The Marsh Angel by Hagai Dagan (ebooks online reader .TXT) 📗

Tamir shrugged his shoulders.

Okay then, best of luck to you. Maybe we’ll see you around here when you come for reserve duty.

Reserve duty, Tamir mused, that thought hadn’t even crossed his mind until then. He bid the department head farewell and went home.

g. Bad Boy

A week before his discharge, Tamir was summoned to a meeting at a branch of the Prime Minister’s Office— a well-known euphemism for the Mossad. He went to the address he was given and entered an office in Dubnov Street which seemed like it was thrown together ad hoc just a few minutes before he arrived. It was an empty room furnished with nothing but a single desk and two plain chairs. The man who interviewed him introduced himself as Danny Shiloah. There was a writing block placed on the desk before him at which he glanced occasionally. He told Tamir that he wanted to inquire whether he had any interest in continuing serving his country as he’s done so far, but in a slightly different framework.

What kind of framework?

Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations— the Mossad, the man said, staring at Tamir with a pair of icy-blue eyes. The allusion to the Mossad juxtaposed with those arctic eyes reminded Tamir of the Sailors book series by Avner Carmeli, an author he adored when he was about eight years old. All of the heroes of the Sailors series were tall and strong, many of them endowed with piercing blue eyes. They were given names like Givol and Gilboa, reflecting the flora and geography of the homeland, and their dedication to their country knew no bounds. Tamir asked, out of curiosity, what position they had in mind for him.

Similar to what you’ve been doing in the army, Danny Shiloah said, but you’ll be stationed in a different country.

Tamir told him he thought about enrolling to study.

You can do that afterwards, the man said. We’ll even fund it. But first, work for us for a few years.

Tamir shook his head to decline. It’s a generous offer, he said, but I want to start studying now. I feel a strong urge.

Urges can be tamed, Danny Shiloah said in a critical tone. Besides, sometimes you have to think about the needs of your country.

Yes, Tamir agreed, sometimes you do. He studied Danny Shiloah inquisitively. Can I ask you something?

Shoot.

Why am I suddenly being wooed? My last encounter with you guys wasn’t exactly friendly.

Danny Shiloah smiled. He seemed to know very well what Tamir was referring to. What they told you at that point, he said, was what you needed to hear at that point. And what I’m telling you today is what you need to hear today.

You’re going to have to try a little harder than that, Tamir said.

I don’t need to do anything, Danny Shiloah replied. But I will tell you something anyway— the fact that you were a bit of a bad boy didn’t sit well with the organization under those circumstance. But more broadly, it taught us that you can think outside the box, that you can improvise, that you’ll go to any means. Under the current circumstances, we view that as an advantage.

I see, Tamir said. Can I ask you another thing?

No harm in asking, Dani Shiloah smiled.

Where is she?

Who?

You know who I’m talking about.

Even if I did, chances are I wouldn’t…

Is she alive?

Listen, Tamir, I’m here to offer you to join our organization, that’s all.

Okay, thank you for your offer. Are we done here?

Are you sure you’re not interested?

Yes.

Fine. I wish you the best of luck in the future.

h. Tediously Familiar

When he left his room in the department for the last time, Tamir stopped to cast one last glance over at his orphaned desk, soon to be manned by his exuberant replacement. He asked himself whether he felt sad. No, he didn’t feel a thing. When he left the base, he turned around again to survey the futuristic antenna-laden building where he had spent so many months. He vaguely recalled the excitement that gripped him when he first saw it. Now, it seemed tediously familiar— drab, dull, and gray. He turned his back on the building and walked to the parking lot. The hot sun baked his uniform. He yearned to strip out of them. Besides that, he felt no discernable emotion whatsoever.

5. THE LIFE OF ARTS

We yearn to forget, but we cannot

the diving of the birds, the bellowing of the wind,

like a restless child, we cannot

forget the sand and that which the sand

remembers. We cannot

the sound of our feet stepping over sediment,

our footprints in the marsh, we cannot forget

the collapsed riverbed,

the daunting silence,

how we stood there one last moment, at the end,

before the earth

collapsed

— al-Darija, “We Cannot”, Artemis, 1991.

Translation from Arabic to French: Laurent Fouquet.

a. The Stint Will Die Here

At the start of the second semester of his first schoolyear in the Department of Philosophy at Tel-Aviv University, Tamir Binder was summoned to reserves duty. The timing was terrible. The last thing he wanted at that point was to spend two whole weeks at Kidonit. He had just started to feel like he was getting the hang of things, that he was no longer agonizing over texts, that he was finally surfacing from the thick waters of dense philosophical tracts, concepts, and manners of argumentation, grabbing on to the deck, pulling himself up, navigating the ship with increasing safety, overlooking the sea and the brightening horizon. The sea was still vast and expansive, but he was starting to come to grips with its manifold winds and currents, no longer helplessly rattled but actively steering, gliding over the air and water. In the evenings, as he sat in the lone arm chair furnishing his sparse apartment, reading his books, he could feel the threads weaving, ideas intertwining, periods aligning, the history of knowledge coming together into one intricate, stellar map. He felt he was beginning to understand, truly understand— forward, across, and in depth. It felt wonderful, to be riding on the crest of