent for?
“I was surprised you wanted to see me,” she said. “The last time we met, you didn’t seem anxious to talk to me.” That was an understatement if she’d ever uttered one.
“I need you to make them believe me. I did not kill Daoud.”
“I don’t know how I can make them believe that,” she said. “Seems like an Israeli—”
“No. It’s that Palestinian policewoman. Lior said you are friends with her. You have to convince her I didn’t do it.”
“I hate to tell you this, but Rania had nothing to do with you being arrested. She doesn’t even believe you killed him.”
A modicum of fear penetrated his pocked face. He looked like he had not slept in a week.
“Tell me what happened,” she said. She hated to think that this young man was putting his hopes for freedom in her hands. She had been able to do precious little for herself when she was in prison, and it had taken a lot of luck to get Rania out. She knew nothing about how the Israeli army dealt with its own mi
screants.
“I told you, I lost my gun,” he said. “On that Tuesday, I went to look for it.”
“I thought you didn’t know where the key to the house was,” Chloe said.
“I didn’t. I don’t. But I thought maybe I would be able to figure it out. I don’t know; if I had to, I would have broken a window.”
“But your friend, Yonatan, was with you. Why didn’t you go by yourself?”
“We were on duty. He said there was going to be an inspection the next day, and, if I didn’t have my gun, I would be in trouble. I told him I knew where it was.”
He was licking his lips compulsively, looking rather like a german shepherd. “Can we get some water over here?” she asked one of the guards. He shook his head.
“You said Yonatan didn’t even know you were gay, so what did you tell him you were doing at the house?”
“Smoking marijuana. I told him Daoud got great stuff in Ramallah, which was true, actually. I told him we met at the house to get stoned and some other soldiers came, and I got scared and ran out without my gun.”
“Good story,” Chloe said. She was warming up to him a little.
“We were looking at the house, trying to find a way to get in, and Daoud came out. I told him I needed the gun, and he said it wasn’t there. I didn’t believe him. I thought he had hidden it. I told him to let me in to see. He refused. Yonatan said, ‘Let’s turn this dirty Arab in. Tell the SHABAK he stole your gun, and they will make him tell where it is.’ He got in the jeep and started it up. I had to go with him, to stop him.”
“And Daoud ran after you,” Chloe finished.
“Yes.”
“Why did you think he had hidden the gun?” she asked.
“He used to say he was going to. He thought if I lost it, I would have to leave the army. I said it would ruin my life, and he said he would ruin my life to save my soul.”
“Sweet.” Was it possible that Daoud had done that after all? That he had hidden the gun somewhere and someone had unearthed it? No, that didn’t fit with what Elias had said—unless Elias was the one who had found and used it. “You didn’t want to leave the army?”
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