Israel (16 page)

“I thought you'd have gone home by now, Meir,” Rosie said nervously.

“I waited,” Dizengoff said. “Haim, could we talk?” When Haim glanced at Rosie, the older man continued, “Come on, just me and you in the side garden. I want to tell you some things. I'm ashamed of the way I acted at the table tonight.”

Haim felt Rosie squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Yes, Meir,” he said evenly. “Let's talk.”

They waited until Rosie was safely inside the house and then walked around the building to the side garden. Dizengoff led Haim to a stone bench beneath a fragrant orange tree.

“Here, sit,” the older man rasped, wearily lowering himself onto the bench.

Haim took the other end. He glimpsed Dizengoff's suit jacket, neatly folded. Freed of its restraints, Dizengoff's starched shirt collar flapped in the breeze. “How long has it been since you took that herring from around your neck?” Haim gestured at the tie folded over the back of the bench.

Dizengoff eyed Haim and shook his head. “Youth,” he grumbled. “The young always think they're the first to come upon the earth, like Adam—”

“Pardon me. I obviously upset you during our argument at dinner, but if you brought me here for a lecture, I'd just as soon—”

“You're much better at lecturing than I, my boy, and as for upsetting me?” Dizengoff shrugged. “Yes, you did.”

“For that I apologize.”

Dizengoff looked at him and nodded. “I appreciate that, but I have to apologize as well. Lucky for me you're a nice boy, else I'd be in the infirmary right now.”

Haim chuckled. “I would never raise my hand to you.”

“I know that. Now listen. Remember I told you about the bottle plant I tried to set up at Tantura? Well, my wife Zina came with me. During the mosquito season she was one of the first—but hardly the last—to come down with malaria. She was pregnant. The fever caused a stillbirth.”

“Oh . . .” The sound issued from Haim's lips like a groan. “I'm so sorry—”

“You see, the child was our first and as it's turned out our last, so you were quite accurate if a bit after the fact in your prophecy.”

Haim once again was full of remorse.

“There!” Dizengoff reached across and patted Haim's knee. “I have told you this not to shame you but to excuse my own behavior. You touched a raw nerve. You see, I've always blamed myself for losing my son.”

“Still, I had no right to speak so disrespectfully.”

“Nonsense.” Dizengoff smiled. “You were extremely eloquent tonight, far more so than I ever was with the baron. It was no wonder he fired me for insubordination.”

“You were fired for being disrespectful to Baron Rothschild?”

“Personally fired. Let's give credit where credit is due.” Dizengoff laughed. “It was foolish of me, but it was just after the—the misfortune. In those terrible days I was in a mood to fight with anybody. I sent an extremely surly letter to my employer, accusing him of being self-seeking, of expecting his money to raise him above other men, of being haughty and prideful.” He looked sheepishly at Haim. “The baron thanked me for my candor and added that my services were no longer required.”

“Then what happened?”

“I came to Jaffa. Surely Rosie has told you about our project.”

Haim nodded and on impulse added, “We're going to be married.”

“Mazel tov! Wonderful.”

“Her parents don't yet know.”

Dizengoff froze. “I presume Rosie knows, yes?” When Haim said she did, the older man chuckled. “You're the sort of determined young fellow who might let it slip your mind to inform the bride of your intentions.” He studied Haim. “I don't know how to put this. She must have told you that she is quite devoted to our project.”

“We're staying here for the duration, if that's what you're trying to find out.”

“I take it you're not very happy about the prospect.”

“Let's not quarrel again. I simply don't see this project as a proper expression of Zionism—”

“Whatever that means,” Dizengoff dourly interrupted. “Well, if it'll make you feel any better, you are not alone in your opinion.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that all the usual sources of funding have turned away from us, claiming just as you have that to be reckoned as Zionist pioneers we must plow fields—”

“We must make our own bread if we are to be self-sufficient.”

“Please, spare me the doctrine, for I know it all by heart as well as you—”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. What do you think, that I was born a fat little middle-aged man? Back in Russia maybe fifteen years ago my political activities earned me some very unpleasant time in prison.”

“They did?” Haim asked rather weakly.

“Yes indeed, and in my day if a comrade spent time in prison, his fellows gave him some respect.”

“Of course. Absolutely.”

“Well then,” Dizengoff said smugly, “I'm going to ask you what I asked those insufferable Zionist fools with all the money. Tell me, Haim, when was the last time you tilled the soil?”

Haim swallowed. “Actually, never.”

“Hmmm, that recently,” Dizengoff mocked. “Don't fret, for few of you halutzim know anything about farming. Your parents reared you to devote your lives to study or learn a trade. Since you arrived here, you've learned a second trade, stonecutting. You've pursued it for rather a long time, yes? Why is that, Haim? I would think that all of your friends have long since scattered to the agricultural settlements.”

“That's true. I remained in Jerusalem so I could save my wages. I wanted to come back for Rosie.”

“In other words, you have not behaved as a pure, selfless Zionist.”

“I'm ashamed of myself in that respect,” Haim admitted. “But I was not holding myself up as the best example of how we should act—”

“Well, you shouldn't apologize for not being one of those drones,” Dizengoff said. “Eventually they will discover that they are not suited to the farmer's life, and then they will want to return to the towns and villages.”

Haim looked worried. “That's not the way that it's supposed to happen.”

Dizengoff shrugged. “You must realize that up until now our cause has been a dream. An idea must be flexible if it is to survive. I was present when Theodor Herzl proposed that we all go to Uganda. Now, if the prophet of Zionism can preach that East Africa is the Promised Land, don't you think you might be a little flexible?”

“I don't know what to think,” Haim complained. “All I know is that we must be self-sufficient if we are to survive. A house must have a firm foundation.”

“That's good if you're a carpenter,” Dizengoff said impatiently. “It's not so good if it's a country you're trying to build. I say it doesn't matter how we accomplish things as long as they happen. Let's build as quickly as possible and protect ourselves by becoming an indispensable
part of the economy. The Arab who works for us will not attack us. The Turks will never banish us if their government depends on our baksheesh.”

“But eventually we must hire Jewish labor.”

“I agree with you if you mean slowly bring in Jews to do certain jobs. Our progress would come to a halt if all the settlements had to fire their Arab labor and bring in untrained halutzim. Where would we find enough skilled Jews to keep the agricultural settlements going, never mind construct the Jewish quarters in Jerusalem and Jaffa?”

Haim had no answer. After a moment he asked, “If the Zionist agencies turned you down, where did you get the money to fund your project?”

“A portion of it was raised among the members of the bayit,” Dizengoff replied, “but most of it was loans through the central office of the National Fund in France. I still have a few contacts there, and so I was able to go over the heads of the local officials.”

“I bet the locals were not pleased with you for doing that.” Haim smiled. He was becoming fond of this fellow.

Dizengoff grinned back. “Few people have had occasion to be pleased with me down through the years.”

Haim found himself extending his hand. Dizengoff shook it and asked, “Can I count you a member of the Ahuzzat Bayit?”

For a moment Haim was too astounded to speak. Finally he managed, “I have no money to contribute. How can I be brought in?”

“You have something more important to contribute—fresh ideas, fresh blood. We are all a little old, Haim, a little set in our ways.”

“But what would I do to earn my membership?”

“You are an accomplished stonecutter, yes? And you speak Arabic. We shall need a construction foreman to oversee the Arabs.” Dizengoff winked. “And don't forget, you are marrying Rosie. There's your greatest contribution.
She works for the bayit for nothing, and believe me, she is worth her weight in gold.”

“On that we can agree,” Haim said.

They did not marry immediately. Rosie was willing and her parents gave their blessings, but Haim did not want to take a wife before he had the means to provide for her. Rosie was admirable, but she had never been asked to make do with little money. They might never be rich, but Haim had no intention of taking her out of her home before they could start their lives together in comfort.

How to accomplish this was the question. Haim had taken a room in the cheaper Arab quarter, where the effendis warmed to him now that he was hiring fellahin. Thanks to the building on Karm Jabali's land, the fellahin were earning at last.

Late every night after visiting Rosie, Haim would walk back to his digs, lost in thought. How could he earn money? Neither was being paid. The understanding was that they'd be allowed membership in the bayit in exchange for their labor. When the time came, they would be portioned out a housing plot in the new suburb, just like the other members. Haim had to figure out a way to earn enough money to be able to build a house.

A letter from Yol, still toiling at Kinnereth in Galilee, gave him the idea. Most of his friend's correspondence was taken up with amusing anecdotes and outrageous bragging about his exploits with a gun, but one letter happened to mention in passing some of the things the settlement was lacking. Food they had more or less, but dry goods like clothing and shoes were wearing out and decent replacements hard to come by. Now, the one trade that Haim knew better than masonry was cobbling, but one man could never hope to supply all the work boots for the agricultural settlements.

He went to Dizengoff with his idea. The Old Man, as most had taken to calling him. furnished Haim with an
introduction to an assistant of Arthur Ruppin, who had recently arrived in Jaffa to head the Zionist Organization's office for Palestine. What Haim proposed was that the organization supply its settlements with shoes manufactured in Jaffa at a far lower cost than imports.

The idea was enthusiastically received, but there was a considerable delay due to bureaucratic wrangling before he was officially awarded a limited contract on a trial basis. It was even longer before the promised advance was paid. Haim used his savings from his stonecutter's job in Jerusalem to rent a hall and equip it with benches, tools and leather.

He went out to hire Jewish cobblers, but to his stupefaction and Dizengoff's glee he was unable to find halutzim willing to work at the wages he could offer. The fellahin at the building site told Haim of Arab shoemakers, skilled men who would be happy to get the work. Haim hired the Arabs and at last was in business.

At first he tried to be in two places at once. Mornings he spent at his shoe factory and afternoons at the building site. The Old Man soon spoke to him about neglecting the bayit. Addressing him as Mr. Kolesnikoff, as was the exceedingly proper Dizengoff's habit when discussing Ahuzzat Bayit business, the Old Man suggested that Haim choose his best cobbler and make him manager of the factory.

Within a year Haim had forty Arabs working for him and was supplying virtually all the leather goods needed by the settlements: shoes, belts, gloves, aprons, livestock harnesses. He reinvested some of his profits in imported machinery to increase his factory's production and hired two halutzim to oversee the sale of surplus goods in the bazaars of Jaffa and Jerusalem.

He soon found that he no longer had the time to be foreman of the bayit project. A vote was taken by the membership and Haim was allowed to resign his position
after hiring an Arab to take his job. He then bought in as a full member of the bayit.

At Dizengoff s urging he began to dress “appropriately” for a “man of his position in the Jewish community.” Haim found himself going around in a white linen suit, a tie and a straw boater. When he and his fiancee were invited to dinner parties, he wore a black suit. Whenever he ran into Dizengoff he remembered their first meeting and imagined that the Old Man was smirking at him.

On April 11, 1909, the housing plots were portioned out by lottery. Haim immediately contracted for a house to be built on rutted, muddy Herzl Street.

On a warm, bright Sunday in June he and Rosie were married in the Glasers' side garden. The chupah was set up beneath the fragrant, blossomy orange tree. Each of the four poles of the canopy was held by one of Rosie's brothers; Dizengoff stood by Haim.

The groom wrote to Yol inviting him to the wedding and paying him the honor of requesting his services as best man but mail could take months to travel even short distances in Palestine. Haim suspected he'd be a married man by the time Yol knew what was happening.

The night before the ceremony Haim walked by himself through the shifting sands that iay between the old town and the new suburb. He thought a little about Yol, who had a gun, the use of a horse and the adventurous life he himself had always dreamed about. If Yol could only see him now, with his suit and tie and his ridiculous straw boater instead of a kayffiyeh, how the little monkey man would laugh!