Monday the Rabbi Took Off

Chapter Forty

It had been midmorning when Ish-Kosher had had his conference with Adoumi, and by noon one of his sergeants was driving down to Tel Aviv with Shmuel, the civilian guard, on the passenger seat beside him.

Shmuel was far less assured than he had been when Ish-Kosher had questioned him. "You understand, it was late at night and dark. And since then. I’ve seen so many people. How can I be sure that it was this man and not someone else who spoke to me that night?"

"You know how these things are," the sergeant said. "Maybe you can't describe a man, but if you’ve seen him once, there's usually something familiar about him—"

"And if not?"

The sergeant was patient. "I explained that. You go up to him and greet him. If he greets you back and the chances are he will— almost anybody will whether they know you or not— then you say, 'Did you find the house on Victory Street all right?' If he's the man. he'll say, 'Oh, yes. no trouble,' or something like that. Then he may ask what you're doing in Tel Aviv, and you tell him you had to come down on business or you are meeting a friend— anything."

"And if he says, 'I don't know what you're talking about'?"

"Then you've had a nice ride to Tel Aviv and back, a little vacation."

And early in the afternoon, another of Ish-Kosher's sergeants was questioning the elderly bearded mechanic at the auto repair shop where Memavet had had his desk.

The mechanic looked despairingly at the clock on the wall and then to the interior of the shop, where he had been working on a car whose owner was expecting it soon.

"I’ve been through this half a dozen times with you people." he said. "I had nothing to do with his business, and I know nothing about it."

"I know. I know." the sergeant said soothingly. "But if the man occupied a desk right here, he must have talked to you about his customers occasionally. He couldn't have been so busy that he'd just sit at his desk all day long. There must have been plenty of times when he had nothing to do and he'd wander over."

"Sure, but—"

"And he'd talk to you, wouldn't he?"

"Of course. Dumb he wasn't."

"So what does a businessman talk about? About some deal he missed out on; about a shrewd deal he pulled off; about some customer he had trouble with. Some of his customers he must have had trouble with. They couldn't all have been perfectly satisfied."

"Naturally, if you're in business—"

"So. all I want you to do is to think back and try to remember."

The old man seized on the suggestion. "All right. I'll think back and try to remember. You come in next week sometime and I'll tell you what I remembered."

"No. no." said the sergeant. "Right now. Look, when you're working, you can still see the front of the office here where the desk is. Right?"

"When I'm working, I work. I pay attention to what I'm doing—"

"Sure, but you look up every now and then. You have to stop to get another tool. You can't help seeing who is sitting by the desk."

"All right." said the mechanic. "So I see somebody sitting beside the desk."

"And if there were an argument, you'd listen. You couldn't help it. It's human nature. Don't tell me you never heard Memavet arguing with a customer."

"Who's telling? Sure, I heard."

"Now did you ever hear a customer who got so angry that he slammed out of the door—"

"Look, young man. in business customers are always slamming out of the door, but later they usually come back. If you were in business, you'd know."

"Sure," said the sergeant affably, "and I bet that many a time Memavet came back here afterward and told you about it, and you both laughed maybe, and you reassured him and said. 'Don't worry, he'll come back.'"

"Why not? Two people working in the same place, they encourage each other, if they're not in competition in the same line of business."

"That's right," said the sergeant. "Now, did anyone ever get so angry that he said he was going to get even? I have in mind a young man. a foreigner, an American..."

Early in the evening, Roy and Abdul were sauntering along the street after dinner together. When they reached Roy's apartment house, a figure detached itself from the shadows. It was Mahmoud.

Roy said hello, and Mahmoud flashed a smile in greeting. Then in rapid Arabic he spoke to Abdul. "I thought you'd be coming here," he said. "I’ve been looking for you. They've picked up Leila."

"That's serious, Mahmoud. You think she will talk?"

Mahmoud shrugged. "If it were the other way and we got a girl of theirs who knew something, I'd make her talk."

"I suppose you're right. What are you going to do?"

"I have a place in the Old City. I suggest you go north."

"Yes, it would probably be advisable. I'll need the car."

"I can have it here in half an hour."

"Good. We'll leave then."

"We? You mean the American?"

"That's right. I'll try to take him with me. It could be insurance."

As they mounted the stairs. Roy asked. "What was that all about?"

Abdul waited for Roy to open the door and snap on the light. Then he said. "My uncle is marrying off a daughter. There is a big feast lasting several days to which we are invited. Mahmoud and I."

"Are you going?"

"Mahmoud cannot get away from his job. He will let me have his car. though, but it is a long drive. My uncle's place is in the Galilee. I am not anxious to drive two or three hours at night alone."

"Well, you could leave tomorrow morning—"

Abdul shook his head. "You don't understand. The family will be gathering, and unless I get there tonight, the most desirable rooms and beds will be all gone. No. if I am to go at all. it must be tonight."

"Gee. that's— look, did Mahmoud say anything about me? Seems to me I caught the word 'American.'"

"Oh, that was something else. Yes, he mentioned you." He sobered. "While he was waiting here, the police came and rang your bell."

"They did? Gosh, maybe it was to return my passport."

Abdul shook his head. "There were two of them. They don't need two to deliver your passport. He heard one say they could come back in the morning."

"Well, what do you think I ought to do?"

Abdul considered. "I think if you were out of the way for a few days while your father is working out things in Tel Aviv, it would—" He slapped his hand against his side. "I have an idea, come with me."

"You mean to the wedding?" Roy asked.

"Why not? There will be feasting and dancing, and there'll be girls," he said with a broad smile, "lots of girls."

"But I haven't been invited."

Abdul laughed. "But I am inviting you. I will present you to my uncle as my friend, and you will be his most honored guest. You'll have a chance to see Arab hospitality."

"You mean it? You'll take me with you?"

"Of course. You are my friend." He was struck by a thought. "Your father he is in Tel Aviv, you say. Why don't you call the King David and leave a message for him that you are going to visit friends for a few days, so he won't worry if he doesn't find you when he gets back?"