The English Teacher by Yiftach Reicher Atir

official who checked her passport overtaking her in an ungainly run and stopping in front of her. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, and handed her the customs declaration that she had left on the counter. Rachel thanked him and cursed herself.
    The suitcase was already awaiting her on the conveyor belt, and Rachel gave due credit to the host country, and to what would for the next few years be her home port. Some of the passengers who arrivedwith her on the flight had already collected their belongings and were gathered in three ragged lines leading to the customs counters. She walked slowly and tried to take in more and more of her surroundings before choosing the customs officer who would check her out. She had nothing that could incriminate her, but she wanted to locate a friendly and cooperative person. The young and pleasant-looking customs man proved that it’s a bad bet to anticipate behavior according to outward appearance. He took the document, studied it, and asked her to bring her suitcase forward. She took it in both hands and lifted it onto the bench between them. The customs man looked at the suitcase and then at Rachel, who stood facing him. “Open it,” he said, and he checked all the contents meticulously, especially the toiletries, packed in a trendy pouch that she bought herself as a leaving present. “This is yours?” he asked, and held up the emptied pouch. “Yes,” she said, and realized that it might seem too chic compared with the student clothes she was wearing. “Have you brought anything else?” She showed him her handbag. He signaled to her she was free to go.
    Rachel took the case and headed to the automatic door to exit the terminal. She felt the sweat in her armpits and figured a thousand eyes were fixed on her back. And then she stood outside, under an awning, and all around her there was commotion. The sun was high above the buildings surrounding the airport, and the Arabic signs, which she couldn’t yet read, seemed to be speaking to her.
    A new sense of power overwhelmed her. She resisted the temptation to laugh uproariously, to tell casual passersby she had done it. She was taking her first steps in a place where, as far as she knew, no Israeli had been before her. Uniformed drivers tried to persuade her to travel with them, a sweating porter offered his services, and the tourist who arrived with her invited her to share the cost of a limo. Rachelrebuffed them politely and stood in the long queue at the taxi station and enjoyed the quiet moments granted to her as she waited.

    S HE SAT DOWN ON THE DOUBLE bed, kicked off her shoes, and lay down on her back. The phone on the table came to life, and she counted the number of rings before answering, exactly as she had been taught. A woman asked her in English if she needed anything, and suggested she try the newly opened sauna. “A few steps and two floors in the lift, and you’ll enjoy an experience like no other. Why don’t you try it?” the pleasant voice pressed her, and promised lockers, total privacy, and all chargeable to the room. She promised to think about it, and when she put the receiver down she stayed sitting by the phone. It was crucial to think clearly and stick to basic logic. She repeated to herself the words that Ehud had drummed into her again and again. This is not an attempt to tempt her into leaving her room with her passport and cash stowed in one of the drawers, nor a tactic designed to make it possible to steal them from the room safe. They could have photographed the passport at the border crossing, or at the reception desk. If they want, they’ll find a way of stealing it and blackmailing her. The hotel is marketing its new services, that’s all. This isn’t surveillance, they’re not stalking her. But suddenly it seems to her the walls are closing in, and whoever is pacing around in the hall by the door of her room might as well come inside. She