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

Europe. What would I do without you? Yaki wrote. The food sucks, she isn’t doing anything, but at least I got a history lesson. I knew it was a good idea to bring you along.

Tamir grabbed a newspaper, but knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. He got up, sat down, and got up again.

Everything alright? asked the woman in leather pants.

Yes, yes, Tamir conjured a labored smile. I’m being really unprofessional, he thought to himself. I should just sit here and wait. Nothing’s happening, anyway. If I’m going to go rogue, I should at least wait for a better opportunity.

Can I get you anything else? the waitress asked.

The check, please, he said, but did not wait for it to arrive at his table. He left a bunch of notes on the table, got up, put on his jacket, wrapped himself up in his scarf, and put on his sunglasses, pulling his favorite traveling hat down over his eyes— the kind similar to the flat caps worn by urban Jews during the interwar period. He stepped out. He knew Yaki could see he was on the move, but he kept on walking. Where are you going? a text appeared on his screen. He kept walking. As he passed Siebenstern Square, Café Nil’s blue-yellow sign came into his view.

Yaki emerged from the café and strode towards him at a casual, leisurely pace. He reached Tamir, nodded amicably as if he were greeting an old acquaintance, then subtly but firmly grabbed him by the elbow and turned him the other way. Tamir could feel how tense Yaki was and how forceful his action was, but it didn’t show on the outside. Walk with me, Yaki said, talk natural, don’t make any sign of excitement or anger, and smile occasionally, he said and donned a convincing smile himself. Tamir walked alongside him. What the hell do you think you’re doing? Yaki hissed between clenched teeth.

I need to see her.

You need to see her? The only one who decides what you do or do not need is me. I thought we agreed that you’re going to follow my instructions.

We did, I am, but if I see her, that might help… the operation.

How would that possibly help?

I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have insights.

Don’t piss me off, you hear me? Don’t piss me off. You never change anything on the spot. Never. Once there is a stakeout team out, there’s only one commander in the field. You hear me?

I hear you.

Good, now get the hell out of my sight. You pull a stunt like this one more time, I’ll have you on a plane back that same day, and see to it personally you won’t be able to leave the country for a whole year, Yaki smiled pleasantly. He put a friendly arm over his shoulder and fastened his fingers on his neck, tightening his grip into an assertive choke. Tamir struggled for air, but Yaki was not quick to relent. This is the last time, he said, still smiling, and released his hold.

Nice hat and glasses, Yaki said, I see you’ve been reading some spy novels. Suddenly, he lowered his head slightly and spoke into his collar. What’s going on? he asked. Tamir didn’t hear the answer. Yaki nodded. Okay, I’m coming back. He turned to Tamir. Get away from here, but stay close. Sit somewhere, and await further instructions.

Tamir retraced his steps, turned right at Siebenstern Square, turned left at Mariahilferstrasse, went down a broad, elegant flight of stairs into a small square, sat down in a place called Café Cinema, and stared blankly ahead. A waitress approached him with a casual smile. He scrolled through the menu and ordered pea soup. He always liked pea soup, especially during winter, particularly with smoked bacon. He looked at the map again. The red dot was still in Café Nil. Café Cinema was filled with young people. They seemed to Tamir to be wholly absorbed in their experience of Viennese contemporariness. Tamir knew nothing about that experience. Perhaps he should interview one of them about the secrets of settling down. He thought about the Jewish authors who had come from Galicia to Vienna in the early twentieth century. They weren’t settled anywhere. They were at large, unfettered, grabbing onto this city with passion, sometimes in desperation, suckling on it like a recalcitrant teat, clinging on to it like castaways suddenly coming across an elusive cruise ship.

The pea soup arrived. It had no bacon in it. He tasted it— it was superb. The red dot started moving. He ate his soup and watched her on the screen. She went back to Neubaugasse and turned left. She reached Mariahilferstrasse, turned left, and stopped. She’s gone into a lingerie shop, Yaki wrote. Lingerie? Tamir wondered. He got up and paid the cashier, leaving the waitress a generous tip. A broad smile stretched across her grateful face. He then asked her if she knew any lingerie shops on Mariahilferstrasse. She looked at him bemused. He said he wanted to get something for his girlfriend. Her quizzical eyes softened only slightly; she said there was one very well-known shop called Luscinia, and explained how to find it. He asked if he could ask her for a favor.

Depends, she said.

Okay, he smiled, I’m going to leave this phone here with you— he extended her the phone Yaki gave him— keep it for me here, and I’ll come back to get it in about an hour.

Why would you do that? she asked him suspiciously.

It’s a complicated story, he said.

Interesting, she said, but the tone of her voice revealed no genuine interest. She didn’t ask what the story was. She did not flirt with him, either. Young people have lost their curiosity, he thought to himself, and I’m probably too old and boring for women her age. Fine, she said, whatever. She took the phone and placed it by the cash register.

He thanked her and turned to leave, but then changed his mind and