"Oh, that would be wonderful, Gittel, but who do I go to?
Do you know a doctor who—"
"In Tel Aviv I could give you the names of a dozen. Here in Jerusalem— but just a minute— my friend Sarah Adoumi, the doctor who's treating her. Dr. Ben Ami. he's been wonderful, a real old-fashioned doctor. When he comes to see her. he's never in a hurry. He sits down to a cup of tea with them afterward. Maybe it's good for him. too; he's a widower or a bachelor, in any case alone. He even got them their present apartment because she mustn't climb steps. He's that kind of doctor. Give me the phone book.... Ah. here he is. Dr. Benjamin Ben Ami. 147 Shalom Avenue. I'll call him."
"Maybe I ought to talk to David first." Miriam suggested doubtfully.
"What do husbands know about these things, especially a rabbi, Dr. Ben Ami? I am a close personal friend of Sarah Adoumi. I would like to make an appointment with you for my niece. You can see her now? Excellent. I'll bring her right over."
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Jerusalem Cafe in the Old City is not far from the Damascus Gate. Thousands of tourists pass its open doors daily, but few venture inside. A couple, tired and anxious to escape from the hot sun. to sit and rest over a cup of coffee or a glass of orange juice, might halt momentarily and look in, but probably would decide against it and hope for another place farther on. It is obviously not intended for tourists.
The radio is tuned up to a deafening pitch, interminably playing melancholy Arab music in a minor key. In the dimly lit rear there is a pool table with several Arab youths usually playing, every stroke accompanied by noisy exclamations.
A number of plain wooden tables are scattered over the remainder of the room where some sit drinking coffee and smoking and others play at cards. To one side is the cashier's desk. He twists his head to listen better as the customer tells what he had. makes computations on little slips of paper, and then puts the money in the table drawer and offers change from little stacks of coins he keeps on the edge of the table. He is respected because he handles money and can figure rapidly and because he is also the owner. Just beyond his table, there is a sink where the dirty dishes are washed by his son. who is also the waiter.
If the tourist pair had entered, the waiter would have politely taken their order, served them, and then paid them no further attention. The other customers would have ignored them, too. even to the point of not looking in their direction. Just as Abdul, with an open book in front of him as he sipped his coffee, was ignored. Because he was not of them. His clothes, the book— all proclaimed him to be of a higher status and even a student. He had already been there twenty minutes and was sipping at his second cup of coffee when Mahmoud came in. He did not hail Abdul but wandered over to the pool table in the rear and watched for a few minutes, then moved on to one of the tables where a card game was in progress. He spoke to several of the card-players in friendly joking fashion. Then he took a stool and brought it over to Abdul's table and sat down beside him.
Abdul continued to read his book, but he nodded the waiter over.
"Coffee." said Mahmoud.
When the coffee had been brought and the waiter returned to his customary station by the sink. Mahmoud said. "We found out where she lives, but Leila thinks we ought to wait awhile."
Abdul shrugged his shoulders.
"It's easy like that." He snapped his fingers. "It's a new apartment, a whole new development. He's the only one in the block, and his apartment is on the street floor. The apartment house fronts on Shalom Avenue, but his entrance is way at the end. next to an embankment. And it's a new street; no houses on the other side."
"So?"
"So Leila thinks maybe it's too easy. Maybe it's some kind of a trap."
"Women!" said Abdul scornfully. "They worry all the time — about everything."
"No, Abdul, Leila is not like that. She's got a head on her. And she's as good as any man in the movement. But Leila found out that in Tel Aviv he lived on the top floor even though his wife was sick and the stairs were hard for her.
Why would he take an apartment on a street floor here?"
"Because his wife is sick and climbing stairs is hard for her. You just explained it." said Abdul. "Besides, apartments are not so easy to come by in Jerusalem."
"But if he is ordered up here, wouldn't the government see to it that he got the kind of apartment he'd want?"
"The government doesn't even bother finding apartments for some of their real big shots, heads of ministries, when they move them up here. Believe me, they wouldn't go out of their way for him. If that's what's worrying Leila, she's an old woman. Get word to the Swiss to have the gadget ready. And to check it. Last time it went off prematurely."
"There's a place between two entrances where he parks his car." Mahmoud said. "He rides right over the sidewalk and parks between those two buildings. There's a little space. The Swiss can rig up something that we can attach to his car—"
"Was that Leila's idea?" Abdul asked contemptuously. "That's a wonderful idea! You'd wait until late at night so that the raising and lowering of the hood can be easily heard. No, the best way is the regular gadget. It's still daylight when we plant it, and if you're walking along the street, no one would think of stopping you to ask what you're doing there."
"All right. I'll tell the Swiss." He sipped at his coffee, and Abdul turned back to his book. Then. "Leila was wondering about this American you are so friendly with."
Abdul closed his book and turned to face his friend for the first time. "So Leila now feels she can decide who my friends will be? Does she approve of my friendship with you?"
"No, but Abdul— an American and a Jew."
"I have plans for the American."
"She thinks maybe he has plans for you."
"Roy?" Abdul tossed his head back and laughed. "She thinks Roy may be playing me!
"She saw him in a restaurant with an older man once. They ate their whole meal in silence. But they staved on after everybody had finished and left. They were just sitting drinking coffee and not saying a word. It looked suspicious."
"Tell Leila to stop looking for agents everywhere. That was his father."
"No. Abdul, because she went back after a few minutes. She told the waiter she thought she had left her scarf on the chair. And they were quarreling. The young one, your friend, was speaking harshly to the older man. No son would talk that way to his father."
Abdul smiled. "You don't know Americans."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The rabbi met him at the King David where Stedman shook his hand effusively as though he were an old friend he had not seen in years. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you agreed to come. Rabbi. I called you on the spur of the moment. If I had thought about it. I wouldn't have because of the Sabbath."
"I gathered that you were anxious that I come. Besides, my Sabbath routine has changed since coming here. I don't always go to the synagogue."
"Oh?"
"I go when I feel like it now. It had become a matter of habit with me in America, and I didn't want it to be a matter of habit."
"It will have to be when you go back, won't it?"
"If I go back."
Stedman waited for him to go on and, when he did not, decided not to press him. "Roy's going directly to the auto dealer's house." Dan said as they set off in that direction. "And I thought this would be a good chance for you to meet him. I called and told him about our little visit to the garage and that I might drop in to see Memavet. Well, he was pretty excited. He suggested we go today, and I agreed because I didn't want to disappoint him. You know, if I had said it was the Sabbath and maybe we'd go next week, he might think I was trying to put him off. I'm sure this is the key to the problem of our association."