Before We Say Goodbye (5 page)

From above, Myriam looked down on the people tiny as ants who moved around the streets of the city bumping into one another. She began to play a game she and Nathan had invented when they were small: imagining the lives of the strangers passing by.

He’s a grandfather who can’t find his grandson, Nathan would say, struck by a man walking about anxiously. No, he’s an absent-minded teacher who has lost his homework. He wouldn’t look that worried about something so small, Nathan would note. Perhaps he’s afraid that this time they’ll sack him, she would hazard.

And they would continue in this way until one convinced the other, and then they would carry on, telling each other what the grandson was like and where he might have ended up, and what his grandfather would say when he found him again, and what the child’s parents would say once they returned home safe and sound.

For a while her gaze followed a particular dot moving among the others. She’s a girl, like me, and like me she hasn’t gone to school, Myriam thought to herself. Because she’s carrying a secret – one so heavy it makes her stagger. Perhaps we could go fifty-fifty, she said in her heart, on such a heavy secret. And Myriam confided to her, I didn’t go to school either, but not because I have a burden inside. On the contrary, right now I have absolutely nothing inside; I’m completely empty. Look, empty! she repeated, defiantly scrutinizing herself.

“You’re a mystery to me – I just don’t understand you,” her mother had said to her two days before as she tried in vain to persuade Myriam to go back to the gym.

Apart from the fact that a mother ought to make the occasional effort – if not, what’s she there for? – she was hardly obliged to explain everything to her. Her mother had never understood her; and these days she had thoughts only for Nathan – it had become her fixation, the only thing they talked about at home, since he’d gone off to do his military service. And anyway, what was there to understand? She didn’t feel anything inside any more, as if she had been thoroughly hollowed out with a spoon.

No, she didn’t feel anything.

She didn’t feel anything for Rami any more either – and so much the better. He hadn’t been in touch since he left to do his military service. Not that they’d made any promises, but then why had he kissed her like that the evening before his departure? Afterwards she had expected a letter, a phone call; but nothing – not even a text message just to keep in touch. It was strange for Rami to behave like that. But maybe she was even stranger, she who couldn’t even say now if she had liked those kisses or not.

When it happened she would have liked to tell Michael about it right away, but Michael wasn’t there any more. Michael was always in love with someone – or so he said – but at any rate, he gave the impression of knowing more about these things than she did. Michael was a big expert on emotions; it would have been nice to ask him now what he thought of this business with Rami. He would certainly have had a theory about it, and Myriam might even have accepted it – if Michael were still around.

All the other boys she knew were so depressing, all much of a muchness; there was no one she liked. Having made all that effort so they would take more interest in her, now all she felt was boredom; nothing. A void. What did they have, to make the other girls fancy them so much? You had to work really hard to get an emotion out of any of them. Then there were her girl friends. Such a trial – she didn’t even entertain the thought of meeting up with them after school. To do what? All they did was meet in one another’s houses just to chat. Great.

It was the same with her family: she couldn’t get interested in anything or anyone any more. She certainly didn’t feel like worrying about Nathan too. After all, he was only doing what they all did – he would go away and come home like everyone else. And her little brother: what a pain. As he had got older he had become so boring, just like all the others. At first he had been so sweet, but since her father left home he’d grown closer to Nathan, and now he too did nothing but think about Nathan, talk about Nathan, worry about Nathan.

Her mother affected her the least. Myriam didn’t feel anything for her. Last night she had even asked her to keep her company in the big bed, but didn’t she understand how embarrassing it was to see her like that? What was all this worry about Nathan? When Michael died her mother had shown up at the funeral, shaking everyone’s hand, but what did she have to do with it? She had always made a huge fuss whenever Myriam went out with Michael; she’d never understood why they hung out together so much. Goodness knows what she’d thought – maybe that one day they’d catch a plane to America together.

In fact, her mother
had
promised her a ticket to America, a long time ago, once she got her diploma: so this summer. She’d promised to send her on holiday to some relatives who lived there; they’d show her around and she could “take stock”, as her mother liked to say. “And if you really like it we’ll move there, I promise.” As soon as Nathan finished his military service, she had added.
Of course
.

As if to remind her that after the trip Myriam would still have to take her sabbatical year and then would have time to do her own military service.

She couldn’t feel anything any more. She felt nothing, except when she was on the hill.

Shoshi and Nathan had taken advantage of finding themselves in the centre of town to have a wander and buy Nathan some new underwear. Then they had decided to go back to the bar where the car was parked, and have a sit-down and something to eat.

“So then, why the surprise?” asked Shoshi. She tried to sound cheerful but she could sense something was wrong.

“I just wanted to come home,” said Nathan simply, with a shrug. “But what about you? How come you’re not at work?”

“This morning I got up tired, dead tired,” replied Shoshi. But the time had come to talk things over, so she added, “And I felt even more tired when Vered called me about the demonstration on Sunday. I said no.”

“What demonstration on Sunday?”

“The usual one with Peace Now and the others that Vered is involved with.”

“You used to do these things,” Nathan reminded her, and she heard a great weariness in his voice.

“That’s true, I did. But I don’t feel like it any more. I don’t even want to think about it. All I want to do is take my mind off it; I’m so tired. And you – this is a wonderful surprise. How are you?”

“Well.”

“It doesn’t seem like it. I mean, sometimes it doesn’t seem like it to me.”

“What do you expect me to say…”

“Whatever you want,” said Shoshi, smiling. She raised her shoulders, embraced them with her hands and leaned towards him. “You’ve never said anything about your life there,” she added, and without meaning to her voice sounded plaintive.

Nathan was staring into space. But he spoke. Slowly, but he spoke.

“If you want I can tell you about that first day. It wasn’t a great start. The first thing I saw when I arrived was a pile of bags on one side and a pile of personal effects on the other. And a man waiting to be strip-searched.”

“That’s more than justified by what’s happening,” said Shoshi feebly to fill the silence that followed.

“Yes, you have to check everyone who crosses over,” Nathan said flatly. “People are made to partly strip off, and their shoes and bags are passed through the metal detector. Often they have blades hidden in their soles. Everything they’re not authorized to carry is thrown away.”

“It’s not just a matter of blades, is it?” said Shoshi softly, without looking at him.

“No, but that’s not what I want to tell you … I mean, about the first day.”

Nathan said nothing for a while, and nor did Shoshi.

Then, more resolutely, he added, “The first thing that came to my mind was a scene from the Holocaust.”

Shoshi’s shoulders sagged and she looked at him with pity.

“I felt like I had got everything wrong. I wanted to come home. I didn’t want anything to do with it. I thought of Vered’s arguments; I thought of Jonathan, who refused to fly – which was his whole life – so as not to drop any more bombs. And then that awful …
thing
happened.”

Nathan fell silent for a long moment. He looked around carefully, his eyes roving about nervously as if searching for something he had lost. Shoshi almost held her breath. Then he continued, in a low, deep voice she had never heard him use before, as if it welled up from inside him – deep inside.

“We’ve never talked about this thing among ourselves, ever. But everyone … everyone saw Ariel’s head fly inside the blockhouse. I don’t know who picked it up; someone did. At such a moment, you don’t understand anything any more. You don’t understand anything… And then you won’t understand it; it’s over. That’s all you understand – that it’s over. By then it’s pointless to make any more effort. How can you forget?” Suffering rattled in Nathan’s voice.

Silence followed. They didn’t look each other in the eye. Shoshi’s nose was smarting as she tried not to weep.

Nathan resumed in a firmer voice. “What could they know about Ariel? What could they know about the girl he’d become engaged to two days before we left? What could they know about Abigail, of her violin? They do this to us. Someone thinks it up and sends them to do this to us. The truth is, as far as they’re concerned we shouldn’t exist!” Nathan raised his voice, and his words rang out clearly.

“Nathan,” said Shoshi wearily, quietly. “I don’t know if I exist or not any more. Do you believe me?”

Adum was doing his normal rounds while at the same time looking for a suitable place to point out to Ghassan, as they had agreed.

Those white and yellow daisies were pretty, and they didn’t even cost that much. Adum thought he’d buy some for his wife. He drew up at the flower stand and got out of the car, and the old Jewish florist gave him a nice bunch for twenty shekels. Adum was already imagining the expression on his wife’s face – she would arrange them in a glass and place them on show in the window, and all the women in the house would envy her that day – when he saw the supermarket.

He looked for a quiet place to park, then went on foot towards the entrance. A lot of people were going in and coming out. It must be nice and full in there. The guard outside seemed relaxed.

Adum went back to his car and called Ghassan on his mobile. “I’ve found a good place,” he said.

And Ghassan: “Go back along the entire route and check everything.”

Adum started up the engine and drove all the way back to Bethlehem. Then he called Ghassan a second time. “No problems,” he said.

They arranged to meet at one o’clock at the marble cutter’s yard, on the other side of the checkpoint.

Peace. That was what Ghassan felt after every explosion. Peace at last. The blast, the trembling air, the pieces shooting away in all directions, the streak of smoke that leaped swiftly up into the sky, and then the fine dust falling back to earth ever so slowly for an enchanted moment. Ghassan didn’t hear the cries immediately after; he didn’t hear the sirens; he didn’t smell the burning; he didn’t feel anything at all: only a great peace that slipped down inside him together with the dust from the sky.

*   *   *

What must it be like, living as if you were always stuffed with explosives? What else could you want if not to get rid of them every so often? This is how it was for Ghassan, who sought every explosion the way another might seek an orgasm.

Adum’s call had reassured him that all was well. For his part Ghassan had been ready for a good while. He had prepared everything; he had forgotten nothing. All that was left to do now was to give three rings on the phone: the agreed signal that everything was proceeding as planned and the appointment was confirmed. Time to go, therefore – right away.

So?

The video had been wrapped up. The address was written on it. The bag was in the cupboard. It didn’t seem either full or heavy. The van was waiting behind the house, its tank filled. What else? Nothing. Had he perhaps forgotten something? The explosive device was perfect; the weather was dry.

So why didn’t he move?

Adum was waiting for him.

The van was behind the house.

Just give three rings.

He had even remembered to brief Samir. The boy knew where to find the video and what to do with it, and he would keep quiet, otherwise he’d have to answer to his brother. What else? Nothing. All that remained to do was give those three rings and go.

Ghassan swallowed and didn’t move.

He thought. Everything had gone very smoothly, fast: very fast. No problems, no unwelcome encounters, no hitches, ever, from the start. A clean operation. Of which he could be proud.

Excellent preparation, Ghassan. But now it is time to move.

Yet Ghassan still didn’t move. He had a nagging feeling, as if something were eluding him. Something important. It confused him and he began to feel angry with himself.

He began to pace nervously back and forth, thinking about the bag the van the petrol the video the appointment. He couldn’t understand why he was worried. Everything was fine; yet something continued to bother him, buzzing around in his head, paralysing him. Like some vague, feeble worry. Like a niggling complaint, an irritation: think about it
think about it
. But that was strange, because everything was as it should be.

He stroked the medallions of Saddam and the pope that he wore around his neck.

What are you waiting for, Ghassan? What is it that’s not right about all this?

He couldn’t work it out, so he got moving. He took the bag out of the cupboard and dialled a number on his mobile. He waited until it rang three times, then hung up, slipped his phone into his pocket, picked up the keys to the van, grabbed the bag and left the house.