During the victory party, ha-Radek, who had lost his voice from all the speeches he had given in the months before — a dictator can allow himself to be silent, but a democrat must speak, speak, and go on speaking — whispered: “This is King David, this is the testicle I lost at sixteen, when I discovered who I was. At that point, I accepted the consequences of being who I was. I accepted my people’s history. I had myself circumcised, King David brought me to this country, King David made me win the elections. King David is my king, but he can be your king, too.”
He held the jar with the testicle in it above his head, with both hands.
“Yes,” ha-Radek’s supporters screamed. “Let King David be our king, too. Let King David lead us through these dark days. Don’t let him leave our side.”
Xavier Radek silenced his opponents by publicizing missteps they had made in the past. But ha-Radek also had houses and highways built, planted forests and orange groves, let water flow over the desert. Unemployment fell, inflation decreased, the spending deficit shrank. The Economist praised his employment policies and called ha-Radek “the miracle from Jerusalem.”
ABOUT SIX MONTHS LATER, rumors began circulating to the effect that the Redeemer was a testicle in a jar. At first only on a few obscure Web sites, but later the leading newspapers and magazines began granting coverage to King David as well. Orthodox Christians wrote serious articles about him. Several theologians said, “We may not rule out the possibility that Christ has returned in the form of a testicle.” And they supported this thesis with quotations from the Old and New Testaments.
More and more Jews were becoming convinced as well. They saw the sexual inclinations of ha-Radek as an additional sign that King David was the Messiah. That a homosexual could become the prime minister of Israel was a miracle. And God’s miracles always had a purpose.
Time ran a photo of King David on its cover, with the line “Is This the Redeemer?” Beaten silly by wars, poverty, diseases, scandals, corruption, and a sluggish equity market, the world was ripe for a redeemer in a unique guise.
In bed, Awromele asked Xavier, “Were you planning this the whole time, or did you come up with it later on?”
Xavier said nothing. He shivered, the way he had the time he had met the terrorist in Beatrixpark. He held Awromele tight, but he didn’t answer his questions. He only kissed him.
Statistics
THE TALL BOY and his friends graduated from secondary school, but they remained friends. Danica was still under their protection. They were loyal. They gave and they took; they knew that taking brought with it responsibilities. He who has taken once must take again. He who has used a person once must continue to use them, otherwise they will get the feeling that they are useless, that you have rejected them, that they no longer have a function. A person without a function is a person lost.
In fact, they had grown tired of Danica. She had developed into a spindly woman. Out of goodness, out of a sense of duty, they continued to make use of her.
Along with their former Greek and Latin teacher, they had formed a reading circle. They talked him into making use of Danica as well. At first he had objected: he had a girlfriend, Danica had been one of his pupils, it would be inappropriate. But finally he realized that such objections were less than sporting. Then the teacher began making use of Danica as well.
“We’re doing this to make you happy,” the tall boy told Danica, when they met her in the park on their regular evening there. “We could find something better. We do this out of pity. Call it friendship. Is there anything in the world lovelier than true friendship?”
Danica shook her head. She thought about Snoopy, about her brother Awromele, whom she hadn’t seen for years, and about Rochele, whom she’d lost track of as well. She understood that there was only one thing worse than being used by your tormentors: being left behind, unused.
THE BIGGEST PROBLEM still facing ha-Radek as prime minister of the Jewish state was terrorism. All other problems arose from that, no other problems seemed to exist, just as the object of affection is all that exists for one in love. Xavier knew, on the basis of personal experience, that pain knows no progress. Pain can become more intense, or it can decrease in intensity, but the idea of progress is foreign to pain. That certainty safeguarded him from political missteps.
Via a former head of the Israeli intelligence agency, the Shin Bet, he came into contact with the leader of Hamas. Ha-Radek invited the leader of Hamas to have a bite to eat with him at a discreet location, so that they might get to know each other better. Having a bite to eat with a stranger makes conversation easier — Xavier knew that.
Although the Hamas leader had little sympathy for men who were fond of men, and although he had no truck with Jews in particular, he accepted the invitation. Xavier had sworn to him that the media would never hear about it.
They met at a remote farm in the Negev. With the exception of two interpreters, employees who had both proved their discretion in the past, and Awromele, no one else was present.
The spiritual and political leader of the Hamas movement ate heartily of the roast lamb, after ha-Radek had personally tasted it first. He took two helpings of salad. He was a serious person, but eating soothed him.
After the meal, when the peppermint tea had been served, they sat down together on comfortable cushions beneath a pair of ceiling fans.
“I’m going to level with you,” Xavier said. “Both of us have a mission. You have a mission, I have a mission. I want to comfort the Jewish people, and once we know each other better, I’ll explain why. And you want to offer comfort to your people as well. But how can we comfort a people when we have no power?”
The leader of Hamas didn’t reply, so Xavier went on. “Even if a family is all you wish to comfort, you still need power. All comforting assumes power. You know that, I know that. Once I dreamed of writing the Great Yiddish Novel, but it turned out that it had already been written. Then I considered becoming a painter, and I painted, every evening, sometimes during the day as well. But now I’m the prime minister. Now I should be able to provide comfort. Yet this is an unusual country. Everyone watches this country, everyone talks about it. This land evokes emotions, just like an exciting book. This is where monotheism was born, this is where the sacred places of almost all the great religions are located, this is where a traffic accident can become international news. Let’s not linger too much on history, though, because, to be honest, I don’t know very much about it. Politicians shouldn’t look back, anyway — they should look forward. But how can you comfort a people when your power is not abiding? How can you make decisions when you have to fear for your power with every decision you make, when you live in fear of falling out of favor? He who has power must keep it. You have power, but your power is threatened as well. Because the people are fickle, and their memory is poor. The people are weak and disoriented by nature. They need leaders to keep them from making missteps. Your power exists because you have an enemy, because you can create for your people the illusion that you are struggling heroically against that enemy. There’s nothing wrong with that — every people has its own illusions. But let me put it differently: where would you be without an enemy?”
“Where would you be without an enemy?” the aged leader of Hamas asked quietly. His voice wasn’t particularly loud; you had to listen carefully to understand him. “All things human,” he said, “exist by virtue of having enemies. Without enemies, none of it can exist; it dissolves, vanishes into thin air, becomes more invisible than ashes.”