Assaf Gavron - Almost Dead

As soon as I got back home I called Halil’s cousin, who was pleased to hear from me. They’d been meaning to contact me some time anyway. Now that there was contact with Bilahl again, the big operation was back on.

‘What did you say?’

She couldn’t believe I didn’t know. Bilahl had been in contact from his jail. He had confessed to planning the attacks, and would probably get multiple life sentences.

I was unable to breathe for a moment. Air jammed in my throat.

‘What do you mean, confessed? He told them everything?’

‘I don’t know exactly what he said. You can call him, but be careful. They’ve given him this line just so they can monitor his calls.’ She gave me the number and asked how I was doing. I told her about the Croc.

‘The fool who couldn’t die. Well, you must take care of him.’

‘It’s not that simple. I’m on my own here. Where am I going to find a weapon? Where can I escape to?’

‘You’ve done more complicated things than this, Fahmi.’

I was still having trouble getting air into my lungs. The sense of convergence I’d had in the mosque that morning; the feeling that Allah, or Grandfather, was guiding things from above; Bilahl suddenly only a phone call away; and all of this happening when I still had my appointment with the Croc to come…It all felt connected.

I called the number and asked for Bilahl. Two minutes later I heard his ‘Hello?’, and it was like something floating up from the depths of my memory.

‘Bilahl.’

‘Fahmi?’

We were silent for a long time. Strange, to have to think very carefully about every word you spoke to your brother.

‘How are you?’ he asked. ‘How’s the village?’

‘Good. Comfortable. There’s work…a little bit in the packing-house. You know, bits and pieces here and there.’

‘Good. And you’re praying? Continuing to fulfil the six commandments?’

‘Yes.’ He was playing with fire. I understood what he meant at once. There are only five main commandments in Islam. The sixth commandment was: to continue with our operations.

‘Very important,’ he said. ‘All the commandments, all the time. Make use of every opportunity to be a good Muslim and fulfil all six. Every opportunity.’

‘Yes.’

He meant the Croc. It was as if he knew that an opportunity had presented itself, even if he didn’t know its details. He was my brother. He could sense it in my voice, in the fact of my making the call. He could sense an internal conflict, and he was demanding that I keep going.

‘What about you?’

‘All-powerful Allah will decide. When he wants me, I will be there. Let us hope it will be soon.’

It was a short conversation but it carried a lot of weight with me. My brother’s power over me was always stronger than I was willing to admit to myself. Even over the phone, from a prison, in code, he was telling me something clearer than the sun: God had placed an opportunity in my hands. He had walked me through the mountains, on donkeys, broken my back with boxes of apples, he had burst an appendix and broken a computer and with infinite care brought me to the right place at the right time because he had a mission for me: to kill the Croc.

And yet, and yet…I squirmed restlessly in my chair. I was sorry that I’d ever met the Croc; but I was sure that God had sent him to me. I should never have told anyone that I’d met him, but Bilahl had sensed something without my even saying anything. It was destined; it was random. One minute I wished I was somebody else; the next I felt that I had been chosen by a higher power to complete a mission I had started.

At last the thought came to me, like a balm: it didn’t matter. Whatever was fated to happen would happen.

‘ There was a female soldier there in a grey uniform with her hair scraped tightly back, blushing and looking insecure. She had glasses with purple plastic frames and three stripes on her shoulder. A soldier shouted, “All rise for the judge!” and everyone stood up. Except for Bilahl, Fahmi! He said: “This is an illegal court whose authority I do not accept. It is illegal just as your occupation is illegal.” The soldier girl in the grey uniform and the purple glasses and tight hair read the indictment. She talked about the attack on Jerusalem. How Halil Abu-Zeid had planned it before they killed him, how Safi Bari had made the bomb… ’

Safi? Well, that’s not…what about me?

‘ Both of whom are now dead anyway. She talked about how he’d carried out the Shaar Hagai attack with Safi as well. Then she gave a long speech about everything that had happened in Al-Amari. Meetings in secret flats, details of the planning, the bomb-making, recruiting the bomber. But your name never came up. Father was overjoyed. He said he knew you’d never deal with… ’

Bilahl. My brother. My big brother…

‘ …every Jew killed in the attacks was an intentional murder. Bilahl would get a life sentence for every person killed. It’s going to be something like four hundred years, the sentence. But he’s happy. He says that Allah… ’

Wasime knocked on my door and invited me for dinner. We made tedious small talk about pharmacies, the economy and little Atta’s behaviour — the boy was cranky, crying, throwing his food around the table and smearing his own face yellow and brown with egg and Egozan. When we’d finished and Atta had calmed down sufficiently to be put to bed, we had coffee in the living room and watched Noah’s Ark . I was thinking about Al-Amari, and the first time I ever saw the Croc. Tommy was on good form. One couple consisted of the cover girl of a new men’s magazine called Passion and a brilliant student from a rabbinical college in Jerusalem. The model kept saying that she thought the guy was sexy. He wouldn’t look at her. Again and again the close-ups showed him averting his eyes. ‘Almost!’ Tommy said every time. ‘But not quite… ’ and the audience laughed and clapped their delighted little hands.

‘ Goodnight, Fahmi… ’

Don’t go, Lulu…Tell me more about Bilahl. Where is he? Does he have friends with him in jail? What…

‘ I wish I could understand your language. It sounds so pretty… ’

‘ It’s Arabic, Svetlana. It is beautiful. See you. Keep taking good care of him, yeah? ’

‘ Yeah, I will. Goodnight, Lulu. Goodnight…I… ’

‘ Svet? ’

‘ No, don’t worry. I’m sorry. Don’t mind me. I’ll keep taking care of him .’

Oh, Svetlana.

The lights are blinding, and baking, and sweat is pouring from my forehead and armpits.

‘Fahmi Omar Al-Sabich?’ Tommy asks.

‘Yes. Good evening.’

‘Good evening! So, after three major attacks, Fahmi, you decide it’s time to finish off the Croc, the great CrocAttack, the symbol of our survival, is that right?’

‘That’s correct, Tommy.’

‘I’m sure you know what happens next…’ he says and the audience scream. ‘Two by two! Two by two!’ Among the audience I can see Bilahl, Abu-Zeid, Rana and Grandfather Fahmi. They’re all giving me encouraging smiles and making victory Vs with their fingers.

‘That’s right: two by two! So now, let’s meet Fahmi’s partner on Noah’s Ark this evening…ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm Noah’s Ark welcome to — who else? — the Croc!’

The audience go wild and I go white. I hadn’t been expecting this. My downpour of sweat is becoming a monsoon. The Croc bounds on to the stage, waving to the audience and the cameras, clasps my hand in both of his and sits down.

‘So, Croc,’ says Tommy Musari, ‘tell us what your first thought was when you heard about Fahmi’s exciting new plan…’