“Don’t fall,” I mumbled to myself. “Just don’t fall.”
“Very good, Evron!” I heard someone say behind me. It may have been Eitan.
Leroy was off balance and moved back, I knew this opportunity would never come again. I managed to hit him again, a punch to the stomach, a hook to the ribs, and another one. Two black flashes went through my mind as I was hit. I let out air very loudly. I tried to keep hitting him just to keep him busy on defense. I knew that one more punch to the head and I would be down.
“Good boy, Evron. Keep fighting!” I heard Eitan say. I didn’t understand what was so good.
I tried to punch him in the head but missed. He was fast and sharp and I had double vision.
Leroy lifted his right leg in a swift and precise move. He was perfectly positioned for one of his famous and painful kicks. I knew I was about to meet the mat in a second.
“Stop!”
As Eitan shouted to everyone to stop, Leroy’s kick was sent like a rocket towards me but he folded back his leg and completed a quick circle around himself. All I felt was the wind from his foot. Only someone who has been practicing this kick since he was 8 years old could stop it after it was already launched.
“Leroy and Itay, great fight!” Eitan said what he had never said to me before. “Take off your equipment and go to the video room.”
“You were on fire,” Leroy said to me as he patted my head with his glove and started heading towards the video room. I just stood there on the mat. With every breath I took, I made a ridiculous squeaking sound that made it sound like I had swallowed a rubber duck. It was a good thing that Arik’s panting was louder and more desperate.
We sat in the small, white, windowless room, with 11 men dripping with sweat and an instructor who had to suffer this stinking group of people.
Watching myself in a fight is like reading my own CV. I looked at the screen and was not sure who the man fighting was.
Every blow Leroy dealt me was graceful, precise, and well calculated. It was clear that he was enjoying it. The way I fought was like a wounded animal, flailing my arms continuously, trying to survive against all odds. A few laughs in the sweaty crowd interrupted my thinking.
“Nice fight,” Eitan said, surprising me.
“Nice like Arik’s face,” I said, and everyone except for Arik laughed, who said, “Fuck you.”
“Well, Leroy is a very high-level fighter, and that was the last round,” Eitan said without taking his eyes off the screen. “There may be times when your opponent is better than you, he may be at Arik’s weight, or has been training to fight his entire life, like Leroy. In any case, I wanted you to give it everything you had and that’s what you did.”
I lowered my head because an embarrassed smile spread across my face. I thought of Donna. On the way to the hotel I sent her two messages.
“Wine on Friday? I’m buying.”
“BTW, I’m not the worst fighter in the course anymore.”
Chapter 8
We started moving to Jerusalem at 5:00 a.m., heading to the orientation day at the headquarters. Arik whined about the mosquitoes that had been biting him all night, Bitton said that he hadn’t woken up this early since the army. Only Leroy, as befits the Shaolin monk that he is, didn’t complain and silently hopped on the minibus that took us east. I snoozed all the way and woke up to a sudden stop of the minibus driver. It took me a few moments to realize that I was in Jerusalem, and one long truck honk to realize that I was in the Givonim Industrial Area. The wall demarcated three buildings: two rectangular and low, and above them a five-story building, adorned with a crown of antennas in shapes that are not seen every day.
We’d arrived half an hour before the morning shift began. Eitan told us in advance that the security tasks at the headquarters facility are the most repetitive.
“Not a perfect day to attack this facility,” Bitton said as we got off the minibus. “We’re a fucking battalion of security guards.”
A senior security guard named Ronen came to the yard of the facility to show us the morning check routine. He was quite short, with very broad shoulders. He explained to us in his low voice and decisive gestures about the way employees walk from the bus stop to the headquarters’ entrance.
“There are trash cans here and some warehouses,” he said, pointing to a warehouse area that also served as a parking lot. “If you come early, you can shade here in the park,” he said, and after a few eyebrows were raised he slapped himself and said, “I meant − you can park here in the shade.” He scratched his head and apologized. “I’m after a night shift and they dropped this tutorial on me by surprise.”
We stopped by the junction that connects the ISA headquarters to the rest of the city. “Now we’ll practice the work routine while workers enter. It’s perfect that you came now, since most of our guards are after a long night,” he said, and of course it was on my shoulders that his heavy hand landed.
“This is the farthest position from the facility. Few workers arrive by foot − mostly soldiers and administrative workers who live in the area. The purpose of this position is to create deterrence. Here you will be the first to respond in case of an emergency.”
I had passed this neighborhood several times before, but I never imagined that this fortress is the ISA nerve center. The first employees who came to the industrial area didn’t give me any special sense of threat and, in fact, the job seemed terribly boring.
“When was the last time an emergency took place here?” I asked him.
“A year ago.” Ronen said. “The Green Hulk got pissed and trashed the place.”
Everyone laughed except Arik, who didn’t understand the joke.
“What did you say your name is? Itay?” He patted me on the shoulder. “Stay here an hour, feel the environment. We’ll replace you at eight.”
“Wait,” I told him, “I have nothing on me.”
“Take.” He pulled a radio out of his waist. “I don’t have a headset to lend you, so you can use the speaker.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“We haven’t been able to staff this position for the past six months. It’s a miracle that I can put somebody here.”
I hung the radio on my belt, straightened up, and waited for the enemy. The guys left, and Arik told me, “If a terrorist comes, don’t forget: jab-cross.”
An hour passed. I had to flex my squeaky jaw at least three times. Somewhere deep inside me, a spark of hope glimmered that some terrorist with a knife would try to mess with me. I would beat him to death. Just like that, with my bare hands.
“Everything okay there?” Ronen asked me over the radio. I could hear Bitton yelling in the background, “Arik! Make me coffee.” I tried to reach the button but couldn’t find it.
“Helloooo?” He checked again if I was alive.
“Good morning,” three soldiers who walked by told me. I nodded back to them, still struggling.
“Are you with me?” he asked again.
I pulled out my belted radio when the sound of brakes squeaking and car doors slamming ripped through the air. It was a silver pickup truck that came up with one wheel on the sidewalk, a half-block away from me. When I noticed two soldiers lying on the floor, I tossed the radio and ran frantically towards them. All the car doors were open. Three men with a telescopic bat began beating two soldiers who were desperately trying to protect their faces.
“Leave them alone!” I shouted at the attackers, but they were not in a listening mood. I picked up a fist-sized stone and threw it at the man with the bat. He raised the bat and sent it towards the head of the soldier who shouted and kicked. The stone hit the guy standing next to him square in the face and caused him to fall down on his behind. The soldier stopped screaming as the bat hit his head. One of the attackers turned towards me and pulled out a gun. I stopped and with my hands forward, shouted, “Do
n’t shoot!” Obviously, he didn’t listen and pulled the trigger. I jumped aside, behind a concrete-covered water meter. The shooting stopped, and I heard them yelling “Yalla! Let’s go!”
The truck doors slammed shut. I peeked out as the pickup truck was driving wildly back into the intersection. Vehicles creaked and honked, thinking it was another road bully. Ronen came running towards me with a policeman’s cap on his head, holding his gun.
“What happened???” he bellowed.
“I don’t know!” I bellowed back at him.
We ran to where the pickup truck had stopped. One soldier lay on the road with his head resting on the curb as though it were a pillow. A cascade of blood flowed from it onto the asphalt. The other soldier wasn’t there.
Dozens of police vehicles closed off the intersection and the nearby streets. The street instantly became a restricted military area where only ISA men roamed. Police and soldiers were allowed in only if they were essential to the kidnapping investigation. A man with thick white hair and a buttoned shirt called me by name in the distance and told me not to talk to anyone about anything until he said otherwise. I nodded “yes” to him, whoever he was. I felt vomit coming up my throat and went to the toilet but nothing came out.
I called my dad. He’s a lawyer and he’ll protect me. He didn’t answer.
Bitton opened the door and told me to get out because the regional director was looking for me. I went out and saw that it was the same man with the white hair. “Come on,” he said, and took me out of the building. Some guy with a black t-shirt and gun at his waist joined us.
“This is Danny from forensics. I’m Oren, the Judea Region director. We want to hear what happened. Explain everything to us − slow, nice, and easy.”
My dad called me back. If I had answered him, he would have told me to keep the fifth until his colleague arrived. I didn’t answer him. I blabbered the 15 minutes that were my entire security career so far.
“Go back to the conference room.” Oren told me. “Your supervisor will talk to you.”
When I returned to the conference room, everyone was silent. For a whole hour, I heard only the air conditioner and sirens from the street.
“Is he dead?” Bitton threw a question into the air and was answered with silence. I didn’t understand whether he meant the soldier who was kidnapped or the one who was left behind; the realization that they might both be dead hit me like an uppercut to the chin.
Eitan came into the room and called me. It was strange to see his face in Jerusalem. Is there anywhere that I’ll be safe and not have to see him?
I sat down on a chair, but he remained standing. He didn’t seem to have the time or desire for politeness. “What happened this morning is the worst thing that could have happened. At the same time, from a very, very initial examination, it seems that you couldn’t have done anything else.”
He opened the door and turned to the exit. Someone called his name.
“Tell the other trainees to get on the minibus and return to The Academy. You’ll stay here and I’ll keep you up to date.”
He ran out of the office. When he closed the door, it felt like the whole office was spinning. I held onto the wooden table so as not to fall off the chair.
Donna sent me a message asking how the orientation day was going. A kind regards from the life I had until an hour ago.
My classmates were waiting for the minibus that would take them back from the orientation that didn’t take place. Leroy asked me about the conversation with Eitan. I told him he was trying to calm me down, and that I had decided to quit the course.
“Are you crazy? Do you really think you had a chance to save him?” he asked me. I shrugged and choked back the tears. I wanted him to stay with me, but he left. As I turned back to the ISA castle, someone grabbed my arm and turned me around. It was Arik Goldstein, who told me “May the force be with you,” and added that it seemed to him that the whole situation was shit.
Chapter 9
Throughout the course, I refused to tell Donna much about The Academy, so she decided to call it the Israeli Shaolin Monastery. The last week in the monastery was glamorous and dusty, the way a government office can be. There was no ceremony; they didn’t invite our parents, and there were no special handshakes. We just filled out a bunch of papers and had a meeting with the head of the storeroom of the Jerusalem District. We also watched a presentation by the vehicle fleet manager about winter driving.
Two weeks have passed since the attack. Every time someone glanced at me in the corridor, my blood froze. I was afraid to sit in jail, and I was afraid that my name would appear in the news headlines as the one to blame for the first-ever kidnapping at the ISA. But what has happened since that damn orientation day has caused me even greater anxiety: Nothing happened! I didn’t have to explain anything to Donna or my family − because nothing was said in the media.
An hour before the official completion of the course, Eitan called me into his office.
“As for what was in the orientation,” he began, stroking his scalp, “it was important to me to keep you updated on the progress.”
Thanks a lot, I thought to myself.
“Everything I tell you is under gag order, so needless to say − keep it to yourself,” he said.
I nodded.
“The person who was abducted is a soldier, a corporal from the human resources department. The other guy, Avihu Penn, was a soldier here, too. He was seriously injured, but the good news is that he’s stable and will probably make it. “
“Who’s the kidnapped soldier? Why don’t they talk to us?” I asked him.
“We’re waiting for the kidnapping story to be over. We’re onto them. Billal is taking care of it, if you remember him. It’s a matter of a week or two.”
“But why are we left out? We’re also ISA employees, aren’t we?”
Eitan looked at the corner of the room. It was clear to me that he’s on my side, just as it was clear that he has to be loyal.
“There was a command error there. You were fine.”
“It doesn’t make me sleep better at night,” I told him.
“Don’t go there. Really, even I couldn’t have prevented the attack if I had stood there unarmed,” Eitan said, and even though I already knew it, there was relief that the man on Mt. Olympus said it.
“But if it helps you to deal with it − take it as a personal project,” Eitan said with a smile and opened the door for me to leave. “You’re finishing the course today. Yalla, go out and bring the boy back.”
Not exactly over − we would be coming back here for one day of training every few weeks, to maintain combat fitness − but once the course ends, we’re officially ISA guards.
I took a seat on the right side of the bus next to the window. My pistol was against the side of the bus, out of the reach of others. I turned around as far as I could, watching The Academy drift out of sight, disappearing into the landscape of rocks and wild greenery. It suddenly looked to me like just another unused piece of land in central Israel. It seemed so peaceful and ordinary from the outside, without any indication of the raging aggression inside.
My phone rang. It was my father. He was speaking slowly and I knew that meant he was lying on the couch watching a show on either the National Geographic or History Channel.
“Tai-tai,” he called me, using the name he always used except for when he was especially angry. “Hi, it’s Dad,” he said as always, as if I didn’t see his name on the screen. I stopped making fun of him about this when I was in the army because I saw that there were not many fathers who called their sons.
“Listen,” he said, and hesitated for a while. I thought it was because he was watching a lizard swallow a porcupine in Indonesia, but I was wrong. “Sharon and I wanted to surprise you. Remember we talked about a car? We ordered one for you. It’s a gift from us. It’ll be here
in two weeks. It’s a good car − a silver Hyundai.” I heard Sharon putting down something heavy and coming close to the phone. “Oh, come on, Rami. We said it was going to be a surprise!”
Half a year ago, during the first or second round of tests when applying for the ISA, the clerk at the bank told me I should open a savings account and deposit 1,500 shekels every month if I wanted to buy a car in a year. To add to my motivation, I actually named the account, “Savings for a car.” I was thinking of something reasonable, second-hand, stick shift, in good shape.
“If you’re short a few thousand, don’t worry,” my father had said, like it was nothing to him. “I’ll talk to the bank, and we’ll get you a good loan.”
I had been in the course for three months and managed to save three entire paychecks. I had decided to buy myself a second-hand Mazda after the course so I would never have to crowd into a bus again.
“Um, thanks,” I said, as if he were passing along someone else’s regards.
Sharon had probably been the one to convince him to get me this huge gift. She’d been trying to take Mom’s place for 15 years − but unsuccessfully. The truth is that since Sharon came into Dad’s life, he’s been standing tall again. A year after the accident, his face was gaunt, covered with stubble, and his hair beginning to turn white.
Then he met Sharon, the social worker for a minor in a case he was managing. After 10 months of semi-secret weekly meetings with her, he invited her over for Friday night dinner with the family. Dad slurped his soup loudly, making a noise my sister Doreen and I were used to. Sharon told him he was “drinking like an Iraqi.” He smiled and said he’s “Halabi,” which means that his parents were born in Aleppo, Syria, which is really not that far away. Doreen caught my eye; it was the first time we had seen him smile since the accident.
Sharon had been trying to become part of the family from the start. She called Doreen and me “the children.” On birthdays and holidays, she would buy us presents and write us colorful cards with round handwriting. When I was a kid, I got very angry at my father one night for not letting me stay up as late as I wanted. When Sharon tried to calm me down, I snapped at her and told her not to try to be my mother. There was an unexpected silence after this. Sharon mumbled a weak “Okay,” and got up and walked away.
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