Papal decree

7

Ben Isaac was doing everything to save his marriage. Myriam had lost her patience and given him an ultimatum. The business or her. That was the reason he agreed to go on a cruise when his business was in such a precarious state. His son, also named Ben, would take care of things for a month. Little Ben, twenty-seven years old, had worked administering the business for a long time, but always under the attentive, appraising eye of his father. This time was different. His father was on board a ship with his mother, relaxing in the Mediterranean. Young Ben made a nightly report of what had happened during the day. His mother tolerated this discussion as long as it didn’t take more than fifteen minutes. Ben Isaac took advantage of it to counsel his son. He wasn’t a good husband, or father, but nobody beat him at his game. He thought his business affairs would be lighter as he got older, but he had deceived himself. His objectives had changed. First he wanted the best for its own sake, then for Myriam, then for his son, and now he simply wanted to leave a magnificent legacy, immune to rough times or bad decisions. ‘When you die, you leave everything,’ Myriam warned him. ‘You can’t take it with you.’

The cruise could not be happening at a worse time. The negotiations with his Israeli counterparts were at a crucial stage, and little Ben had to conclude the deal. It was a crucial test for the boy.

He’d boarded MS Voyager of the Seas, an enormous ship with fifteen decks and more than a thousand passengers. They called it a floating hotel, and they weren’t wrong. It had a casino, a spa, a marriage chapel, ice-skating rink, cinema, theater, shopping center, everything to make the travelers forget they were at sea and not on land.

Ben Isaac could have bought his own ship and crew and sailed where he wanted, but Myriam was inflexible. She wanted to take a cruise like a normal married couple. Arguing with her was not an option. He reserved five cabins on deck 14 and occupied the middle one in order to avoid unpleasant neighbors. Of course, he decided not to tell Myriam this detail. Ben Isaac was like that. He gave in to a certain point, and then arranged things his way. He tried to spare Myriam everything. Business problems, his son’s accidents, her brother’s detoxification cure, her father’s lovers. He permitted nothing to inconvenience her, kept her enclosed in a glass dome. This created other problems, such as a lack of attention, long absences, and a lack of affection. Myriam rebelled and Ben Isaac gave in to her, adapting to the new reality. That was always the secret of his success.

So we find him reading the paper at table 205 in the restaurant on deck 14. Myriam was in the gymnasium swimming, and would join him shortly. Mornings were always the same since they’d boarded the ship. And Ben Isaac, exiled in London since childhood, where he made his fortune, didn’t care. If Myriam was happy, so was he. If he got news of the business only at night, then so be it. That was the price he had to pay for innumerable lonely nights. Myriam deserved this sacrifice.

The waiter brought his coffee.

‘Good morning, Dr. Isaac. How are you today?’ A genuine smile crossed his face.

‘Good morning, Sigma. Very well, thank you.’

Sigma was from the Philippines and an excellent waiter, in Ben Isaac’s opinion.

‘Are you only going to have coffee?’

‘Yes, just coffee. I’m not hungry before ten.’

‘Certainly, Dr. Isaac. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call me. I hope you have a very nice day.’

‘Thank you, Sigma.’

Ben Isaac continued to read the Financial Times out of professional interest. No other reading gave him more pleasure. Analyzing the market, reading between the lines, evaluating investment opportunities. One page alone could turn into millions of dollars of income. For this reason he advised little Ben to subscribe and read this paper carefully.

He lifted the coffee cup and drank a little. Black, strong, without sugar. What better way to face the day? Only when he set the cup back down did he notice a small envelope at the edge of the saucer. How strange. Sigma had not mentioned it. He lay the paper down on the table with the intention of returning to his reading and opened the envelope. There was a small piece of cream-colored paper inside.

12am swimming pool Status Quo.

Ben Isaac reread the note three times. He looked around at the tables on every side. Few people had gotten up yet. A family of five in the back, a couple three tables away. No one suspicious, though seeing faces is not seeing hearts, let alone intentions.

He caught sight of Sigma carrying a tray to the table of the family of five, full of croissants, bread, cheese, and ham.

‘Sigma, please,’ Ben Isaac called. The Filipino came over. ‘Who gave you this envelope?’ Ben Isaac asked, trying to hide his anxiousness.

‘What envelope, Dr. Isaac? No one gave me any envelope.’

‘This…’ But he stopped. This was too much for Sigma to comprehend. ‘Forget it. I was confused. Thanks.’

‘Do you need anything else, Dr. Isaac?’

Ben Isaac took a few moments before answering no. Everything was fine.

In spite of the cool air-conditioning, Ben Isaac was sweating. He raised his napkin to his face to wipe away the film that was forming. This bothered him. He stuck his hand into the pocket of the shorts Myriam made him wear and took out the cell phone. He dialed from memory and pressed the green button to make the call. Soon he heard the beep that indicated the other phone was ringing, or vibrating, or whatever phones did these days.

‘Pick up, pick up, pick up,’ he said almost pleadingly, though his intention was only to think without speaking.

Nothing. There was no answer. Seconds later he listened to the answering machine. You called Ben Isaac Jr…

He put down the phone on the table and looked at his watch. It was eleven o’clock in Tel Aviv. Ben was working. Perhaps in some meeting about important business whose secrecy was the key to success. A tightening in his heart told him no. He got up. He needed to get his thoughts together. Take it easy, Ben Isaac. He has nothing to do with all this. They’re not going to lay a finger on little Ben. But he couldn’t help remembering the message on the cream paper. Status Quo. It made him shiver.

The past, always the past, pursuing the steps of the just man. The mistakes, obsessions, excesses of youth gave him no rest or forgetting. Like Myriam, little Ben, and Magda, the past was always with him, and this time it would all catch up to him at midnight in the swimming pool.