The clandestine meeting "The death sciences" An excerpt The youth made his way through the crowded t

A graduate of The Hebrew university of Jerusalem is persuaded to murder his ex rector in a brainwash procedure, an act that would gain him the right to become a member of a terror organization. But ra

The clandestine meeting

"The death sciences"

An excerpt

The youth made his way through the crowded tables in quick long strides, pale and anxious. Most of the guests were foreigners, light haired tourists who kept babbling enthusiastically in their strange language; sitting on the low and uncomfortable stools and bursting out from time to time in roaring laughter, the slight inconvenience did hardly wane their enthusiasm.

The youth own compatriots on the other hand, were watching him with suspicious and hostile glances. He had never been in that neighborhood before, thus the insecurity that was marked clearly on his pale face, was quite comprehensible. He wasn’t a known figure in that remote quarter and there were too many informers, turncoats and other black souls in those somber days. What’s worse the Shabac’s (the Israeli counter intelligence) blood thirsty hounds mingled in their communities, as if they were born and bred among them; and there were hardly any possible ways or means to point them out, so well they were dug in their midst…

A surging wave of uncertainty was flooding the youth, but bracing himself and grinding his teeth, he walked on towards the bearded man, seeing nothing but his host’s fat smiling face. The golden head of a foreign girl that popped up behind his host’s bulky figure didn’t attract his attention; he simply didn’t notice her, with quite an effort he brought a forced smile on his pale and anxious face and rushed to the open arms of his bearded host.

‘Ma lac?’ (What’s the matter with you?) His bearded host whispered into his ear, in an extremely cautious manner. Without changing his warm and effusive expression he kept on smiling benignly, his white, even teeth glistening through full red lips and the black fringes of hair that circled his mouth.

‘When did you arrive? How are you…? He asked loudly in a clear warm voice, feigning pleasant surprise. ‘Tefadal!’ (Please) Come, come sit down please.’ He muttered on repeatedly. He was holding the youth’s shoulders with both his hands, embracing him and then pushing him slightly away, to have a better look at him; scrutinizing the youth’s pale face with loving eyes.

As he released himself from his host’s rather enthusiastic embrace, Samir thanked him warmly and sat down facing the square. His host still on his feet raised an arm above his head, catching the eye of some far off waiter; with quite acrobatic and peculiar movement of his palm once and once more, he hinted his message thus to the latter. The waiter disappeared inside the café and returned almost immediately carrying a loaded platter hurrying towards their table.

Samir sitting with his back to the café’s entrance, failed to notice that coded give and take conversation, and when the waiter seemed to appear from nowhere, unloading the platter upon their table with lowered eyes, Samir was caught with a sudden wave of terror; his limbs stiffened and his blood seemed to have frozen in his veins but just for a friction of a second; getting hold of himself right in time, he managed to face his host before the latter sat down and noticed it.

They carried on their false small-talk, sipping their coffee, his host made some kind inquiries concerning Samir’s kin, their doings, their health; while Samir answered according to the general line, with which he was briefed for that certain meeting. The various details of that conversation were vague of course and could be easily denied or confirmed as circumstances and needs might require. In his turn, Samir presented his host with a few questions of the same kind, to give their conversation the right sense of credibility. A quarter of an hour passed. Their tiny coffee cups were empty and shaking his host’s hand and thanking him again and again, as traditionally befits a senior, Samir took his leave and was on his way again.

Walking through the narrow and shadowed lanes, so familiar to him revived his spirits a bit. Time and again he had to force his way forward through dense human stream, listening to bits of conversation that kept inadvertently interrupting his own thoughts. But there were also moments when all he was able to hear were his own footsteps, echoing back off the bare walls of a deserted lane. Summing up his first impressions he had a feeling of disappointment, and the nearer he got to his destination the more disappointed he became. The main reason was his host’s appearance, which reminded him those middle aged brokers or dealers, and other sorts of loafers who passed their days on street corners prying about for would by customers; sitting all day long in cafés, smoking Narghillas (oriental smoking device) endlessly, gossiping aloud while playing Shes-Besh for hours long. That bearded man simply did not meet his expectations, and the roundabout course which he was ordered to take, as if he was misleading his own shadow seemed to him rather futile. Although the short briefing and the bits of information he was allowed to know �" the little he was told by his cell’s leader, for that certain meeting. No, he did not like at all that bizarre affair, from its beginning to its nearing end.

Turning the next corner, the blood rushed in his veins again �" he was almost there! A door opened up slightly in the opposite wall and was immediately slammed shut, not entirely though but was left ajar; a long dark cleave in the pale wall, reflecting the last rays of light.

© Haim Kadman 1991 �" all rights reserved.

https://www.oauthor.com/buy/The_death_science

www.freado.com/book/16998/the-death-sciences

www.amazon.com/Haim-Kadman/e/B009Z7XL8C

"The death sciences"

An excerpt

The youth made his way through the crowded tables in quick long strides, pale and anxious. Most of the guests were foreigners, light haired tourists who kept babbling enthusiastically in their strange language; sitting on the low and uncomfortable stools and bursting out from time to time in roaring laughter, the slight inconvenience did hardly wane their enthusiasm.

The youth own compatriots on the other hand, were watching him with suspicious and hostile glances. He had never been in that neighborhood before, thus the insecurity that was marked clearly on his pale face, was quite comprehensible. He wasn’t a known figure in that remote quarter and there were too many informers, turncoats and other black souls in those somber days. What’s worse the Shabac’s (the Israeli counter intelligence) blood thirsty hounds mingled in their communities, as if they were born and bred among them; and there were hardly any possible ways or means to point them out, so well they were dug in their midst…

A surging wave of uncertainty was flooding the youth, but bracing himself and grinding his teeth, he walked on towards the bearded man, seeing nothing but his host’s fat smiling face. The golden head of a foreign girl that popped up behind his host’s bulky figure didn’t attract his attention; he simply didn’t notice her, with quite an effort he brought a forced smile on his pale and anxious face and rushed to the open arms of his bearded host.

‘Ma lac?’ (What’s the matter with you?) His bearded host whispered into his ear, in an extremely cautious manner. Without changing his warm and effusive expression he kept on smiling benignly, his white, even teeth glistening through full red lips and the black fringes of hair that circled his mouth.

‘When did you arrive? How are you…? He asked loudly in a clear warm voice, feigning pleasant surprise. ‘Tefadal!’ (Please) Come, come sit down please.’ He muttered on repeatedly. He was holding the youth’s shoulders with both his hands, embracing him and then pushing him slightly away, to have a better look at him; scrutinizing the youth’s pale face with loving eyes.

As he released himself from his host’s rather enthusiastic embrace, Samir thanked him warmly and sat down facing the square. His host still on his feet raised an arm above his head, catching the eye of some far off waiter; with quite acrobatic and peculiar movement of his palm once and once more, he hinted his message thus to the latter. The waiter disappeared inside the café and returned almost immediately carrying a loaded platter hurrying towards their table.

Samir sitting with his back to the café’s entrance, failed to notice that coded give and take conversation, and when the waiter seemed to appear from nowhere, unloading the platter upon their table with lowered eyes, Samir was caught with a sudden wave of terror; his limbs stiffened and his blood seemed to have frozen in his veins but just for a friction of a second; getting hold of himself right in time, he managed to face his host before the latter sat down and noticed it.

They carried on their false small-talk, sipping their coffee, his host made some kind inquiries concerning Samir’s kin, their doings, their health; while Samir answered according to the general line, with which he was briefed for that certain meeting. The various details of that conversation were vague of course and could be easily denied or confirmed as circumstances and needs might require. In his turn, Samir presented his host with a few questions of the same kind, to give their conversation the right sense of credibility. A quarter of an hour passed. Their tiny coffee cups were empty and shaking his host’s hand and thanking him again and again, as traditionally befits a senior, Samir took his leave and was on his way again.

Walking through the narrow and shadowed lanes, so familiar to him revived his spirits a bit. Time and again he had to force his way forward through dense human stream, listening to bits of conversation that kept inadvertently interrupting his own thoughts. But there were also moments when all he was able to hear were his own footsteps, echoing back off the bare walls of a deserted lane. Summing up his first impressions he had a feeling of disappointment, and the nearer he got to his destination the more disappointed he became. The main reason was his host’s appearance, which reminded him those middle aged brokers or dealers, and other sorts of loafers who passed their days on street corners prying about for would by customers; sitting all day long in cafés, smoking Narghillas (oriental smoking device) endlessly, gossiping aloud while playing Shes-Besh for hours long. That bearded man simply did not meet his expectations, and the roundabout course which he was ordered to take, as if he was misleading his own shadow seemed to him rather futile. Although the short briefing and the bits of information he was allowed to know �" the little he was told by his cell’s leader, for that certain meeting. No, he did not like at all that bizarre affair, from its beginning to its nearing end.

Turning the next corner, the blood rushed in his veins again �" he was almost there! A door opened up slightly in the opposite wall and was immediately slammed shut, not entirely though but was left ajar; a long dark cleave in the pale wall, reflecting the last rays of light.

© Haim Kadman 1991 �" all rights reserved.

https://www.oauthor.com/buy/The_death_science

www.freado.com/book/16998/the-death-sciences

www.amazon.com/Haim-Kadman/e/B009Z7XL8C