Day After Night (29 page)

“No, you’re right,” Shayndel said. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“Well, I know that you are smart enough and brave enough to face whatever will happen,
here or anywhere. That may be the only thing I am sure of.” Leonie took Shayndel’s
face between her hands and kissed her on the right cheek and then on the left. “The
sun is coming up. Let’s go see.”

“What are we going to see?”

“What happens next.”

Shayndel was grateful for the warm cup between her hands. In many ways, the kibbutz
dining hall looked like the mess hall in Atlit, a bit smaller, perhaps, but the open-beamed
ceiling was the same, as were the sticky tabletops, the loud scraping of chairs over
bare floor. But the differences touched her deeply: these pine panels had been fitted,
tongue in groove, and stained the color of honey. There were posters on the walls,
too, displays of earnest pioneers wearing shorts and caps, like the ones that used
to hang in her Zionist summer camp. She could almost hear the echoes of songs she
had sung there, songs she imagined were sung in this room as well.

A girl with thick braids under a blue kerchief brought over a woolen shawl and wrapped
it around Shayndel’s shoulders. “My name is Nina,” she said. “Welcome to Beit Oren.
Welcome to Eretz Yisrael. Are you as cold as you look?”

“Cold and dirty. Is there somewhere to take a bath?”

The girl patted Shayndel on the back. “I don’t think you have time for that,” she
said as she walked away.

“What did she mean by that?” Leonie asked. “Aren’t we staying here tonight?”

Shayndel had no answer for her; she was as much in the dark as everyone else. She
waved at Tedi as she walked in wearing a gingham blouse and a pair of too-big trousers
tied around the waist with red ribbon—clothes that made her look like a leggy twelve-year-old.

Shayndel smiled at the transformation. “You fit right in.”

“I think that’s the plan,” said Tedi. “The girl who gave me these clothes told me
to go lend a hand in the kitchen, but when I went in there, they chased me out and
told me to rest.”

“Where is Zorah?” asked Leonie.

“She went with Esther and Jacob. I think they took all the kids to see the nurse.
Jacob was too tired even to eat, poor thing. Not me. Pass the bread and whatever else
is down there.”

Three Palmachniks carrying rifles arrived; Shayndel recognized the man with the walkie-talkie,
who raised his hands and announced, “Friends, comrades. The British are sending troops
here and it has been determined that you will be safer at Kibbutz Yagur. It is not
far and there are buses at the ready. We will be leaving in a few minutes, so gather
your belongings and come to the front gate. Quickly, now.”

Despite some grumbling, nearly all of the Atlit arrivals got to their feet, pocketing
pieces of fruit. But Leonie crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. “I am not
going anywhere else today.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shayndel said. “It’s a matter of safety.”

“I will take my chances here,
chérie
. I cannot walk another
step.” She took off her shoes and showed them her swollen, bloody feet.

“We must find you a doctor,” Tedi exclaimed.

“All I need is soap, antiseptic, and some rest. But unless someone picks me up and
carries me, I am not moving.” She turned to Shayndel and said, “Don’t worry about
me. I know that you want to go. Please. You must.”

Shayndel watched the others file out the door, and part of her longed to follow them.
But one look at Tedi and Leonie decided it. “I’m staying,” she said.

Zorah walked in, still wearing her own torn and filthy clothes. Her face was white
with fatigue.

Leonie poured her a cup of tea, and Tedi buttered a slice of bread for her.

“Do you know they actually tried to wake up the children to take them God knows where?”
Zorah said, between sips. “I told them that Jacob was not going anywhere; he was so
tired, he was shuddering in his sleep. Esther was beside herself.

“How much can you expect of these children? The other mothers agreed with me,” said
Zorah. “We made a little mutiny, and none of them are leaving either.”

“You were right to insist that they stay here,” said Leonie. “I refused to go further,
too.”

“I’m staying as well,” said Tedi.

“Me, too,” Shayndel added.

Zorah bowed her head. The other three exchanged worried glances.

“Zorah?” said Leonie.

“I’m just tired,” she whispered, overwhelmed by their concern for her, and by her
feelings for them. “All of you must
come to my barrack—though they don’t call them barracks here; they’re ‘houses.’ There
is a little shower with hot water in the room. They have fresh clothes for us, too,
though I’m not sure we’re all going to turn out as well as Tedi.”

Zorah led them to a good-sized room with six narrow beds. It was simply furnished
but nothing like a barrack, with rugs on the floor and curtains at the windows, bureaus
and night tables. Photographs of young people squinting into the sun were all over
the walls.

Leonie insisted that Shayndel be the first to bathe in the little tin stall. “We command
our commander to obey.” Shayndel meant to hurry so the others could take their turns,
but the lilac-scented soap and a bottle of real shampoo slowed her down. She lathered
her hair twice, and nearly nodded off as the water washed the bubbles down the drain.
It took all of her willpower to turn off the faucet.

Leonie was next. She sank down to the tile floor and ministered to her throbbing feet.
The soap stung at first, but the warm water was soothing. She tilted her chin up and
let it rain over her closed eyes and parted lips, feeling like she was a thousand
miles away from Atlit, a million miles from Paris, and safe.

Zorah pulled her clothes off in a rush and started by washing her hair, thinking she
would save a few moments by scrubbing her body while the shampoo rinsed off. But the
soap got into her eyes and no amount of rubbing would get it out. Then the hot water
ran out and suddenly her tears changed from irritation into grief. She leaned against
the wall and sank slowly into a crouch, her arms folded over her head, as the icy
stream stripped away the last of her defenses. Motherless, brotherless, and weary
to the bone, she wept for the losses she had counted
and remembered and for numberless, nameless injuries registered in her flesh.

Tedi reached in and turned off the tap. “Come,” she said, wrapping Zorah in a towel
and rubbing her arms and legs until she was warm as well as dry. “Cry as much as you
like,” she soothed, as she toweled off Zorah’s hair, combed out the knots, and helped
her into a soft flannel nightgown. Zorah submitted meekly, even taking Tedi’s hand
as she led her to a cot near Shayndel and Leonie, who were already fast asleep.

The four girls slept, undisturbed by the light or the quiet comings and goings of
the kibbutz girls. They did not hear the roar and squeal of cars and trucks outside,
or the shouts that followed. They woke up only when Nina, the girl with the braids,
came to tell them that the British were at the gates, demanding that they surrender
the escaped prisoners.

“You can stay inside if you like,” she said. “If you do come outside, you must look
and act like the rest of us. So if your Hebrew isn’t good, keep your mouth shut and
pretend to understand. Be strong.”

Zorah went looking for Esther and Jacob, but Shayndel, Leonie, and Tedi followed the
flow of kibbutzniks headed for the entrance to Kibbutz Beit Oren. The barbwire fence
and the tall wire gate were all too familiar, but the evidence of everyday life—flower
beds, bicycles, clotheslines—made it clear that this was not a prison but a home.

Shayndel took the lead, snaking her way right up to the fence beside Nina, where they
could see what was going on. Four British military trucks were parked across from
the entrance and the road bristled with soldiers in battle gear.

Inside the kibbutz, men concealed weapons under their
jackets. “I don’t know why we’re all standing around here,” complained one of the
men as he stared through the fence, taking stock of the enemy. “There should be people
around the whole perimeter. We don’t know where the Brits will try to break through.”

The tension thickened as an official-looking staff car with its windows rolled tight
arrived, followed by two open vans that added dozens of British Military Police to
the regular army force already there. Inside the kibbutz, people stopped talking and
stared. Those with guns glanced at one another. Shayndel crossed her arms to keep
from reaching for her phantom rifle.

Nearly everyone seemed spellbound by the arrival of the police. But a small group
of men went right on chatting and smoking, barely glancing at the growing threat a
few dozen yards away. There were five of them, standing under a canopy of young pine
trees on a knoll that gave them a clear view of the gate. Shayndel didn’t recognize
any of them from last night’s escape. She guessed they were Palmach, but didn’t want
to break the silence to ask.

When the two English officers got out of the car and started toward the kibbutz, the
men finished their cigarettes and headed down to meet them.

Shayndel was close enough to hear a little of their conversation. Her English was
not good, but the British were clearly making demands. She made out the words “surrender”
and something about the death of a constable.

Unlike the Englishmen, who stood at attention, the Palmachniks listened with their
arms crossed or on their hips. They stepped back to confer briefly and a chuckle rose
from their huddle. Four of them ambled back to their perch on
the hill while one man delivered a short message to the En glishmen.

“What did he say?” Shayndel asked Nina.

“I couldn’t hear, but I suspect he told the limeys to go screw themselves.”

“I thought I heard one of them say something about a death. We heard shots last night,”
Shayndel said.

“It was just before you got here. One of their trucks pulled up in the dark and a
gun went off, so our guys thought it was the beginning of a siege and fired. One of
theirs died. None of ours, thank God.”

The British soldiers had started arranging themselves in a row, their rifles across
their chests, facing the kibbutz. They were so close that Shayndel could see their
expressions clearly. Some of them scowled, others winced, but a few looked through
the fence, curious about the people inside.

Tedi started to wave. “Yoo-hoo!” she called and blew a kiss.

Shayndel pulled her arm down. “What are you doing?”

“No, that’s a good idea,” said Nina, who had joined them. “The English may be pigs,
but they usually follow the rules of the game, and shooting women—especially pretty
ones—is decidedly against the rules. Come on,” she said to Leonie. “You wave, too.”

A few more girls joined in and when they saw some of the soldiers blush and look away,
they cheered and laughed, lightening the mood on both sides.

Tedi stopped waving and touched the barbwire in front of her. She turned to Leonie
and said, “Do you remember that woman in Atlit who screamed and went mad when she
saw the fence? This stuff is so frightening, but here it is here for our protection.
To keep us safe, like thorns on a rose.”

“Thorns on a rose?” Leonie said. “I did not know you were a poet.”

“Not me, I’m the down-to-earth one. My sister is the one who …” Tedi stopped. It was
the first time she had invoked Rachel’s memory out loud.

Leonie moved Tedi’s finger away from the spike, and said, “You certainly have the
nose of a poet.”

“What do you mean by that?” Tedi bristled, but Leonie was giggling and pointing at
her nose. “What does a joke smell like?” she asked.

Tedi couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not the joke so much as the joker, and then it
depends whether it’s dirty.”

Leonie gasped. “Ooh, you’re so naughty.”

Tedi started laughing, too.

“Stop it,” Shayndel said, afraid that the soldiers would think they were being mocked.
She pushed them away from the fence, but as soon as Tedi’s and Leonie’s eyes met,
they started again, covering their mouths to keep from howling.

“Barking mad, aren’t they?” Nina smiled as they staggered away to collect themselves.
She pointed at the soldiers who were grinning in their direction. “It’s infectious.”

Shayndel shrugged, too nervous to laugh.

“So what do you think of Beit Oren?” Nina asked.

“Beautiful,” Shayndel said, gazing over the road at the valley of evergreens and the
pale blue sky. “I’ve never been so high in the mountains before.”

“We like to call it Little Switzerland,” said Nina. “However, I must warn you that
yodeling is strictly forbidden.”

“I’ll remember that,” said Shayndel. She supposed there must be a reason for even
a silly rule like that.

“Good heavens, I’m joking!” Nina poked her in the arm.
“Your friends haven’t lost their sense of humor. You shouldn’t either.”

Shayndel blushed and stepped away to greet Zorah, Jacob, and Esther. Jacob held his
mother’s hand, pulling her forward and taking in the scene around him, bright-eyed
and smiling. When he caught sight of a group of boys, he let go and ran toward them.

“Jacob looks wonderful,” said Shayndel.

He ran back to them and demanded, “How do you say in Hebrew the place we were in?
What do you call Atlit? What is it?”

Shayndel almost blurted the word for “prison,” but thought better of it. “Tell them
it was a welcome center for new immigrants.”

“Okay,” he said in English, showing off his new favorite word.

By late morning, the British soldiers and police officers were sweating in the sun.
The kibbutzniks glared at them and muttered about what ought to be done next. Shayndel
wondered why they hadn’t at least moved the children out of the line of fire.

As the hours passed and the standoff continued, a sense of dread crept through the
crowd. Even the Palmach leaders—now sitting on camp chairs on their hill—started to
look uneasy. It felt like the quiet before a storm.