“Do you see them?”
“There,” replied Natalie, pointing across the square. “They’re at their usual table at Chez Claude.” It was one of several new establishments that catered to Netanya’s growing French-Jewish community. “Would you like to meet them? They’re really quite lovely.”
“You go. I’ll wait here.”
Dina sat on a bench at the edge of the fountain and watched Natalie moving across the esplanade, the ends of the blue hijab dancing like pennants against her white blouse. Blue and white, observed Dina. How wonderfully Israeli. Unconsciously, she rubbed her damaged leg. It pained her at the damnedest times—when she was tired, when she was under stress, or, she thought, watching Natalie, when she regretted her behavior.
Natalie walked a straight line to the café. Her father, lean, gray, and very dark from the sea and the sun, looked up first, surprised to see his daughter coming toward him across the paving stones of the square, dressed as an Israeli flag. He placed a hand on his wife’s arm and nodded in Natalie’s direction, and a smile spread over the old woman’s noble face. It was Natalie’s face, thought Dina, Natalie in thirty years. Would Israel survive another thirty years? Would Natalie?
Natalie swerved from her path, but only to avoid a child, a girl of seven or eight, chasing down a stray ball. Then she kissed her parents in the French fashion, on each cheek, and sat down in one of the two empty chairs. It was the chair that, perhaps not coincidentally, presented Dina with her back. Dina watched the older woman’s face. Her smile evaporated as Natalie recited the words Gabriel had composed for her. I’m going to be away for a while. It’s important you not try to contact me. If anyone asks, say I’m doing some important research and can’t be disturbed. No, I can’t tell you what it’s about, but someone from the government will be coming around to check on you. Yes, I’ll be safe.
The stray ball was now bounding toward Dina. She captured it beneath her foot and with a flick of her ankle sent it back toward the girl of seven or eight, a small act of kindness that sent a stab of pain down her leg. She ignored it, for Natalie was again kissing the cheeks of her parents, this time in farewell. As she crossed the square, the setting sun on her face, the blue scarf fluttering in the breeze, a single tear streaked her face. Natalie was beautiful, observed Dina, even when she was crying. She rose and followed her back to the car, which was parked outside the crumbling hotel where thirty had died on a sacred night. It’s what we do, Dina told herself as she shoved the key into the ignition. It’s who we are. It’s the only way we are going to survive in this land. It is our punishment for having survived.
PART TWO
ONE OF US
21
NAHALAL, ISRAEL
NEXT MORNING THE STAFF OF Hadassah Medical Center was informed via e-mail that Dr. Natalie Mizrahi would be taking an extended leave of absence. The announcement was thirty words in length and a masterpiece of bureaucratic murk. No reason was given for the sabbatical, no date of return was mentioned. This left the staff with no option but to speculate about the reasons for Natalie’s sudden departure, a pursuit they engaged in freely, for it gave them something to talk about other than the stabbings. There were rumors of a serious illness, rumors of an emotional breakdown, rumors of a homesick return to France. After all, said one sage from cardiology, why in the world would anyone with a French passport actually choose to live in Israel at a time like this? Ayelet Malkin, who considered herself Natalie’s closest friend at the hospital, found all these theories inadequate. She knew Natalie to be of sound mind and body and had heard her speak many times of her relief to be in Israel, where she could live as a Jew without fear of assault or rebuke. Moreover, she had worked a twenty-four-hour shift with Natalie that week, and the two women had shared a gossipy dinner during which Natalie made no mention of any pending leave of absence. She thought the entire thing reeked of official mischief. Like many Israelis, Ayelet had a relative, an uncle, who was involved in secret government work. He came and went without warning and never spoke of his job or his travels. Ayelet decided that Natalie, fluent in three languages, had been recruited as a spy. Or perhaps, she thought, she had always been one.
While Ayelet had stumbled upon something resembling the truth, she was not technically correct, as Natalie was to learn on her first full day in Nahalal. She was not going to be a spy. Spies, she was told, are human sources who are recruited to spy against their own intelligence service, government, terrorist organization, international body, or commercial enterprise. Sometimes they spied for money, sometimes for sex or respect, and sometimes they spied because they were coerced, owing to some blemish in their personal life. In Natalie’s case, there was no coercion, only persuasion. She was from that point forward a special employee of the Office. As such, she would be governed by the same rules and strictures that applied to all those who worked directly for the service. She could not divulge secrets to foreign governments. She could not write a memoir about her work without approval. She could not discuss that work with anyone outside the Office, including members of her family. Her employment was to commence immediately and would terminate upon the completion of her mission. However, if Natalie wished to remain with the Office, suitable work would be found for her. A sum of five hundred thousand shekels was placed in a bank account bearing her real name. In addition, she would be paid the equivalent of her monthly salary from Hadassah. An Office courier would look after her apartment during her absence. In the event of her death, two million shekels would be paid to her parents.