The English Teacher by Yiftach Reicher Atir Page B

explaining where she bought everything and where she was yesterday and where she’s going tomorrow. Just like anyone else.
    â€œHer eyes narrowed when I opened her toiletries bag and when I examined the labels on her bras and panties. I asked her if she was offended. She said she was embarrassed but she understood why I was doing this, and she reminded me that at Ben Gurion Airport they do exactly the same checks, and if a customs officer at an Arab airport were to examine her possessions and find something inappropriate, the problem would be a lot bigger.
    â€œWhen the suitcase was packed I opened her hand luggage and saw the book on top. ‘Why are you taking a book by John le Carré?’ ‘Why not?’ she asked, and explained she was actually reading it for thesecond time. The first time was before we recruited her, and reading it now it’s hard for her not to make comparisons between herself and the heroine. I didn’t want to get into an argument with her. This wasn’t the time to explain to her, again, that she’s an Israeli combatant going to an Arab country undercover, whereas the eponymous little drummer girl was a British woman recruited as an agent and deceived by her handlers all along the way. I remembered the time when le Carré was going around Israel and interviewing anyone who could tell him about the working methods of the Mossad, and I almost told her about the discussions in the department whether to cooperate with him and come out of it as the invincible good guys. I felt I wanted to tell her about my own experiences in my operational past, and my ambition to write a book myself someday. There was a real temptation to sit her down facing me and say to her, Come on, listen to me, and hear about some real operations, not the fictional ones. You should listen to me not only because I’ve been appointed your case officer but also because I too have done things in my life, and I can be trusted. And at the same time I knew this would be too much of a distraction from the assignment facing her; she was the operative here and I was just the bag-carrier, and I forced myself back to reality. ‘And what will you say when they ask why you’re interested in the book?’ ‘No problem,’ she said to me, sitting on the end of the bed and flicking through the poetry book that I hadn’t commented on. ‘It’s about the Middle East and about the interminable war between the Israelis and the Palestinians, and it will be useful for comparative purposes when I get around to writing my postgraduate thesis.’ ‘And what will you feel when you give them this answer?’ Rachel put the book down and looked at me. I knew what she was seeing. I was older than her and she knew I was the boss. Bosses don’t ask about feelings, and bosses aren’t told about feelings. You have to make an impressionon them and never hesitate. ‘I’ll know that I’m lying,’ she said, and I saw something stirring in her face. ‘But I’m used to it, and besides, it’s impossible to check. Perhaps I really will use my latest job as thesis material.’ ‘What did they tell you in training, Rachel?’ I asked, and she could see I was angry. ‘Why tell a lie unless you have to? Why invite trouble if it’s possible to avoid it? You want to read the book? Fine, I’ll keep it for you until your next vacation. You don’t do things like that, just as you don’t take the translated poems of Yehuda Amichai with you, even though it’s allowed, even though it’s possible, even though an innocent Canadian tourist can take along anything she likes.’
    â€œA long time after this, when we were already friends, she told me at that moment I sounded exactly like her father, who used to call her to his room and check what she was reading with that critical, dismissive look, and tell her she could read what she liked