I waited in the interrogation room for what seemed like an eternity. My sense of time told me that it took me half an hour to pee, thanks to Livshitz' Uzi in my back. My interrogator, Daniellah Argov, was taking even longer. Random thoughts flashed through my head as I waited. What was this delay all about? Was she ordering up a thumbscrew to help with my interrogation?
Finally Daniellah returned. I noticed that she was a bit red and flushed underneath her nicely-tanned skin. "I must be handling this interrogation well from my side," I thought. "My interrogator got so horny from my confession that she's been beating her meat in the bathroom." Pleased with myself that I had, in my own way, reached out and touched someone, I flashed Daniellah a smile. Daniellah responded with a wink, then resumed her stern visage. As she opened her note pad, her foot resumed playing with my ankle. These Israeli women are very well co-ordinated, I thought.
"Now that we're all refreshed, may we resume the interrogation? I believe you said that you were in Haifa? Where did you go the next day?
There they were arrayed before me, my four interrogators. Lieut. Ze'ev Kinnor was a cop secure in the belief that I was a pervert on a mission to seduce Israeli womanhood. Shlomo Galil was the internal security spook who wished he were James Bronstein of the Mossad, hobnobbing with fellow CIA and KGB agents, rather than interrogating mere tourists. Sgt. Dov Livshitz was just a garden variety psychopath, totally happy in a profession, where he could inflict maximum pain and humiliation on his fellow man.
Daniellah Argov was the hard one to figure out. She had a sisterly wholesomeness about her, if your sister happened to be Jewish. Yet, she could display roughness and hardness when interrogating. Obviously, she took her duties seriously about running a clean, safe airport. Also, her footsie game wasn't sisterly and she definitely had a healthy interest in the sex life of the tourist. Since Daniellah was the one in charge here, I decided to pitch my story to her obvious interest in sex.
"Fine. Tamar and I showered and had breakfast. By now, I was enjoying the white cheese and tomatoes for Israeli breakfast. Tamar obviously was enjoying getting Canadian zain every night. Let's say, we were adapting to each other. At breakfast, I told Tamar that I had had enough of talking to urban Israelis about the monetary crisis and that I wanted to talk to rural people like kibbutzniks. Tamar said:"
"'Are you sure you know what you're doing, Chris? Kibbutznikim never carry money. They're shielded from real life by the way the kibbutz owns everything except for their underwear.'"
"'I'm surprised at you, Tamar. You were the one that said we should make the most of our expense account living. I agree that kibbutzniks may not contribute much to my story but the Canadian image of Israel is that of a farmer on a kibbutz with a pitchfork in one hand and an Uzi in the other. So the first reason is that my editor will be looking for an interview with kibbutzniks. The other reason is that I want to make love to you somewhere it's quiet. Somewhere in the country would be great."
Livshitz started fingering his Uzi and growled at me: "Are you making fun of my mother because she was a Pioneer on a kibbutz? Dani, can I take this shmuk outside for a few minutes and teach him some respect for my mother and the Pioneers?"
Daniellah glared at Livshitz as her foot rode up the calf of my leg and along my thigh. "Be quiet. I think he's telling the truth. Foreigners think all Israel lives on a kibbutz. Please continue. Did you have the opportunity to make love to Tamar in the back seat of your car when you drove through the countryside? I have heard that foreigners like to make love in the back seat of a car."
"No, Ms. Argov. Have you tried to find a secluded spot in the north of Israel? Tamar wouldn't give me any details on where we were going, so I had to concentrate on her directions on the drive north from Haifa. The car climbed until we finally entered a narrow valley. The road sign said Metullah and it didn't look like a kibbutz at all. In fact, Metullah was obviously a resort town from all the hotels, motels, chalets and restaurants. I complained to Tamar:"
"'This is just a resort town. I mean, it's the nicest resort town I've seen in all Israel and maybe the world. But I'm sure that there's just beautiful people here like in downtown Tel Aviv. Why did you bring me here?'"
"'Just keep driving, Chris and you'll find out soon enough.'"
I drove past the hotel strip. At the end of the main street was a large building, the reason for Tamar's mysterious demeanor. I was dumbfounded: 'Would you look at that? It's a real hockey rink. I thought that Israelis didn't play hockey.'"
"'We don't. Canadian Jews donated this facility to Israel on the theory that 'If you build it, they will come.' That unfortunately only works for baseball fields. We have no hockey team in Israel and it's used mostly by figure skaters. Since I knew that Canadians were so crazy about hockey that Only a Canadian would try and play the game in a desert country, I had to show this to you.'"
"We drove past the hockey rink, as close as we could to the Lebanese border. There were a few Arab workers straggling through the maze of barbed wire that constituted the Customs/Army post. Tamar explained that Israel is chronically short of workers and that these workers drove for hours to work In Israel. They had to leave Israel every evening, by law."
"We had coffee in one of the chalets with a view of Mt. Hermon. There was no snow at this time of the year but Tamar assured me that Israelis skied on Mt. Hermon in the winter. I thought that this might be the right time to intimate to Tamar that I was after something a little more long term than a night in Tel Aviv or a few days of her leave. I told Tamar that a Canadian would only give up hockey for a woman like her. Whether she didn't understand the importance of hockey or just wanted to avoid commitment, she just smiled."
Daniellah interjected: "Did you screw Tamar in Metullah? Remember that you are still under suspicion and this place is close to the Lebanese border."
"No, Ms. Argov. Metullah was too expensive, especially for the cheap newspaper I work for. We drove towards the Golan Heights. Tamar pointed out that we were passing through the Hula Lakes. I was a little bit late for the lakes because they had been drained and were now under intensive cultivation. We arrived at the kibbutz and I could hardly contain my disappointment."
"'Tamar, this is just a four-star hotel out in the country. You promised me a real kibbutz.'"
"'Chris, the hotel is run by the kibbutz as a sideline. You must trust me that you'll get to talk to real farmers.'"
