Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 26 of a new online serial novel, If Anyone Is Listening, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications.
“Abe?”
Abe Rubinson’s accountant did not usually call him for no reason, certainly not at half past eight in the morning.
“Hi, Alan, what’s doing?”
“I don’t quite understand what is going on,” Alan said slowly, “but I received an urgent message from…someone. Lots of inquiries and nosing around have been going on over the past day, about the sales and marketing of Moni, and his speeches. Someone is trying to find out who the owners are of the whole marketing campaign around him, and which account the profits are going into…”
“The IRS?” Rubinson paled without even realizing it. “But everything is supposed to be in order, isn’t it? I don’t think that anyone can have any complaints.”
“Absolutely, as far as taxes, you are just fine.”
“So what is it, then?”
“I don’t know who is nosing around in your affairs.” Alan was quiet for a moment, and then said, “But it looks like someone with power. With abilities, to put it more precisely. Could it be that someone at higher levels took notice of your business with Moni, and is looking for you because of it?”
“Why should anyone notice it? Is there a problem with the marketing, or something like that?”
“I don’t know.” Alan coughed. “Do you listen to everything he says? All his talks?”
“Yes.”
“And is it not possible that something he said riled people up?”
“What is that supposed to mean, Alan? We’re in a democratic country—this is not Russia or Iran. A person is allowed to say whatever he wants.”
“Except when he’s not.”
“But he didn’t say anything ‘illegal’ or problematic…” Abe thought for a moment. “Not that I remember his every word, but if there would have been something like that, I for sure would have noticed.”
“Okay, I understand. But let’s talk about this briefly, from a practical perspective: They are going to dig into this matter of Moni until the end of the end. Although I know that anonymity is important to you, you cannot be anonymous to the authorities, right? And I assume that I will be asked about your accounts; that’s going to be the next step.”
“What will that help them find out about Moni? You don’t know who he is.”
“Right, but because you are registered with the American tax authorities, they have the ability to know who you are. I’m just a stepping stone to get to you.”
“And I’m the next step to get to Moni. I see.” Rubinson thought for a moment. “You know what? I don’t care if people at the highest levels know that I’m connected to him. I just hope we can trust them to keep the whole thing secret—that’s my concern. I wouldn’t want all of America to know that I’m the one marketing Moni.”
“Why not? You’d become famous. Moni is a dizzying success!”
“I have my reasons for that. But tell me, Alan, can they force me to reveal who he is? It’s very important to him to stay anonymous!”
Alan laughed. “We are in a democratic country, Abe, remember? But if they have reason to suspect that Moni is involved in illegal stuff, they’ll do whatever it takes to find him.”
“But he’s not involved in anything illegal! He doesn’t even live in America!”
“I figured that out already a while ago,” Alan said coolly. “And if you don’t want me to give this information to those who may come and question me, I suggest you don’t offer it to me. Continue to keep your cards close to your chest about Moni’s identity, but I advise you to prepare some answers for when they ask you about him.”
“What would be the best thing for me to answer, if I don’t want to give him away?”
“Look, every detainee has the right to remain silent,” Alan said. “If you really think you’ll be able to remain silent, then go ahead.”
“Detainee?! You’re exaggerating!”
“If you disseminate in the United States speeches from a person who is suspected of…”
“Of what?!” Rubinson practically shouted. “Don’t play games with me, Alan! Tell me what you know!”
“It sounds to me like a foolish conspiracy—that’s why I didn’t want to tell it to you.” The accountant sounded almost apologetic. “But they are suspecting that Moni is the brain behind the whole bank crisis.”
“What?!” Abe burst into hysterical laughter. “Where did that brilliant idea come from? The guy doesn’t even know how to turn on a computer!”
“Great! So tell them that.”
***
The little booth Shimmy had been assigned to was small—tiny, actually—but it was equipped with whatever he needed. It was one of dozens of other booths that appeared locked and desolate throughout the day. He had no complaints about the bed, the cleanliness, the pleasant air-conditioning, or the assigned driver who took him wherever he needed to go—from davening with a minyan to obtaining kosher food.
The only payment he needed to give for all this was the constant accompaniment of the bat, who photographed and recorded his every move, and connected him to Yang Yang, the one in charge. When Shimmy saw the size of the complex in which he was being housed—aside for the dozens of booths, it also included three huge buildings—he began to think that Yang Yang was not only the owner and manager of a successful factory, but that he belonged to something much bigger.
On his second morning there, after a night of being repeatedly assailed by strange fears, he decided to test the extent of his freedom. “I want to go to the Factory for Motorized Toys, to check what’s doing with the toy we are producing,” he said on the internal phone line. “Once I’m there, the driver can leave, and I’d like for him to come back and get me three hours later.”
No one seemed to have a problem with this. The driver arrived, took Shimmy to daven, and from there, continued straight to the familiar factory. “I’ll be in touch with you when I finish my business,” Shimmy said, and breathed a sigh of relief when the car pulled away and disappeared around a corner. Only Christopher remained, flying somewhere over his head, reminding him that he was constantly being tracked and photographed. But Shimmy knew he couldn’t make light of the fact that he was free to do whatever he wanted, despite the constant surveillance.
Shimmy went over to the gate and nodded at the guard, who already recognized his face, and opened the gate. At first, he was a bit uncomfortable walking in with Christopher flying right above him, but he decided that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to use the robot’s translations services, now that Shio Ching was no longer around.
“Everything is in the warehouse, all ready,” the manager told him at the office. He stared at the creature that had found a perch on one of the decorative shelves in the room, from where it was translating their conversation. “But we can only release the order after you make the rest of the payment, including delivery fees if you’ll want us to ship them to Israel. It comes out to another $6200.”
Could Gedalya transfer such sums right now? Shimmy really didn’t know, so he simply nodded to the manager. “We’ll take care of it,” he said. “Can I see the stuff?”
“Sure,” the manager said. “You can go downstairs and open any box that you want. You can also take one Tankum with you, to check it out and play with it. We don’t understand what he’s saying, of course, but he’s cute.”
***
“Why is Isamar crying?” Yudi was sitting with the coffee Ruchi had prepared for him, trying to take a sip.
“It’s not him!” she exclaimed in distress. “I don’t know what all this crying is about! He was a very good boy today—even Chana’le said so. But it’s like someone recorded him and is playing it over and over again.”
“Are you sure it’s not him?” Yudi stood up to check.
“Positive,” she said, a bit miffed. “It’s not even his voice. Chana’le says it’s from one of the buildings behind us, maybe from those Hispanic families who live there.”
Yudi walked over to his son’s carriage. It was true—Isamar was sleeping—but the screaming continued, and it was so loud that it seemed the baby heard it in his sleep. His eyes twitched, and every few seconds he frowned, as if he was about to burst into tears.
“It’s like in Mitzrayim,” Yudi said as he went back to his coffee. “They would bring Egyptian babies and make them cry, and then the hidden Jewish babies would hear the crying so they also started to cry. And that’s how the Egyptians found them.”
“When was this?” Ruchi asked, looking around nervously, as if an Egyptian soldier was about to break into their home.
“In Mitzrayim.”
“And with which babies?”
“The Jewish babies, whose mothers hid them so that they wouldn’t get thrown into the Nile River.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice sounding high-pitched. “Don’t tell me this now. It scares me.”
“But they were saved,” her husband hurried to assure her. “The malachim watched over the Jewish babies in the fields.”
Ruchi blinked. “Is the coffee good?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, it’s very good.”
“Great. Do you also want some of the cookies that Chana’le made? Isamar was crying a little, and the other baby was also crying, and it was making me get overwhelmed, so I couldn’t bake the cookies myself.” She suddenly began to cry. “And the worst thing is that she called here! I forgot to tell you about it because it was a long time ago, at lunchtime.”
“Who called?”
“That neighbor, the one who doesn’t like me. She yelled into the phone that it’s impossible to live like this, with a baby crying all day!”
“But which baby cried more?”
She thought about it. “The other baby, for sure. I told you, Isamar was a very good boy today.”
“So did you tell her that?”
Ruchi blew her nose into a tissue. “No, I didn’t even talk to her, only Chana’le did. And she yelled at Chana’le, so Chana’le yelled back at her.”
“But did she understand that it wasn’t Isamar who was crying?”
“I hope so. I don’t know.” She was breathing hard and rubbing her eyes, while the screaming continued in the background.
“So now everything is fine, Ruchi. If your aide spoke to her, then it’s for sure fine. Let’s close the window, and then we won’t hear the crying anymore.”
“Okay, so close it. Tomorrow, b’ezras Hashem, I’ll do some baking.”
Yudi smiled. Closing the window completely silenced the cries of the other baby, but not the ringing of the phone in their own home.
“It’s her, for sure!” Ruchi began to cry again and fled from the kitchen to the dining room.
“I’ll pick up,” Yudi said nervously, glancing all around him. “Don’t be afraid, Ruchi. I also know how to shout.”
***
Once again, I’ve received several questions about the concept of simplicity versus luxuries, and everything beyond that. I see that it’s something people are thinking about a lot lately, most likely because of the strange situation in the world right now…
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