David Bezmozgis - The Betrayers

Two days earlier, this Amnon had called Kotler on his private cell phone, thus bypassing his staff. How he got the number, Amnon didn’t bother to explain. He asked that Kotler meet him that evening in the park behind the Israel Museum to discuss a matter of great consequence not only to the state but also to Kotler’s personal life. He instructed Kotler to come alone.

— You should not fear, the man said. There is no threat to your physical safety.

The threat, Kotler was made to understand, was of a different nature.

He rather suspected what the matter was about. For weeks he had criticized the prime minister’s decision to unilaterally withdraw from the settlement bloc. At first Kotler had done so strictly in camera. They were mostly allies of political expediency, he and the prime minister. Kotler had pledged the eight mandates his Russian immigrant party had won in the previous election to allow the prime minister to patch together his ruling coalition. For this, he had received his ministerial portfolio and, presumably, the stature and influence that went with it. He also had the residual respect afforded to an old Zionist hero, although politics, that indiscriminate blade, eventually cut everyone down to size. So when the prime minister ignored his objections, Kotler voiced his opposition first in the Knesset and then on the op-ed page of the New York Times, where he vowed to resign from the cabinet if the prime minister pursued his plan. After that, the usual pressures were brought to bear. His office was inundated with angry phone calls and letters. The prime minister sent his lackeys, first with carrots, then with sticks. All of this was in keeping with what passed for normal political discourse in Israel — at the best of times, no place for gentle souls. But involving a man like Amnon exceeded all bounds.

Still, Kotler agreed, unflinchingly, to the meeting. Not out of curiosity or apprehension, but because he had learned that there was only one way to deal with people like Amnon. You had to stand before them and look them in the eye. Otherwise they started thinking that they could exert power over you.

Kotler went to meet Amnon at eight in the evening, at the very onset of dusk. The trees cast long crisp shadows. A smattering of people filtered through the park — ordinary Jerusalemites glad for a respite from the summer heat, as well as the day’s last visitors to the museum. Kotler walked along the footpath, drawing only the occasional glance. His manner betrayed no distress. He, in fact, felt none. He felt, if anything, a familiar sense of contentment. A purposefulness. Fifteen minutes earlier, he had gotten up from his dinner table, kissed his wife and daughter, and calmly walked out the door.

At the appointed place, Kotler saw a burly man in his late forties. His hair was shaved down to dark stubble, sunglasses perched atop his head. He wore a yellow short-sleeved polo shirt whose fabric was stretched by his broad shoulders and thick arms. To complete the image, with his blue jeans he sported a pair of modern athletic sandals, a kind meant for hiking. He looked like certain other sabras of his generation who cultivated the air of retired colonels and regarded the world with the relaxed leer of the habituated military man. In his left hand, held leisurely against his thigh, he had a letter-size manila envelope. As Kotler approached, the man smiled exuberantly and extended his right hand like an old schoolmate or favored cousin. Kotler played along and allowed the man to shepherd him to a vacant bench under a gnarled carob tree.

There they sat in relative privacy, engaging in a conversation that, to a casual observer, would have seemed perfectly congenial. There were no raised voices, no scowls. Not the least sign of agitation. Thus was such business conducted.

Amnon said, I’m here on behalf of an interested party.

— What party might that be? Kotler asked.

— It’s of no consequence.

— Is that so?

— Mr. Kotler, you’re a politician. You’ve taken an unpopular position. You must know that many people are unhappy with you. Some of them contacted me. Who specifically? Avi, Yossi, Moshe, Dudi. What does it matter? If I told you who, it would only be a distraction. Who isn’t important.

— So then.

— So then these people wanted to give you one last chance to change your mind.

— You see? You say who isn’t important, but it is important. Clearly, if these people knew me at all, they would know that this here is a waste of time. With me, this road leads nowhere. I am a famously stubborn person, Mr. Amnon. Famous for being stubborn. I assume you’re aware of this.

— I am, Mr. Kotler. I am a great admirer of your stubbornness. But I assume you are aware that, even without your cooperation, the vote will still go in favor of the withdrawal. In this instance, your stubbornness won’t change the outcome.

— So then why bother with me?

— Because the people I represent would like to see everything go as smoothly as possible. They are concerned about the safety of the soldiers and the settlers both. It is an emotional issue. And you are an influential person. People respect you. They listen to what you have to say. If you continue to speak out against the operation, you could incite a bad reaction. You yourself may not be aware of the consequences.

— If the people you represent fear the consequences, they should be the ones to reconsider. We live in a democracy, Mr. Amnon. This is Israel, not Iran. In a democracy a man can speak his mind. When I speak out against this plan, it is not to incite a bad reaction, it is to prevent my country from making a bad mistake.

— That is all very well, Mr. Kotler. But you have had your say. You have had it in the Knesset and in the pages of the New York Times. Now you are being asked to be quiet for a little while. You are being asked not to make a big production by resigning from the cabinet. Nobody is even asking you to say you support the operation. You are just being asked to step into the shadows for a moment.

— Mr. Amnon, I will be as clear as I can. I spent thirteen years in Soviet jails and camps fighting for my right to come to Israel. If you or the people you represent think that I can be intimidated by this sort of KGB thuggery, you are mistaken.

— Mr. Kotler, I didn’t expect you to say otherwise. In fact, I confess that I would have been disappointed if you had. But since your opposition will not materially change the outcome, I ask why you should martyr yourself in vain?

— Now we’re speaking of martyring?

— Believe me, this gives me no pleasure.

— Mr. Amnon, the KGB read from the same script.

— The truth is, I am trying to protect you.

— Line for line.

At this, Amnon let his hand fall upon the envelope that he’d rested in his lap.

— No pleasure at all, he said.

— Let’s try without the theatrics, Kotler said.

Amnon smiled ruefully and tapped the envelope with an index finger. He proceeded to slide it from his own lap over to Kotler’s. He did so as if with profound regret, as if under duress. Kotler let it lie there without touching it.

— You can feel free to open it, Amnon said.

— I haven’t the least interest, Kotler replied.

— Now who is being theatrical?

Kotler picked up the envelope, felt the slickness and pliancy of its contents, and returned it to Amnon.

— They are photographs, Mr. Kotler.

— So they are.

— I encourage you to take a look before you dismiss my proposal.

— Mr. Amnon, I hope I haven’t given you the impression that we are engaged in a negotiation. There is nothing in those photographs that would lead me to change my mind. Rest assured, I have a healthy appreciation of my own vulnerabilities. However, if, God forbid, those photos depict some indiscretion committed by my children or my wife, I am sure your people would have, if not the moral, then the political sense not to publicize them. In either case, I have absolutely no desire to look at your garbage.