“ It’ll never happen if your government falls. I told you. Everything is lined up.”
“ I can’t accept your deal.”
So that’s what he came to say.
“ Don’t you want to stay in power? Don’t you want Oslo to succeed?”
Rabin shifted on the hard bench. “I can’t appoint you intelligence czar. Your agenda is too militant.”
“ Peace won’t work without it. Carrots need sticks. Our enemies need deterrence.”
“ You’re an old warrior. Me too. For us, peace is hard to believe in. But it’s happening.”
“ All the more reason to eliminate anti-Semitic germs before they infect those willing to make peace with us. My network will launch-”
“ Your time is over, Weiss. Retire, pass the torch, let other people do the job. We’ll take care of your people, of course, once you tell us who they are.”
Elie tried to speak, yet no voice sounded. He coughed again, and the burning in his chest blurred his vision. It was maddening that now, when he had finally managed to line up all his cards in a neat row, his own body was betraying him.
“Calm down, Weiss.” The prime minister rested his hand on Eli’s forearm. “Everything is taken care of.”
Feeling Yitzhak Rabin’s cool hand against his burning skin sent a shudder through Elie. It was a large hand, soft yet meaty, like a farmer’s hand that had been away from the plow for too long. This unexpected gesture of affection told Elie that this was a farewell visit, not the bargaining among equals he had expected. “Not yet.” He forced the words out. “There’s work to be done.”
Rabin smiled, his eyes creased. “Your life is a legend. I know better than anyone else that our victory in sixty- seven would have been a terrible defeat, a calamity, if not for your secret operation to destroy the UN radar. We owe you the glory of the Six Day War. And the Yom Kippur War, which could have been a second Holocaust if not for you. And now, our peace with Arafat would have been in peril if not for your decisive actions in Paris.”
“ There’s more-”
“ It’s time to say enough. You must cooperate with the Shin Bet in winding down your operations. It’s an order!”
Elie reached with great effort and grabbed the prime minister’s shirt. “Don’t you understand? I’m about to save you!”
“Save me?” Rabin laughed. “I have signed a peace agreement with Jordan, two interim agreements with the Palestinians-a dream come true! But when I come home at night, Orthodox hoodlums curse me and wave posters showing me in SS uniform. And to get Knesset approval for Oslo, I had to rely on the Arab members, and Shimon Peres had to bribe a member with a ministerial post and a staff car to get the tiebreaking vote. How can you help me? Get real!” The prime minister lit a cigarette, drawing on it a few times, filling the ambulance with smoke.
Elie extended his hand.
Rabin gave him the cigarette. “I don’t need killers anymore. I need peacemakers-doctors, scientists, entrepreneurs, farmers, builders. Your time has passed, Weiss, and my time will pass soon as well. History will recognize us for what we’ve done for our people-you in secret, me in public.”
The smoke filled Elie’s lungs. He let it out slowly. “I’ve set things in motion. To help you regain popularity.”
“ I’m not making deals.”
“ Imagine. A right-wing assassin. Caught red-handed. In public.” He drew from the cigarette and spoke while smoke came from his mouth. “In front of TV cameras. Your bulletproof vest shown to the world. The assassin’s bullets still stuck in it. You’ll bounce in the polls. You’ll win!”
“ I don’t like to wear a bulletproof vest.”
“ You should. You must!”
Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin got up, keeping his head bowed under the roof of the ambulance. He knocked three times on the partition separating the driver’s cabin. “I’ll win public opinion with peace, not with bullets.”
“ The wheels are already turning.” Elie rose on one elbow. “You’ll see! Each bullet’s worth a million votes-”
“ Shin Bet is dealing with local terrorists-Muslim Arabs, Orthodox Jews, whatever. They keep us safe. Keeps me safe.”
“ It’s my expertise.” Elie fought to keep his voice even. p his vOrthodox militants can bring down Israel. I still have assets.”
“ We have enough moles.” Rabin knocked on the partition again. “You’re very sick, Weiss. Make peace with the past. Take pride in what you’ve achieved. And share everything with the boys. Including your financial resources. We’re all on the same side, you know?”
“ Come on, Yitzhak.” Elie tried to smile, feeling the ambulance slow down. “We go a long way back. Once I’m recovered, we can do great things together. Say the word, and the doctors will save me. They kept Golda alive for ten years with lung cancer!”
“ Be well, Weiss.”
“ I have money for your campaign.” Elie’s voice was reduced to hoarse screeching. He grasped the heavy bible, lifting it. “Billions of dollars-”
The ambulance swerved to the side of the road, bumping over a pothole, and the bible dropped to the floor.
Rabin picked it up, put it on Elie’s chest, and stepped down from the ambulance. A few seconds later, his chauffeur-driven Cadillac departed toward Jerusalem with a hiss of its powerful engine.
The nurse reappeared. She fixed the pillow under Elie’s head. The ambulance continued on, shaking on the bumpy road.
He gestured at the small window. She opened it, and a soft breeze carried in the scents of Jerusalem pine. He watched the trees pass by, heard the whistles of sparrows, and contemplated his next move.
*
Tanya greeted the two soldiers at the entrance to the Mount Herzl Cemetery. She followed the path through the rows of rectangular gravestones, each bearing the name of a dead soldier. Elderly parents and a few young women tended to pots of flowers. An old man lounged in a beach chair, arguing with a headstone, his hands gesticulating in emphasis.
She reached Lemmy’s grave and knelt beside it to brush off the dust and dry leaves from a recent storm. Her movements were almost automatic after years of practice-a ritual she had kept since 1967, stopping by every time she visited Israel. A few pieces of gravel rested on the stone-a mourners’ custom. She counted six-one for each time Rabbi Gerster had visited his son since she had last cleaned the headstone. She sighed. O, Abraham, what pain we’ve caused each other.
With a handkerchief she cleaned the letters carved into the stone, shining each one patiently, and stepped back to look at the writing:
Private Jerusalem (“Lemmy”) Gerster
Killed in Battle, June 7, 1967
In the Defense of Israel
God Will Avenge His Blood
Tanya brushed off an errand leaf. She noticed age spots on the back of her hand. So many years had passed. Such a loss. Unfair. Lemmy would have been forty-six now, a g rown man with a family and a career. Successful. Happy. But no, he had been deprived of all the wonderful experiences of adult life. He was dead. Buried. Gone.
“Haven’t seen you in a long time.”
She turned, wiping her tears.
It was the old man with the beach chair, now folded under his arm. “Been away, eh?” His handlebar mustache moved with each word. It would have been comical if not for the wet lines down his creased cheeks.
Tanya nodded.
“ I visit my son every day. I’m retired, wife’s dead, so what else is there?”
“ I work,” she said, “to keep my mind busy.”
He gestured at Lemmy’s grave. “Your son?”
She hesitated. “Lover.”
“ Ah, well. That’s a different kind of pain.” The old man looked at Lemmy’s inscription, likely trying to calculate
