Mishka Ben-David - Forbidden Love in St. Petersburg

She’d heard me arrive and was coming down from her studio as I walked in.

Even before I had a chance to open my mouth she began. This is no fleeting moment of madness. The murder clinched it for me but we haven’t been a couple for a very long time. Because of or not because of the child we don’t have, because of or not because of your work. The way things are, I do not want to carry on. I can’t live with you any longer. Even if there is a chance of us having this child, you’ve killed off any possibility of that actually happening. You won’t understand. You may even think that it’s crazy. But I am absolutely not prepared to have your child, nor do I want you or any part of you in my life. I can’t be clearer than that.

I tried to approach her but with a wave of the hand she signalled me to stay away.

And if you don’t mind, please take your clothes off outside.

I spent the following week at my parents’ house.

Their situation was such that I didn’t need to give any explanations. My father hardly ever got out of bed and had no idea what was going on in the rest of the house. Recently, my mother’s memory had declined to the point where she didn’t even remember that I had moved out long ago.

Orit’s parents were more affected by the news of our separation. What made it particularly difficult for them was a lack of information–Orit hadn’t told them a thing and they couldn’t understand what had led to the breakup. They–as well as I–believed that in the end everything would be OK.

Not feeling able to go back to work in the state I was in, I asked HQ for a short leave of absence. Every day during that week I went out to the fields and the small adjustments I made in the way the farm was running helped to improve my mood a little. Twice during that week I went to the house I had shared with Orit to fetch clothes or documents and found her matter-of-fact and cold.

After a week of convalescence which brought no real relief but was a good pointer of things to come, I returned to the office.

Udi–who had recently been appointed head of the division–suggested that I become head of his planning department. It’s a job tailor-made for you, he said. We don’t have anyone with even half your operational experience.

But I wanted to get away from operational activity. Not only did I not want to pull the trigger, I also didn’t want to be around when somebody else was pulling it–I didn’t want to be in any way involved with that side of things. I also had no desire to plan an operation for others to execute. Perhaps Orit is right and I have no soul. Maybe, if I cut off all my links with such operations, my soul can be rehabilitated.

What I’m interested in is an assignment at HQ that has nothing to do with operations, I explained to Udi, and suggested that Levanon take the job he had offered me. I’ve watched him in the field. He’s much better than me, I said.

No, said Udi, with a paternal smile. He’s much more determined than you are. For all his smiles, when it comes right down to it he’s an Amstaff. In the field, as well as at HQ, we need someone who goes on using his head until the very last moment, and beyond, into that last critical moment when the shooting has begun. Not someone who ‘fires and forgets’. There is no shortage of courageous and determined people. And those who follow orders are also in plentiful supply. If you check all the mishaps we have suffered you’ll discover a surfeit of determination, of courage and obedience. You are among the few who operate without ceasing to think and question. That’s why, from our point of view, you were the classic number one and Levanon the archetypal number two. It’s not that we didn’t notice your hesitancy, in discussions as well as in the field. But your collaboration with Levanon produced the ideal duo.

As for the rest, he continued, I completely understand what you are saying. But if that’s what you really want then our division is not the place for you. What can I possibly offer–training? Head of the training department? That won’t answer your desire to disengage completely. There you would also be involved in training operatives, shooting, preparing explosive devices. It’s OK with me if you want to check out the options in other divisions. Look how well Motti and Micha have integrated into and moved up the ladder in Tevel and Tzomet. Contact with other intelligence services and even agent recruitment are areas that might also suit you.

My round of visits produced similar if not pre-arranged responses. Tevel–foreign relations–didn’t want someone who couldn’t be made known to other services because of the numerous violent operations he’d been involved in. Tzomet–recruitment–could only suggest my continued activity around targets. Not liquidation as such, but recruitment by all the various means that I didn’t want to employ and didn’t think I was good at.

If you managed to conceal what you were doing from your wife for so many years, then believe me you’re good at it, Tzomet’s head of manpower told me as I left his office, more astonished than angry. Other divisions had nothing to offer me. It’s not personal, they said, it happens a lot with people who return from the field and want to fit into HQ. There simply are no jobs for them. And apart from that, those who are skilled in the field often don’t have the qualifications needed at HQ, sitting at a desk for eight hours a day, getting stuck into the detail, and filing things away.

I also assume that I radiated an air of fatigue and frailty that didn’t exactly make me attractive to a would-be employer. I’m not one of those who think they’ve achieved much and are therefore ‘deserving’. Nonetheless, I felt somewhat humiliated when I got back to Udi empty-handed.

I don’t mind simply being a clerk, idling away the time left until my contract is up. Alternatively just let me go. At the moment I don’t have the money to repay what I received during my studies as our spare cash has gone on the treatments. On top of that, if I have to leave the house and start all over again from scratch I shall get into debt. And anyway I haven’t the energy for the role you offered.

Give it a try and see how it goes, Udi suggested in a spirit of friendship. Be head of planning. I’ve known you for long enough. The energy will come with the missions. I also have a little bonus for you, he added. We’ll cover your rent if you decide to take an apartment somewhere near here. For a head of a department to have a three-hour journey to and from work, even if it’s not every day, is sheer madness.

The temptation was great. I also knew that I would be comfortable working with Udi. But I couldn’t give up on the hope of rebuilding my life with Orit. I turned the offer down. We’d reached an impasse.

It had been a week since I had last seen Orit and I didn’t want to set foot in our home unannounced. On the other hand it felt odd to have to make an appointment to visit my own home and talk to my wife.

I have something important to tell you, I said on the phone.

So say it, she replied drily.

It has to be said face to face.

Fine, she said in that same frigid voice.

Orit was thin, ashen-faced and sloppily dressed. From above came the sound of music, and over it the voice of her assistant. I went into the kitchen, the most intimate and secluded place I could allow myself to enter at that moment, and sat down. Orit remained standing.

I’ve had time to think, to see what went wrong, I said. I’ve also had a conversation with Udi. He’s now head of my division, by the way, and he’s offered me the job of heading the planning department.

The expression on her face remained frozen.

I refused his offer. I decided to quit the office for good and come back here. I will take over my parents’ farm and pay the office whatever is necessary, just as you wanted me to do a long time ago. You were right.