The Marsh Angel by Hagai Dagan (best thriller books to read .TXT) 📕

That’s just the way she was— she would make up her mind, and that’s that. If I ever decide to leave you, she said, it’ll be final. When I decide to do something, I just do it.

You don’t have a hesitation mechanism in your system, he said.

And you don’t have a resolution mechanism in yours.

Could be.

She looked at him for a moment. It’s going to fuck up your life, eventually.

I know. It fucks it up all the time.

They sat in silence, sipping their Belgian beer. She said she was starting to feel that Tel-Aviv no longer suited her. She suddenly realized that she missed her house in the country, with the orchard in the back.

Good God… he said, but at the same time, his mind’s eye wandered back to the woods covering the rolling hills of the Western Galilee, where children from the kibbutz went foraging for mushrooms every fall. Those woods remained ingrained in his being.

If I rent a house in some settlement out in the country, would you come live with me? she asked.

Maybe when I’m seventy…

Will you visit me?

Only if you’ll have a balcony there, where we could sit and drink beer.

Of course I will.

e. Different, Completely Different

As time passed, Tamir found himself craving the touch of a new body, an unfamiliar body. The mere idea of unfamiliarity was enough to excite him. Whoever this woman would be wouldn’t even have to be particularly pretty, or sensual; she would just have to be unfamiliar, foreign, distant, enigmatic, different, completely different.

21.Moshav — A collective agricultural settlement. In its original form, a moshav allowed for private property (unlike the fully collective kibbutzes), but part of its product was processed and marketed collectively.

7. VIENNA

He loved her winding, capricious streets; her splendid buildings, proudly-humbly erect; her gardens and parks, pervaded with such sweet melancholy; the chain of hillocks enclosing her […] he loved her mercurial, ebullient inhabitants, and her jaunty euphonious swagger […]

— David Vogel, Married Life

a. Blocked Number

Tamir was on his way to see the head of the department of philosophy when his phone rang. He was pretty sure he was about to fire him, or, in the euphemistic language of academia, decline to renew his contract. Tamir wasn’t a particularly popular lecturer, nor did he ever learn how to conceal his criticism, to not step on any toes, and to translate his academic severity into nonthreatening, pandering communication. Subsequently, ever since teaching surveys gained traction and grew in importance, he found himself under constant pressure. He would have resigned a long time ago, but he saw no alternative means of providing for himself on the horizon. Occasionally, he entertained the idea of applying for positions abroad, but he would have been considered too old by then, and he had published too little anyway. He knew he didn’t stand a chance, that he was facing a cul-de-sac.

It was too hot. A southern, protracted, unbearable heat. There weren’t enough trees on the college campus. There was nowhere to run. His phone vibrated to the sound of Neil Young’s voice, it’s better to burn out, than it is to rust. Tamir looked at the screen. Blocked number. Usually, he ignored blocked numbers. More often than not, they turned out to be insurance agents or telephone solicitors trying to hawk some crappy product. More than he found their aggressive sales tactics insufferable, it was their inarticulacy which truly irked him. More often than not, he’d start correcting their Hebrew, they’d get offended, and the whole thing would end in sour discontent. Over time, he stopped answering blocked numbers altogether. If it’s important, let them leave a message. But people rarely ever left a message. Maybe because it rarely ever was people, but rather automated, truly anonymous systems. Everyone he spoke with served to further reinforce his feeling that he didn’t really exist. A long time ago, he used to be a real person, and real people occasionally called him. But somewhere along the line, he had become a bank account, an insurance policy; incoming calls were coming exclusively from investment consultants, from insurance agents— and they always called from blocked numbers. He didn’t like answering blocked numbers. He knew there was no solace nor redemption to be found on the other side of the line. But now he was quite possibly on his way to being fired, when his phone suddenly rang. He answered

Hello, am I speaking with Tamir Binder?

He sighed. The person on the other line’s words followed the all-too familiar pattern of a sales pitch, but the style was different, more authoritative, free of the unscrupulous tone of solicitation. Still, the introduction annoyed him. He abhorred the Israeli habit of confirming the identity of the addressee before the addresser introduces themselves.

Who’s asking?

Is this Tamir Binder?

Who’s asking?

Assaf from the Prime Minister’s Office.

Of all things, he was not expecting that. He glanced skeptically at his screen again, which still read ‘Unidentified Number’. I’m listening, he said, his voice slightly squeaking.

So, is this Tamir Binder?

Yes, this is he.

I don’t want to get into too much detail over the phone, said Assaf from the Prime Minister’s Office. We’d like to meet you as soon as possible.

It’s been so many years since he last spoke with these people, but the style and tone remained wholly unchanged. He felt the unsettling tingle of déjà vu, as if someone was sanding his skull with a thin sheet of glasspaper.

I’d like to at least have a general sense of what this is about he said. I’m quite busy these days.

That wasn’t entirely quite true. He wasn’t exactly busy. Troubled, was more like it. Numb.

It’s about a figure you used to know quite well during your military service, Assaf from the Prime Minister’s Office said in a measured voice. At least, so we think. She’s… staged a comeback.

Tamir stopped in his tracks.

Are we talking about…?

This line isn’t secure, the man cut him off. As if he didn’t know.

I wasn’t going to say a name, he replied,