the Temple is rebuilt, the atonement must be made on the altar of every Jewish heart. It is why, on the Day of Atonement, we sing kol nidre in the synagogue.” Ari was well acquainted with the ancient song that implored God to forgive unfulfilled vows.
“Will the Temple ever be rebuilt?”
Even in the dim light of the study, Ari could see his father’s eyes darken. “Not by human means. We cannot rebuild it. It is death for any Jew to set foot on the Temple Mount.”
“Why?”
“Because, as Torah says, only a high priest of Israel may stand in the qodesh qodeshim—the Holy of Holies. Any Jew impertinent enough to walk there is guilty of the grossest sacrilege.”
“But one day…?”
“One day, son. One day. Ha-Shem Himself will redeem the Temple Mount. As Malachi the prophet wrote, the priests shall be purified and offer sacrifice once again in righteousness. But beforehand will come a time of trouble, the chevlay sh’l Moshiach, the birth pains of the Messiah. The ten days between the New Year and the Day of Atonement.
“Then the Messiah will bring in Ba ha-Olam—the world to come—and the righteous will sit down together to study Torah forever.”
Ari’s father looked thoughtful for a long while and then, abruptly, blinked at the study window. “It’s dawn.” Almost automatically, he bent to the bureau and removed from a drawer his box of phylacteries and the velvet pillow that held his skullcap and tallit, the worn prayer shawl he had used since boyhood. He stood, hesitated, and offered them to Ari. A silent invitation. After a moment, Ari took them from his father and followed his lead as the older man put on another tallit and phylacteries.
Through the window, the first sun glimmered from the eastern hills.
Lion Gate Street, Old City, Jerusalem, 0945h
The shopkeeper could not take his eyes off Nasir’s gun. The shopkeeper’s wet, warm smell filled the shop as the sun struck at the corrugated tin awning. Nasir had followed him into the shop before giving him a chance to open the shutter door; he felt sweat irrigating his own back, but he wanted the man to stew a little longer.
“What did you tell the Israeli police?” he asked finally.
“When?”
“Please.”
The shopkeeper suffered in the heat. “Let me turn on the fan. It’s so hot.”
“What did you tell the police?”
“I told them nothing.”
“What did you tell the police?”
Nasir’s voice did not change. He simply smiled insistently. The shopkeeper glanced from the gun in Nasir’s hand to the fan on the ceiling and wiped his face repeatedly with his forearm. At last his eyes blinked hard as if he were about to faint.
“What did you tell them?” Nasir repeated.
“I told them only what I knew. Only that I knew Talal Bukmun. That he was my mother’s lodger.”
“What else?”
“Nothing. They already knew…”
“They already knew what?”
“That he was a weapons dealer. I told them nothing they did not already know.”
“What did they say to you?”
“What did they say to me?”
“It’s going to be very hot in here after I leave and lock the shutter behind me. From the outside.”
The shopkeeper, not a quick man, considered this and replied. “They told me to say nothing to anyone.”
“About what?”
“They said they would shut down my shop, intern me.”
“They told you to say nothing to anyone about what?”
“Please. They are watching me. Perhaps listening…”
“I am watching you, too. And listening.”
“I would not betray Talal.”
“You would betray your mother for a shekel. What did they want to know?”
“They asked me if I knew a man named Ayoub.”
“Who?”
“Nasir, I think it was. Nasir al-Ayoub.”
“Do you know such a man?”
“No. I don’t know him.”
“Why did they ask you about Nasir al-Ayoub?”
“They say he killed Talal.”
“You know that I am Nasir al-Ayoub.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me. They showed you my picture.”
The shopkeeper blinked at the sweat in his eyes, as if willing himself not to see.
Nasir smiled grimly at him. “I think you killed Talal. I think you stuffed him in that hole.”
“No, no. I had no reason.”
“You owed him money.”
“No!”
“He wanted you to pay him. You thought no one would miss him, so you killed him.”
“No!” The shopkeeper stared miserably at the gun as Nasir held it a little higher. “You are his friend? I was his friend, too. I gave him a place to live. A place to hide.”
“He gave you money.”
“He gave me some money, yes.”
“So you killed him rather than paying him back. You lured him here and left him dead inside that hole where he would never be found.”
“No! He came here by himself.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why.”
“You know. He wanted to use your shop. You told him about the tunnels. Why did he come here?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know. He came to meet someone. Who?”
“I don’t know who.”
“What did he tell you? He didn’t crawl through that filth for nothing. He wanted to get into your shop. Why?” For the first time Nasir raised his voice.
The shopkeeper trembled as if with cold. He wiped his face again and again; the hair on his forearm was like mud.
“All right. He was angry. He said someone had betrayed him, and he was going to make him pay.”
“Who?”
“Who?”
“Please. The man who betrayed him. Who was he? Did Talal say it was me?”
“No! I don’t know. I don’t know.” The shopkeeper moaned over and over.
Nasir was satisfied. He knew it wasn’t likely that Bukmun would have confided much to this sopping jelly of a man.
But then the jelly surprised him.
“I think it must have been the man who bought the rockets from him. But I don’t know who he was,” the shopkeeper whispered. “It was the man in Rome, he said. The man in Rome.”
“What man in Rome?”
“A man he saw on the television.”
Seconds later, the shutter was open to the cooler air from outside and Nasir was gone.
***
Down