Authors: Edeet Ravel
And he didn’t talk about himself again. He listened when I described
m
y school, my friends, things that had happened to me. But he said nothing more about his past, and we didn’t discuss our feelings for each other. I began to feel that he was kissing me as a kind of favor, out of a sense of obligation, because he knew I needed it and didn’t have the heart to refuse.
Or maybe my breakdown had to do with what my hostage-taker had been through in prison. It took a few days for what he’d told me to really sink in, and then the images he’d conjured began to haunt me. At night when I shut my eyes I saw him chained up in a filthy cell with that monster, or sitting with all the other prisoners, waiting to be called.
What did they actually do to him? I didn’t dare ask—I wasn’t sure I could bear to know. I wondered whether he wore long sleeves because he had scars on his arms.
Whatever the reason, I suddenly jumped out of his arms, swiped the laptop to the floor, and began throwing myself against the walls. I was weeping and thrashing and screaming hysterically. I had to get out of that room. It was a physical need. I felt I would die if I had to stay in there one more minute.
My hostage-taker tried to hold me, but I escaped from his arms. I wasn’t myself; I was like someone possessed. “Let me out, let me out!” I shouted. I would have run out the door, but he was standing in front of it.
At last I calmed down enough for him to speak. He said, “If you give me a few minutes, Chloe, you can step out.”
I nodded. I couldn’t have spoken even if I’d wanted to; uncontrollable gasps and sobs were half choking me.
He went out. I heard furniture being moved, footsteps retreating, returning, more sounds of things being moved. I curled up in a fetal position on the floor, moaning. My hostage-taker came over and said, “You can come out now, Chloe.” He didn’t say it in his usual detached way. His voice was soft, almost inaudible.
I stepped into a
larger
space, about the size of a billiard room. White sheets had been draped over the furniture. There was nothing to see, nowhere to go. It was a larger room and better than nothing, but it was empty, windowless, and bare.
I lay flat on my back on the polished hardwood floor, exhausted and ashamed. I stretched my arms sideways and muttered, “I’m just a drama queen.”
He lay down next to me on the floor, placed his hand on my belly. I pulled his hand to my breasts; I felt almost faint with longing and love. I felt at that moment that I would have done anything at all for him—I would have given my life if I had to.
He said, “Wait,” and left me there, lying on the floor, dazed and emptied out.
When he came back he shut off all the lights. Though I could hardly believe it was happening, we both undressed. I hoped he would not see the tears of emotion—a whole universe of swirling emotions—welling in my e
y
es.
“Do you believe in fate?” I asked. “Our meeting seems so wild, so unlikely. But now that we’ve met, it’s as if it had to happen.”
We were sitting on the polished wood floor, eating potato chips from a large bowl. He’d dressed in the dark and gone to get the chips while I bathed. I felt pure and clean and happy.
“One could probably define all of human history as a series of wild and unlikely events,” he said.
“You know, you’re a very pessimistic person, in some ways. I mean, I guess taking a hostage in the hope of getting a superpower to release some prisoner is a pretty optimistic thing to do. Or maybe that’s just recklessness, not optimism.”
“I believe there are good people in the world,” he said. “I suppose a pessimist would not see that, or would not care.”
“Listen. We need to plan how we’re going to meet in the future. We can set a time and a place—the Met, for example, in New York. In the Rodin room.”
“You can’t seriously think you’d get away with such a scheme, Chloe. I’d be an immediate suspect.”
“You told me you weren’t the sort of person anyone would suspect.”
“I was referring to the people who know me.”
“There has to be a way,” I insisted.
“I can’t think of one.”
“But they’d have to prove that you were my hostage-taker. Suspicion is one thing, but if we get married and you’re a citizen, that’s that. People can gossip and guess all they want.”
“It isn’t so simple, Chloe. You’d never be able to carry it off. Nor should you. You can’t live your entire life in a lie.”
“Would you marry me if you could?”
“Chloe, you’re going home tomorrow.”
Tomorrow!
I couldn’t believe it. “Was your demand met?” I asked, my shaky voice betraying me.
“Yes.”
The thought of seeing Mom and my friends, the thought of being safe at home, of being free to go wherever I wanted—it seemed almost surreal, as if my past was some sort of dream-world that no longer existed.
I shook my head. We had to come up with a plan first. I couldn’t bear leaving him without something to hold on to.
“We have to have a plan, something,” I said, almost in tears.“
“There isn’t time. The longer you stay here, the more dangerous it is for me.”
I knew he was right. Leaving right away was the best thing I could do for him, for us. But I couldn’t accept that we were parting forever.
I said, “What about the woman, your parents’ friend? Maybe she can say she’s a journalist. She can come to the States to interview me. And you could be her photographer. No one would suspect anything, especially after a few months have passed.”
“In a few months your feelings will be completely different, Chloe. You’ll wonder how you could have been so deluded.”
“You’re so completely wrong,” I said. “But I understand now. It’s because of everything that happened to you … Don’t you see that I’ll think of nothing but you?”
I paused; an idea had come to me. I said, “I’m going to have a code, so I can send you messages. Every time you read or see in an interview ‘There’s nothing like the sun rising over the Aegean,’ it will mean
I love you
.”
“All right.”
“I never thought it was possible to love someone this much.”
“Chloe, I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to say this. If your feelings change, you may want to cooperate with the authorities. If we planned to meet, I’d have no way of knowing whether it was a trap.”
He was right—I was hurt. Hurt and shocked.
“How could you think that! Even if I didn’t love you—which will never happen—do you think I want you to spend the rest of your days in San Quentin or maybe even be executed? How can you think I’m that kind of person? You’ve done time already, for no crime at all. Why would I want you to suffer again?”
“I don’t think we can decide anything now, Chloe. And in the meantime we have to talk about logistics.”
I sighed. There was nothing more I could say. He didn’t trust me because he couldn’t see into my soul. Whether we met again was now in his hands, and in the hands of fate. It would have terrified me to think that he might be slipping away from me forever, but I refused to believe it.
“Tomorrow, after dark, I’ll give you a disguise—you’ll bathe, trim your nails, and then put on the clothes and the wig. I’ll lead you to a car. You’ll be taken to a plane and then to another car. I’ll give you something to make you sleepy.”
“Same stuff as last time?”
“Yes. We’ll wake you when we’ve arrived in Greece. You’ll be in a parked car near the Holiday Inn in Athens. Get out of the car—there will be a bench there in case you need to sit. When you’re ready, go into the hotel and take the elevator to room 2111. You’ll find a key to the door in your purse. Go in and lock the door behind you. There will be more clothes to change into, including a red baseball cap. Take off the old things, put them in the empty plastic bag you’ll find on the bed, and leave them outside the door at 4:00 p.m. Can you remember that?”
“Four o’clock. Bag outside door.”
“Before putting on the new clothes take a shower and shampoo, then a bath, then another shower. You’ve got to scrub really well. After that it’s up to you. You can stay in the room as long as you like—we’ve paid for two days, including meals—just use room service. Whatever you do, don’t make any outside calls. Not from the room, not from the lobby, not from a store, not from a borrowed cell phone. And no Internet either, even if it’s an Internet café or someone’s borrowed device. Can you promise?”
I nodded.
“When you feel you can’t wait any longer, leave the hotel, walk for at least three blocks, and hail a taxi. Don’t talk to anyone, no matter what. Take the taxi to the United States Embassy. Lose the hat and sunglasses as you step into the taxi. Just let them fall on the curb. No one will notice. Try not to mention the hotel until a few days have passed.”
“Wait. What if I’m stopped at the door of the Holiday Inn?”
“Just show them your key. But no one will stop you. It’s a busy hotel. And you’ll be well dressed. When you get to the embassy, ask for a bathroom with a shower. In the hullabaloo, they won’t think twice.”
“Hullabaloo?” I smiled in spite of everything.
“Is that the wrong word?”
“No, no,” I said. “It’s just funny.”
“That will be your last chance to wash. Same routine—shower and shampoo.”
“On TV they find DNA no matter how hard the criminals try to conceal it.”
“Luckily for us, it isn’t that simple.”
“What do I tell them about my release?”
“Tell the truth, but try to delay the debriefing as long as you can. Say you’re not up to it. When you tell them, you can say you cooperated out of fear. It’s the only lie you’ll have to tell, and even if they see through it, I very much doubt they’ll hold it against you.”
“What if I hadn’t fallen in love with you? How would you have dealt with my release?”
“We would have managed. I apologize for everything, Chloe. I regret putting you through so much.”
“It was worth it for me. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”
“You’ll be in my thoughts always.”
“Don’t say that! We’re going to meet again, I know it. And if you take another female hostage I’ll kill you!” I said.
He tilted his head. “I promise that won’t happen.”
Then he smiled.
I don’t want to think about my last day—it makes me too sad. My hostage-taker stayed with me until it was time to go; he only left to make coffee and bring down food, but neither of us could eat. I took his hand and held it to my cheek, trying to imprint it on my skin.
I felt like a condemned person, with the minutes ticking away. Condemned to part from my true love, as if he were going off to war. I wanted time to stand still, I wanted to find a way to hold on to him forever.
But he had broken the law, and there was no going back on that. Breaking the law is a final act, an act that can’t be reversed. He’d have to hide that part of his life always, and if we met again I’d have to hide it too. You couldn’t erase a crime, but unless you did something really drastic, you could make up for it by doing good.
When the time came to go, I was in a hyper state of nerves that luckily took up all the available space in my mind. Now I knew what spies felt like. There was nothing else in the world, there was only you and your task.
I was surprised by my pre-performance butterflies. Even at gym meets, I didn’t suffer all that much from stage fright and nerves. I liked it when my turn came.
But I was suddenly very nervous and scared. What if I did something wrong? What if we were caught? There were so many parts to the journey—anything could happen. What if I made some horrible mistake and it was my fault that my hostage-taker was caught?
But everything went as planned. I washed and put on an outfit I assumed was decontaminated: a bright red dress, red shoes, beads, a large straw hat, sunglasses, bright red lipstick, a tiny white purse with a gold chain. It was a good disguise—I’d never worn bright red lipstick before, and the dress and shoes weren’t exactly my style either.
The hardest part was not being able to hug my hostage-taker good-bye. Once the blindfold was on, I couldn’t even see him. I didn’t speak either, because I knew I’d break down if I did. He held my arm with a gloved hand and led me out of the room. All he said was “Twenty-two steps here” when we were climbing the stairs. We reached the garage and I climbed into a car. I wondered if he was going to be with me. I hoped he wasn’t; it was safer if he stayed behind, and emotionally easier for me.
We drove for a long time. The tension I felt canceled any other emotions I might have had.
The car stopped and remained stationary for at least two hours, maybe more. I didn’t know why and no one told me. I heard all sorts of noises—rumbling, voices, other cars.
Finally the car door opened and a gloved hand led me to the plane. I climbed on board, drank the juice they gave me. For a split second I thought,
This could be the end, it could all be
a trick
—but I fell asleep before irrational paranoia got the better of me.
When I woke up I had no idea at first where I was.
Then I remembered. I was in the back seat of a parked car. There was tinted glass between me and the driver, but the side windows were clear, at least from the inside.
What I saw through the car window stunned me. A sidewalk, buildings, people of all ages walking by. Signs, stores, noise. The world was vast; there was so much in it. It was completely overwhelming and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.
Oh brave new world
—where was that line from?
Ready or not, I had to follow the instructions I’d been given. The bench was just outside the door; I’d definitely need it. I was still in the twilight zone.
I adjusted my hat, pushed my sunglasses up my nose, and tested my legs to see if they were steady enough to make it out of the car.
Slowly and carefully I stepped out into the light. Even with my sunglasses the sun was blinding. I sat down on the bench and the car sped away. It was all over. I felt like someone suspended between two dreams.
The Holiday Inn was across the street. I was desperate to be in a hotel room, away from the confusing crowds. Even the traffic lights seemed alien and strange. In only three months I’d lost touch with everything I’d known.