Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 38 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.
Leibowitz is waiting on the corner of the sidewalk, gazing distractedly at the lines of cars speeding by. When he sees Eli Katz parking his car and emerging, he waves. “Hi there, Eli.”
“Hello,” Ruchi’s father replies, and shakes his hand. “Now can you explain to me why you wanted to meet specifically here?”
“In my profession, we always have to take into account surveillance, wiretapping, and eavesdropping,” the private investigator says patiently. “When there’s a hot topic on the table, I will never give a report in the office or in my car.”
“And this is a hot topic?”
“Moni? Broiling.” He walks toward the crosswalk, Katz at his side. “To the best of my knowledge, they are focusing all their energies on that guy who is barricading himself, but they’re also open to other options, and are checking into every shred of information that comes their way. But a Jew cares about another Jew, and I would not want to be the one to provide information about Moni to them. It would turn me into a moiser.”
“So you have information.”
A tall black man brushes past Katz’s shoulder as they cross the street. Leibowitz stares at him for a few long moments. He remains quiet until they reach a small playground on the other side.
“You’re afraid he’s following us?” Katz is somewhat amused.
“Not him specifically, but I’m definitely on the alert.” Leibowitz sits down on the nearest bench and glances at the three Marines who are standing on the street corner. “When have you last seen soldiers in your area? The economic turmoil has led to semi-martial law. Not that I’m against it. In this situation, I agree with it.”
“Of course—otherwise the black market will totally take over the country. You know that Kluger made a wedding yesterday and gave the hall—a shabby hall, believe me—as a security, one eighteenth of his lots in Ohio? These businesses are having a field day, and it’s terrible. But what should we do? Not marry off our children?”
“Right…” Leibowitz is thoughtful. “Now, let’s talk about the Amish man who says he’s Moni. One of his points that don’t line up for me is that indeed, this man was in an accident of sorts a few years ago, but he was not left with any type of permanent disability, which Moni has, based on what he says in his lectures. But the FBI is not focusing on that; they are treating the disability—or lack of it—as part of the exaggerated background that the guy has generated for himself.”
“Well, no one expects that this hacker is the honest type who wouldn’t even exaggerate to try to get some public admiration in his speeches.”
“Look, people are very complicated,” Leibowitz said as he played with a branch from the bush to his right. “And when they don’t have a really spiritual guiding line, they can be completely unpredictable. From the psychological profile that they’re building of this Steve guy, he’s an honest, conscientious person, and very faithful to his principles…” Leibowitz hesitates for a moment. “Faithful even in very difficult situations.”
“Do you mean to the point of being crazy?”
“Maybe. Those who are in contact with him say that his style does sound reminiscent of Moni, but on the other hand, he speaks much more aggressively.”
“Like by saying what kinds of things?” Eli asked as he silenced his phone. What did Ruchi want now? She had been excited enough to hear that he was going to meet with the private investigator who was trying to find Moni for them. And she’d had a list of comments, requests, and messages, as if her father was going to meet Moni himself by this evening, at the latest.
“A statement like…” Leibowitz lowered his voice. “‘It’s just the beginning; the entire world will yet come down on its knees to thank me and ask forgiveness…’ But again, it’s possible that he is finding himself in some extreme situation, the type he’s never encountered during his lectures.”
“Wait a minute, so now you’re talking like it’s clear that ‘he’ is Moni.”
“I’m presenting that side to you. I have two options right now that seem much more likely to me, and the FBI is even giving one of them a lot of consideration.”
“Which is?” Eli Katz glances at his phone. Ruchi is calling for the fifth time.
“That the Amish hacker is not Moni himself, but one of his big admirers. And that Moni is with him and is drafting most of the responses for him.”
“Is he there of his own free will or not?”
“They’re trying to figure that out. Though the Amish guy, Steve, denies this and claims that he is Moni himself.”
Eli is quiet for a long moment. “The other option is what you told me at our last meeting?”
“Yes. That Moni is a Torah-observant Yid, living in Eretz Yisrael right now, and that he’s apparently praying for this storm to die down before he’s caught and extradited to the United States.”
“Based on this theory, he’s not guilty.”
“In my opinion, he’s not. Though he may promote simplicity and modesty, and speak against the trivialities of This World, which are definitely important messages.”
“Jewish ones, I’d say,” Eli murmured.
Leibowitz folded his arms and leaned back. Only his facial expression was tense, in complete contrast to his calm pose. “Exactly, when they are given over in the right context. It doesn’t sound to me like he’s the type who is looking to stop the whole world, right?”
“And to go back to the barter system, like trading a loaf of bread from the baker for a suit from the tailor.”
“What’s with you? A suit is worth an entire year of loaves of bread, isn’t it?” Leibowitz chuckles. “In any case, that’s not what he wanted or planned. And this Steve—who may very possibly be the hacker, or one of them—is working on his own.”
“Can I ask you something? Based on what did you decide that Moni is an Orthodox Jew, currently living in Israel? Because his agent is Jewish?”
“His agent is a very cunning guy who is managing to blur it all. When the FBI searched his empty house, they didn’t find anything, as if he never knew a person named Moni, and as if he had no connection to the sales of his lectures.”
Leibowitz stands up and walks onto the path, and then turns to the gated area across from them. The area has about ten exercise bikes, but aside for one elderly, white-haired man, pedaling briskly on one of them, the place is empty.
“And yet, he’s Moni’s marketer.” Eli Katz knows that the other man is not bound by normative rules, and therefore, he just hopes Leibowitz isn’t planning to continue the conversation while perched on one of the exercise bikes, because as it is, Eli’s concentration is not optimal.
To his relief, Leibowitz just leans on the gate, his sharp eyes fixed on a bicycle that is next to them. “Yes, he’s the marketer, and he’s admitted it. He sent a message from Europe to the FBI that indeed, he is ‘one of those involved’ in marketing the speeches, and that they have nothing to look for him in him or in Moni, because neither of them has anything to do with the bank hack.”
Ruchi’s father is quiet, gnawing on his tongue—a habit he tries to refrain from. But something about his constantly vibrating phone is addling his peace of mind.
“Do you want to answer that?”
“No, my daughter knows that sometimes, she has to wait until I can answer.” He powers down the phone. “Nu? And how did you get to Israel, of all places?”
“I did some checking into the background of this agent. Until about thirteen or fourteen years ago, he lived in Lakewood, where he worked as a physiotherapist. He helped out many Yidden who needed physical therapy exercises, particularly Lakewood residents.” He nodded to himself and then turned to Eli, looking very focused.
“From what I found out from my acquaintances who live there, at one point, he tried to establish a support group for people who have recovered from various levels of injury. But after two or three meetings, the whole thing fell apart. Apparently, he discovered that it’s virtually impossible to get government funding for such things, so he just abandoned the project. But I thought to focus on the people who were in that group.”
*
Many years have passed since I’ve decorated the cover of a notebook for someone, usually my kids. But now, as I open a new notebook—my own—to the first page, nostalgia takes me back at once to those dozens, if not hundreds, of covers that I’d drawn in the past, and I suddenly have an urge to draw yet another cover.
Without even thinking, I sketch an old phone receiver with a curly wire. At the bottom of the page, I draw a schematic map of Eretz Yisrael, and on the opposite corner, at the top, a schematic map of America. The beginning of the cord is in Israel, and the end of the receiver reaches America.
I’m in the east, and my heart is in the west.
Okay. All I need is for Sarah’le or someone else to see this drawing. Because they’ll think I’ve reached the point where my entire day revolves around Yudi, and that might really insult them.
But it’s not that my day revolves around him. This notebook is just a place for my scattered thoughts to land, all the remarks and points I plan to make. I don’t have a lot of extra time, because the last time I spoke to Yudi, he sounded awful, and it’s been two days since then and he hasn’t called at all.
I know I have to speak to Ruchi’s mother about my ideas, and that might be a difficult conversation. I don’t want to sound pushy or critical, because I’m really not. On the contrary, I want to put myself in her place, the place that wants the best for our children. So I’m preparing this notebook for myself, because right now, I’m thinking of very powerful, understanding, well-phrased sentences, and I know that sometimes, in moments of truth, those sentences might disappear into the recesses of my brain and leave me blank.
Some time for recovery, I write on the first page, after the cover. Sometimes we get into a whirl of thoughts, and the way to get out of it is to get up and go somewhere else, where the atmosphere is different, so as not to be constantly reminded of the difficulty. After a moment, I add, And I don’t mean Ruchi herself, chas v’shalom. She’s not the difficulty; she’s amazing. I mean the trauma that they both experienced from the deception of that jewelry thief.
I go to knead a yeast dough, but I stop three times in the middle to wash my hands so I can go back to my notebook and jot down some ideas about what can be done if Ruchi doesn’t want to come to Israel, and how to present the whole thing to her. Maybe the couple would want me to come to America and live with them for a week?
I write this sentence hesitantly and then go back to my dough. But just a few minutes later, I’m washing my hands again and going back to the notebook, where I put emphasized parentheses around that sentence. I need to think about whether I’m up to living in close proximity to Ruchi and Yudi for a whole week, and to be their aide, more or less.
*
-No new recordings-
