Friendly Fire (17 page)

After that, he convenes the weekly staff meeting in his office earlier than usual, to ensure that at the appointed hour of noon both he and his telephone will be free to receive his wife's African voice.

A
T THIS MOMENT
Daniela is not far from Dar es Salaam. She sits in a makeshift passenger compartment in the Chinese freight train,
her brother-in-law dozes on the bench beside her, and across from her sits Sijjin Kuang, whose gentle gaze indicates that she gathered—at least from the Hebrew word
pagani
—that the conversation between the two Israeli relatives had something to do with her. And even though the tragedy of the young Sudanese woman is greater than the disaster that befell the elderly administrator—whose head droops on his chest and appears to be nodding in agreement—the visitor would still like to give her some hint about the fire that needlessly killed the white man's son.

But Yirmiyahu does not want to tell his driver anything about himself, lest one story lead to another, and one history get tangled with another, until even an idolator could find herself identifying with him. And so, since his sister-in-law has not come here to thwart his wishes, she steers the conversation to injuries and illnesses. Perhaps she can learn from the African nurse's experience about an ancient and proven cure for some malady she has yet to contract.

Now through the window a few houses can be seen, then streets. Here is a city. And, for a tiny moment, a sliver of smooth sea with a gliding sailboat.

Yirmi, again alert and energetic, confidently leads the two women along streets he clearly knows well, between vegetable stalls and buckets of fish and sacks of coal. "If possible," Daniela says, "let's start by calling Israel. We promised Amotz, and I know he's waiting with his hand on the phone."

"If we promised, we will deliver." Yirmi calms her with a smile. "From the time I met him, forty years ago, I knew it's dangerous to make him wait."

He guides them into a darkened shack, a public telecommunications center, filled with a jumble of wires plugged into elderly computers and antique phones, that brings to mind a spider's web. The proprietor, a beefy woman named Zaineb, greets them happily and seats the tourist by a telephone with a well-worn dial.

"I have learned from experience that from here you speak frugally and clearly," Yirmi says self-righteously, "since every month I call America to report to Elinor that I am surviving, and to hear how many words she has added to her dissertation. Write down for Zaineb the exact number, with the codes for Israel and Tel Aviv, and you will be able to put your loved one at ease. We shall wait patiently outside."

"You don't want to say a few words?"

"Only if you don't overdo your conversation. Look, don't be so sure that I don't think about him too sometimes."

The connection from the spider web is made efficiently, and is actually clear and strong. And in Tel Aviv the office receptionist is happy to hear the voice of the boss's wife in Africa, though she is a bit surprised by the early hour. There's a staff meeting going on in his office, but not to worry, she'll pull him out of there right away. Just don't hang up.

"Why do you say I'm early? We arranged to talk today at twelve."

"But it's now eleven," the secretary chides. "You seem to have an hour's difference in your favor."

"In my favor?" Daniela says, laughing, "in what sense?" But the secretary has already gone to fetch her husband.

S
TANDING BY THE
receptionist's desk, using her telephone in front of other people and maybe being overheard, was not the way he had wanted to conduct the much anticipated conversation with his wife. But is it proper to cut short the meeting and dismiss everyone from his office, just so he can complain about his troubles without an audience? Given no choice, he grabs the receiver and retreats to a corner, stretching the phone cord as far as he can, and tries to speak confidentially. His tone comes out sounding both accusatory and defensive.

"That's right," he says, "I got the times wrong. I was sure you were on the same longitude, and all of a sudden Africa is not only southwest but also east of us. So everything I imagined you doing on your trip you had finished an hour before."

"It's only an hour's difference. But if it's hard for you to talk now, I'll try again later."

"No, absolutely not. I'll just talk quietly, because there are people here. Can you hear me?"

"Perfectly. First of all, tell me about the children."

"Just a minute, the children can wait. You tell
me
what's happening. First of all, how was the trip?"

"The flight to Nairobi was nice, but to spend six hours in the airport just for your peace of mind, that was cruel. And I ended up almost missing the connecting flight anyway."

"Missing it? How was that possible?"

"My boarding pass disappeared in the novel."

"Novel?"

"The book I bought at the airport."

"But I warned you beforehand to keep everything with your passport, and I put it there myself. So how did it wander into the novel?"

"Never mind, I found it."

"Watch out. You can afford to dream only when I'm with you. And how was the second flight? I worried the whole time that on an internal flight in Africa you'd have a small, shabby plane."

"It was a small plane, but clean and nice and not shabby at all, and they even served unlimited whiskey."

He laughs. "Not to you, I hope. And where is it, this farm of Yirmi's? Is it far from the airport?"

"Not very. But the road is mostly dirt and a bit complicated, part of it through a forest. Fortunately, the pagan who drove me—"

"Pagan?"

"A charming young Sudanese woman, an idol worshipper ... a tragic figure, I'll tell you all about her..."

"Idol worshipper? What idols?"

"No, not now. I'll tell you everything later. How are the children?"

"Leave the children aside for a minute. Yirmi forgot you and didn't come to the airport?"

"No, no, it's a long story. I'll tell you all about it. He's the one who sent her; she's the nurse of the research team."

"And what about him?"

"Stranger than ever. But also pleased with himself. I brought him a package of Israeli papers from the plane and he burned them all."

"Burned them? Good for him. Why should he read Israeli papers in Africa? Where's the fun in that?"

"The Hanukkah candles I brought, he threw them in the fire too."

"What, he has a campfire burning there?"

"The fire of the water boiler."

"But why the candles?"

"No reason. He's looking for ways to disengage himself. From Israel. From the Jews. From everything."

"Disengage? Why not? A great idea. I wish I could do that sometimes. But why detach himself in Africa? There are nicer places in the world to get detached."

"Not now, Amotz. He's right outside. We'll talk about everything next week. But tell me what's going on with the children."

"Nofar came home yesterday with an older friend to light candles."

"Very good."

"But she only stayed a little while."

"That's not important. What's important is she came."

"But here's the big news, listen carefully: the army didn't give up on Moran. They caught him and put him in confinement."

"Actual confinement?"

"The real thing, confined to base for a week or so. But he's in Israel, not the West Bank, with the adjutant corps. I haven't got through to him yet, because they confiscated his cell phone, but he's in touch with Efrat occasionally. And yesterday I replaced you and
picked up the children from preschool and waited with them at a café till Yael was able to take them. Tomorrow's Friday, and I'll light candles with them then."

"It's good that her mother always volunteers to help."

"The mother is okay, but the daughter of the mother keeps running around on empty. A training course up north, then a seminar down south. She drives me crazy."

"Go crazy quietly and keep it to yourself; be careful not to make any remarks. It's not your business to educate her. Let Moran take care of her."

"But Moran is a prisoner. An officer in the IDF. Imagine the disgrace."

"Leave him alone too. Don't reprimand him. For a long time I've had the feeling that he's afraid of his reserve duty."

"Afraid? Moran? Where'd you get that idea? Moran was never a coward, certainly not in the army. He just felt like blowing them off, and he's like you: he is sure that the whole world revolves around him."

"And I'm sure the whole world revolves around me?"

"More or less."

"Where'd you get that idea?"

"Not now. I'm not alone either. This is my secretary's phone. But where's Yirmi? Is he with you? In any case, I want to say a word to him."

"What word?"

"That he should keep an eye on you."

"Don't you dare."

Y
IRMIYAHU IS WAITING
in an alley with Sijjin Kuang, whose tall aristocratic figure alongside the awkward old white man's has attracted the curiosity of people in the marketplace. From time to time he glances inside at his sister-in-law, who sits smiling and
content in the depths of the communications hut, surrounded by young Africans riveted to computer screens, as she, in a girlish pose he finds charming, presses the worn-out phone receiver against her short-cropped head, crosses her legs, and plays with the hem of her dress, exposing her shapely calves.

Even if the phone call here is cheap compared with other places in the city, it is going on longer than he expected, and the warm chattiness of his relatives is beginning to make him impatient. They've only been apart for two days, they'll be back together in three, and they still insist on such a long conversation. He remembers that even as a girl she would tie up her parents' phone for long periods, chatting and laughing, without thinking about the cost—or other people. And the daily calls between her and her sister in the years before Eyal fell would sometimes go on for more than an hour. It was his death that cut them short, those calls. Her son's death shrank and compressed Shuli's world. She lost her patience for the stories of strangers and family members alike; even so close a sister interested her less.

Now Daniela is waving for him to come in and join her. Amotz wants to say a few words to you too, and maybe in any case we should hang up, she suggests, and let Amotz call us back from Israel. No, that's impossible, Yirmiyahu says. The owner doesn't like it when her income is undercut like that, so she doesn't give out her phone number. He takes the receiver, and without saying hello he teases his brother-in-law.

"Well? Already after two days it's hard for you to be alone?"

But Ya'ari ignores the sting and asks with heartfelt concern, "Yirmi, habibi, how's it going?"

"No complaints. So far the woman you sent us is behaving well, and we'll therefore return her to you whole and not feed any part of her to the lions."

The elevator man is in no mood to joke. "And you? What about you?"

"Things are the way things should be with me."

"When will we see you?"

"When you too come here. But first let me recover a little from your wife's visit."

"Not in Africa. I mean, when will we see you in Israel?"

"Israel? What's the rush? I spent most of my life there, and it's not going anywhere. It looks to me as if the country can't get destroyed no matter how hard it tries. Here in Africa it's quiet and comfortable, and above all cheap. I also want a nice Filipino to take care of me when I'm old. And anyway, my dear Amotz, I've developed slightly different ideas about our world."

"What kind of ideas?"

"Not now in the middle of the marketplace, on an international call. Other people are waiting to talk to the outside world, and I'm hogging the line. Daniela will tell you what she understood from me, and what you don't understand from her, you can always ask me. And maybe it's totally unimportant. The main thing is, take care of yourself, and don't forget the children."

As he is about to hang up, Daniela snatches the receiver and manages to ask her husband how his father is and what's new with the winds in the tower.

But when she goes out again into the sunny street, she realizes that this call to Israel has not brought her any relief, as if Yirmi's alienation has infected her as well. Her brother-in-law lingers in the hut, waiting to pay her bill, and at her side Sijjin Kuang stands serenely aloof from the colorful mob around her. And Daniela aches for the grief and pain still buried inside her. For it was here in this marketplace, that her sister had her fatal seizure. It was from one of these alleys that strangers rushed her to a nearby clinic, where she departed this world alone.

Where did it begin? Where was Shuli taken ill?

And where was your diplomatic office? So far she does not recognize anything from her last visit.

He will show her the place. With a little patience she will remember everything. It is all nearby, and he is willing to show her around, but first they must go to the bank, before it closes for the midday break.

So, while Sijjin Kuang goes off to replenish the camp's medical supplies, he and his Israeli guest enter a fairly decent-looking bank and go up to the second floor. He seats her in a waiting room beside a heavyset African clad in a tribal robe and disappears into the manager's office.

Her smile immediately enchants her neighbor, and she does not limit herself to a mere smile, but dares, in the British fashion, to inquire about the weather. The African at once grasps the white woman's meaning, but lacks the English to answer her. Instead, he excitedly gets up and with a grand gesture of his arm invites her to come with him to the big window, where he pours out words in an utterly foreign language, pointing to the sky and the clouds, then just as suddenly falls silent and retreats humbly to his chair. But she stays by the window, as if trying to digest what he told her.

The weather has indeed changed. The day has turned gray and the first drops of rain dot the windowpane. Her conversation with her husband was in the end technical and lacking in feeling. If he was concerned about expressing feelings in front of his employees, why didn't he go back into his office and end the meeting, so he could lift her spirits with a few words confirming his love. He didn't sound loving, or as if he missed her, but rather annoyed by her absence, impatient, needing to control. The purpose of her trip is still not clear to him, so he needs at least to be reassured that African planes aren't rickety, that he hasn't risked losing her on a pointless journey.