25/4/99

(Independence Day Supplement)

State of Depression

What this client really needs, thought the detective, is a shrink.

    Dr. Dwek-Delaney is a psychotherapist, much in demand, fully booked through the end of the current century.
    Dick J. Delaney is a private detective, so private that nobody ever heard of him. He's working on a major case right now, searching everywhere for his appointment book. If he ever finds it, chances are it's blank.
    It was understandable when the phone rang in Dick Delaney's office: someone thought he was calling Dwek-Delaney.
    "Allo?"
    "Don't hang up so fast," the gumshoe snarled. "We know who you are."
    Just what the caller didn't need to hear. "I, uh ... need help."
    "What do you think I am?!" Delaney growled. Then he remembered. "Alright. I'll squeeze you in. I ain't cheap, but. Anything you got in your pocket is mine, except the lint. Got that?"
    "If you say so. At the moment, what's in my pocket jingles. Eight shekels and a few drachmas. I just got back from Greece."
    Delaney was beginning to understand why he found it so hard to make a buck.
    "So. What's the prob?"
    The caller, still thinking he was speaking to the shrink, moaned a great big sigh. "I get the feeling everyone hates me. They're all against me. They won't even let me be independent. I want to know why."
    Delaney could have been doing nothing instead of wasting his time with this. Usually, when a client calls with hangups, he hangs up. "Mister, it's nap time, and you're keeping me awake. It don't take one of the great minds in the business to figure out why everyone hates you. What are ya, man or mouse?"
    The caller's next words caused Delaney to bang his knee on his desk:
    "I'm neither. I'm a country. My name is Israel."
    Delaney winced. "Ouch."

"I'LL TAKE the case," Delaney said, rubbing his knee, but the wrong one. "Meet me at the Oat & Pulke, on Main Street, six sharp. I'll be the one in the hat."
    Problem is, Delaney still hadn't set the clock forward an hour, there wasn't a Main Street for thousands of miles, and the Oat & Pulke had closed down years earlier, replaced by a Shas induction center. And the last time he was there, he'd forgotten his hat.
    Besides, his new client, like most countries in the world, could not fit on a barstool.
    "Maybe we could just talk on the phone," Israel said.
    "Sure." Delaney's eyes narrowed. Instinctively, he fingered his Derringer. Something was not kosher in Denmark, he mused, certain that this peculiar client was not on the up-and-up.
    He was right.
    Israel was down. "It's like this. Independence Day is hours away. But the way things are, you begin to wonder: am I truly independent?"
    "I assume you've got the papers to prove it."
    "Of course. Though it's all in Hebrew."
    "... And none of the other countries speaks the Holy Tongue. Aha! There's your little mystery solved. For 51 years you've been waving about this Declaration of Independence, and to the rest of the world it's just a page of squiggles. All this time they've been waiting for you to step forward and make a noise, and now --"
    "-- they think it's still Palestine --"
    "-- and they're wondering whatever happened to the Zionists!"
    "For all I know, for all they know Arafat is a Zionist, finally proclaiming a state for the Jews. I always got the feeling they couldn't tell us apart. We don't exactly come across as typical Jews, you know. And the Palestinians like to portray themselves as the persecuted semites."
    "Sure, it's classic. Like when Iran and Iraq went to war, and Mauritania and Mauritius. Or was it Mali and Malawi? The Hutsis and the Tutsis, that's what it was. The point is, who really knew who was who? Who was the bad guy, who was the good guy; who not to buy oil from and who to send powdered milk to?"
    "So you're saying that's why it seems no one likes me, why no one regards me as an independent state?"
    "When they make world maps and Israel isn't mentioned on them, you have to wonder."
    "Gevalt. And all this time..."
    Delaney didn't think he would need his Derringer after all. For this job, the telephone was his secret weapon. "I'll get back to you," Delaney said to Israel and hung up.
    He dialed 144.
    "Hello, Operator? Give me the number for the following: Abu Dhabi, Aden, Afghanistan, Ajman, Algeria..."
    It was discouraging at first. Not until he got down the list to Argentina could he find one country that even recognized Israel's existence. Delaney tried to explain that it was all a misunderstanding, that there had been a Jewish state for half a century already. But one after the other, they hung up on him.
    But diligence is Delaney's middle name. (Actually, his middle name is Jedediyahu, but for business purposes, he goes by Diligence.)
    Argentina said it had heard talk about the Jews having started up something. "Bolivia mentioned it just the other day. We were having dinner with the Paraguayans, and the waiter looked Jewish, which got us on the subject. We were wondering if these semites were going to proclaim independence on May 4, like they said they might."
    Armenia's phone was busy, and Ascension was on vacation. Finally, a break.
    "Israel? Of course, good on ya!" Australia hadn't just heard of Israel, it had spent a summer on kibbutz many years ago. "Loved every inch of the place, from the northern area of Syria's Golan, down through Jordan's West Bank, all the way to the southern tip of Egypt's Sinai. Great country, Israel!"
    "We're planning a big birthday bash in Jerusalem. You'll be there, of course."
    "You're going to celebrate Israel's birthday in Palestine?"
    Delaney made a note to check this out with Israel.
    He began to notice a pattern. There were countries that told Delaney to go jump into the sea, and then hung up. Everyone else said the same thing: Austria and Belgium and Canada and Germany and Hungary, all the way down to Zambia and Zimbabwe (Zululand's number was disconnected), they all said they would wait and see what everyone else was going to say.
    Soaking his aching finger in gin, Delaney wondered what it all meant. Why Israel? Why not, say, Togo? Should Israel proclaim independence on May 4 also? What about the haredim? If you can't get all the Jews to love the Jewish State, what hope is there for the goyim? Where  is that appointment book? What's the drachma worth these days?
    Delaney gulped down the gin, almost forgetting to remove his finger first. He had one more call to make.
    "Israel? Delaney here. I have regards for you. Half the world says 'Happy birthday.'"
    "So they don't hate me!"
    "The other half says 'Go to hell.'"
    "Oh."
    "As for recognizing your independence, it seems they know you're here, but where exactly, nobody's sure. You're a concept, not a physical entity; not so much a state as a statement. Herzl got the thing started, but it's Arafat who's going to finish it off."
    "Meaning?"
    "Meaning that when there's a Palestine, there will be an Israel. When all the Arabs get what they want, whatever's left over, you're it."
    "I see. And then the world will love me?"
    "Madly."
    Dick Delaney missed nap time entirely, but he'd cracked the case and made a tidy bundle. He was going to need the money to pay his phone bill.