Sayanim. ‘Will you do something for me?’
‘Of course.’
‘In my pocket there should still be a packet of cigarettes. Light me a cigarette.’
A look of alarm passed across Waxman’s face. ‘A cigarette?’
‘What, you can’t hear properly? Yes, a cigarette. A cigarette,’ said Uzi.
Waxman, unsure of himself, complied.
Uzi inhaled deeply, coughed, and blew a jet of smoke vertically towards the ceiling of the vehicle.
‘I’ll open the door,’ mumbled Waxman.
‘Don’t touch the fucking door,’ said Uzi. ‘You could get us both killed.’
The man paled and Uzi broke into a grin. ‘Relax, my brother, relax,’ he said. ‘Have a cigarette.’
Waxman declined and stood there, awkwardly, in silence.
‘So,’ said Uzi, wincing, ‘tell me how it is.’
‘Daniel: you’re a lucky man,’ said Waxman, relieved at the opportunity to slip back into his doctor’s role. ‘Both times the blade missed your arteries. You’ve lost blood but I’m giving you a transfusion. I’ve sewn up the wounds. I could have done with a hospital, but needs must.’
Uzi traced a tube from his arm upwards to a bag of blood. ‘How long before I can get off this thing?’
‘Half an hour minimum.’
‘Twenty minutes. I have my cigarettes.’
Waxman shuffled his feet. ‘I would lose my position if I let a patient smoke in an ambulance.’
‘So what? We’d take you and your family straight to Israel. That’s where you should be anyway.’
‘Perhaps. But my children are at school, my wife and I have our careers . . .’
‘But I was never here, right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So.’
Uzi sucked the last embers of life from his cigarette. ‘Pass me an ashtray, will you?’
Waxman looked around and offered Uzi a cardboard kidney dish. Uzi stubbed out and for a while lay there in silence. Waxman sat on a fold-out chair.
‘So have you been working much for us lately?’ Uzi asked.
‘A little. I did something last month, I think it was.’
‘Serious?’
‘No.’
They fell silent again until the bag of blood emptied. Then Waxman removed the needle and helped Uzi to his feet. Uzi felt strange, light-headed but strong. Waxman pressed a bottle of painkillers and a bundle of fresh dressings into his hand. ‘I’ll remove the stitches in three weeks’ time.’
‘I’ll do it myself,’ Uzi replied as he stepped out of the ambulance into the breaking dawn. ‘Let’s hope I don’t call on you again.’
Waxman smiled for the first time, openly relieved to have completed his mission.
Suddenly, Uzi was overcome with a sense of recklessness. Fuck them, he thought. A gnat biting an elephant. Fuck them. ‘You’ve done a great job,’ he said casually. ‘How does fifty thousand sound?’
Waxman gulped. ‘I’ve never been paid before . . . I’d donate it to charity. Well, most of it.’
‘Good. Who’s your contact at London Station?’
‘Arik.’
‘Well, speak to Arik and he’ll transfer the funds. You know the communication protocol?’
‘Yes, but I’m supposed to use it only in an emergency.’
‘Use it now. Tell Arik I authorised it.’
‘OK.’
‘And Waxman?’
‘Yes, Daniel?’
‘Don’t spend it all at once.’ With that, Uzi slammed the ambulance door and made his way back to his apartment.
8
The painkillers had a limited effect, and Uzi knew he would be unable to sleep, so he decided not to try. Through a crack in the curtains he watched until Waxman’s ambulance disappeared down the road. In the bathroom he scraped out the inside of the showerhead with a spoon and washed as best he could, without getting the bandages wet. Then he rolled himself a spliff and sat in front of his two televisions. The softening hand of marijuana caressed his injuries, led him to a pleasing remove from the world. He almost didn’t notice when his ear began to itch.
‘That was cheeky,’ said the Kol, ‘that thing with Waxman.’ The voice was as cool and unemotional as ever.
‘Can’t
‘Of course.’
‘In my pocket there should still be a packet of cigarettes. Light me a cigarette.’
A look of alarm passed across Waxman’s face. ‘A cigarette?’
‘What, you can’t hear properly? Yes, a cigarette. A cigarette,’ said Uzi.
Waxman, unsure of himself, complied.
Uzi inhaled deeply, coughed, and blew a jet of smoke vertically towards the ceiling of the vehicle.
‘I’ll open the door,’ mumbled Waxman.
‘Don’t touch the fucking door,’ said Uzi. ‘You could get us both killed.’
The man paled and Uzi broke into a grin. ‘Relax, my brother, relax,’ he said. ‘Have a cigarette.’
Waxman declined and stood there, awkwardly, in silence.
‘So,’ said Uzi, wincing, ‘tell me how it is.’
‘Daniel: you’re a lucky man,’ said Waxman, relieved at the opportunity to slip back into his doctor’s role. ‘Both times the blade missed your arteries. You’ve lost blood but I’m giving you a transfusion. I’ve sewn up the wounds. I could have done with a hospital, but needs must.’
Uzi traced a tube from his arm upwards to a bag of blood. ‘How long before I can get off this thing?’
‘Half an hour minimum.’
‘Twenty minutes. I have my cigarettes.’
Waxman shuffled his feet. ‘I would lose my position if I let a patient smoke in an ambulance.’
‘So what? We’d take you and your family straight to Israel. That’s where you should be anyway.’
‘Perhaps. But my children are at school, my wife and I have our careers . . .’
‘But I was never here, right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So.’
Uzi sucked the last embers of life from his cigarette. ‘Pass me an ashtray, will you?’
Waxman looked around and offered Uzi a cardboard kidney dish. Uzi stubbed out and for a while lay there in silence. Waxman sat on a fold-out chair.
‘So have you been working much for us lately?’ Uzi asked.
‘A little. I did something last month, I think it was.’
‘Serious?’
‘No.’
They fell silent again until the bag of blood emptied. Then Waxman removed the needle and helped Uzi to his feet. Uzi felt strange, light-headed but strong. Waxman pressed a bottle of painkillers and a bundle of fresh dressings into his hand. ‘I’ll remove the stitches in three weeks’ time.’
‘I’ll do it myself,’ Uzi replied as he stepped out of the ambulance into the breaking dawn. ‘Let’s hope I don’t call on you again.’
Waxman smiled for the first time, openly relieved to have completed his mission.
Suddenly, Uzi was overcome with a sense of recklessness. Fuck them, he thought. A gnat biting an elephant. Fuck them. ‘You’ve done a great job,’ he said casually. ‘How does fifty thousand sound?’
Waxman gulped. ‘I’ve never been paid before . . . I’d donate it to charity. Well, most of it.’
‘Good. Who’s your contact at London Station?’
‘Arik.’
‘Well, speak to Arik and he’ll transfer the funds. You know the communication protocol?’
‘Yes, but I’m supposed to use it only in an emergency.’
‘Use it now. Tell Arik I authorised it.’
‘OK.’
‘And Waxman?’
‘Yes, Daniel?’
‘Don’t spend it all at once.’ With that, Uzi slammed the ambulance door and made his way back to his apartment.
8
The painkillers had a limited effect, and Uzi knew he would be unable to sleep, so he decided not to try. Through a crack in the curtains he watched until Waxman’s ambulance disappeared down the road. In the bathroom he scraped out the inside of the showerhead with a spoon and washed as best he could, without getting the bandages wet. Then he rolled himself a spliff and sat in front of his two televisions. The softening hand of marijuana caressed his injuries, led him to a pleasing remove from the world. He almost didn’t notice when his ear began to itch.
‘That was cheeky,’ said the Kol, ‘that thing with Waxman.’ The voice was as cool and unemotional as ever.
‘Can’t
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