A Possibility of Violence Read Free

facing the soft waves. The water was warm. When he was in Brussels the sea had aroused in him an incomprehensible longing. Outside, a late-summer heat wave prevailed, unbearable, but inside him was a lightness he didn’t recognize. He wore thin, airy shirts in colors he hadn’t imagined he’d ever wear. Marianka said that he looked terrific in them. They planned to organize the apartment together after her arrival, to purchase appliances that were lacking, to repaint the walls and add livelier colors, maybe even renovate the bathroom and kitchen, but he wanted to get an early start on a few changes. Mainly he threw away old items. Blackened pots and cracked plates from the kitchen, faded linens, towels worn out from use. He stuffed clothes he’d never wear again in plastic bags and cleared out shelves in the bedroom closet.
    When he entered the station house this morning David Ezra rose from his spot behind the duty officer’s desk and hugged him. “That’s it? You’re finally back?” he asked, and Avraham said, “Not yet. I just came for a meeting with the new commander. Have you met him yet? How is he?”
    Ezra winked for a reason Avraham didn’t understand and said, “Decide for yourself.”
    He went from room to room, knocked on half-open doors, answered predictable questions about his vacation and Marianka. He was happy to see most people, and they were happy to see him. When he turned on the light in his office he was surprised to see again just how small the room was. But its compactness was pleasant and reassuring, and the fact that it had no window gave him a sense of security. The walls were empty and close by. Three years now he’d wanted to hang a picture on one of them but didn’t know which, and now he had a reproduction of a colorful painting loaded with details that made an impression on him when he’d taken refuge with Marianka in the Museum of Modern Art on one of the rainy summer days.
    The computer was off and he switched it on.
    There was dust on everything. A gray layer on the desk and on the shelves and on the black desk lamp. How does dust get into a room without a window? In the garbage can were bits of a brown envelope and a few crumpled pieces of paper he didn’t remember throwing out.
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    AT EXACTLY TWELVE O’CLOCK AVRAHAM REPORTED to the entrance of the office on the third floor and was asked to wait until the commander, Benny Saban, finished a telephone call. In the meantime, he sent a text to Marianka: About to meet with the new commander. I’ll tell you how it goes. Xo. The secretary also spoke on the telephone, not about work.
    Saban came out of his office at twelve fifteen and invited Avraham to come inside. He shook his hand and said, “I can’t make heads or tails of the mess they left me with here.” He signaled for Avraham to sit and offered him coffee. “Half the precinct is sick, like we’re in the middle of winter, and the other half is on vacation. I’m working with zero manpower, and since this morning I’ve had an armed robbery at the Union Bank, a bomb next to a daycare, and someone who tried to light himself on fire on the roof of the National Insurance building. I have citizens who are waiting since five to lodge complaints, and detainees I have no idea what to do with. I have no investigating officers, and if I don’t get someone in front of them by this evening, they go home.”
    Avraham said he’d already had coffee.
    Saban interested him. The man had a child’s round, soft face, and smooth brown hair that fell across his forehead with childlike bangs. His desk was in order, free of files and papers, except for a thin pile of pages upon which were printed large letters in short lines, ready to be read. He hadn’t managed to bring in any personal items to the office, and nothing had changed in it. On the walls hung ribbons and certificates of excellence