Forced Silence Read online

  “Yeah, like all of us, except everyone else does it during the day.” Immediately, she regretted her words. The last thing that she wanted was for him to know how much it still hurts.

  “Hey, I didn’t call to fight with you.”

  Galia swallowed and took a long breath. “Sorry. So you wanted something?”

  It was Doron’s turn to pick up Shir from kindergarten. Every time, he would call to confirm. He hesitated, knowing exactly what her response would be.

  “Doron?”

  “About this afternoon… I’m still in the office in Jerusalem. It doesn’t look like I’ll be getting out of here any time soon. It’s going to be late when I’m done, so I’m not sure that I’ll make it to pick up Shiri and spend some time with her today.”

  Galia stood up and sighed. “Come on Doron. You know how much Shiri enjoys her days with you. You can’t clear a few hours from your schedule? You skipped last week too, because you had to travel somewhere important. I don’t feel like explaining to her why Daddy didn’t show up again.”

  She knew how bad the situation was. Not only would she have to deal with Shir’s disappointment, but she’d also have to deal with her own disappointment. Yael stepped into her office for a moment and looked at Galia with a questioning glance. Galia turned to the window and gestured to Yael to leave.

  “Gali, are you with me?”

  “Yes, Doron.”

  “Okay, I just wanted to let you know. I’m really sorry about this. You have to understand: I’m disappointed too. Should I call the kindergarten and tell them that you’ll be picking up Shir?”

  Suddenly, Galia remembered. Poor Daniel! He must be waiting for her at the restaurant.

  “No, tell them that Sharona, Noy’s mother, will come to pick her up. I have an important meeting. Actually, I’m already running late, and I can’t reschedule. Besides, the girls will have fun, they’ll keep on playing together all afternoon. I’ll call Sharona now.” Galia was eager to end the call.

  “Tell Shir I’ll make it up to her.” He sounded defeated, but Galia couldn’t care less.

  “Tell her yourself. I only make promises I know I can keep.” Galia’s voice betrayed her with a slight tremble. Hang up, hang up, she told herself, hang up before you start another fight you’ll just lose — as usual! Out loud, she said, “Doron, I’ve got to go. Bye.” And hung up.

  “To hell with him…” she muttered to herself..

  She put on her red coat and looked out the window of her well-appointed office to the busy highway. It was a wintry day, with torrential rain hitting the window.

  A memory of the day she met Doron flashed through her mind. Only a few weeks had passed between that and their wedding. She was then an investigative journalist at Hadashot Ha-Aretz, reporting on the beginnings of the Second Intifada. Her reporting led her to the Department of Investigations and Intelligence at the National Headquarters of the Israel Police, where she encountered Doron’s name in every conversation she had. His superiors and subordinates both praised him. His meteoric rise at the DII was remarkable. What was so impressive was that his relatively young age had not prevented him from quickly moving up through the ranks.

  Commander Doron Yellin.

  Doron, who was in charge of most of the investigations at the National Headquarters, rejected all of her requests to interview him. Galia was accustomed to the answer, “The boss is not available, he’s in the field.” Which she encountered every time she tried to schedule an interview. She guessed that his unwillingness to cooperate with her was due to his opinion of her as “a sorry excuse for a reporter who criticizes police conduct towards right-wing protesters.” It was Commander Doron Yellin who decided to refer to her reporting about the excessive force employed by the police to disperse protests by right-wing extremists, which she had attended in order to cover.

  Galia denied the smear; she insisted that she was only reporting the facts on the ground, which she had witnessed first-hand.

  She redoubled her efforts to locate him, until one day she managed to catch him in his office and to schedule an interview over the phone. It appeared that this interview was the last thing Doron wanted to do, and he continued to place hurdles in front of her: she could only interview him at his home, in the evening, at the end of the work day.

  Galia had been excited that morning. She already was a valued and well-known reporter, but this series of articles, she felt, would bring her what she yearned for: journalistic prestige. Despite the inclement weather, despite the forecasts saying that the evening would bring even worse conditions, she insisted on driving to his home in Kfar Saba, to circumvent any further attempt to dodge the interview.

  When she reached his place, she realized that she was a bit early. She stayed in the car, enjoying the heat and the music on the radio. She looked over her notes, waiting for him to appear at the entrance to the building, as they had arranged. The minutes ticked by; it was now fifteen minutes past the appointed hour. Galia decided to call Doron, to make sure that he was in fact coming. She hoped that she hadn’t wasted the forty-five minutes just driving there.

  Doron’s cell phone rang and rang. Just as Galia was about to give up, she heard him answer. “I’m on my way,” he said, without even asking who was calling. She assumed that he had her number saved in his cell phone, and she thanked God that he had answered at all.

  “Okay, I’m parked right outside your building. I’m in the blue car.”

  There was no reply for a moment. At first she thought that he had hung up, but she suddenly heard a woman giggle.

  “Doron?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard. You’re in the white car, parked in front of my house. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “No, a blue car,” Galia corrected, but the line was already dead.

  “Son of a bitch!” she hissed. “I’m freezing my ass off in the dark here, and this idiot is jerking me around…” For a moment, she fumed at herself: Why had she been so stubborn about writing this article? Why had she agreed to meet him at his home, out of consideration for his work schedule? Yeah, he must be really preoccupied with his work, she thought cynically, remembering the giggle she had heard and his personal reputation — above and beyond being a brilliant detective. Behind closed doors, as she wandered through the DII wearing her visitor’s badge, she often heard whispers about Doron and his brief romances with some woman or another. He was a highly sought-after bachelor, and apparently every young woman who knew him had only good things to say about him.

  Galia closed her eyes and tried to imagine his face, but the chirping of her cell phone battery jolted her back to reality.

  “Damn it, the battery’s dead. I’m such an idiot! What the hell am I supposed to do now?” She was worried that she would fall asleep again and miss Doron’s arrival, since he was looking for the wrong car. Reluctantly, she abandoned the warmth of the car, dragging her heavy bag with her writing and recording equipment in one hand and her umbrella in the other. She hurried into the building, muttering curses the whole time.

  At least Doron lived on the ground floor of the three-story building. She closed her umbrella and sat down in the stairwell, wiping the raindrops from her face with the scarf around her neck. Bundled in her coat, she continued to consult her papers. The cold was penetrating into her feet, and she started to shiver. Worse, the automatic stairwell light shut off, and she was too tired to jump up and slap the button to turn it back on. She leaned her head on against chilly wall. The minutes ticked by, very slowly.

  A sharp pain woke her from her snooze. Her left leg had fallen asleep. She tried to shake it, but it still felt numb. With great difficulty, she managed to stand up and turn the light back on. The stairwell was frigid, and not one living soul could be heard in any of the apartments. She checked her watch and was shocked to discover that it was almost midnight. Almost an hour had passed since she had spo
ken with Doron on the phone. She hastily gathered her things and walked down the stairs. The pain in her leg was not going away, and all she wanted to do was get in her car, turn on the heat and “defrost” herself. Slowly and gingerly, still spitting curses in every direction, she made it to the entrance and opened the door to the building. Angrily and awkwardly, she tried to step outside, but her long coat got stuck in the door as she stepped outside.

  “Fuck me!” she cried, pulling with all her strength to free it, but all she managed to do was throw herself off-balance, landing on the pavement hard, with the contents of her bag flying off in every direction.

  “Wow!” a voice behind her proclaimed, and then a peal of wild laughter rang out.

  Galia tried to climb to her feet, acutely aware of how ridiculous she looked, but with the sharp pains in her leg, she couldn’t stand up. Suddenly a sturdy hand grasped hers, and she found herself being supported by someone who had been loudly cracking up at her distress a few seconds earlier.

  Buffeted by waves of shame, anger, confusion, and humiliation, Galia wrenched her hand away from her rescuer, refusing to look him in the eye. She muttered her thanks when he returned her items, and with unseeing eyes she limped towards her car.

  “Need any help?” the man asked.

  “No thanks, it’s all good. I’ll be fine.” She just wanted to get back into her car and as far away from this place as possible.

  “I think you sprained your ankle!” he called out to her.

  “Yeah, don’t worry, it’ll go away once I get in the car, thanks.”

  Galia stifled a moan of anguish and continued bravely marching to her car, but her groan had not escaped the attention of the passerby. He followed her, making sure that everything was indeed all right, from his perspective; meanwhile, from Galia’s perspective, his actions were suspicious. She turned abruptly, once again losing her balance.

  “What are you… you…” To her horror, she was slipping again. In fact, she would have ended up sprawled on the ground again — this time, in the road — had he not grabbed her.

  “Hey, calm down. I’m not going to attack you. I just wanted to make sure you get to your car all right.”

  “I’ll make it just fine, and I’d appreciate if you stopped following me, sir.” Her angry tone echoed all over the quiet street. The rain was falling once again, preventing her from lifting her head and looking at his face.

  “Doron, my name is Doron. I’m a police officer. You have nothing to be afraid of.” Unlike her voice, his was soft and tranquil.

  Galia looked at her interlocutor and was surprised to identify Doron: Doron the rude, Doron the vile, Doron the…

  “You… you!” she spat. At first she couldn’t find the words to express her anger, then she sputtered, “I have been waiting for hours in this cold, hours! I almost froze in that fucking stairwell. If you wanted to have your fun with whoever that was in your car, all you had to do was tell me! I wouldn’t have waited here like a moron! I wouldn’t be freezing to death, and I certainly wouldn’t have ended up spraining my ankle.” She fought back tears. Her wet hair was a mess. She felt battered and tattered in her soaked and filthy clothing.

  Doron looked at her inscrutably. He reached out and brushed the wet strands of hair out of her eyes.

  “Galia?” he asked, as he stared into her eyes.

  Their gazes met.

  “Yes, Galia, the ‘sorry excuse for a reporter’ who’s been chasing you for weeks!” Her voice was defiant, but her gaze wasn’t, not anymore.

  “I thought you would have left by now… It’s so late, and I was delayed for quite a while.” He tried to take her equipment out of her hand and help her, but she was not ready to relent.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you were delayed and thought I wouldn’t be here anymore. So you’re right, I’m not here anymore.” Galia gathered the last of her strength and dignity, edging towards her car door.

  “Hey, c’mon, I’m really sorry. You can’t leave like this.” Doron followed her.

  Galia ignored his pleas. The pain in her leg was so excruciating that she could barely move. She stood next to her car and looked for her keys. Her tears, which made it hard to see the car door, intensified her hopelessness. Her lone hope was for the earth to open its mouth and swallow her whole.

  A hand shot out towards her.

  “Give it to me, I’ll help you.” He took the key from her, but he didn’t put it in the lock. “Galia, listen to me. I’m really sorry that I’m so late. When I spoke to you, I was really on the way home, but there was a horrible accident at Sharon Junction. We were stuck there for almost an hour, me and my secretary. She lives here, at the top of the street. I tried to call your cell phone, but you didn’t pick up. So I thought you had decided not to wait and left,” he explained, trying to make her understand.

  “I didn’t hear my phone ring—” Of course, the stupid battery

  “I promise you, I did try. But that’s not important now. You can’t drive like this. Let’s just go to my apartment and we’ll see why you’re limping.”

  She let him take her items. She had lost the willpower to argue, so Galia let Doron bring her into his apartment. He quickly turned on the heat and sat her down in the living room. He slipped the shoe off of her injured foot.

  “Ow!” Galia declared as he touched her ankle with his fingertips.

  “Look, you have a serious sprain. Your ankle is swollen and about to turn blue any second. Allow me to wrap it up.” He slowly took off her sock.

  Galia leaned back and closed her eyes as Doron went to get a bandage. A few minutes later, he returned to the living room, even holding dry clothing for her.

  “I brought something dry for you to wear in the meantime, if you don’t mind wearing sweats. You’ll be more comfortable.” He smiled, trying to put her at ease.

  But at ease was not what Galia felt. His smile was too captivating. The intimacy created so quickly between them was curious.

  He knelt by her side, on the floor, and started bandaging her ankle expertly. His touch was pleasant, and she had to fight the temptation to stroke his mane of jet-black hair. When he was done, he pointed to the clean clothes. All she wanted was to strip off her wet clothes, jump in the shower and then slip into bed. However, Galia chased those thoughts away. How could she pass up the chance for her interview? She had to overcome her unease and her discomfort, and to follow through.

  Hurriedly, she changed out of her wet clothes the moment Doron left the living room. The fresh clothing smelled good, giving her an immediate sense of coziness. She rifled through her bag, looking for dry paper and something to write with. All she could find was a sad, solitary pen. Everything else had been inundated by her misadventure in the rain. Unabashedly, she climbed to her feet and limped around the apartment, looking for Doron.

  She found him in the dark doorway of what was presumably his bedroom. “Excuse me, do you have any paper for me to write on?”

  Doron came into the light.

  “Ah… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you,” she stammered as she noticed that he was naked from the waist up. Appreciatively, she noted that he was taller than the pictures she’d seen. And in better shape.

  “Forget about it, I’m also changing into something comfortable and dry. Then I’ll bring you some paper.” He winked and smiled. “Now, limp back to the living room and have a seat. You don’t want to put any pressure on that leg.” He leaned on the door. Galia had the impression that he was about to sweep her up in his arms and take her back to the living room.

  Instead, she swallowed hard. Being this close to a half-naked man was disorienting. A strange feeling arose from her belly, but she turned around and limped away. On her way back to the sofa, she popped into the bathroom to splash some water on her face. In the mirror, her weary face looked back at her. She regretted her appearance deeply: perhaps they cou
ld abruptly adjourn, and she could conduct the interview when she felt and looked better? She also hoped that her exhaustion and discomfort would not impinge on the quality of the interview. She enjoyed the hot water running over her skin: wouldn’t it be amazing to fill up the bath and sink into it? With a weary sigh, she left the bathroom, limped back to the living room and started quickly surveying his apartment.

  It was a relatively small home: two bedrooms and a living room. The furniture was minimalist, but displayed good taste, deep earth tones which gave the apartment a warm and inviting ambience. On the wall above the sofa was a large painting of a man and woman embracing. Galia, despite her pain, started smiling as she imagined Doron being embraced by a woman.

  “Do you like it?” he asked as he entered the living room. He wore his bright sweats casually, but they emphasized his athletic body. Galia thought for a moment of making a joke, of telling him that she certainly did like that, but she restrained herself. It would be unprofessional for her to flirt with an attractive man whom she had come to interview.

  “It’s a magnificent painting, truth be told. I’m actually surprised at how good your taste is — for a man, that is. Though it’s quite evident that this home is suffering from slight neglect.” She pointed to a number of glasses left in the breakfast nook; it was clear that they had been sitting there for quite a while.

  “Okay, I plead guilty. I’m not home most of the day. I simply don’t have the time for housework,” he apologized in a persuasive voice which further melted her heart.

  He stretched out on the sofa next to her. Once again, Galia felt uneasy in his company. Her leg still hurt, and she grimaced as she moved away from him.

  “Good, before we start, I suggest that I make something hot to drink. I need some coffee, and you also need something to thaw you out.” He got up and turned to the kitchen, and Galia wondered if he actually intended something else. She smiled, surprised and a bit pleased with herself that she had finally found someone whom she considered attractive.