Day After Night (23 page)

“Thank you,” she said. She sat down, emptied the glass, looked up at the clock. “Where
are you from?” she asked.

“I am from Scotland.”

“Scotland is north of England, yes?”

“The British think of the Scots as peasants with odd accents.”

“Your Hebrew gets better every day,” Tirzah said.

“You are good to say so. And your son, is he healthy?” Gordon asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“The colonel speaks highly of him. He is, I think, most fond of your boy.”

“He has been very kind to Danny.”

“I have a brother also named Daniel,” said Gordon as the phone rang.

“You may go in now,” he said, hanging up. “And thank you, Mrs. Friedman, for letting
me talk from you today.”

“It was my pleasure,” she said, adding, “but it is talk
with
you, not
from
you.”

“I have trouble with that one. Many thanks.”

Bryce did not meet Tirzah at the door, as he usually did. She found him sitting with
his elbows on the desk, his hands pressed against his eyes.

“What happened?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

He took a deep breath and pushed himself back against the chair, staring at her as
though she were standing far away.

“I just had some news from home,” he said, dropping his eyes to the top of the desk.

“Colonel Bryce?” she asked.

He sat up straight, as if called to attention, and asked, “Is Danny all right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Although the reason I came to see you is because I must make a telephone
call. The appointment must be changed. He cannot be seen until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Bryce repeated slowly. “I see.”

“Tomorrow at exactly the same hour and in the same place,” she said. “I hope that
will not be a problem.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “I’m sure that his visit will go
as planned.”

Tirzah lowered her voice. “Please tell me, what’s wrong?”

A truck passed and the room filled with the engine’s roar. Bryce closed his eyes.
“My son is dead. My second boy, the younger one.”

“Oh, no.”

“Influenza. Three years in the RAF and not a scratch on him.”

Tirzah’s eyes filled with tears.

“I leave on Friday.”

“I am so sorry,” she whispered, wishing that she knew for which of the young men in
the picture he was grieving. Though, of course, he was grieving for them both now.

“I will take care of Danny’s appointment. Don’t worry about that,” he said as he reached
for the phone again. She knew he could not look at her without breaking down.

“Shalom,” she said.

He did not stand up. “Thank you, Mrs. Friedman. And to you.”

She closed the door behind her softly.

In the outer office, Private Gordon rose to his feet.

“Your commander has had bad news from home,” she said, walking over to face him. “You
must do … you will take care of him, I know.” She reached over to shake his hand.
“Thank you.”

Shayndel was flying around the kitchen—stirring, setting out platters, and swearing
at Tirzah, who had not shown up to prepare dinner. She had waited as long as she dared
before starting on her own, but once she settled down to work, she began to enjoy
herself. She used to hate kitchen work as a girl at home; the endless cycle of cooking
and cleaning always made her want to scream with boredom. But taking charge of feeding
more than two hundred comrades made her feel like she had planned and directed a battle.
Best of all, it kept her occupied.

When Nathan wandered in a few minutes before the meal, Shayndel nodded at him but
didn’t bother to ask if he knew where Tirzah was.

He watched her work for a few moments and said, “Apple-baum and Goldberg will be taking
care of those firing pins tonight. So all in all, it was a good thing we had the extra
day.”

“I am not so sure Uri and Bob would agree with that.”

“Those two behaved like amateurs, letting themselves get ambushed like that.”

“Aren’t we in trouble without them?” Shayndel asked.

“Don’t be so sure we will be without them. It will take everyone
to pull this off. That includes you and your comrades, as well.”

“As long as you don’t involve Francek.”

Nathan shrugged.

“Oh no. He’s such a hothead,” Shayndel said.

“Maybe, but he can get people to follow him—as we’ve seen.”

“He could have screwed things up for everyone with that show he put on today.”

“But he did not,” said Nathan. “And of course you will be a great help, starting tomorrow
night after dinner.”

Shayndel put down the spoon and turned toward him. “Yes?”

“I’m not supposed to say more until tomorrow, but you are such a good girl, such an
inspiration for your efforts during the war.” He took her hand in his, tracing the
lines on her palm with his finger. “I see a long life line and much romance.”

Shayndel pulled away and crossed her arms.

Nathan shrugged. “You can’t blame a man for trying. As for tomorrow, you will need
to select three girls from your barrack to act as your lieutenants. I suppose you’ll
pick that pretty little French girl who is your friend. And the tall, good-looking
blonde, yes? Your barrack has the prettiest girls, Shayndel.”

“If I ever do meet your wife, I will be sure to tell her how friendly you have been.”

Shayndel knew she was a bad liar and worried about keeping her new secret from Leonie
and Zorah, both of whom saw through her easily. As she served lunch, she found reasons
to keep running back into the kitchen. When she finally did sit down, she kept her
mouth full and tried to imagine how the girls at her table would fare under the pressure
of the escape.

“Tedi,” Leonie said. “Tell Shayndel about your boyfriend.”

Tedi blushed and shook her head, so Leonie took up the story. “In the infirmary today,
one of the Iraqi boys took a look at our friend here and fell in love at first sight!
He actually sang her a song. Aliza told me that his name is Nissim, which means ‘miracles.’
Isn’t that lovely?”

“It’s foolishness, that’s what it is,” Tedi sniffed and grabbed the pitcher. “I’m
going to get some more water.”

“He’s very handsome, very dark,” Leonie confided after she left. “But at least three
inches shorter than her. They would make a strange couple.” Shayndel nodded, suddenly
ambushed by an image of Tedi in bed with Nissim, his legs wrapped around her hips,
their contrasting skin and hair flashing black and gold, ivory and silver. She imagined
their children; an entirely new species of Jew, with blue eyes in a brown face, or
black eyes beneath a flaxen curtain. Not European, not Moorish; sturdy and graceful,
tough and sentimental, and altogether beautiful.

When Tedi returned, Leonie said, “I’m sorry if I offended you. I used to hate it when
the old ladies matched up boys and girls and talked about how lovely their children
would be. Here I am doing the same thing and I’m not even twenty yet.”

“Twenty,” Tedi repeated. “Isn’t it strange that twenty seems old to me?”

“That’s because we’ve seen so much death,” said Shayndel. “Usually, people are much
older—fifty or sixty at least—before they know more dead people than living ones.
To become young, we will have to have babies.”

“I’m not the maternal type,” said Tedi.

“Me neither,” Leonie said. “I don’t think I ever played with dolls.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Shayndel. “We’ll marry and the babies will come and they
change you. I’ve seen it. Even women with numbers on their arms, the ones who never
used to smile, even for them, I see the light come back to their eyes when they hold
a baby.”

“That puts a terrible burden on the children,” Tedi said.

“I don’t think so. Kids don’t understand,” said Shayndel.

“Don’t fool yourself,” Leonie said. “They feel everything, even if they can’t put
it into words. It’s not fair to make a child the source of its parents’ happiness.
Tedi is right. It is a heavy burden. And people only make it worse by naming their
children after the dead.”

Shayndel thought of her brother, Noah.

Tedi thought of Rachel, her sister.

“I like the new Hebrew names,” Leonie said. “Ora, Ehud, Idit. They sound like a blank
page, though really, I won’t be having children. Not me.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Tedi. “You’ll be married and pregnant five minutes after you
get out of here.”

“We’ll all marry. We’ll all have children. That’s life,” said Shayndel. “But first,
we have to wash the dishes. Tirzah never showed up, so you can help me clean up the
mess I made.”

Later that evening, after the lights were out, Shayndel lay in bed and tried to make
herself believe that this would be her last night in Atlit. Tomorrow, everything would
change forever, again.

She wished she could tell Leonie what was about to happen to them and stared at the
rise and fall of her friend’s back as she slept. Her throat grew tight as she realized
that they might never see each other again. People without families in Palestine—
people like them—were being sent to kibbutzim all over the
country for “absorption,” a word she found both funny and frightening. The idea of
being soaked up like a spill in a towel made her smile. But it also seemed like an
irrevocable disappearance.

Stop that, she scolded herself. The distances here are not so great. We might yet
live close enough to visit one another. We could even end up raising families side
by side, growing old together. Or not. In any case, we will go where we are sent.

Shayndel rolled over and closed her eyes, but before she had a chance to settle, she
felt a hand on her shoulder.

Zorah was crouched beside her. “You said you would tell me what is going on.”

“Not now,” Shayndel pleaded.

“Now,” said Zorah, making it clear that she was not going to budge.

“All right, but this must go no further.”

Shayndel moved closer and whispered into Zorah’s ear, “We are escaping tomorrow night.
The Palmach is planning a break-out. Everyone is going.”

Zorah’s eyes narrowed. “Esther, too?”

“I suppose so. I don’t really know.”

“She is going, too. No matter what you really know.”

“Is she even that boy’s mother?”

“What difference does it make? She risked her life to bring him here.”

“That is not the question,” Shayndel said.

“There is no other question worth asking,” Zorah said, choking back tears.

Shayndel was startled. Like almost everyone else, she had written Zorah off as bitter
and unpleasant, sealed off from compassion.
But Zorah’s feeling for Esther and Jacob had transformed her intensity into something
different—still fierce but no longer ferocious.

“So she
will
be coming with us?” Zorah whispered, insisting and begging in the same breath. “And
Jacob, too.”

“I will do everything I can,” Shayndel promised.

“Swear it.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Shayndel said. “You will be there to watch over them every
step of the way. Now let me go to sleep.”

Tedi tried to linger among the pine trees, so pungent and green, in her dream. She
pulled the blanket over her head but after Lotte had stirred on the cot beside her,
there was no scent but hers.

Tedi sat up and saw that Shayndel was already dressed, and waved for her to follow
her outside.

They said nothing until they were inside the latrine and Shayndel turned on the tap.
“What did you find out about the German?” she asked, splashing her face with cold
water.

“Leonie thinks she might be a Nazi,” said Tedi.

“What does Leonie have to do with it?”

“Her German is much better than mine, and it turns out that Lotte, or whoever she
is, will talk only to Leonie. She calls her Claudette Colbert.”

“Why does Leonie think she’s a Nazi?”

“She says she saw an SS tattoo in the shower,” said Tedi and pointed. “Here, under
the armpit.”

Shayndel frowned. “Did you see it?”

“No. She is trying to get another look to make sure,” Tedi said. “What will happen
if it’s true?”

“I don’t know.”

“She cannot stay here with the very people who—”

“Of course not,” Shayndel said. “I’ll find out.”

After she left, Tedi stood in front of the cloudy mirror that hung near the door.
She loosened the string holding back her long hair, now white-blonde from the sun.
Combing her fingers through the broken, knotted ends, she remembered a boar’s hair
brush with a silver handle, a crocheted drape on the nightstand, a goblet of water
with the letter
P
etched onto it, her mother’s hands rubbing rose-scented pomade into her scalp.

She went back to the sink and scrubbed her face with the merciless gray soap until
her cheeks stung and her mind emptied and then headed back to the barrack to talk
to Leonie.

She was still asleep. With her extraordinary eyes closed, she was just another girl,
Tedi thought, unexceptional. She lay on her side with both arms thrust out in front
of her, like a child. They were a child’s arms, too, soft and pink. Her fingers were
small and tapered to the pale ovals of her nails. It took Tedi a minute to decipher
the meaning of the fine, white rows across her wrists, straight and intentional as
lines printed on a piece of paper.

Tedi had once believed that anyone who tried to commit suicide was insane. But now
she knew how easy it could be to give up and let go; to close your eyes and just fall
asleep on the frozen ground, with the moonlight on your face, the tang of diesel and
smoke in your nostrils. Why get up when everyone who ever loved you is gone?

Leonie opened her eyes, pale and smoky against the pillow, and smiled at Tedi. “What
is it?”

“I told Shayndel what you said … about the German.”

Leonie’s smile disappeared. “What did she say?”

“Nothing. She ran straight to the kitchen. I guess she’ll tell Tirzah.”

Leonie sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees, and changed the subject. “What do
you smell in the air today? Do I still smell of rotten fruit?”