Dancing Bear Read online

  "From men, too?"

  "Absolutely. Why not? There was one, a famous announcer on Israeli television, who was with me for a week. He said he was looking for a car to drive to the west coast, but he was a mess. I could tell right away. He was under so much stress, so depressed; he couldn't even talk to my customers. Remember the Brigadier General who was supposed to give a lecture at Harvard and cancelled at the last minute because he was afraid of the Palestinian demonstrators? Well, him and the announcer, the two of them, bought a car from me, ripped me off too, and took off for New Orleans with two sluts. That's one great city, if you ask me, except for the crime and the filth and the smell." He paused for a minute and added, "And the heat and humidity. Never buy a car there. Too much humidity coming off the Louisiana bayous. It eats away at your brain and your car's chassis."

  I turned down Danny's invitation to stay for a beer and gossip and hurried back to Eric's. The relative calm I'd felt after two hours of physical labor was gone, and I was all keyed up again.

  *

  The rain picked up. I drove back and forth along the street, but couldn't spot anything suspicious. I parked the car and circled the house to make sure no one was lying in wait for me. As soon as I closed the door behind me, the skies opened up and the shower became a torrent. I had no idea what to expect.

  When I went in, everything looked very serene. Eric was seated in his favorite armchair sipping tea; Kate was lying on the couch, Eric's very personal tartan blanket thrown over her shoulders. The same delicate scent of lilies hung in the air. As I walked into the room, she turned her head to me and smiled. Once again, my heart started pounding wildly. Her almond eyes were dark and deep, full of pain and mesmerizing. I looked outside again, making certain no one was stalking us in the darkness, and quickly pulled down the shades and drew the curtains. Eric brought me a cup of tea and addressed her, as if picking up a conversation I had interrupted.

  "You see, my dear, how Boston burns in this season with the flaming colors of autumn. It is a kind of beauty I will never grow indifferent to."

  She remained silent.

  "But it seems to me that you..." he went on after a long moment of silence, "are somewhere off in another world."

  She gazed at him and gave him a shamefaced smile."That's true," she said in dismay.

  "What happened in your other world?" Eric asked, motioning for me not to speak even before I had a chance to stop her.

  Her expression became somber. "There were two of them," she said after a long silence. She was about to repeat her strange story.

  "They forced their way into my apartment," she went on. "The doorman didn't announce them and I thought it was the janitor so I opened the door. They shoved me aside and started to turn the place upside down." She bit down on her lip. "At first I thought they'd come to rob me, maybe even rape me, and I was paralyzed with fear - but they weren't looking for money. Then I noticed how they were dressed and I figured they must be federal agents. They looked like identical twins, both in the type of cheap blazers you buy in Sears that can hide a wire or a gun or anything else. I know quite a lot about that sort of thing. They tore the apartment apart, and I just sat there helplessly. I couldn't move or scream or anything. Maybe it was because deep down inside I'd been expecting someone to get wise to us. They didn't know what they were looking for, but I thought I did. Then one of them pulled out a camera from somewhere and started taking pictures. That's when I knew these were people who had to report to someone higher up. I was still shaking from fear and shock, waiting for the nightmare to end.

  "`You'd better come with us,' one of them said, and for some reason I did, without even asking for an explanation or demanding to see any warrant or identification. You see, I knew it was going to happen.

  "Their car was blocking the entrance to the house. We drove north for over an hour, and when we stopped I knew we were someplace in Connecticut, not far from the coast. They held me in a large farmhouse for at least three days, interrogating me - everything imaginable concerning my life, my work in New York, friends, hobbies. They asked about my childhood in the Far East. You see," she said, turning to Eric, "they knew about all of the American Air Force bases I grew up on, that I told you before. They asked me what bars I went to in the city... at first, I demanded to see a lawyer and insisted they tell me who they were, but then I realized I had no choice and I told them plenty." She glanced at me apologetically. "But not everything, not the really important things," she continued. "Oh no, I kept the important things to myself. For two days those two men and their driver switched roles all the time. One asked questions, one waited, and the third went out shopping, had something to eat, or slept. No one lived in the house, but the lack of amenities didn't seem to bother them.

  "Finally, after they'd turned my life into eight blue folders of shorthand, they took me to the nearest city and I caught the first bus to Boston." She sighed soundlessly.

  "What did they want from you?" I asked.

  She looked uncertainly at Eric. She had nothing to fear from him.

  "Okay," she said. "They want to uncover an Israeli spy ring."

  She looked serious enough, but I didn't believe her. It was obvious that something was frightening her. It was also obvious that she knew something, and that her fear or her fantasies had made her invent this story. I didn't think Eric put anymore faith in her fairy tale than I did, but he was a lot more patient and gallant than me. He took her hand gently and began telling her a long story about the good old days in Vienna during the roaring fifties.

  "One out of every three people in Vienna was a spy, and the others made their living supplying the necessary services. You know, food and hotels, technical services, photography, documentation." He smiled. "I think that to this day the Austrians are sorry they weren't on the Soviet side of the Iron Curtain."

  She didn't even attempt a smile.

  *

  I spent that night on Eric's living room rug. The next morning I got up before them. I stood under a strong hot shower for a long time, so I felt fine even though I had to put on yesterday's clothes. I called the consulate. My shift started at one o'clock, so I still had plenty of time. The receptionist answered the phone and immediately put me through to the consul.

  "David," he said. "Where have you been all night?"

  "I stayed with a friend,"

  The line was silent for a moment. "Could you come in now?"

  Up until that minute, that's exactly what I had wanted to do, but something in his voice changed my mind. "Actually, I called to tell you I'm sick and I won't be in today," I said.

  He was unaccustomedly silent for a while, before saying, "You're with that woman, aren't you?"

  "You don't want to know," I answered.

  "Do you know what kind of trouble you're getting yourself into?"

  "No, tell me."

  "Well, you didn't follow instructions yesterday and didn't get rid of her. You haven't been in contact with us for twelve hours, and that's just for starters. You'd better get in here before you find yourself in deep shit, man."

  "I don't think I'm going to do that, at least not right away." I stopped to think."Look, "I went on, "I'm really sick. Give me two days. By then I'll feel better and I'll be fit to come back to work. No use pushing me."

  He pondered on that for a while. I could picture him fiddling with his glasses in his right hand, the same way he always did when he had to make a decision.

  "Listen and listen well," he finally said. "You have two days off. I don't want to know what you do with them or where you go. I only hope for your sake that you don't go near that woman. If you think you got lucky, you're making a sad mistake. She's a walking time bomb. Other than that, if you're really sick, I hope you feel better."

  He wasn't such a bad fellow after all.

  "Could you just explain something to me? If she's a nut case like you said yesterday, how come she's a walking time bomb?"

  "It's none of your business if she's sane or n
ot. I've already got two people here from Washington who want to find that out. If you take this any further, you'll be covered in shit. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

  He hung up.

  Eric was awake and fixing breakfast. He stood in the kitchen in a white chef's apron attempting to hum along with an aria from Rigoletto on the radio. I was hungry enough to ignore his operatic endeavors and sit down at his small white kitchen table. Just as I landed on an old wooden chair, Kate came into the kitchen. Now she was wearing the slacks from yesterday and a sweatshirt Eric had given her that was several sizes too big. It made her look scruffy and even more beautiful.

  "Good morning, princess," Eric said.

  I nodded to her and gave her a brief summary of my conversation with the consul.

  "Two people from Washington..." she muttered. Then she smiled at us and sat down by the small table, leaving no room for Eric.

  "Maybe we should go into the living room," I suggested.

  "No, no, this is fine, just fine," Eric prattled. "I'm just the chef. How do you want your eggs?"

  "I don't care how as long as there are three of them."

  Eric took up position at the stove and the odor of eggs frying with onion filled the kitchen.

  After Kate and I had finished our egg omelet, Eric started on a salad of oranges and olives. He was in a chatty mood.

  "Oranges and olives are a great combination for stuffing pheasant. But we'll do that some other time," he said, adding to the pile of olives he fished out of a huge jar. "This salad is a fine example of the harmonious blend of Hungarian and Moroccan cuisine. The oranges have to be a mite tart. The best are called Roanges. The Moroccans love to twist American names around." He cut each orange into four parts and with a skillful twist of the knife removed the peel and divided them into sections. "The Hungarian part of this salad is, of course, paprika, clearly Hungary's greatest contribution to modern civilization, if not the only one."

  Next he cut the olives, while I watched the heap of pits on the table grow higher and higher.

  "You see, my dear, fragrances and spices. For them men have circled the globe, fought wars, and conquered new lands... so they must really be the flavor of life. But I'm afraid that now I must use the sharpest spices in order to sense the flavor. I can no longer smell fragrances either." He turned to me. "Believe it or not, David, but I've begun to sense the perfume of a woman instead of smelling it. I'm almost like a blind man." He smiled warmly. "Conquest is a matter of taste. I, for one, believe that the discovery of a new source of food brings greater pleasure to mankind than the discovery of a new star, let's say."

  The salad was ready.

  "I think I should go to the consulate and turn myself in," Kate declared, suddenly breaking her silence. I stared at her, struggling to swallow the piece of bread that caught in my throat. "The woman is unstable," I remembered Eric saying the night before after he had shown her off to bed like a father gently reminding his young daughter of her bedtime.

  "They didn't want you there, remember?" I asked now.

  "It’ll be different this time," she replied. "It was your mistake, or your consul's, or communications were slow, but by now I'm sure they know all about this awful game. In any case, I've had it. I can't see any way we can win."

  Now it was my turn to take her hand. I knew that even discounting her strange story, she couldn't be completely normal. At the same time, she couldn't have made the whole thing up out of thin air. I was already in deep trouble, but I had the intense and unmistakable feeling that I was going to protect her, come what may. She looked so vulnerable.

  "Don't go back there," I said. "It will be the start of a long journey. You can't tell where it will take you. I doubt if there will be any way back. You have to trust me." I think I was afraid to lose her when I added, "I'll look out for you and get you out of this mess. Let me help you," I was almost pleading. She stared at me in silence and then her mouth turned up in the small smile I'd seen before.

  "You have to trust me," I added, as a statement of fact.

  "A long journey?" she said, half-mocking, half-quizzical. "I believed once...I wanted so much to believe." On her face I saw the doubt of a woman who had already been betrayed and used. She pinned me with a very long gaze, until I could see a brief spark of warmth and trust in her eyes. Again, she let out a quiet sigh.

  "I trust you," she said, strengthening her grasp on my hand. "You won't let me down, will you? No, don't let go of my hand."

  CHAPTER THREE

  But I did let go. I told Eric to look after her and went to my apartment. I had to pack a small travelling bag. I had the feeling that I was about to go on a new journey somewhere.

  It was raining heavily. Rivers of water streamed along the curb. I turned into the small street I lived on, around the corner from Coolidge. Not far from the taxi stand, two wide cars were parked, a driver seated in each one. I didn't recognize the cars or the men inside, but I knew they didn't belong there. "You're in deep shit, David," I said out loud, repeating the consul's words. I stepped hard on the gas pedal and raced down the street. Through my rear view mirror, I could see someone running to the first car, a dark Ford station wagon, trying to get on my tail. He had thin blond hair, and just before he got in the car he twitched his head to the side nervously. Surprised, I recognized him as the engineer who had been at the consulate the day before. The driver hadn't reckoned on someone pulling in in front of him and parking a little too close. Now he had to maneuver to get the car out, while I turned the corner, braving the two rushing rivers at the sides of the road, and heading straight for the taxi cab lot. I parked in the garage in front of Danny's tiny room. Outside, the rain was coming down harder.

  "Hey, hunk," Danny greeted me. "You've become a very important person lately. It seems like everybody's looking for you." He scratched his chin out of habit and wiped his hands on the back of his customary overalls. I waited to hear more.

  "The consul was here yesterday, asking a lot of questions. He had some Israeli security guys with him - you know the type, the ones who don't answer when you talk to them, try to make you sweat. And if that wasn't enough, this morning there were some feds here too."

  Now I was really worried. "What did they come here for?" I asked.

  "What do I know? Everyone else was here, so why not them?" He thought for a moment and then added, "They probably searched your apartment and found my phone number. After all, the consul knows me and he knows we're friends."

  I shifted uneasily. "Here, this is for you," he said, holding out an army kitbag. "I took it from your place."

  "I'm really..."I didn't know how to thank him. He looked at me with a grimace of distaste. He wasn't used to my thanks.

  "Can it," he said amiably. "Last night, after your consul and his friends got through screwing with my head, I went to your place. I don't know if they'd been there before me, or whether they've got me under surveillance, but I thought you'd need some clothes. I put some money in it, too -"

  "Are you nuts?"

  "Take these, too," he added, offering me the keys to the black and white Dodge Diplomat cab parked beside us. "You won't be able to go far in it on the highway, but it's pretty good in the city. They know your car. Take it for the week. In fact, I don't want to see your ugly face around here until next Sunday. All I need is another visit from those characters - American or Israeli, it doesn't matter - and I'll lose my job. It doesn't make the owner happy to see them around here."

  I was already in the cab when I saw a dark-colored Ford drive into the garage. I turned the car around and headed for the exit. Poor Danny. His boss wasn't going to like this new visitor much.

  I drove as fast as I could to Clinton Rd. It wasn't hard. The other drivers kept their distance as if they expected reckless driving from a cabby. I didn't disappoint them. I switched lanes without signaling, cut off other cars, and slammed my foot on the brake without warning. None of the drivers seemed surprised. I got a kick out of the wild ride. The ra
in was tapering off. Not bad, I thought. You're starting to rely on yourself. You might get fired or be brought up on disciplinary charges, but look on the bright side- you've already got a promising new career: cabby. I was almost tempted to pick up a fare.

  *

  As I looked for a parking spot outside Eric's, I could see we had a visitor. I stared in surprise and displeasure at the unmistakable white Cadillac - it belonged to Allie Weinstein, the maternal and powerful president of the Jewish Federation. I was angry with Eric and with myself. If anyone should have called Allie it was me.

  I pulled into the driveway and parked behind her. I took off the dress shirt I'd been wearing for two days and put on a T-shirt I found in the kitbag Danny had packed for me. I wasn't looking for a scolding. Allie was sitting in the living room, impeccably dressed and wearing the proper scent. She was a large woman who radiated love, goodwill and power. You wouldn't dare to ignore anything she might have to say. Eric must have known what he was doing when he called her.

  "David, darling," she said, kissing my cheek. "What are you doing in a T-shirt in the morning? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"