Selected Detective
EXPERIMENTAL SCHOOL TEACHER

At the end of the day, Ben-Roi drives his car home to his house, a dirty and quiet one-bedroom apartment. He then showered, dripped with cologne, and prepared to go to his sister Chava's apartment for Sabbath dinner. The night was cool and sunny, with blue skies and a gentle breeze blowing from the north. So calm and quiet. The road as usual, only now empty because of the Sabbath observance. He passed by a group of haredi Jews who rushed home from the synagogue, their curly hair on the sides poking up and down like curled springs. A line of young female soldiers were sitting at a bus stop at the main bus terminal, laughing and smoking. Their M16s are balanced with their slender legs and wrapped in khaki-colored clothing. Otherwise, the city is abandoned. Ben-Roi likes things like this clean, empty, quiet. There was something pure in such a state, impeccable, as if everything that had happened before was simply erased, giving rise to a new city, a new beginning. He hoped, this kind of situation happened all the time.

The Chava Apartment turns its back on the Old City, in ha-ma’alot, a luxurious tree-fenced highway in the center of West Jerusalem. After arriving in front of the yellow rocky building he gulped his vodka from his waist bottle and squeezed the intercom next to the glass door. Shut up for a moment, then the voice of Chaim, his nephew, was heard from the panel.

“Uncle Arieh?”

“Not,” he replied, with an American accent, “ini Spiderman.” Shut up for a moment because the boy must be considering this, then laugh.

“Definitely not Spiderman,” he shouted. “Definitely Uncle Arieh! Come log in!” There was a hissing sound and the door opened. Ben-Roi enters the foyer, smiles at himself, and enters the elevator towards the fourth floor, taking the menthol from his pocket and putting it in his mouth to cover the smell of alcohol.

He enjoyed Sabbath night at his sister's house. This is one of the few social events she may have participated in lately - just herself, Chava, her husband Shimon and their two children, Chaim and Ezer. the religious element is not very important to him now. Since the death of Gaul, his beliefs, which were once the center of his existence, have seemed chaotic. So far, it had been almost a year since he had last set foot into the shul. He even missed the opportunity to attend Easter Holiday, Rosh hashanah, and Yom Kippur for the first time.

No, it's not religion that makes Friday night so special to him. Nor is it the fact that he is in the midst of his family, his own blood, although of course it is so important.but rather, there is a simple happiness to be among happy people, who can laugh, who can laugh, who see the world as a place full of bright light and hope, not the shock of pain and confusion.they are a happy and contented family, so warm, so familiar.

Being with them had helped him, otherwise to forget him, at least to remember what little was left. The elevator door opened and he stepped out onto the floor of the corridor. Four-year-old Chaim and his older brother Ezer got up from the front door and jumped into his arms.

“Did you catch a killer today, Uncle Arieh?”

“Do you have a gun now?”

“will you take us swimming next week?”

“To the zoo! To the zoo!” He lifted the two boys up with his hands and led them into the apartment, closing the door behind him. His brother-in-law Shimon, a short and wacky man with curly afro hair is hard to believe that he is a paratrooper who has a service mark out of the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist, the smell of roasted chicken followed him.

“You all right, Dude?” he said, patting Ben-Roi on the shoulder.

Ben-Roi nodded and sat the children on the floor. They ran towards his bedroom, laughing and making a ruckus.

“drink?” ask Shimon.

“What is Chief Rabbi frumm?” ask Ben-Roi. “where is Chava?”

“While lighting candles. With Sarah.” The detective was dumbfounded. He did not expect anyone else to be there.

“A friend of his,” explains Simon. “He's got some free time tonight, so let's invite him.” He stared at the corridor at a glance, and then lowered his voice.

“What a beauty. And still alone!” He blinked and disappeared into the kitchen to grab a drink. Ben-Roi heads towards the corridor towards the sitting room, taking a quick look towards the dining room as he passes by. His sister, a large-haired, tall woman with a bob haircut, was bending over the table to bless the Sabbath candles. Next to her stood another woman, smaller, slimmer, with almost waist-length blonde hair, dressed in Chinese clothes, slippers and a white blouse. He turned his head, caught Ben-Roi's sight and smiled. Ben-Roi looked into his eyes for a moment, then without replying to his body language, he headed towards the middle room. His sister's voice echoed behind him, in reciting the traditional prayer of Sabbath.

“Baruch ata Adonai, eloheinu melech ha’shanu b’mitz’votav v’tzivanu l’hadlich ner shel Shabbat.” He was later accompanied by Shimon, who gave him a large glass of whiskey. The two women came a while later, Chava approached and hugged her.

“I love the perfume you wear after shaving,” Chava said as he kissed her cheek. “This Sarah.” He pulled it and signaled his friend, who smiled and extended his hand.

“Chava has told me a lot about you,” Sarah said.

Ben-Roi welcomes the hand and says his greetings, trying to be polite. He considered the presence of this woman to be inappropriate. He liked the situation when there were only five of them, family and without outsiders. In such circumstances that he could be himself, there was no need to bother. Now, with strangers here, the night's familiarity seems polluted, broken before it starts. He began to hope that he would not come.

“Don't think of him,” Canda his sister, sambal nods his head towards Ben-Roi.

“She is super sabra. Just leave it until dessert time, she will turn very jolly and friendly.” The young woman smiled but said nothing. Ben-Roi finished his whiskey with two long gulps.

They exchange happiness for a few minutes, and then Chava excuses to prepare dinner in the kitchen. Ben-Roi follows him as he is about to refill his glass.

“So what do you think?” ask Chava when they're just the two of them.

“What do you mean ask so?”

“About Sarah, stupid! She's so beautiful, ‘kan?” Ben-Roi shrugged, pouring whiskey for himself from the bottle that was on the side board.

“I haven't noticed.”

“Yes,” said his sister with laughter, sambal opened the oven and checked the large chicken that was being roasted in it.

Ben-Roi advanced forward and, opening the lid, smelled the contents in a burning pot inside the stove. Chicken knee lach soup. Her favorite.

“Sarah good female,” says Chava, while sprinkling chicken. “Funny, smart, kind. And still by yourself.”

“Shimon also told me,” interrupted Ben-Roi, while putting a spoon into the pot and sipping the soup.

Chava brushed off Ben-Roi's hand and opened the oven door.

“I know what you're thinking, Arieh. I didn't mean to rule your life.”

“You must have made fun of me.”

“Box alms! You know we don't use harsh words in this house.” Ben-Roi grumbles to apologize, reaches into his pocket and pulls out the five-shekel dime he put into the charity box on the edge of the window.

“I'm not trying to manage your life,” re-chava.

“I just thought...”.

“What? That it's time I started dating someone?” He bit his lip, took out another coin, ten shekels this time, and put it in a box.

“Sorry.” Chava smiled and, taking a step forward, wrapped his arms around his brother's neck.

“Come, Ari. Yes. Cried slightly. I can't stand to see you like this. None of us can stand it. So unhappy. So ... tormented. Gaul also definitely did not want it. I know it. He wants you to start a new life.be happy.” Ben-Roi lets Chava hug himself for a while, then pushes him, and goes back to drinking whiskey.

“Let me solve this problem in my own way, my sister. I just need time, that's it.”

“You can't constantly mourn for him like this, Arieh. You have to step forward. You must know this, deep in your heart.” He finished off the rest of the whiskey, something hardened inside him.

“I will mourn for him for as long as I want, Chava. It's nobody's business but me.” This time neither apologized for his exploratory phrasing, nor did he put a dime in the box. He filled his glass again and headed for the kitchen door. His sister took his hand.

“More effortless and polite, Arieh. Justjust please. At least try and be nice.” Arieh looked at her. The woman's eyes were moist, begging greatly, then nodded and exited towards the corridor.

“Uncle Arieh we hold,” exciting ezer explained. “And we are the guard uncle.” With more to drink, Ben-Roi's mood glows a little.

“Alright,” said. “But remember, if you are a good guard you should keep an eye on uncle all the time. All time. Which means you can't have dinner because this will bother you.” The two boys accept his challenge and, circling around on their chairs, stare at Arieh. They attempt to do this until the soup is served, which at that point they have already lost interest. Shimon nods at Ben-Roi, who stands up and goes to the side board where he opens the wine bottle.

“Some guards have you disabled,” Sarah said with a smile. “See your uncle just escaped. And you guys didn't even notice it.”

“He did not run,” ezer fended off, while sipping his soup.

“There are other guards, but they are invisible.” Ben-Roi's eyes catch Sarah's eyes in a very short time, then glare again. He returned to the table with the bottle open.

“So, what are your activities?” he asked, pouring wine.

“He's a teacher,” says Chava.

“Since when was he mute?” shimon. “Let him answer it himself.”

“Sorry,” says Chava. “Continue Sarah, just tell her about your activities.” This young woman shrugged her shoulders.

“I am a teacher.” despite reluctance, Ben-Roi smiles.

“Where?”

“Di Silwan.”

“Silwan?”

“It's a special project.experiment.” Ben-Roi raised his eyebrows full of questions.

“We teach Israeli and Palestinian children together, in the same school,” he explained. “try to integrate them. knock down the barrier.” Ben-Roi looks at him for a while, then lowers his gaze. Smile fades. Shimon took the thing and smashed it in his empty soup bowl.

“Did you get the funds you were looking for?” Arieh asked. Sarah shook her head. “they tried to get money for the settlers, but for the teaching .. everything goes as it is now even we can not afford to give coloring books and pens.”

Ben-Roi is playing the kneeidl in his bowl.

“I don't see the essence of its importance,” he murmured.

“About coloring book?”

“About trying to unite Arab and Israeli children.” Sarah looked at him, her eyes twinkling.

“You don't think of it as something worth trying?” Ben-Roi moved his irregular spoon.

“World different, different values. There is no point in thinking they will be able to come together. Naive.”

“Actually, we have done a lot,” Sarah fended off.

“Kids play together, share experiences, build friendships. How amazing how open-minded they are as far as they can afford.”

“In a few years, they will slit the throat,” Ben-Roi said. “That's how it all used to run. There's no point in trying to pretend there's a difference.” For a moment it seemed that he was going to have a fight with Arieh.

Sarah smiled and shrugged her shoulders lightly.

“We will let this run as it is. You never know, this will give you good results. Better than encouraging them to grow up hating each other, of course.” There is a moment's silence, not easy, broken by Chaim, who begins to tell the story of how they found a mouse in the toilet in the local pool and the pool keeper killed him with a broomstick.

“That's good,” said Ben-Roi, as he finished his soup and threw a glance at Sarah. “That's the only way to deal with a bully. destroy the fucker.” Arieh did not say much afterwards, eating in silence while the others chatted amongst themselves, especially, inevitably, about the ha-matzav, the current political situation.

As soon as they finish eating, they sing a zemirot song, Ben-Roi hums without a tone, then pulls himself into the living room for coffee. At ten, he said he had to leave.

“Me too,” says Sarah, while standing. “might very nice, Chava. Thank you very much.”

Both saying goodbye. Ben-Roi is upset that he can't go alone, and gets off with the elevator with him in an awkward silence. As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, Arieh asked which way Sarah would walk.

“To the right,” said. “You?” It should also go to the right.

“Ke left,” said.

There's a rather strange pause.

“oh, alright,” Sarah finally said. “Happy to meet you.”

He smiled and extended his hand. Arieh looked at him, nodded, turned and started to walk away. After he stepped a few meters, Sarah called out to him.

“I'm sorry about what happened, Arieh. Chava told me. I'm so concerned. This must be very bad for you.” It slows down the steps. “You have no regrets,” Arieh wants to shout at him.

“You dirty Arab lovers. They killed the only woman I ever loved and now you're pretending to hide something. You're a fucking moron. Prostitute *****.”

Arieh said nothing, only raised a little bit of his hand for farewell, and stepped again, continuing to walk to the end of the road, then disappearing in the corner towards Ha-Melekh George.

After spending three hours drinking alone at Champs Pub on Jaffa Street, Ben-Roi heads to his flat, gets swept away with Schlomo Artzi's CD and falls to his couch, fell asleep.

There was a prostitute in that bar, young, blonde, Russian, with mascara eyes and transparent hollow arms from regular punch users. Arieh thought of taking the woman along, forgetting her anger and loneliness for a moment, but then decided otherwise. He is too afraid, will not be able to get an erection, will eventually lower himself more than he has done, if such a thing is possible. The woman had already seduced and served him, but Arieh told her to go and continue drinking alone, while staring at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, its large face and protruding bone are divided in half by a vertical joint between two panes of glass so it looks like the skull bone has been halved and the two are separated, it left a thick black line that was in the middle of her.

He leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes, but was awake by the waves of nausea and opened his eyes almost immediately, his gaze heading around the room, trying to get something to notice. He saw his CD-player, the cracks in the ceiling, Batya Gur, before finally his eyes stopped on a row of framed photos inside the shelf across.

Taking a deep breath, he walked along the column, using the image to solidify himself, it was as if his eyes were hands and the photos were sturdy iron rails that kept him standing upright: he and his sister were hanging upside down from the apricot tree; his great-grandfather, who was, old Ezekiel Ben-Roi, a hard, heavily bearded Russian who had emigrated to ottoman-ruled Palestine in 1882, making the Ben-Rio family one of the longest-living Jewish families in the region; he was on graduation graduation from a police school; he and Alpacino, respectively, the film Serpico has inspired him to become a police officer. And of course, last of all, at the right end of the line, the biggest photo of all, he and Gaul, were laughing staring at the camera, the silvery waves of the Sea of Galilee were behind them, in Ginosar, on the eve of his thirteenth birthday, when Gaul gave him a silver waist bottle and a menorah-shaped pendulum which he kept on a chain around his neck.

He looked at the photo. The fingers on his left hand played the pendulum helplessly, then, by raising his body to stand, he staggered his way into the sleeping chamber.

Stamped to the wall at the side of his bed was a photocopy of a newspaper article, enlarged three times its actual size, thick red ink encircling certain words and phrases Jericho and the Dead Sea Plain; manio; thin men are tall; the road is too sophisticated to go to a Palestinian traitor cell; the driving force must be something external. He leaned against the wall with one hand on the scanned article and text, reading the entire article, as he had done thousands of times last year, before finally falling on his bed, where he lay while looking at a bottle for use after shaving that is on the side of the bed cupboard.

“Sick stomach,” he grumbled in a hangover: “You make me sick stomach.” Then his eyes closed and he fell asleep, snorting loudly, his right hand clenched as if he was grasping a parachute handle.