40

Ariel

He put on black underwear, a sky-blue shirt, and jeans. When he was about to go back to Alaa’s apartment, he figured it was probably better to take a small bag and put whatever he needed in it so that he could stay there the next two days.

He packed two T-shirts, a pair of shorts, pants, and three pieces of underwear. He put in his mint-scented shampoo, toothbrush, and floss. He wasn’t sure why, but he added a pack of condoms he found in the small cabinet in the bathroom. He took the food in his fridge and put it in a small grocery bag he preferred to use instead of those environmentally unfriendly plastic bags that were everywhere.

He locked the door climbed down the ten steps. He looked back at his door twice to make sure it was shut. Then he remembered the newspaper. He left the two bags next to the door and went down quickly to the ground floor. As he had hoped, the newspaper was is his mailbox. That made him smile. He stood to scan the headlines and then climbed back up to the third floor.

In the temporary apartment, as he called it, he tried to feel somewhat at home as he waited for the unknown. So, he put the feta, bread, black olives, and sausage in the fridge. Then he went to the bedroom and put the newspaper on the small round table next to the green reading sofa. He placed his other stuff on the edge of the bed and put his dirty laundry in a plastic bag. He took the tiny bag with toiletries into the bathroom and arranged its contents on the brown shelves. He went back to the green sofa, turned on the radio next to the bed, and opened the newspaper. Then he called Itzik. While on the phone, using a pen, he marked some article titles with an X to read them.

“Itzik, how are you?”

“Hi Ariel. Nothing new under the sun.”

“How can there be nothing new under the sun? Don’t you have some information about the disappearance and who is responsible for it? Is there anything about Titi’s speech today? What of the news about these measures and the registration? I don’t understand the reason behind them. Is it conceivable that these measures are taken, and you still don’t know where the Palestinians have disappeared? Tell me the truth. Are the army and intelligence services somehow responsible for the matter?”

“All these questions! Calm down just a bit! The initial survey of camera footage and phone calls up till now shows a lot of strange things. But we have to analyze the data and solve the puzzle. As of now, there is no proof that we are responsible for what is taking place. At least that’s what my sources confirm. It is reassuring, but we have yet to get detailed reports from the security and military intelligence. And you know that they live in their own world, as if they are states in and of themselves. The prime minister held closed meetings with the heads of apparatuses, but not much is known. We’ll see.”

“Come on. Do you honestly believe that? We’re talking about around four million people disappearing overnight. What is going on? Do you really believe that we’re not involved, or at least know about the matter?”

“Why do you think we’re responsible for everything that happens to the Palestinians in this world? I’m telling you all I know in all honesty because you know how close we are and what your father meant to me.”

“Ok. Fine.”

“If I get any new information, I’ll call you right away. Why don’t you just sit at home and enjoy it. Let’s be honest now. What’s happening solves all our problems. You know I’m not a believer, but perhaps this is divine intervention.”

Ariel laughed and said,

“We, Zionist atheists, are an off bunch. We don’t believe that God exists, but we believe he performs miracles on our behalf. He doesn’t exist, but we still believe he promised us this land, and now he’s gotten rid of the Palestinians for us!”

Itzik laughed and then they said goodbye. Ariel was perplexed. He looked at his e-mails, reading the subject lines and only what appeared to be urgent. He clicked on Matthew’s message, which was urging him to submit today’s article by one in the afternoon, Tel Aviv time. He browsed Twitter and Facebook, looking for new posts and news. Then he went to the Palestinian pages he visited the day before and then to those of some Israeli and foreign friends to see if there was anything new.

The pages of Palestinians who live in the country had no posts, but they had many comments from people all over the world, asking their friends to come out and say something. Some were losing patience. The two questions that were repeated were: “Where are you? What happened to you?”

He went to the kitchen to drink water, make some coffee, and eat. There was only Turkish coffee in Alaa’s kitchen. He was too lazy to go back up to his apartment to bring his coffee maker. He put three spoons of coffee in the pot and poured water and stood waiting so it wouldn’t boil and spill over the stove. Alaa used to put the white cheese his mother made in jars on the shelves. Ariel got a plate to put a few pieces on. He added slices of tomatoes, cucumbers, and some of the spicy olives his mother made every year. He heated some pita too. He brought the coffee he made just the way Alaa does and went to the bedroom. He sat on the small sofa, picked up Haaretz, and started reading.