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  The showing of the film started, and the professor explained what was taking place. A motorcade of six vehicles was seen going through the streets of Sarajevo, where the archduke and his wife, Duchess Sophie, rode in the third car. They progressed slowly among a crowd of city residents who came to welcome them. A bomb was thrown in the direction of the archduke’s car but missed, and hit the back of the car, rolled down and exploded under the next car of the motorcade. The crowd was seen scattering in fright, and the convoy sped away toward the town hall. “After the reception at the town hall,” said Professor Robertson, “the archduke continued on his way.” His open car was seen leaving the town hall, and the film followed it. At one point, just after turning from one street into another, the car stopped, probably because it took the wrong turn, then it started to drive backward. A man was seen getting close to the right side of the car, and he shot and killed the archduke and his wife.

  “The murder of the heir presumptive of the Austro-Hungarian Empire,” explained the professor, “had serious repercussions and was the alleged reason for the start of the Great War, as it was called.” The professor described who the two fighting opponents were. The Central Powers included Germany, Austro-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire, and Bulgaria, and against them stood the Allies, which included the Russian Empire, the French Republic, the United Kingdom, Italy, and the United States.

  “The war started as a consequence of idiocy,” claimed the professor, “and so it continued, when millions of soldiers were killed because of the stupidity of their leaders and commanders.”

  The professor had shown film footage of one of the bloodiest battles in human history, the Battle of the Somme, in France, where close to a million soldiers from both sides were killed during about four and a half months of fighting. In one of the films, viewers could see British troops going out of their trenches and storming forward toward the well-fortified German lines; most of the attackers were seen falling, getting killed by forceful German fire.

  The professor ended his brief overview of The First World War with the occurrence that according to American President Theodore Roosevelt, was “the greatest crime of the war.” An unsettling filmstrip of the death marches was shown, in which the Turks forced hundreds of thousands of Armenians to walk without food and water to their death. “During those marches,” the professor somberly said, “many massacres were committed against the starved, exhausted, and frost-stricken Armenians, and many of their women were raped.”

  “This brings our special broadcast to an end,” said Susan Riley in her warm and sympathetic voice. “I hope that you have found it beneficial and thought-provoking. Next week, we will continue our journey back in time. We’ll turn the spotlight to the nineteenth century, and we’ll watch events from the American Civil War, and from the battles of Napoleon Bonaparte in Europe. Good night.”

  Chapter 19

  Michael

  During the cold winter months, Michael no longer went to the small park to eat his lunch and play the guitar. He ate most of his lunches in the TXB cafeteria. That way, he didn’t have to waste time looking for a restaurant, and he avoided having to deal with the piercing and biting cold weather of New York. Michael, who had grown up in a small suburb of San Diego, was not used to the intense cold that penetrated the bones, the wet snow, or the weak sun, which lit the sky but didn’t succeed in warming the earth.

  One day he had lunch in the cafeteria with one of his colleagues, a young man named Spencer, with whom he had a friendly relationship. His friend finished his meal and went on his way, and Michael stayed alone, slowly drinking a cup of coffee while going over some work-related information on his tablet.

  “Excuse me, could I join you at the table?” Michael heard a man’s voice.

  “I was just going to—” Michael started to answer while raising his head to look at the man. Much to his surprise, he saw producer Walter Lindsey in front of him, the target of his information-gathering mission.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you a few minutes?” Lindsey asked in a friendly tone of voice.

  “Go ahead,” Michael answered, while wondering at the unexpected development. The man who now sat in front of him looked like he was about forty. A good-looking man—his brown hairline was mildly receding. In his clear green eyes, Michael didn’t see any sign of the cunning he might have expected to find.

  “What can I do for you?” Michael asked politely.

  “You are the guy who plays the guitar, right?” Lindsey inquired.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Michael acknowledged.

  “You are very good,” Lindsey flattered him. “I listened to you in the park, a few times, but I didn’t want to bother you because you seemed so immersed in your playing.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” Michael said shyly. He looked at the successful producer, who wore an unofficial, athletic outfit and behaved in a simple manner, and without unnecessary etiquette. Michael had the impression that the man was conveying honesty, and his eyes reflected a certain innocence. In his one year as a researcher at TXB, Michael had met many potential interviewees, and he’d learned to feel their level of credibility, integrity, and sincerity, or if they were lying and trying to mislead him. Walter Lindsey didn’t look like someone who had plotted and deceived the whole country, but perhaps he was a professional pretender.

  “I also play from time to time,” said Lindsey.

  “Guitar?” Michael asked.

  “No, when I was a child I learned to play the piano, and now I play piano as well as synthesizer,” Walter answered cordially. “I also participate in a small band of friends who gather at my house on weekends. Did you ever play in a band?”

  “Yes,” Michael answered, “during high school. It was a great source of enjoyment for me, and I truly loved playing with my band.”

  “What did you play?” Lindsey was interested. “Lead guitar or rhythm guitar?

  “Usually lead guitar,” Michael replied. “And I also wrote songs.”

  “Lead guitar is exactly what is missing in our band,” Lindsey said. “Would you be interested in visiting my house on the weekend to see if you might fit in with our band?”

  “I’d be happy to do that,” Michael replied.

  “Great, so we’ll be in touch.” Lindsey smiled in a friendly manner and held out his hand. “I have to go.”

  “See you,” said Michael, who was moved by the warmth that Lindsey extended toward him.

  Michael remained sitting, processing the unexpected development. He knew that he had gotten closer to the objective that McPherson had assigned to him. With that, Lindsey charmed him with his straightforward approach, and he realized that he was much more enthusiastic about the prospect of returning to play in a band, than the chance of advancing the mission that was arranged for him.

  Michael recognized that he was not eager to play the game he agreed to in his meeting with McPherson, and he would be quite reluctant to become a mole. But he reminded himself that at this stage, he was not committed to anything.

  The phone call from McPherson came in as expected. The journalist used to call Michael at least twice a week to hear if there was anything new, and this time, Michael honestly confirmed that indeed, the connection with the producer was formed.

  “Excellent.” McPherson was pleased. “And will you continue to meet?”

  “We intend to meet on the weekend, probably at his house, and play with his band,” Michael revealed unwillingly.

  “Well done,” McPherson said. “It appears that my plan succeeds; I knew that music would bring people together, and that musicians are drawn to each other.”

  “In the music world there is also tough competition and jealousy among the artists,” Michael expressed his opinion. “And they all strive to receive the love of the audience and to be at center stage.”

  “You’re right,” McPherson said, “but in this case, both of you are seeing music as a hobby, and for the sake of enjoyment, not to get the spotlight, which
is why I don’t see a reason for competition but rather, a creative musical cooperation.”

  “I hope you are right,” Michael said. “I expect to have fun playing together, and I’m eager to once again create music as part of a band.”

  “Just don’t forget your mission,” McPherson reminded him.

  “I won’t forget,” Michael said, without enthusiasm.

  Chapter 20

  Jonathan

  Jonathan and Sarah continued to function as a married couple, assisting each other with the various household tasks. Together they went shopping, and together they fed the animals: the three dogs, eleven cats, the chickens, ducks, and the geese.

  They jointly held a bank account, and they shared the burden of the property mortgage as well as the ongoing expenses. Together they sat and watched TV and exchanged their impressions of the different shows. And they also continued to make love regularly. Seemingly nothing had changed.

  But both of them felt that the spark was no longer there and that their relationship had lost the deep, mutual sense of caring for each other. It was clear to the two of them that the breaking point had started to develop following Sarah’s betrayals.

  She tried to atone for hurting her husband, and that’s why she continued to prepare their dinners. But she knew that she was doing it offhandedly, without the joy of creativity, and because her conscience was bothering her.

  She no longer invested in the meals, preparing them with love as before, and she recognized that the taste and the quality of the food was affected. During the meals, there was also less conversation and a longer, heavier silence.

  Sarah didn’t stop. She was already over forty, and she knew her chance of getting pregnant was minimal. Nevertheless, she continued with her adventures, perhaps because she became addicted to the excitement, to the tense anticipation, to the feeling of increased vitality brought on by danger. She craved to feel that she was still attractive, desired, young, affecting the space around her, controlling men, perhaps lonely and lost like her, letting them hunt her while actually, she was hunting them. And maybe inside of her sizzled a dusky need for revenge, to choose men and control them—not like years ago, when an unidentified individual had picked her up and taken advantage of her.

  On rare occasions she saw distant acquaintances, and even patients, while sitting at the counter of a drinking bar, lurking for a prey, but they never recognized her. They knew a solemn psychologist, who was dressed in proper clothes, buttoned to the neck, and hair tightly arranged. The woman sitting at the bar was immensely different. She was dressed in a tight, sexy, revealing outfit, wearing heavy makeup, with loose hair that covered most of her face, conveying a mysterious and challenging atmosphere around her.

  Jonathan was hurt. As far as he was concerned, she had pierced the delicate fabric they had carefully formed over the years with a sharp chisel. While his relationship with his wife grew colder, his connection with Irene continued to develop and warm up. She was the woman he’d met over the Internet, and now he had daily conversations with her. They discovered that they had a lot in common. The two of them had lost parents in car accidents; he had lost both of his parents, and she had lost her father, whom she had never known. They were both attracted to the world of computers and shared an interested to the latest developments in the field. Moreover, they shared a common language between them, a deep understanding and sincere and honest mutual caring for each other. Both of them felt that the connection compensated them for the lack of love in their deteriorating marriages. In a strange way, Jonathan felt that his attraction toward Irene—who was a good-looking woman, though not very young—was of a different kind, and didn’t carry the potential of becoming a love affair between a man and a woman. In his heart, he wished she would be the older sister he never had.

  Jonathan had lost his parents when he was two years old and his grandmother when he was seven, and since then, he had been transferred between terrible foster homes. His only relative, his brother Walter, had alienated him for most of his life, until recently, when there was a thawing in their relationship. He longed for a family, though actually, he didn’t know what the nature of a relationship between a brother and a sister should be. He imagined deep understanding and caring for one another, a feeling of shared belonging, and a sense that he could always trust her, and she could count on him—on her little, strong, and loyal brother.

  Irene told him that she’d be in San Francisco for two days for a conference on new developments in computer hardware and software. She suggested that this could be an opportunity to meet face-to-face.

  Jonathan responded favorably. He decided to be straight and honest with his wife. He wouldn’t go to meet another woman behind Sarah’s back. He wouldn’t cheat on her.

  During dinner, he said, “I’m going to San Francisco for two days.”

  She looked at him with a question in her eyes, understanding there must be a reason for the unexpected trip.

  “I have a lady friend,” he continued.

  She shuddered, knowing this was the consequence of her actions.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he added. “I met her on the Internet, and we’ve become very close, but I don’t see our relationship as a romantic connection. I see her as a good friend, and kind of a big sister.”

  Sarah looked at him and appeared skeptical, and he got the impression that she suspected he was not completely candid with her, and maybe not with himself. Both knew that he had no reason to lie, and that she couldn’t blame him for disloyalty. It was clear that her betrayals and infidelity had caused him to look for a new connection.

  “I think it would be good for you to get away from the house, every once in a while,” Sarah responded. She questioned whether her husband’s new connection was indeed platonic and without the potential for a sexual bond, and still, she breathed in relief when he said he was not intending for it to be a romantic affair.

  “I somehow hope,” Jonathan carefully revealed, “and I don’t know if it is an unfounded heart wish, that in some miraculous way it will turn out that Irene is really my biological sister, or a half-sister.” He didn’t have a whole lot on which to base his assumption, except for the fact he learned during their long conversations, that Irene’s father was killed in the same year that his parents were killed. He didn’t know anything else about Irene’s father, and also Irene didn’t know many details about him because her mother almost never mentioned him.

  “Maybe it’s not so important,” Sarah said after a moment of silence.

  “What’s not important?” Jonathan wondered.

  “If the connection between you is that special, is it so important if she is a biological sister or a soul sister?” Sarah said, and felt a piercing in her heart. She remembered that he used to see the connection with her as a connection between two souls.

  Irene suggested that they meet during her lunch break in a park next to where the conference was being held, and Jonathan answered that a meeting out in the open air suited him. While driving his car to San Francisco, he was abruptly overcome by panic, when suddenly the whole story seemed delusional and irrational. Here he was, driving to actualize a connection, which was not a love affair, out of a yearning to find a woman who could be a soul friend, like a big sister—and as for her? What were her expectations? Maybe she saw him as a potential lover? And that wasn’t his intention, was it? And maybe he was not honest with himself, like his wife probably thought. He knew he had made it clear to Irene that he did not intend to have an affair, but perhaps he wasn’t explicit and unequivocal? And maybe it would have been better to leave the connection in the virtual plane, in the realm of the Internet?

  He saw her from a distance, waiting for him, slightly taller than he pictured her. When they met, she looked into his eyes and smiled and warmly shook his hand but didn’t hug him. He felt that she conveyed affection, and recognized how his hesitations quickly subsided.

  Irene looked just like she did in the photos
that she’d sent him, and he liked finding that she didn’t pick photos in which she appeared particularly good, or younger than her age. Her face was pretty and gentle, despite minor wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She had blond hair, which was interlaced with some gray. She was thin, and just a little shorter than him. She dressed in a simple manner, and still, he thought that her clothes showed good taste.

  He suggested a walk in the park, and that’s what they did. Within a short time, they felt the pulsation of the special connection that had characterized their phone calls and correspondence.

  “If you’d like,” Irene said, “I could get you into the lecture hall in the conference.”

  “The conference is open to the public?” he wondered.

  “No,” she answered, “but I could get you an entry tag. I think you’ll find the material interesting.”

  “That would be great,” Jonathan responded. He was always curious about new developments in the world of computers, and anyway, his schedule was free, and he wasn’t in a hurry to go anywhere.

  He sat in the back of the large conference hall, in an area that was kept for visitors, glad for the opportunity to get a firsthand update on the progress in the field that so enticed him. The presented material was indeed fascinating, and he was particularly interested in a revolutionary development that allows—through advanced components and sophisticated algorithms—the sending of large amounts of data at a much higher speed than the current technology could.