Dancing Bear Read online

  I glanced over at her, nearly taking offense.

  "I mean Eric and Allie and even you are so different from the usual people you meet in New York..."

  I picked up a wooden spatula and lifted the steaks out of the frying pan. Then I opened a bag of barbecue-flavored potato chips.

  "It isn't exactly a gourmet dinner," I apologized. "Not even one of Eric's culinary experiences."

  "He's really something," Kate laughed. "The food's fine. I'm not a great fan of fancy restaurants anyway. Pizzerias are much more my style." The red wine we found in one of the cabinets added to the festive mood. It also made me drowsy and released some of the tension. As the candles in the kitchen burned down, she came to sit beside me on the living room sofa.

  "I'm so scared."

  I touched her hair lightly. It felt so good, smooth and sweet-smelling. I stroked it slowly, twisting it around my fingers and letting them move delicately down her soft cheeks and across her eyebrows. She sat there silently for a long time, her eyes gradually closing, as if she was giving in to the pleasure of my touch. I continued to learn the secrets of her oriental face, pampered mouth and perfect neck with an excitement I didn't recognize. Then I realized she had fallen asleep. I lay her down on the sofa and covered her in a soft blanket I found in a closet.

  "Really nice people," she mumbled in her sleep.

  I went through the house checking the doors and windows. Some didn't have any locks at all. Anyone trying to get in wouldn't have much trouble. I circled the house from outside. It was a bright night, nearly two o'clock in the morning, with almost a full moon. In the distance I could hear the noise of fishermen either coming in or going out in their boats. There was no one in sight. Not even a car on the street. I went back into the house. I took an armful of cans from the kitchen cabinets and balanced one on each window sill and door ledge so that the slightest touch would knock it down. Simple but effective. Thinking I'd have to find a more systematic solution to the security problem, I lay down on the rug, sleeping before my head touched the pillow.

  The sun was high in the sky when I woke up and shook Kate awake. Her mouth turned up in a slow smile and then I hugged her to me. Her fingers were in my hair and her other hand slid down my back. Kate was a warm, sweet lover, who gave herself artlessly and totally.

  She fell asleep again, still in my arms on the rug, her head on my shoulder and her hair across my chest and tickling my nose. I stared at the ceiling, grinning. The buzz that had begun in my ear the morning before, the chills that had run from the soles of my feet to the base of my neck, were all gone. I wasn't surprised that she had given herself to me so easily. It had been destined to be; the hand of fate had sent her to me. She understood that now, just like I did from the very first minute. Being as gentle as possible, I stroked her brow, her cheek, her perfect neck.

  *

  The second floor of the house had a large family room with deep, comfortable armchairs and a dark shaggy carpet. The wall facing the patio and the beach was all glass. We lay idly on the carpet, practically naked, warming ourselves in the sunlight beaming in through the wall of glass, gazing at the tops of the oak trees and the pale blue sky. A light plane crossed the sky. We were showered, refreshed, shampooed, and happy, when for some inexplicable reason I poked a finger at the rainbow-hued soap bubble surrounding us and asked, "What makes them so terrible, the people you met in New York?"

  All of a sudden there were tears in her eyes. For a long time she said nothing, and I felt I was losing her again as she slipped into lengthy silence. But then she spoke.

  "They're not all terrible. Avihu was a good and noble man. The poor guy. He'll be the first to fall, but then he knew that. He ran straight into the fire almost on purpose. You know, he's one of those good souls who are always destined to suffer."

  "Who's Avihu?"

  "The one who dragged me into this whole thing."

  I wondered how come I'd never even heard the name Avihu.

  "How did you meet him?"

  "By chance. I ran into him in the Village."

  I rose up on one elbow. "What do you mean, by chance?"

  "I was sitting on a bench in Washington Square. I was holding a book, but I hadn't opened it. It was too nice a morning to spend on anything but soaking up the sun and watching the crazies in the square. I saw him from a distance and perked up right away. I'd had an Israeli boyfriend before, someone I met at Motti Pizza, a dump near there. It was a short, painful affair, but ever since, I can pick out almost any Israeli from afar. Maybe it's the light. Something in the Middle Eastern sunlight that’s caught in the face, in the eyes and the smile? You know what I mean? They don't have the same sentimentality as the other Mediterranean - the Italians or the Arabs. You know? I can recognize Israelis by their clothes, the way they walk, and especially the way they talk. It doesn't matter how good their accent in English is, they always have an Israeli way of pronouncing words. And ever since that guy from Motti Pizza, I just hear that accent and I melt."

  I couldn't resist the temptation. "Am I Israeli?"

  "Not really," she considered. "You don't have their directness or their rough edges… I don't know. Your English is American. Are you Israeli?"

  "More or less."

  But she wasn't really paying attention. She was intent on her own story.

  "Avihu didn't know any of this, but for some reason he came over to my bench, stood in front of me, and asked if he could sit down. Nobody ever does anything like that in Washington Square. He was good-looking. Blond, steel blue-gray eyes. Other people might have mistaken him for a German or a Scandinavian, but not me. Feeling grateful for my good fortune, I answered him with a nod and he sat down beside me and immediately began to talk a mile a minute, as if he wanted to say as much as possible before I got up and left. If he was trying to pick me up, he could have done it without talking so much.

  “Later, I realized he knew that. Later, I thought that he was just one of those people who are so full of themselves that they have to impress someone - anyone - just to be sure that they're really as great as they pretend to be. But I was wrong on that too. He didn't only want to use me. He was also looking for someone to listen, for a shoulder to cry on.

  "He was a pilot in the Israeli Air force. That was practically the first thing he told me. He watched a plane circling over Manhattan and told me about the excitement and the challenge of flying a jet forty thousand feet in the air. The loneliness of being a pilot, and the weird contrast between the warm feeling in the crew room and the chill of a dogfight a few minutes after takeoff. 'You can crash in enemy territory in the middle of the desert just minutes after drinking coffee in the clubroom,' he said. `The greenies, the ground troops, being jealous of us, used to say that unlike them, we fought on a full stomach and empty balls...Personally, I think it's a lot easier to fight under their conditions, when you're really hungry.’ I wanted to laugh, but I didn't because he seemed so serious.

  "He looked so vulnerable. We talked about all sorts of things - I don't really remember –he was so nice, but I couldn't help asking, `What do you feel when you attack a village and you can see the terrified civilians running for cover through your sights?' He didn't hesitate for a second. `I'm a pro,' he said, and suddenly I couldn't read his face. `I’m trained to carry out my mission. That's the only thing my commanders and my friends will judge me by. Just like anyone else, I want to do my job well.' Then he paused for a minute before he declared, `The very existence of my country depends on a strong air force. When the Arab leaders finally understand that they'll never be able to defeat us, they'll look for something different - for peace, I hope. And then no more innocent civilians will be killed on either side of the border.’"

  "You had this whole conversation on a park bench?" I asked, with a hint of envy.

  "Yeah," she answered, shrugging her shoulders. "I wasn't that impressed, at least not then. But the vulnerability I could see in him, his gentlemanly manners, and the Israeli light in his face
made me stay with him. We spent the afternoon in a bar, went to a movie, out to dinner, another bar..."

  Kate had a veiled look. I didn't want to hear anymore.

  "Let's go down to the beach," I said, getting up. She looked at me as if she were awaking from a dream.

  "The beach? Why the beach?"

  "Because we'll sit on the sand. We may let the waves break over us, build castles in the sand..."

  She stared at me in wonder from her position on the floor.

  "Yes," she said. "That's a good idea. I'm an expert at building sandcastles."

  *

  It was a wonderful day. We walked along the beach, alternately racing wildly and lolling leisurely on the sand. The gun, which I hadn't let out of my sight since I left the consulate, was in the pocket of my jeans just a short reach away. Then came a shower for two and a dinner we threw together from whatever we could find, followed by an unexpected kick at the telephone after Kate again tried in vain to make a call. We were in the massive family room on the second floor. The light was so dim that we could watch the stars crossing the sky. I was sunk deep in an armchair, holding her hand that gradually became heavier and heavier in mine. I thought she'd fallen asleep and was about to get up and carry her to the bed when she suddenly started speaking:

  "He came to see me the next night." She sounded uncertain, as if she wasn't sure whether her story was real or just a dream. "He brought me flowers and, you see, I was more in love with him than I'd ever been in my life." The tension had disappeared from her voice and her tone became tender. I could feel the bile rising in my throat. "I figured he was married – and, later, I even found out he had four children - but, you see, it didn't make any difference. He came back again the next night, and I was in heaven. For three days he was mine. We talked mostly about the air force, and then about our lives in New York. He was very naive and inexperienced. I wanted to take him out and show him around the city, but he was too shy. On the fourth day he asked me for the first time if a couple of his friends could join us for dinner in my apartment. I agreed immediately. And that was the end of our love.

  “The two people who showed up were very polite, but they weren't interested in being friendly. Later, I understood that they came to check me and the apartment. They talked about technical things and exchanged papers and documents. They left early, and that night Avihu told me a long story about national security and state secrets. He wanted to use my apartment as a meeting place and even offered me money if I'd agree.

  "I cried for hours. I refused to take his money and he finally left. A week later I went to Motti Pizza and sat there waiting for him. After about two hours, he showed up, together with two new men he introduced as school buddies. After a while they left and he asked me what I was doing there. The tears welled up in my eyes again, but, somehow, I managed not to let him see that. `We had something special, didn't we?' I asked him. 'Of course we did,' he said. `It was real and good - but I can't afford to let it go on.' `You can use my apartment', I said, ‘but I don't want to be involved. I worked hard for that apartment, and for my job.'

  "Avihu put both his hands on my shoulders, and my head began to swim, because he didn't usually touch me unless..."

  I couldn't see her face, but I imagined she was blushing.

  "His steel blue eyes peered into mine: `Whatever happens,' he said, `whatever happens, I won't let anyone hurt you.' I believed him again."

  "Where did you work?"

  "I was an administrative secretary at a law firm, Farber and Farber - maybe you heard of them? - in the Foreign Trade Department. I don't know what's going to happen now. They probably don't know what happened to me, and maybe it's better that way. I haven't had time to think about it. I have to call them somehow." She glanced at me and then went on with her story.

  "Avihu insisted on paying me, and then all sorts of people came to visit me at the Windsor, that's where I live, 69th St., corner of 2nd Ave. Some were apologetic, others were just rude, and there were some who were totally crazy. They gave me special instructions about phone calls, letters, envelopes and money. They even carted up a heavy photocopier hidden in an antique Chippendale cabinet. I think it could do all kinds of tricks, that machine. At least that's what I heard them say. Avihu and some of the other guys were very pleased with me. I've always had a strong sense of organization and responsibility. After a while, I even started enjoying the whole thing. But the only reason I let the madness go on was that Avihu would stay on after some of his meetings. He never stayed the whole night. He talked less, but still - for a few hours - he belonged to me."

  Kate fell asleep, a deep calmness showing on her face. She was so beautiful that once more I was filled with compassion and the fervent desire to gather her in my arms; but something held me back. I lay awake for a long time. A sharp pain that came and went in my belly wouldn't let me sleep. An irritating rain clattered on the roof, and the ghost of Avihu hovered over our bed staring down at us.

  *

  Something startled me awake the next morning, but I didn't know what. Kate was asleep beside me, her mouth curled up in the trace of a smile and her breathing regular. As I looked at her I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. I lay there thinking to myself that I was really losing it. It might have been knocking on the door that had woken me up. Or perhaps I stayed awake because the forty-eight hours the consul had given me had just run out. Up to now, I could have gone back, but now that option was blocked for good.

  "You're in deep shit," I mumbled, but this time I wasn't referring to all the consulate rules I'd broken. Time was going by and I wasn't any closer to a solution. This place might be a safe haven, but we couldn't hide out here forever. And let's say I could come up with some excuse and make it to my afternoon shift? Five hours after the deadline is still a very short time. I didn't have even the glimmer of an idea of how to solve her problem, except that I knew I wasn't going to walk away and leave Kate to her fate.

  This time I was sure I heard knocking - short, insistent, almost aggressive. Kate opened her eyes and pressed herself to me. She was so beautiful, delicate, vulnerable, and so scared. I pulled away from her, leapt out of bed and took up a position against the wall beside the door. The gun was already in my hand, the safety off, a bullet in the barrel and the hammer cocked. There was very little chance I would use it, but I felt more secure going through the drill.

  "Get into the bathroom," I whispered at Kate.

  Two knocks, a pause, two knocks. The visitor was practicing his drumming. Who in the hell could it be? Maybe one of Allie's protégés, or just a worried neighbor? At this hour? Not likely. Maybe he was supposed to meet someone here? The knocking sounded like a signal. Maybe they had the wrong address. I looked over at Kate. She hadn't moved. She was staring at me with eyes wide with panic. I pointed toward the bathroom.

  "Run," I whispered. She didn't move.

  "David," she begged, "come over here." I went to her, ducking down and moving silently.

  "Come hide with me. Don't open the door. It's probably just some drunk or freak. If no one answers, he'll go away."

  "Or else he'll think there's no one here and break in."

  "Let's wait and see. Don't go out there. Come lie down beside me." There was pleading in her voice.

  Two knocks, a pause, two knocks. I was back by the door. If he broke in, I couldn't give up the two-second advantage I'd lose if I wasn't right there where I could reach out and touch him. Kate still didn't move, frozen in terror.

  I stood there, coiled, but the knocking stopped. I sped over to the side window, planning to climb out through it, when I heard footsteps on the gravel path walking away from the house. I pressed myself against the wall by the window and drew the edge of the curtain aside cautiously, taking care not to be seen or to dislodge the can of peas I'd put there before we went to bed. A massive, gray-haired fisherman was walking clumsily away from the house carrying two fishing rods on his shoulder and swinging a battered tin bucket in his hand
. He turned into the street. I watched him until he was out of sight of the window.

  I checked to see he hadn't left anything behind, and then came back and stretched out beside Kate. The rain started up again, drumming on the roof.

  "I'm scared," she said. "The world out there is horrible. Come closer to me." She lay her head on my shoulder. A sweet warmth began to spread through my body, melting the icy tension.

  "Let's make love as if there's no one out there," she said. Coming from her, it sounded good. "As if the whole world has forgotten about us, and we don't know it's there. As if there's no one in the world but us."

  *

  Later that morning I went out to check the Jeep Wagoneer parked in a shed on the beach. Allie, God bless her soul, kept it there, along with the other summer house equipment. It had been specially adapted for driving on the sand. "Not for main roads," Allied had noted in her neat handwriting. "Registration expired; no insurance."With or without papers, we needed a viable getaway car, and the jeep seemed to be in pretty good shape. I got the motor running and tried it in drive and reverse. The tires were low on air. I knew that would slow us down a lot. I didn't want to go to a gas station. I folded back the rear seat, and foraged through the toolbox, looking for anything that might help.

  "Problems, young man?" a loud baritone startled me.

  Still bent over the back seat, I raised my eyes. He was gigantic, tall and broad. I quickly reviewed my problems from the past couple of days, and finally decided he must be referring to the car. I straightened up.

  "Thomas McDiarmid," he said, thrusting out a huge hand. "Call me Tom."