reached for a glass of water and smiled slightly. “Don’t you think Baltimore has the best water in the country?”
“Gidon!”
Somewhere above us a helicopter was hovering over the building. If I could hear it in here, it must’ve been deafening outside.
“Are you going to tell them, the police?”
“If they ask.”
“Why won’t you say anything to them?”
I cut another small piece off my chocolate wedge. I looked at Alli. How old was she? Maybe eight years younger than I. I was beginning to feel the gap. But it wasn’t only that. It’s what happened to me between when I was her age and where I am now. On the other hand, that’s why I continued to go out with her...because she still seemed innocent.
“Okay,” I began, “you know I like to keep to myself some-
times. Low profile...” I trailed off.
“Gidon, in this community, when you do what you do, there’s no such thing.”
“It’s sort of a conflict, I know.” I let a moment go by as I played with the cake in front of me. “I need the publicity for work, yet...” I didn’t finish the thought.
I looked at Alli. I loved her lips. They were great lips.
I had to tell her something. “With these guys — the Israelis — they’ll file away everything you say. I don’t want another file open on me.”
“Another file?”
“You know what I mean.” I knew she didn’t and I wasn’t going to let her ask.
She looked at me for a long moment.
The door to the room opened and in walked the older Israeli agent and the plain-clothed cop. Had they reviewed the newscaster’s video tape? What did they see? My guess — or was it my prayer — was that they didn’t see very much of the entire episode, my actions included.
I watched them from a distance as the silver-haired plain-clothed cop and the Israeli huddled. The more I thought about it, the more I began to get annoyed. The Shin Bet should’ve been more careful with their charge. You can’t anticipate everything, but still, if I hadn’t been there, Eitan Lev, front-runner for Prime Minister of Israel, would be lying in a pool of blood. The Israelis are still good, but times have changed even for them.
I let another moment go by as I watched the Baltimore detective and the chief Israeli security man. Chances were someone would be able to identify me as the one who shouted “gun.” The question was, could I extricate myself without making the Israelis more curious about me. I wasn’t worried about the Baltimore cops.
“I guess you’re right,” I turned to Alli. “I really should talk to the police.”
She nodded. “I’ll save your cake.”
“No nibbling.”
Alli smiled and I headed over to the edge of the room where the cop and the older Israeli were talking. As I approached, one of the younger Shin Bet agents immediately appeared in front of me. He wouldn’t let me pass. He was my height with short black hair. The man couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. He was not in good humor. “Yes? Can I help you?” he said this quickly, almost challengingly. But that could simply have been because English wasn’t his native language.
The cop and the older Israeli looked over at me.
I locked eyes for a split second with the Shin Bet man in front of me, then looked past him to his boss. “I’m the one who shouted ‘Gun!’”
The older Israeli waved off the younger security man who took a step to the side. The Israeli in charge gestured, “Come.” He held out a chair for me at a nearby round dinner table. The younger Israeli remained close.
I took the seat the boss offered, and he took one just a few feet away. I looked at the table. It was covered in a navy blue tablecloth and had a half-emptied cup of coffee near me. The rest of the table looked equally abandoned — partially finished water glasses, discarded cloth napkins, centerpiece candles burned almost all the way down, silverware scattered.
I turned to my new Israeli host. He was watching me. The Baltimore cop stood to his right. He was watching me too.
The Baltimore cop spoke up, “You are...”
“Gidon Aronson.”
“Gidon?” the Israeli repeated, somewhat surprised. He must have been expecting a more Anglicized name. “Atta m’daber Ivrit?” He was asking if I spoke Hebrew.
I didn’t say anything. I shrugged as if I didn’t understand.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You don’t speak Hebrew?”
I wasn’t sure whether that was a question or not. “No. But I get that a lot from Israelis. My parents named me after the Biblical character.”
“I know that Gidon,” the man said. “He used spies and psychology against his enemies.” He held out his hand, “My name is David Amit. I am in charge of security. You saved Mr. Lev’s life. Thank you.” He paused. “So, what did you see? What happened?”
I took a breath. It seemed the thing to do...you know, like I had to think about this. “I saw the waiter stop what he was doing and watch Mr. Lev work his way toward the exit.”
“And?” the Baltimore cop asked.
“The waiter put down his tray and moved very deliberately toward Mr. Lev. And he was sweating...a lot.”
“Why didn’t you say something then?” This again from the cop.
“Didn’t think of it. Besides, nothing had happened yet. And then there wasn’t enough time.” I turned to the Israeli. “Your men were looking the wrong way.”
The Israeli looked at me, ignoring what could have been an accusation. “So what did you do?”
I knew they would ask this, and I kept it simple. “I saw him pull out a gun, so I sort of tripped him...knocked him down.”
“A very brave thing to do,” the Israeli observed.
“No choice.”
“Did you notice anyone else, anyone with him?”
“Not that I could see. He was focused on Mr. Lev.”
“You’re pretty observant,” the Baltimore cop said.
I shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Aronson?” This, again, from the cop.
“I teach.” Before anyone could ask something else, I said, “How do you think the waiter got the gun past your guys?”
The younger Israeli agent, the one who had blocked my path earlier,
