“Watch your mouth and your back!” Cornfield hissed. “You’re like a suitcase without a handle. You can’t be carried but unfortunately can’t be tossed away just yet.”
“Don’t make too much of an effort to carry me. I don’t want to be here with you. As far as I’m concerned, I’m already out.”
“And what would you do out there?” Cornfield asked. “Sit in the park and play chess with senile old men? Take care of the grandchildren you don’t have? Mr. Bar-Nathan, you’re going to wither out there like a water lily in the middle of the Gobi Desert. You need the adrenaline rush this job offers even more than I do. You’re an addict; it takes one to know one.”
Arik began to lose his fighting spirit, and the look in his eyes betrayed that fact.
“I’m an emotional man in a cynical world. I believe in the need to always take the initiative and be daring. I can’t stand people who stick to the status quo. I despise men who shirk responsibility, and therefore, just like me, you can’t quit.” Cornfield surprised Arik. “Besides, Fischer left some unfinished business for you to take care of.”
“Fischer left a lot of unfinished business.”
“The Mujahideen al-Islamiyya,” said Cornfield in a low voice, as if he feared someone was eavesdropping.
“What do they have to do with me?”
Cornfield shrugged. “I don’t know. Look at it as Fischer’s inheritance to you.” He erupted into a hollow laughter and presented Arik with an envelope sealed with wax and bearing the words: ‘Operation Flower Bud’.
“You’ll find precise instructions inside. As soon as you get the code words ‘The flower bud has opened,’ you must act upon them immediately.”
Arik slid the envelope back between Cornfield’s thick arms.
“What is it exactly that you want from me?” Cornfield shouted. “A raise? You know I can’t do that. A new car, a bodyguard? Why won’t you tell me what you want from me, goddamn it!”
Arik sought traces of irony in Cornfield’s single eye but could only see what appeared to be genuine honesty. The more he thought he knew the man, the more he discovered he doesn’t really know him at all. Arik thought of him as an uninhibited maniac who was lacking any inner truth. Could it be that his brain had been damaged along with his eye and leg?
“I don’t want a bodyguard. I’ve never asked for one.” An idea flashed through his mind, “But what I do want and need is some time off. My mother is sick, and I haven’t seen my children in a long time. I need to think about my future in this organization, in light of your new vision for it.”
“You forgot to mention your new German girlfriend.”
Arik twisted his face with distaste. “If you’re going to run Mossad the way you want to, I guess that’s going to be your new intelligence source now: cheap gossip.”
“I can approve a two day vacation, no more than that.” The tone of a military commander overseeing new recruits returned to Cornfield’s voice. “Come back here on Wednesday, and take the envelope. I know you don’t give a fuck about me, so just do it for your own sake. Do it for Fischer, who counted on you for some reason.”
Arik rose, took the envelope, placed it in his bag, and made his way outside.
“Wednesday, you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” Arik said and closed the door after him. The eyes of the soldier secretaries sitting behind their desks in the lobby were all fixed on him.
“My condolences,” he muttered at them and took off to his office for some final arrangements.
Chapter 14
Neve Sha’anan Neighborhood, Haifa
Arik watched the factory chimneys in the bay of Haifa industrial zone emit bluish vapors, buying himself a few more seconds of respite before he went into the dark stairwell leading to his mother’s apartment in the old block.
As always, the sour smell of the enclosed space hit his nostrils, mixed with the scents of cooking and the sharp aroma of detergents. He climbed the battered staircase to the second floor and rang the doorbell.
No answer.
He rang again. From beyond the door, he heard the five o’clock news television broadcast in a deafening volume. He banged on the door with an open palm, trying to overcome the deafening sound of the newscaster, and called his mother. “Momme, Momme!” Finally, he tried to unlock the door with his own apartment key, but it stopped midway. His mother had left her key in the keyhole.
For lack of any other choice, he pounded the door. Neighbors peeked into the stairwell and gave him curious glances mixed with pity. The few who remembered him nodded a silent greeting.
Arik was surprised the nurse didn’t open the door for him. He immediately assumed she must have gone to the store and would come back in a minute or two. After several minutes had passed without any trace of her, he continued to pound the door with his fist. The door remained closed.
Desperate, Arik began to look for a locksmith on his cell phone. Then, finally, his mother’s raspy and fear-filled voice sounded from beyond the door. “Wer ist das?”[3]
“Das bin ich, Momme,”[4] Arik answered in Yiddish and immediately continued in Hebrew, “Open the door, please.”
He heard the sound of the lock being opened, then immediately closed again. His mother pulled the door and shouted, “It’s closed.”
“Mamele, turn off the television and take the key out of the lock,” he said loud and clear.
She understood. He heard the creaking sound of the key being removed from the lock and hurried to insert his own and open the door. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that awaited him behind it. His mother stood in front of him, wearing nothing but her underwear, her heavy breasts drooping on her bulging belly and the curious, uninhibited look of a little child in her eyes, completely unaware of her nakedness. Her full hair was disheveled, swirls of white spreading through the reddish color. “Are you hungry, Leibele?” she asked.
He concealed the sight of his mother’s nakedness by filling the entrance with his body, then quickly slipped inside and shut the door behind him, careful not to touch her and closing his eyes so as not to look at her naked body. The revulsion he felt was mixed with compassion. “Yes, Momme, I’m hungry. Go change, and I’ll see what’s in the fridge.”
She just stood there, looking at him in confusion. Arik hurried to the bedroom, took a colorful silk dressing gown he had bought her on one of his trips, and covered her. Then he walked her to the living room.
“Momme, where’s the television remote?”
She pointed at a cordless phone placed on a small coffee table next to the armchair.
“The farkakta thing is broken,” she said and tried to turn down the volume with the buttons.
Arik knew there wasn’t any point in arguing. “I’ll fix it.” He found the remote behind the armchair backrest pillow. “Sit here, I’ll warm us something to eat.”
“No, no, I’m the balabuste[5] here. I’ll prepare something for us to eat.”
Arik followed her to the kitchen and watched her take a small pot containing a thin soup with some chicken, potatoes and carrots. She placed the pot on the kitchen table, went to the stove and turned one of the gas knobs. The sharp smell of gas spread in the air. She looked at the pot, as if trying to recall something, then distractedly went back to the living room and sat in front of the television.
Arik was filled with sadness and desperation. All at once, he was overwhelmed by the understanding his mother’s life was in real danger and that she mustn’t remain by herself even for a single moment. He hurried to turn the gas knob shut, opened the window to air the room, and called his sister.
“Naomi, you said mother has a nurse, right? Where is she? I need to go somewhere, and I can’t leave her by herself, even for a minute.”
“I thought you’ve taken a vacation just to spend some time with Mom,” she said in a defiant tone that filled him with discomfort.
“I’ve got some other things in my life. My children, for example.”
“Yes, it’s about time. Anyway, I’m sure you don’t remember, but I’ve told you a long time ago that Sunday is the nurse’s day off. She’s going to St. Peter’s Church in Jaffa and will be back at nine. Please stay with Mom until she gets back.”
He glanced at his watch. He was faced with three and a half hours of depression and boredom. “I’ll wait,” he said resignedly.
He cut some vegetables and sprinkled them with lemon and olive oil, warmed the soup, cut some old bread he found, and placed the slices in the toaster. He set the table and went to the living room to bring his mother. She walked beside him heavily, shuffling her tired feet. Only the happy smile stretched on her lips and her green eyes remained as silent witnesses of the mother and woman she had used to be.
She ate with great relish, and Arik assumed she hadn’t eaten anything since morning. He asked her whether she had taken her medicine and immediately realized just how silly his question was. Obviously, she had no idea.
After the meal, he returned her to the living room and sat her in the comfortable armchair he and Naomi had bought her for her eightieth birthday. He turned off the television and sat in front of her.
“You know your dad came to visit me last night?” she said with a smile.
“Momme, Dad passed away almost thirteen years ago,” he gently chided her.
She looked at him as if he were still her little boy and said something extremely silly. “You think I don’t know that? But lately, he comes to visit me almost every night. He comes into my bedroom, sits on the edge of the bed and strokes my head. He told me not to let any strangers into the house.”
Arik didn’t know how to react. He caressed her kind, comforting, shivering hands. Now he noticed just how emaciated they were, strewn with wrinkles and liver spots.
“Momme, you can’t stay here by yourself. You have a nurse. She’ll be back here soon and—” Her smiling, tranquil expression suddenly turned into threatening anger and he stopped in mid-sentence.
“You get out of here right now!” his mother shouted in fury. “I’m the lady of the house. You hear me? I own this place! No one, not the nurse, or anyone else, can tell me what to do with my life, do you hear me?”
Arik tried to hug her, but she forcefully pushed him away.
“Go to hell! You’re never around when I need you!” Her screams became a heart-wrenching whimper. Then she regained her composure and shouted at him angrily, “I’ll give all my inheritance to Naomi and her kids, you hear me? As far as I’m concerned, you don’t exist anymore. You’re not in my will!”
Arik wasn’t surprised by her outburst. Crying fits and emotional blackmail had been her secret weapon since he was a child. Back then, he had been angry at her. Now, she simply seemed miserable and fragile in his eyes. Paternal feelings rose in him, and he got up and took her in his arms. This time, she yielded to his embrace.
“Mamele, there’s nothing to do about it. The doctor said unless you agree to a nurse, you’ll need to go to a retirement home.” He responded by using her own weapon.
“No, not the retirement home! Not the retirement home. I only want to stay here in my house!” She wept again, and Arik regretted his words. He knew how much his mother dreaded the retirement home. He and Naomi had promised her they’d never place her in such an institute, not even if it looked like a luxury hotel.
“There’s no choice, Mamele. You need help. Your nurse is a very good woman.” He recalled with regret, that he hadn’t even asked Naomi for the nurse’s name. “You’re the lady of the house, the balabuste. She does only what you tell her to do.”
“But she’s a thief! She steals money from me. She even steals my braziers,” the elderly woman complained.
“Mamele, maybe I’ll make us some tea with lemon and honey?”
His mother didn’t reply. Arik looked at her and saw that her eyes were closing as she drifted in and out of sleep. He gently picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He covered her with her favorite down comforter, kissed her forehead, and went to clean the kitchen.
As he washed the dishes, he looked out the narrow window facing the street. His car was parked there, two of its wheels up on the sidewalk. A boy slowly rode his bicycle down the street, and a truck honked for him to get out of the way. After the truck passed, he saw the sidewalk across the building. A tall, skinny, feminine figure stood there, dressed in a pantsuit. The color of her hair and its abundance left no room for doubt, in spite of the baseball cap and dark sunglasses she was wearing.
Eva.
He closed the tap and observed her as she leaned against the fence, looking forward. Was she looking at his window?
He tried to catch her eyes, but immediately realized the distance was too far, and there was no way she could see him through the narrow kitchen window. He headed out to the porch, planning to lean across the rail and call her name. Most people, he knew, weren’t able to resist the instinctive reaction of turning their heads when their name was called. But by the time he looked at the street again, she was gone.
From behind him, he heard the voice of his waking mother. “Leibele, when did you get here?” she asked with surprise.
He was still shocked by the mirage he had seen. “I just got here,” he lied without blinking, while trying to recreate what he had just seen in his mind. He was convinced it wasn’t a mistake. He has actually seen Eva.
“Are you here by yourself?” his mother asked and examined the large living room suspiciously.
He chuckled. That was exactly what he was asking himself. “Yes, Mamele, I’m here by myself.”
“Are you sure there’s no one else here?” She went to look through the various rooms of the apartment, and Arik followed her.
After she had been convinced there was no one else in the apartment, she ordered him to take down the restroom door and bring it to the living room.
He started to get used to her oddities, but that last request was too strange even for her. “I don’t understand. You actually want me to take the door off its hinges and bring it to the living room?”
“What’s there to understand?” his mother yelled. “Just take down the farkakta[6] door and bring it here.”
The door was easily pulled off its hinges. He carried it to the living room and placed it on the floor. “Now what?”
“Turn it around and lean it against the dining table,” she ordered with determination. Her green eyes were focused, clear and penetrating. The urgency in her voice had made him forget Eva or her mysterious lookalike he had seen in the street. He turned the door so that its lower part now faced up. He noticed a wooden ruler with a small depression stretched across the bottom of the door. “Do you remember what I told you about the Jewish carpenter who had saved my life in the camps?” his mother asked with a mysterious smile. “He built this safe in the door for me. Press the ruler.”
Arik hesitated. She didn’t wait and pushed a fingernail into the depression. A dark and narrow hidden compartment was revealed. She went to the kitchen, and when she returned, held a long wooden spoon in her hand, which she inserted into the compartment. Flat packages wrapped with the yellow pages of a Yiddish newspaper fell out of there one after the other. When she finished, fifty small packages rested on the table.
“Make sure it’s empty,” she ordered Arik. He lit a match and peeked inside. The compartment was empty.
“There are fifty packages here, each with a thousand dollars. This money is for you. Buy houses for your children with it,” she said with excitement.
“I can’t take this money,” said Arik. “Who else knows about this?”
“Only me and your late father, God rest his soul. We’ve saved it for times of war or, God forbid, another Holocaust. It’s always good to have money so you could bribe the guards and escape. Now you’re alone, you’ve no wife, and you have little children, so I thought to myself, ‘I’m too old to run away.’”
“Mamele, my children are all grown up. They’re your grandchil
dren, Michael and Nathalie, and they’re doing well financially. I need to tell Naomi about the money and share it with her.”
“There’s no need! Naomi gets the apartment here, in Neve Sha’anan. It’s a nice apartment right next to the Institute of Technology,” she added like a seasoned real estate agent.
Arik didn’t answer. He went to the kitchen and returned, carrying a tray with a pitcher of tea and lemon, thin Polish porcelain cups, a set his mother reserved for important guests, and a plate of rugelach cookies.
His mother smiled appreciatively. She began drinking and immediately faded back to old age, the lost and distant look returning to her eyes.
He collected the newspaper-wrapped bills, placed them back into the secret compartment, and put the door back on its hinges. Then he sat in the living room and watched the evening news, waiting for the nurse.
His mother slept beside him with her head on his shoulder. When the nurse returned, dripping with sweat and reeking of cheap perfume, he told her everything that had happened that afternoon with the key. “I know everything,” she said in broken English. “Just give me Mom’s key so Mom not lock door.”
He took out his mother’s key and handed it to her, feeling as if he had just placed his mother’s life in the nurse’s hands.
“You need find someone when I’m on vacation,” she added. “Tell Naomi we can’t leave Mom all alone.”
When he went down the staircase, repulsion and guilt mixing in his heart, he wondered if the nurse had said that last sentence to scold him or simply to give him the information. He peeled a traffic ticket of his car’s windowpane and got inside. Suddenly, the memory flashed in his mind. What were the chances a woman looking just like Eva would just happen to be in that particular street, in a city dozens of miles from Jerusalem, just when he was visiting his mother?
He dialed Eva’s cell number. “Arik!” she called happily.
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