Читать книгу The Gaza Project - Cyrill Delvin - Страница 11

Abarron had already been waiting ten minutes at the corner beside the entrance to the teachers‘ wing. The small crescent moon submerged the King David boarding school in Hodaya in a spectral light. But it would still shed enough light to find one’s way around the inside. If everything worked out okay, Samuel will show up with the key any minute.

The boy wasn’t nervous. He went through the whole plan once more in his head and still couldn’t find any flaws. The unexpected had also been taken into account. He was only here to keep watch and the three older pupils would do the main work. But he was the brains behind the operation.

Everything had been planned down to the last detail. The target was a teacher of whom none of the students knew why he was even needed here: Al-Jabiri, the Arabic teacher. They all agreed that the language was useless and every lesson a pure waste of time. Why ever should a self-respecting Israeli learn Arabic? For the Arab Israelis of which there were already far too many in the country?

»If they’re allowed to live in our country, they could at least have the decency to learn our language! And those on the other side of the wall, who work on our plantations and stuff their bellies, understand what it’s all about without words – if they don’t, they may as well snuff it.«

Only one of them had the answer to the question why they should learn Arabic. Of all people, the one who had contrived their night-time venture. Abarron knew exactly why he should learn the language. But he would never have openly admitted it. The only reason he didn’t arouse his fellow pupils’ suspicions that he was so good at the subject was because he excelled in every other subject as well. A proper nerd. Not the only one, but the only one who knew how to be popular. For example by consistently mastering the challenges posed by life at a boarding school. Like tonight, when they had to send a clear message to the school administration. Abarron had long been convinced that knowing Arabic was a necessity in Israeli life. Not in a positive, but in a negative way. One had to know the enemy and understand his language to be able to fight him. He’d gained that insight over the past few years, and wasn‘t quite sure himself from where it had come.

Samuel didn’t show up. Something went wrong!

But he couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary. Everything was quiet at the nearby school where Samuel was supposed to get the key – no noise and no upheaval. At last he decided to leave his post to look for his mate. All the keys were kept in a neat row in the caretaker’s locker behind the door. The tricky part was to get into his office without having to force the lock. After all, they didn’t want to be heard or leave any evidence.

The plan was that Samuel would hide in the broom cupboard in the office. That’s why David and Jachin created a scene which would necessitate the caretaker’s intervention. It happened just as Samuel was being read the riot act by the caretaker in his room for another misdemeanour. As far as Abarron and his cronies could tell, that part had worked out perfectly. In any case, Samuel didn’t show up for dinner or in the dormitory. Nobody but themselves had noticed. Sneaking out of the boarding school building in the middle of the night had been mere routine for the boys. But Samuel hadn’t shown up as planned. Abarron eventually crept under the window of the caretaker’s room. It was on the ground floor and fitted with bars.

»Samuel?«

»Abarron, is that you?« a voice whispered through the half open window.

»Yes, what’s up? Why aren’t you coming out?«

»The door is locked and I can’t find the key anywhere.«

»You can’t find the key…« Abarron immediately knew what the problem was. The caretaker obviously didn’t keep a spare key to his office in the room itself. »Damn it!«

»What shall I do?«

»You stay here and we take care of the business in the teachers‘ wing. I’ll bring the keys back after.«

»Right, and then?«

The hint of desperation was evident.

»You’ll have to spend the night behind bars. There’s nothing for it. We’ll get you out in the morning.«

»How can I. If the caretaker catches me, I’m in for it.«

»Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. And now give me the key.«

»Only if you promise not to leave me in the lurch.«

»Sure, we’re all in this together.«

Samuel threw him the key through the window. When he picked it up, Abarron noticed a weak flash from the direction of the living quarters beside the school. Alarmed, he ducked down on the ground and turned around. But the building was quiet, as if asleep. The moonlight was reflected in the window. That’s what it was. No reason to panic.

Relieved, he crept back to David and Jachin who were waiting nervously at the shadow side of the residence.

»What took you so long, and where’s Samuel?« David asked.

»He couldn’t find the key to the caretaker’s room and is locked in.«

»Oh, no!«

»We have to get him out of there or…«

»Shush,« Abarron interrupted him, »we will, but not now. Here’s the key.«

Although they weren’t in the same class, they’d already played a few pranks together. It had always been Abarron, the youngest, who had masterminded the escapades, and usually everything had worked according to plan. But today, quite a lot had already gone wrong.

David was all the more surprised that Abarron was so relaxed under the circumstances. If it had been up to him, he would have called the whole thing off. Something was different about the plot they had hatched against the Arabic teacher compared to their previous stunts. More serious, more important. Abarron was a freak and always would be.

Addressing Jachin, David said: »You keep watch in front of the entrance instead of Abarron, and he’ll come with me.«

»But…«

»Let’s go,« David cut him short. In this situation he trusted the younger boy more than his classmate.

The idea of sneaking into the Arabic teacher’s room with David didn’t sit particularly well with Abarron. Not that he was scared. Probably less than any of the others, but he knew that this time they would go further than ever before. He didn’t have any scruples, just a strange premonition. For the first time ever. He could usually trust his intuition when it came to overstepping boundaries. Over time, it would grow into one of his strengths.

The boys had never been inside the teachers‘ wing. The seven teachers from out of town lived here during term times. But the boys already knew where to find al-Jabiri’s room. The window was on the second floor, the second last on the southern side opposite the entrance. It meant that they basically had to go through the whole building. None of them knew what it looked like inside.

And their search for the teacher’s door was more difficult than anticipated. First they couldn’t find a staircase in the hall leading off the entrance, but only a series of locked doors. But Abarron was quickly able to orient himself. They had thoroughly explored the ground floor beforehand. So they knew where the kitchen and its adjoining dining room and the opposite larder were situated. Two common rooms bordered onto the dining room. Altogether four areas on the south side to the right of the entrance. The four corresponding doors were easily recognisable.

They also knew there was a washroom, toilets and two bedrooms on the northern part of the building beside the larder. There was obviously no window in the stairwell, or they would have seen it. Consequently there could only be one place with enough room for a staircase: between the larder and the washroom. That meant the second door on the left. All these deliberations took only seconds.

David had stopped at the entrance, upset by the idea that they could open a door to one of the bedrooms by mistake. It didn’t bear contemplating what would happen then. He was just about to turn to Abarron when the boy in question headed straight for the second door on the left. He had already opened it and started to climb the first steps when he heard another door opening in the corridor.

David froze. It’s over!

But Abarron had the presence of mind to grab him by the sleeve and pull him into the stairwell. The light came on in the hall. Without closing the door, Abarron manoeuvred David onto the first step as silently as possible. They could now hear the teacher scuffling along the corridor. He wouldn’t have to pass the door to the staircase if he needed to use the bathroom. But the teacher didn’t use that option, instead he stopped outside the open door. Had he noticed them? Only now did Abarron, too, feel seriously uneasy. David and he crouched against the wall.

After long seconds of trepidation, the door closed and the stairway was immersed in total darkness. Then they heard the larder being opened. The teacher was obviously peckish. The two intruders didn’t dare move until they were sure that the teacher had gone back to his room. And wisely so. The second last timber step creaked so loudly that they froze in mid-movement again. But nothing stirred inside the house.

When they had reached the upper floor, they paused outside the Arabic teacher’s door. David produced brushes and paints from his pockets. They nodded at each other to confirm that they were ready. David’s hands were drenched in sweat when he grabbed the handle and pushed it down to open the door. But the door didn’t budge.

»What the…«

»Psst!«

»What are we going to do? I’m going to write it on the door so…«

»No, wait. Why not do the job properly after all that work? I’m going to open the door.«

Without having to turn around, Abarron just knew that David was standing there with his mouth wide open. But there was no time for explanations. From his trouser pocket he extracted a thick wire, bent at the front and flat. The trick was not to push the key out of the lock when it was inserted on the inside. He noiselessly set to work with the lock pick. Out of sheer boredom, he had practised the skill in the endless cellars of the prefabricated buildings where he lived with his grandparents during term breaks. The door snapped open with a quiet ›click‹.

They could hear the Arabic teacher’s even breaths through the gap. He was fast asleep. Otherwise it was perfectly still. David carefully pushed the door open and started groping his way towards the breathing sounds. Abarron stayed outside in the hall to keep watch. Two or three times he heard David tripping over things, but the teacher slept on. The moon only scantily illuminated the room, just enough to get on with things. Abarron could hear the gentle brush strokes out on the corridor.

Let’s hope the pungent smell of the paint doesn’t wake him.

But Al-Jabiri didn’t wake up. After David had crept back out of the room, he couldn’t wait to get out of the building. Abarron stopped him: »I’ll lock the door again first.«

»Is that necessary?«

Everything worked out and soon after they were standing outside the teachers‘ wing and turned the key. Nothing had changed outside and Jachin waved at the two of them from the roof.

»What are we going to do with Samuel?« David asked after taking a deep breath.

»I’ll take the key back and tomorrow morning I’ll wait for the caretaker outside his office. As soon as he’s unlocked it, I’ll ask him for some toilet paper. He keeps it in the press under the stairs. That should be time enough for Samuel to get out.«

David wasn’t even surprised anymore how quickly Abarron could think on his feet. David himself was fourteen; Abarron only nine years old. A short while later they were back in their dormitory, lying in their beds.

In the top floor of the residential building, the Assistant Headmaster, too, retired for the night.

The following morning, the Arabic teacher didn’t show up for his lessons. He was quite upset. It wasn’t so much the scribbling on the wall that troubled him. What disturbed him far more was the fact that somebody had been able to break into his room while he was sleeping. As an adolescent growing up in Jerusalem he had experienced what it was like not to feel safe in one’s own four walls when the secret service came for them in the middle of the night. Nobody had noticed the agents entering the bedroom. All of a sudden they stood beside the bed and only the hammers of their guns being cocked woke his parents and siblings.

His father and mother, both Israelis of Arab descent, returned home three days later. They were never the same again and never talked about those three days. But one thing they always made very clear to their children: Arab Israelis are certainly not citizens but barely tolerated strangers at best.

›Israel is our country. The Arabs are our underdogs‹ was written in blood red letters on the wall above his bed.