Israel (15 page)

“The Turks may have something to say about that,” Dizengoff wryly interjected, “but actually I agree with you, young man.” He began to ramble on. “Like you, I worry about friction between the Arabs and the newcomers.”

Haim leaned back in his chair and sighed. Dizengoff's raspy voice lapsed into the rhythmic cadences of the professional orator. Haim stared up at the ceiling, examined his
fingernails and was studying the back of his dessert spoon when a hard look from Rosie made him sit up and pretend to pay attention.

“We must build a new adjunct to this city,” Dizengoff droned. “We must build a suburb that will free the Jews of economic enslavement to Arab landlords, a place where children can play free of Jaffa's filth and fellahin, a place their fathers can come home to after a day in the factory.”

“In the sordid slums of Jaffa?” Haim rolled his eyes. “Yes, I think I'm beginning to understand.”

“What I propose is a quarter quite unlike anything either in Jaffa or Jerusalem,” Dizengoff continued placidly. “It will be built large and have more room for expansion. We have already learned that it is far too expensive to build tiny settlements that never catch up to a constantly expanding population.”

“It's also a good deal less expensive to build a large quarter all at once, rather than several small settlements piecemeal,” Rosie contributed.

Dizengoff beamed with pleasure at his disciple as Haim struggled to choke down bitter jealousy. “And the Turks?” he asked. “You brought them up yourself. Are they to stand by while you build a Jewish—” Haim was momentarily at a loss for words. “Will the Turks let us build a Jewish city?”

Dizengoff, to Haim's increasing fury, seemed far too delighted to speak.

“You know the Turks.” Erich Glaser dismissed Haim's argument with a lazy wave of his hand. “We will give them baksheesh. They will grouse all the while they have their hands out.”

You think a bribe will always suffice, Haim thought but did not say. He could not let Dizengoff make him so angry as to insult his host. Still, he began to suspect that Erich Glaser's money made him a bit arrogant.

“The Turks will accept their bribes and leave us alone,”
Dizengoff agreed. “The effendi are far too shortsighted to object.”

Haim winced and glanced at the open portal to the kitchen, hoping Kamel, who understood Hebrew, was not within earshot. As he turned back, he and Rosie locked eyes. Her affectionate smile told him that she understood and shared his concern for the old servant's feelings.

“And of course the fellahin would be happy to have the construction work,” Dizengoff went on.

Haim stared at him. For all of his bravado he felt inferior to the two wealthy, older men. Although he was young, Haim was no fool; young halutzim such as he and Yol were merely soldiers in a vast and ever-growing army commanded by generals like Glaser and Dizengoff. A general could be wrong, as Dizengoff was. Haim's indignation combined with Rosie's smile to give him courage. He found himself on his feet, staring down.

“Do you mean to say that you do not intend to use Jewish labor to build your Jewish city?”

Dizengoff was contemptuous. “Talk sense, young man. Are Jews meant to dig ditches, cut stone, plow fields? Of course not.” Dizengoff looked at Glaser as if to say, listen to the nonsense being spouted by this hotheaded youngster! He shook his head. “Not all Jews are blessed with your strength. No, we are meant to supervise, to manage.”

“You certainly have changed your tune since the day we first met,” Glaser gently teased Haim. “Do you remember the first thing out of your mouth?”

Haim frowned. “I—oh, of course.” He laughed, embarrassed. “I believe I asked you where I might buy a gun.”

“Exactly.” Glaser smacked the table with his palm, making the wineglasses jump. “Do you remember why you wanted a weapon?”

Haim blushed. “Two years is a long time. I've learned since then.”

“Half
the lesson you've learned,” Glaser corrected. “You said that you wanted a gun ‘to shoot Arabs.'” The artist smiled. “Now you know the folly in that, but you've forgotten the second part of the lesson. I pointed at the Arab oarsmen and asked you, ‘If you shoot them, who will row?'”

“Erich, if we had rowed ourselves, we'd have sweat a little, but at least we'd know that we can transport ourselves across the water.”

“God also gave you two feet, but on occasion you consent to ride a horse or a coach,” Dizengoff put in. “Do not bleed for your precious Arabs. They will survive, but this time around it is the Jews who will envision the grand cities and the pharoahs' people who will move the blocks of stone.”

Haim's eyes filled with tears of scorn and despair. Is this what Eretz Yisroel is destined to become? he wondered. Have the Jews suffered all this time only to become tyrants? Am I expected to crack the whip myself?

No, never, Haim swore silently as he glared at Dizengoff and Glaser. He would never lend himself to such a scheme, not even for Rosie. It would have been far better to go to America with Abe; at least there all men, no matter what their nationality, were promised freedom.

“Tell me this,” Haim heard himself demand. “When you capitalist tyrants are seated upon your pharoahs' thrones, what shall prevent God from sending again the plagues? When the Arab Moses rises up and says, ‘Let my people go,' and you reply, ‘We cannot, for Jews have never learned to make bricks, grow fruit, cut stone,' will the Lord in righteousness strike down your firstborn?”

Dizengoff leapt to his feet, his eyes two embers glowing with shock and anger. Before Haim could react, the little man slapped him across the face.

Haim stared down at Dizengoff. He was twice the older man's size and could easily snap him in two. Of course he did no such thing, but merely touched his tingling cheek while gazing with wonder at Dizengoff.

He glanced at the others around the table. Mr. and Mrs. Glaser were clearly disapproving, but to his relief Rosie seemed just as bewildered as he was at Dizengoff's astounding behavior. Granted his words had been harsh; never could Haim have imagined that they possessed the power to shatter Dizengoff's composure.

Dizengoff slumped back into his chair and leaned on the table, his face buried in his hands.

“Rosie,” Glaser whispered, “take Haim outside for a walk, please.”

Haim felt Rosie's hand around his wrist, leading him away. Outside Haim breathed a relieved sigh as the cool darkness wrapped around him and the breeze soothed the hot flush of shame and perplexity.

“What happened back there, Rosie?”

They were heading for the beach. “You said a number of awful things.” She tried to sound accusing, but her heart wasn'.t in it. “I know what you mean, Haim. I've never seen Meir like that. Certainly I recognize his anger and impatience, but never has anybody broken him this way.”

“Some accomplishment. I've hurt an important man and probably soured your father on the idea of our marriage.”

“Damnit, Haim.” Rosie spun on him like a tigress. “It should have occurred to you that I'm the one to decide whom I shall marry—if I marry anyone. Despite my father's fondest wish I am not one of the beautiful, silent women in his paintings.”

She ran off to vanish over the crest of a sand dune. Haim pursued her, calling out her name, not knowing
whether she could hear his cries or if the crashing surf drowned them out.

The harbor was mist-shrouded. The stars were hidden, while the veiled moon hung like a pearl against the yellow-streaked blue-black evening sky. The air was damp with the briny smell of the sea and the sand beneath Haim's shoes squeaked and crunched as he sprinted after Rosie. By the time he caught up with her she was at the water's edge.

“Look at me,” Haim commanded. As Rosie obeyed he reached for her and squeezed her like a drowning man his lifeline; then he eased off and held her gently. The foamy swash swirled around their ankles, but they paid no attention. He kissed her for the first time and heard himself softly moan as her fragrant mouth yielded to his. Her lips were cool on that sultry night, while her cheeks were warm, damp, salty. He was tasting her tears.

She pulled away to turn her back on him, as was her way. Haim, who had felt her heart pound at his kiss, now saw before him a quivering, barely tame creature about to bolt.

He stood frustrated, helpless; his own thick passion made it impossible to think clearly. Then the realization came, and when it did it was like a lightning flash during a night storm.

She is all things to me
, he thought, my lifeline, my treasure, but I cannot own her.

Yol's parting words came back to Haim. “Once you marry Rosie, you will have to share your dream.”

“Listen to me,” he called to Rosie. “I'm ready to
understand. I want to.” He swallowed hard. “But first I've got to know. What are your feelings for me?”

“I do love you,” Rosie said. “I did a little bit that first time we saw each other on this beach.”

“A little bit?”

“To be swept off of my feet like a fairy-tale princess is not how I am. You said you were ready to understand. Please don't act like my father.” Her voice began to rise. “He's far happier with my portrait than with his flesh and blood.”

“All right, all right.” Haim hesitated, glancing at her sideways. “Do you want to get married?”

Rosie stared back at him for a moment and then started to laugh. “Yes, love, eventually.” She wagged her finger at him. “But not for a while, and not ever if you can't accept the fact that I intend to continue my work with Meir.”

“What's going on with that?”

“You might have found out if you hadn't picked a fight with him. Come, we'll sit on the dry sand and I'll tell you.”

They walked back the way they'd come and chose a spot where they could lean against the base of a sand dune. Haim stretched out his arm and felt his heart quicken as Rosie nestled against him.

She began to tell him about the meeting at the Yeshurun Club a little over a year ago. She wasn't there, but her father was, in common with more than a hundred of the most influential Jews in Jaffa. The idea of establishing a garden suburb outside of noisy, crowded Jaffa had been in the air for some time. Many ideas had been put forth, but it took the Yeshurun meeting to found Ahuzzat Bayit, a house builders' society.

Meanwhile, the Jewish establishment in Jaffa had strengthened with the openings of the Lewinsky Seminary for women teachers and local offices of both the Anglo-Palestine
Bank and the Zionist Organization. The latter controlled the purse strings of the crucial Jewish National Fund. Meir Dizengoff, a founder of the now-defunct Geulah Company, a land-buying group, headed up the steering committee. Rosie volunteered to be Dizengoff's personal secretary.

Haim kept nodding, doing his best to pay attention, but her words were a feeble distraction as compared to the scent of her and the feel of her warm thigh pressed against his.

“Haim, the bayit has bought the land,” she said. “It is north of the town, and there will be empty space between Jaffa and the settlement. It will be a true suburb, the first of its kind in Palestine, and I will play a crucial role in its building.”

“Rosie, we could go away from Jaffa—”

“Never!”

“We could play a crucial role elsewhere in the country, and as Zionists, not capitalists.”

“You could, Haim. You, but not I. I would be the mother of your children, I would keep your house, but how would that be a significant contribution to this country?”

Her voice softened. “Oh, Haim, I said I loved you a little bit when we first met. That love deepened every day as I gazed at your likeness. Remember how you once told me you had to finish your work in Jerusalem so that one day our children could be shown the school their father had helped to build?”

Haim made a face. “And that's how you feel about your work with Dizengoff? You want to leave your mark, is that it?”

She smiled. “You do understand me.”

“It will take years.”

“But we can be married and—” She seemed to decide something. “Haim, what I said before about never leaving
Jaffa? That isn't true. When this is done, we can go wherever you'd like.”

Haim frowned. In a few years it could well be too late to live the adventure that he and Yol had spent so many late nights talking about. In a few years Palestine might be so tame there would be no need for the Hashomer. He would only be able to envy Yol and his comrades when they recounted their exploits.

“Please accept, Haim, for both our sakes. You have your whole life to do important things. For a woman such a chance comes only once if at all.”

“Out from under your father's shadow, is that it, Rosie?”

“Is it so terrible? I love him, you know, but is it so terrible to want to accomplish something that will make him respect me? I can no longer be his little girl and I have no intention of becoming yours.”

Haim sighed. “I wonder what sort of work there is in Jaffa.”

“Oh, I imagine we can find you something,” Rosie whispered. She pressed his fingers against her lips. Her sable eyes were shiny. “Maybe we should go back?”

“Yes,” Haim agreed. “It's late.”

They strolled back to the inn with their arms around each other. Halfway there Rosie stopped to kiss him once again. “I'll never forget the sacrifice you're making for me.”

“I'll be around to remind you, don't worry,” Haim said huskily.

They continued along the slate path to the inn's front door. As they waited there for Kamel to admit them, a figure stepped out of the shadows. It was Dizengoff, without his jacket and tie and with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. Briefly Haim thought the man had come to challenge him to a fight.