Selected Detective
SECRET MEETING II

Khalifa told me about everything she had found in the past few days, which was not so much.

Milan listened in silence, with eyes that never escaped him. When he finished, the Israelite slowly stood up and, approaching the flask, poured himself a cup of tea, glanced at the flashing kerosene lamp fire, its rays add another touch to the orange color of its cigar cigarette so it looks as if it is wrapped in a blanket of burning fire. They were silent for a while. Then Milan spoke up. His voice, a low baritone, sounded deeper and hoarse, barely audible.

“Every faith, inspector, has something object, a symbol that is sacred above other things, which is more than any other form of worship to sum up the essence of that faith. Like a cross for Christians, Ka’bah in Mecca for Muslims. To the Jews, my people, the Holy Lamps. ‘And the Lord will keep the eternal light’ this is what the Prophet Isaiah told us, and this, for us, is always represented by the Lamp: the ray of creation, faith, and existence. That is why, out of all the objects in the ancient Temple, the menorah is the noblest and most beloved; that is why, in our time, the lamp was chosen as the emblem of the state of Israel. Since nothing is more precious to us, nothing is more sacred, there is no more pure symbol of us and striving to be human. Because, in short, in the light of the Holy menorah is revealed none but the face of God Himself. I clearly and definitely can't be too hard emphasizing its strength and significance.” He smoked his cigarette slowly and long, letting the last sentence float for a moment, and his face disappeared behind a thick curtain of smoke.

“And now, inspector” he turned to Khalifa, slowly, his shadow was visible and shifted on the wall behind him

“Thanks to you, the original menorah, the first menorah, the menorah of the menorah that Bezael made first in the mists of time and which has been considered lost for good now, suddenly, after all these centuries, back. Again, I can't stress more on the significance of this. Not really, most importantly, the danger.” His voice slightly raised on the last word earlier, his syllable blaring and vibrating, filling the room. The feeling of fear that had plagued Khalifa for the past ten minutes, the feeling that, contrary to his will, he had become more involved in something that was far beyond his comprehension, suddenly grew more and more intense.

“This is not...” Again Gulami's hand touched Khalifa's arm, signaling her to be quiet, listening. Milan smoked his cigarette, with eyes that never slipped from Khalifa's face.

“There is an interesting special custom in the region we inhabit, inspector, that the symbol always counts as something more than human life. A person's death may be tragic, but in time the grief will pass. On the contrary, desecration of something holy is never forgotten, nor unforgivable. Imagine the reaction of your society when, say, the Holy Ka’bah is attacked by Israeli jets. It's the same for us if it happens to Menorah. When such a highly iconic object falls into the wrong hands, the hands of someone like Al-Mulatham, corrupted by it, crumble hold of my words: collective wounds such as violations of the sacred are far deeper than the wounds of thousands of suicide bombings. Ten thousand. the loss of humans can be paid in full. But the loss of something sacred the pain will never diminish. Not in one generation, two or three. It never will. And neither does the anger that goes with it.” He flicked the ashes at the tip of his cigarette and, raising his hand, rubbed his eyes. His face suddenly looked thin and sunken, his shoulders sagging as if something was pressing him from above.

“Two of our people are on the verge of a deep abyss once, inspector. Sa’eb and I, we believe we can save them, even now, after so much blood has been spilled. But if the original menorah is discovered by Al-Mulatham, or vice versa by fanatical fundamentalists on our side that turns out to be many, many, I can assure you that everything is just waiting for a flag like this behind which they can run the power of fanaticism” in the corner of the space Ben-Roi shifted uncomfortably, his fingers play the pendant hanging around his neck “when that happens, believe me, we will immediately fall into the void, the, and there is no peace process on this earth that can pull us back.” Khalifa's cigarette had barely burned to the ground in her hand, leaving a weak ash hanging from its tip. Something was coming, he could feel it. Something he doesn't want to hear.

“Al - Mulatham does not know about menorah,” he murmured weakly. “Hoth died before he told it.” Marsudi shook his head. “We can't be sure of that. We know Hoth did whatever he could to contact Al-Mulatham, and he may have failed; but he may not have. Perhaps Al-Mulatham is looking for a menorah even as we talk about it, perhaps others are looking for it too. We can't risk it.” Khalifa's chest cavity was dry, her stomach tightened. He was being manoeuvred, he could feel it; being cornered, as when he was a boy and a group of bigger boys chased him down the back road of Giza, who in the end always managed to catch him, and beating.

“Why did you say all this to me?” he repeats. There was the sound of someone snorting from the far side of the room.

“Why do you think they told you?” It was the first time Ben-Roi spoke.

“And it was you who started all this. Now help us finish it.” Khalifa looked around, her forehead sweating, as if something was living inside, whack at the inside of her temple.

“What does he mean by, ’help finish it’? why did you bring me here?”

He sounds desperate. Gulami took off her glasses, examined them, and put them back on.

Like Milan, his face also suddenly looked tired and battered.

“The menorah must be found, inspector,” he said slowly.

“He should be quickly found. And he must be found without any other party knowing where his next whereabouts.” There was a momentary pause to make the words digestible, then Khalifa stood up.

“No.” He finally opened his voice, surprised by his fiery spirit but unable to stop himself, even in front of someone as powerful as Gulami. He did not want to be part of this project. Not wanting to know about Israel, Judaism, any menorah. Never wanted to know, from the beginning, anything Zenab had ever said about looking for what you did not understand, growing up and becoming a better person. The only thing he wants, the only thing he ever wants, is to live a simple, normal and regular life, to be with his family, to do his job, to move up the levels. But this is too big. Too big for him.

“No,” he repeats, while shaking his head.

“What do you mean no?” Ben-Roi stepped forward, his eyes flashing. Khalifa ignored him, then said to Gulami.

“I'm a cop. This is all ... nothing to do with me!”

“This is all about you,” hiss Ben-Roi. “Didn't you hear?”

Khalifa ignored him. “This is not my responsibility. I don't want to be a part of this. I don't want to get involved.”

“Please, Arieh.” Milan tries to touch Ben-Roi's shoulder to calm him down, but is pushed aside.

“Whose does he think he is?!”

“Arieh!”

“I don't want to get involved. Who do you think he is, Muslim!” Khalifa turned her head, her hands clenched firmly. Two, maybe three times in his entire life he completely lost control, lost uncontrollably, and this is one of them.

“How dare you!” He sizzled, no longer caring where and with whom he was. “How dare you, arrogant Jewish bastard!”

“Khalifa!” Gulami and Marsudi now stand together.

“Ben-zohna!” shouted Ben-Roi, while pressing forward and hands swayed. “Fucking Woman! I'll kill him!” Finally Milan managed to grab Ben-Roi's jacket and pulled it back. Marsudi stepped forward Khalifa, who had also moved forward, grabbed her shoulder and held her back.

“Lech tiezdayen, zayin!” as Ben-Roi said, pointing his middle finger at the Egyptian. “Let's you, moron!”

Various insults and insults were thrown, the two stiffened each other forward, before finally Gulami snapped, “Khalas! Enough!” and both of them were silent, breathing heavily. Gulami, Marsudi and Milan threw eyes at each other, then the foreign minister ordered Khalifa to leave the room to calm down first. Throwing a crushes glare at Ben-Roi, Detective Khalifa walked towards the door, opened it and stepped out, and closed the door again. He breathed deeply clean, calm, refreshingly then stepped towards the row of jagged black stones that looked thirty meters away. He sat down and lit a cigarette.

A few minutes passed, the world was so silent. There was only a soft whisper of the sound of the wind, the sky above was decorated with countless stars, like a bias of blue-and-white paint. A moment later came the sound of the creaking of the opened door, and the clattering of footsteps on the rocky path. Someone approached. Marzudi.

“Ezayek?” ask the Palestinian, touching Khalifa's shoulder.

“You okay?”

The detective nodded “Ana asif,” he muttered. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't..” Marsudi's hand squeezed his shoulder to calm down. “Trust me, that is nothing compared to the number of things this place has heard over the past fourteen months. It's a tough time. Inevitably there will definitely be harsh words.” Marsudi again brushed his hand and sat down next to Khalifa. They were silent for a while, the world around them was completely quiet a perfect and pure serenity that you only found in the desert and high mountain peaks later, while raising his hands, he said, Marsudi pointed to the sky.

“You see there?” He asks. “Constellation with four luminous stars. No, three. Yeah, there he is. This is what we call a tank. The star line that is below, it is the centipede path, then the small tower, and there, weapons.”

Khalifa followed the Palestinian's finger movements, watching as he slowly walked down its shape, which, he now sees, does resemble the rough outline of a tank.”

“And there” Marsudi swung his hand towards another constellation “Kalashnikov. Look, the tip, the handle and over there” he grabbed Khalifa's elbow and twisted it “Granat: body, arms, needles. Anywhere in the world, if people looked up they would see beauty. Only in Palestine do we look up to the sky and see the object of war.” On the other side of that desert a wolf began to howl, its voice gradually disappearing as fast as it came. Khalifa smoked her cigarette and put the jacket on her body to withstand the cold.

“I can't do it,” he whispered. “I'm sorry, but I can't work with them.” Marsudi smiled sadly, while dropping his head back, staring at the night.

“You think I don't feel the same way? My father, he died in an Israeli prison. When I was nine years old I watched my own brother being run over by a tank, right in front of me. You think after that I'd like to talk to them, come here and negotiate? Believe me, I have more reason to hate them than you.” He continued to stare upwards, his face as pale as a corpse in the moonlight.

“But I keep coming here,” he said slowly. “And I keep talking to them. And you know what? For the past fourteen months, Judah and I, we have been friends. We, who have spent an entire life hostilely. Good friend.”

Khalifa finished her cigarette and threw it into the darkness. The tip of his cigarette was still lit up for a moment like a worm's tail before finally disappearing in the dark.

“Si Ben-Roi's,” murmured. “If only someone else ... But Ben-Roi. I can see it from his eyes. All about him. I can't work with him.” Marsudi put his hand in his pants pocket.

“You have a wife, Inspector?” Khalifa nodded in confirming.

“Actually Ben-Roi was getting married.”

“Terus?”

“A month before the wedding, her fiance was killed. In a suicide bombing. Al - Mulatham.”

“Allahu Akbar.” Khalifa hung her head. “I don't know it.” Marsudi shrugged and, while pulling his hand out of his pants pocket, raised his index and middle fingers and touched it on his lips, asked for a cigarette from Khalifa.

The Egyptian took out a cigarette box and lit it. This handsome, thin Palestinian face was momentarily lit by the fire-lighter bias before sinking again in shadow.

“In six days time there will be a big meeting in central Jerusalem,” he said slowly. “Yehuda and I have chosen that meeting as a place to publish what we have made here last year. We will make a proposal plan, announce the formation of a new political party, a joint Israeli-Palestinian peace cooperation party, which will work so that our proposal can be implemented. As Judah said, it will take years, generation after generation, and change everything, but I think we can do it, I just think we can do it. But no, if the menorah falls into the hands of the wrong person. When that happens, everything we've done, everything we've hoped for, everything we've dreamed of..” He smoked his cigarette again with a long puff, and stared at the ground.

“Help us, inspector. From one muslim to another, one person to another, one human to another please help us.” What can Khalifa say? There aren't. It issues the ******* which is deep, scraping the ground with its feet, nodding a sign of agreement. Marsudi again touched Khalifa's shoulder and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, guiding her back into the building.

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