Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (120 page)

He took off his reading glasses and pushed some papers
aside as she came around the desk, bent down, and deposited
a warm kiss on his cheek. 'Hello, Father,' she said. She could
smell the faint, familiar smell of his sweat; he must have been
labouring earlier and had not yet had a chance to shower. She
put her hands on his shoulders and leaned over him, nodding
at the papers strewn all over the desktop. 'Am I interrupting
something?'

He twisted around and looked up at her. 'You, you can
interrupt me anytime, Tamara.' He smiled. 'You know that.'

She went to the other side of the desk and sat down heavily.
After making herself comfortable, she said, 'Are you ready to go over the housing problems? Or should I come back a little
later?'

'Not so fast, slow down a little.' He eyed her belly solemnly.
'I take it the baby's coming along normally?'

She hesitated, the lie she had arranged with Dr. Saperstein
burning at the tip of her tongue. 'Of course,' Dr. Saperstein
had said to her, 'if Dani thinks there's a trap your father might
walk into, then he has good reason to fear it. So I'll stretch the
truth just a little. I tell you what—pretend you have premature
labour pains. That should keep him here. After all, we can't
allow anything to happen to him.'

How easy it would be, she thought now. In her head she
could already hear herself telling him about painful cramps
and suggesting that he stay close by; she would only have to
say the word, and she knew he would. But now, she could tell
that even her hesitation brought immediate concern to his eyes
and a frown to his brow.

The lie dissolved unsaid. She just couldn't go through with it. He would worry himself sick. She couldn't do that to him.

'Everything's fine,' she assured him, 'really, it is. Dr
.
Saperstein thinks the baby will come right on time. Every
thing's A-okay,' she added, switching to English.

'Good.' He looked relieved, and then beamed paternally at
her. 'You just take care.' He gestured at her belly. 'That's
important cargo you're carrying in there.'

'I know.' She smiled. 'Which will it be, do you think? A boy
or a girl?'

'Oh, a girl, definitely.'

'That's because you want a granddaughter,' she accused
good-naturedly.

'Every grandfather wants a granddaughter.'

'And if it's a son?'

'We'll just have to leave it on a hillside then, won't we?'

'Father!' she scolded.

'Just joking. Just joking.' He held up both hands as though
to fend off her protestations. Then his face grew serious. 'You
know, every time I see Asa and Ari, they seem to have shot
up a few more inches.' He shook his head. 'I don't see half as
much of my grandchildren as I would like.'

'Is that why you keep moving further and further away from
us? It took me nearly twenty minutes to get here. Your old
house was a lot closer.'

'But I felt hemmed in. What's the use of living in the desert when you have houses on all four sides, and your only view is
of your neighbours' windows? At the rate Ein Shmona is grow
ing it looks like I'll have to move again soon. Another year or
two, and the settlement's going to push way past here, and I'll
be surrounded once again.'

'Which brings me to the reason I came here,' she said.
'We've got to discuss the housing problem. In three days' time we've got to report our findings to the kibbutz committee and
make our recommendations. I want to be prepared. There are
some logistics we need to have worked out.'

'Logistics,' he sighed. 'Committees. It was all so much sim
pler a few years ago.'

'We were much smaller a few years ago,' she pointed out. 'Now we have over three thousand inhabitants, and more
arriving all the time. More people makes for more responsibi
lities.'

His expression was pained. 'You're beginning to sound like
a politician.'

She laughed. 'I hope not, but the fact of the matter remains.
We've got a serious housing shortage. Out of every boat that runs the blockade, we get anywhere from ten to forty new
inhabitants. And there are two boats coming in next week.
That means we have to count on putting up twenty to eighty
more people. Father, where are we going to put them all?
Already people are doubling up in the dormitories.'

'What do you suggest we do?' he asked, his voice stern but
not unkind. 'You can't expect us to help them ashore and then
disappear. They have to eat and sleep. To live. Somewhere.
Someone's got to give them a new start in life. That's what makes them risk their lives to get here in the first place.'

'Then we'd best make new housing our number-one aim.
As it is, we might have to start putting up new arrivals in tents.'

'If we must pitch tents, then we will pitch them.'

'The point I'm trying to make, Father, is that we're not
building fast enough. To speed up the process, we're going to
have to bend the rules a little. Right now, six recent arrivals—
three builders, two carpenters, and a stonemason—are
spending all their time out in the fields picking up rocks and ploughing and hoeing and weeding. While I understand the
idea behind all newcomers starting out by working in the fields, we've got to make exceptions in their cases. We
have
to. We need buildings more desperately than we need new
fields.'

'We need both.'

'But those men are wasted in the fields! Right now we've
got more than enough of a labour force for clearing and plant
ing and harvesting, especially with the new arrivals swelling
our size. If it were up to me, I'd get the trained builders out
of the fields and get them building immediately. It's either that
or . . .' She halted and held his gaze.

'Or what?' he asked softly.

'Or we have to cut down on accepting new residents.'

He tightened his lips. 'Newcomers are our greatest strength, for only in numbers can we become strong.' He drummed his fingernails on the desktop. 'All right,' he said at last. 'You win.
We'll recommend that we must be flexible and that exceptions
should be made. But for the builders only.'

She smiled. 'And that they start immediately?'

He nodded.

'Good. I don't think we'll have any trouble getting that
past the committee, not if we're both agreed. But it's only a
temporary solution, mind you. To keep up with the influx,
we're going to have to find a way to build a lot faster. Just
think what we'll be up against if the White Paper's revoked.
We'll have to be ready for a flood of immigrants.'

'Prefabricated housing,' he said.

'What?' She frowned at him, her eyebrows knit.

'Prefabricated housing,' he repeated. 'An engineer in Haifa
recently told me about it. What it is, is building in sections and
then putting the sections together. Since we've got to find a way to come up with a lot of units fast and cheap, the way I
see it, prefabrication is the only answer. It's like an assembly line. Whole walls are built, with windows, door, and all, four
of them are stuck on a foundation, and a roof is put up over
them. The same goes for the interior.'

'You know we can't build walls like that. That takes wood,
the only resource other than water that we have a constant
shortage of.'

'So? For now we can use metal. Or poured concrete.' He
shrugged. 'For the time being, looks and longevity aren't half
as important as having the available housing.'

'Give me the name of the engineer you spoke with and I'll
start on it right away,' she promised.

'His name's Peter Highton, and he's with Rosdine Engin
eering. They've got a big warehouse and office at Haifa har
bour.'

'Good. I'll go see him and work my charms to see if I can
enlist his help.' Her green eyes locked into his. 'There's just
one more thing,' she said quietly.

Alerted to her tone, he raised his eyebrows and waited.

'It's about the
Philadelphie.
Father, I'm begging you not to
be onshore when she comes in.'

'You're worried I'll get caught?' He looked surprised.
'After all these years of eluding the authorities, you're afraid
I'll get caught now?'

'Yes.' She nodded. 'You know very well that the British
intend to make an example of the
Philadelphie.
They're going
to try their damnedest to keep her from coming in and unload
ing the passengers. They'll probably even try to round up all
the volunteers onshore as well.'

'The more important I be there,' he said staunchly.

'You're
crazy!'
She stared at him, blinking back a rush of
tears. 'Father, I could tell you that you shouldn't be there for
the sake of the twins and the baby I'm carrying, and because
I'm worried for you. But I won't. The point I
will
make,
though, is that you're indispensable. If something should
happen to you, everything here would fall apart. Can't you
see that?'

Schmarya kept looking at her. 'First of all,' he said softly,
'make no mistake. Everyone, including me, is dispensable.
There is no such thing as an indispensable person. Not
anywhere.' She started to protest, but he cut her off. 'And
second, you and Dani and the others are doing such a fine job
that I really wouldn't be missed. In the short run, perhaps.
But in the long run?' He shook his head. 'In the long run the
kibbutz would do fine.'

'Don't talk that way!' she said sharply. 'You know that
you're the glue that holds everything together! There isn't a
man, woman, or child here who would dream of hinting to an outsider that you're here. That's why you haven't been caught
yet. It's because everyone's so devoted to you that their lips
are forever sealed. So you see, you don't owe it to me, or to Dani, but to
everyone
not to take such a chance.' She rose
from her chair and looked down at him, a pleading expression
on her face. 'Please, Father, I'm begging you to stay away
when the
Philadelphie
makes a run for it. Don't tempt fate.'