newsroom—“all the way up to the position he held for the past three years as director of Israel Television. Shimshon Zadik was a man of vision who enjoyed everyone’s trust and confidence.” Behind Hefetz there appeared a photograph of Zadik shaking hands with two men in jeans and polo shirts, underneath which ran the caption, SHIMSHON ZADIK, DIRECTOR OF ISRAEL TELEVISION. One of the men had a false smile, as though he was making an effort not to let the cigarette between his lips fall to the ground; the other had removed a video camera from his shoulder and the caption changed: SIGNING OF AGREEMENT WITH TECHNICIANS’ UNION. At that moment Michael’s attention was caught by the entrance of Elmaliah the cameraman into the studio. He noticed with astonishment the huge tray of doughnuts Elmaliah carried in one hand, and the single doughnut he was shoving into his mouth with the other, oblivious to the anxiety and shock of everyone else in the room. “I have taken it upon myself to replace Zadik temporarily, until an official appointment can be made,” Hefetz was saying, Zadik’s face framed in black behind him. “I pledge to continue his path and his creed …” Elmaliah nodded and, with a full mouth, said, “Got his wish, didn’t he, this is what the guy’s always wanted.”
“Shut up, fool,” Niva whispered from the doorway of the control room, wiping her eyes. “Don’t you have any respect for—”
“What’s the problem?” Elmaliah protested. “Like I said something so terrible?” He looked around, wiped his lips on the back of his hand, and set the tray on the counter behind which Erez the editor was sitting. “Okay, I didn’t notice,” he said after stealing a glance at Michael.
“But it doesn’t mean anything, does it?”
Erez seemed about to say something, but just then Eli Bachar entered the control room and scanned it until his eyes met those of Michael, who made his way over to him. “We found Benny Meyuhas,”
Eli Bachar said quietly. “They’re waiting for you upstairs.” All eyes followed them out of the room as they left, and no one said a word.
c h a p t e r t w e l v e
On the stairs, on their way to the entrance of the building, Eli Bachar managed to recount to Michael how he had been standing there by chance (“I let Sasson go home, his wife was home alone with the flu and he’s been here since this morning, he promised her he’d be home by eight to light the Hanukkah candles with the kids, and it was already a quarter to eight. So I let him go and I was standing there explaining to Bublil who was allowed to enter the building and who was allowed to leave, you wouldn’t believe what a pressure cooker it was around there—
we’re holding all these people here, the staff of Israel Television, from eleven o’clock this morning, just like you said, nobody coming or going, and even though we’ve brought them sandwiches and stuff, well, they’ve got plans, they want to get out of here”); and how the taxi had stopped in front of the door and a short man in a heavy khaki army jacket and beret had stepped out of it. “I was just, like, glancing outside, not really thinking about anything, not really paying attention, just watching how he paid the driver and looked toward the front door of the building. Then he caught sight of the death notice about Zadik and turned completely white, really frightened, you would think he hadn’t known a thing about it,” Eli Bachar whispered to Michael as they stood near the security officers’ station in the foyer. “You should’ve seen his face when he saw the picture of the religious guy,” Eli Bachar said, referring to the drawing that police artist Ilan Katz had composed according to Aviva’s muddled description, which they had hastened to post everywhere, including next to the death notice at the entrance to Israel Television. “He walked up close and touched it; he looked like someone had whacked him on the head with a club. And I’m looking at him through the glass window, and it’s not registering who I’m looking at until suddenly it dawns on me. I figured out who he was even before the security officer, who had his back to the entrance and hadn’t even noticed him. So this Benny Meyuhas just strolls in like, like he hasn’t done a thing wrong, like he hasn’t been missing or anything and nobody’s been searching for him. What can I tell you, I think the guy’s a bit of a wacko, totally out of it.”
While Eli Bachar continued talking quietly, Michael contemplated the expression on Benny Meyuhas’s face from a distance. Meyuhas was standing just inside the building, near the entrance, handcuffed and surrounded by policemen and security guards; he was staring straight ahead as though looking at nothing. Just then Arye Rubin dashed in from the control room, nearly knocking them over as he pushed into the throng toward Benny. “Are you crazy? Take these things off him!”
he shouted, grabbing the handcuffs. “What’s going on here? He’s no criminal!” Rubin placed his hands on Benny’s shoulders. “Benny,” he said, “what’s happened to you? Why didn’t you … Where have you been?” He peered into Benny’s face as if able to gauge what he had been through. Benny Meyuhas was leaning against the wall next to the security guards’ station, his face averted; he did not answer, and avoided looking at his good friend. In fact, he looked at no one, his eyes half closed and the expression on his face one of extreme fatigue.
If he had not been leaning against the wall, or if the guards had not been holding him up, it seemed he would simply collapse.
“Are these handcuffs absolutely necessary?” Arye Rubin protested.
No one paid him any attention, partly because at that very moment Hagar came racing down the stairs. It seemed that the rumor that Benny Meyuhas had been found had spread through the building, and she had rushed to see him. She spread her arms to embrace him, but the look on his face caused her to hang back. She did not touch him but said, “Benny, Benny, where have you been? Where did you disappear to? Are you okay? Why didn’t you —”
Michael followed Benny Meyuhas’s gaze as it rose to the monitor.
Hefetz’s face was being broadcast in close-up, a photo of Zadik bordered in black in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Hefetz was saying, “… the decision not to suspend Israel Television broadcasts is due in part to the devotion and courage of employees at all levels, who have decided to honor and acknowledge Shimshon Zadik—may his
memory be a blessing—by following his example, by continuing along the course he charted, by upholding his motto: You cannot stop the news.”
Benny Meyuhas’s eyes blinked rapidly. He lowered them from the screen, then shut them. He grimaced, a look of disgust on his face.
The picture on the screen had changed, and under the caption WANTED was a police composite sketch of a man in ultra-Orthodox garb, while a broadcaster droned in the background: “The Israel Police request assistance in locating the whereabouts of the man shown in this picture. He is approximately feet five nine inches tall, medium build, with brown eyes. His hands and arms show burn marks …”
Someone lowered the volume.
Eli Bachar was standing quite close to Benny Meyuhas, and he gently led Arye Rubin and Hagar away from him, ignoring their pleas to remove the handcuffs. Rubin appealed directly to Michael. “What is he, some criminal you have to detain?”
Distracted, Michael ignored him by turning his head as if he had not been spoken to.
Rubin’s face was confused, as though he had lost his confidence in the secret covenant he had imagined existed between Benny Meyuhas and himself. He fell silent and stopped protesting against the policemen who were pushing him away from his friend.
“Where are you taking him?” Hagar cried out as she ran after Eli Bachar and Sergeant Bublil on the stairs. They were quickly ushering Benny Meyuhas to the second floor; Hagar ran past them, bursting into the newsroom and shouting, “Benny’s here, he’s fine, they’re taking him to Hefetz’s office for questioning.” At once people sprang to their feet and raced to the doorway: Zohar, the military correspondent; David Shalit, the correspondent for police affairs; Niva the newsroom secretary; and Erez, the editor.
“Benny!” David Shalit managed to shout before they led Benny Meyuhas into the office of the newsroom department head, which had been temporarily commandeered for interrogations. The newsroom staff that had gathered stared at the policemen in silence. Hagar and Arye Rubin stood by the office door. “Should we wait here?” Rubin asked.
Michael shrugged his shoulders. “No need,” he said. “This could take quite a while.”
“If that’s the case, I’m going up to the editing rooms,” Rubin stated.
“If you need me, I’m in the vicinity.” He hesitated for a moment, then added obstinately: “In any event, you can give me a call.”
Michael nodded vaguely and entered Hefetz’s office. Sergeant Bublil looked at him and asked, “Would you like
