Nurse Hannah ran back into the room to find Diana desperate for water. Hannah supported her so she could drink until Diana fell back with a gasp. “How long?” she managed to ask.
“It’s been seven hours,” the nurse said.
“I mean, how much longer?”
“Soon, my dear. It’ll get easier.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Oh!” Another contraction, longer even, more screaming. With dilation at six centimeters, Diana asked as the nurse mopped her brow, “How do you know it gets easier? Have you had any babies?”
“Seven.”
“Oh my God,” Diana said, “how could you? Aaaaarrrggghhh!”
“Push, push, that’s it, push now.”
Baby wasn’t quite ready yet.
In the waiting room Tamara peered at each nurse that emerged from the obstetrics department. When one walked by with a bundle under her arm she sat up but it was just some laundry. Arie kept looking at his watch. “I’ll have to go soon,” he said, “baby or no baby.”
“Business?”
“Yes.”
“Business right before Yom Kippur?”
“No rest for the wicked.”
“You said it.”
“I’ll see you at home, then. I’ll be with the children.”
Diana’s children, Noah and Ezra, were at the house, with Tamara’s parents, who were babysitting them and their cousins, nine-year-old Carmel and Daniel. Tamara telephoned them each hour on the hour to keep them informed. If Tamara was anxious for the delivery, her parents couldn’t wait for the birth either. “These are the worst behaved children I’ve ever met,” Rachel complained. “They don’t listen to a word I say. Now they’re playing by the cliff. It’s a wonder they don’t fall off.”
“Don’t push them,” Tamara said.
“I can’t promise. How is Diana doing?”
“I don’t know. They’re not very communicative here, everyone wants to go home and Diana is holding them up. Anyway … wait a minute, here comes the doctor.” She held the phone away from her lips while Rachel strained to hear.
Doctor Shilanski tapped along the corridor toward her, unbuttoning his white coat with one hand, carrying a small case in the other. He looked relieved; his replacement had just arrived.
“It’s a girl. Healthy, 3.2 kilos. Just in time for Yom Kippur.”
Tamara shrieked into the telephone. “Did you hear that, Ima? A girl, healthy.” And to the doctor: “And Diana?”
“Who?”
“The mother.”
“Fast asleep. Everything is hunky-dory. The nurse will take over from here. I suggest you go home before the roads close. There’s nothing more to be done here now.”
Tamara could hardly talk with excitement but called Gingie at the Office. “It’s a girl. 3.2 kilos. Mommy and baby are fine. You’ll tell Peter?”
“Of course, right away. That’s wonderful news. Thank you for calling, Tamara. Tsom Kal.” Easy fast. The traditional Yom Kippur wish when Jews prayed and fasted for twenty-four hours. The whole country shut down for the day. Nobody worked, every shop and business was closed, cars were not allowed on the road.
It wasn’t until the next day’s telexed message drop routinely rerouted through an Office diamond company in Antwerp that Peter heard. “Healthy girl. Congratulations.”
At first he was confused, he didn’t recognize the secret code until he realized, No! It isn’t code, it’s his baby! A girl! A second message followed, an apparent afterthought: “Mother doing well.” In his hotel room he walked to and fro, smacking a fist into his palm, grinning at himself in the mirror, until he could burst with delight. He had to force himself not to break protocol and call home. He went downstairs to the hotel bar and despite the early hour ordered a glass of German Sekt, cheaper than French champagne.
He’d done it! They’d wanted a girl, and now they had one. Perfect. Two boys and a girl. If only he could have been there. And his parents, and Renata and Ruth. He glanced at his watch, Pappi’s watch. The silver frame was dull and the leather strap, which he couldn’t bring himself to change, was faded and worn. Its presence, its weight, gave Pappi shape, preserved the hope that somewhere his father could still be alive, and one day he could finally give the watch back. The watch told more than the time, it told the truth; he hoped.
One day. Well anyway, the children have grandparents in Britain, they’d be visiting soon. With his elbows on the polished wooden bar, viewing himself in the mirror with the empty room behind him, and savoring the bubbly, he ran through names for a girl. He’d always liked Kim. Or Yasmine. How about Cornelia? He wasn’t very good at this. Or Veronique, or Karla? No, that wasn’t funny, that part of Diana’s life was over. Should she even continue on the Office desk? Would she want to stay at home? They’d need another bedroom. They’d have to get a bigger apartment. Oh, how about Hagar, that’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.
He made a face in the mirror. Why bother? Diana will decide, she always does. And then he remembered he shouldn’t be drinking. It was Yom Kippur.
He strolled along the banks of the sparkling River Rhine, killing time until his meeting with Lothar Genscher, of the ministry for nuclear energy. Men and women ran by in their athletics shorts. A young father cooed in his baby’s ear. Soon that could be me, Peter thought with a grin. He pictured his baby in Diana’s arms, tiny lips clamped to her mother’s nipple, Diana’s eyes closed in bliss, kissing the baby’s head. But this idyllic image soon turned to what Genscher had told him in their last meeting, one reason he had to stay longer in Germany. As his mind turned from breast milk to terror, he snorted: Crazy. The two sides of Peter Nesher.
Israel already knew that the Egyptians were developing a surface-to- surface missile with a warhead containing radioactive waste that could pollute entire regions of Israel. Genscher’s shock, however, was that the Egyptians, or rather their German scientists, wanted to use highly enriched uranium from Dutch or West German centrifuges to build an atomic bomb.
After receiving documentary evidence from Genscher, Peter had another task: to travel to Freiburg on the Swiss-German border to take charge of an Office team that was tailing a target. The idea was to take it down a notch. They wouldn’t kill the scientist, who was in Egypt, but they would terrify his daughter until she demanded he come home. This should snowball until all the scientists, understanding that even Otto Skorzeny couldn’t keep them safe, would leave Egypt and put an end to the Egyptian’s weapons program. That was the plan.
And the quicker, the better. All he really wanted was to get back to Diana and the children.
* * *
Diana was dozing and the baby was back in its crib, yet she could still feel its weight on her chest. She was a perfect fit, her head lay on her breast, her tiny feet reached Diana’s tummy, her little hands rested on Diana’s face. Most of all Diana loved the warmth of her sigh, like a whisper, when she pulled away from the nipple, and the thought made Diana sigh too. She lay on her back with a drowsy smile. After Yom Kippur the twins would come to meet their sister.
She felt warm between the legs, and that warmth made her feel warm all over, and complete and joyful at the miracle that had emerged from her womb. She was still half-asleep and felt the warmth on her hand and it was only when she brought her hand from beneath the sheets that she realized the warm ooze was blood. With her other hand she felt her thighs and the damp that had spread to the sheets. Her heart began to race as she called for the nurse. She looked around: the other five beds were empty. She called again and after a minute a young nurse came in with a smile. “What is it, sweetie?”
“Where is Hannah?” Diana said.
“Oh, she’ll be home by now. I’m on duty. I’m Nurse Nastasiya. What is it?”
“I think I’m bleeding.”
“That’s normal, let me see.” She lifted the sheet and blanket. “Yes, it’s fine, I’ll change you.” She dropped the soiled pad into a bin, washed Diana with a damp cloth and put in a fresh pad
. “There, clean and fresh. Would you like a drink?”
Diana shook her head. “I’m sleepy. Can I see my baby?”
“Not yet, he’s sleeping…”
“She,” Diana murmured.
“Yes, she’s sleeping, I’ll bring her back in three hours, you try to rest now.”
But Diana was already drifting away.
Until a sharp pain pierced her sleep, it cut into her stomach like a knife. She woke with a start and put her hands to her tummy. Now it was aching, like a bruise. She didn’t want to call the nurse, but it scared her. If only there were other women in the ward. She felt alone and afraid. After five minutes she called the nurse. After two more minutes she called again, and then again.
“Sorry,” Nastasiya said as she finally hurried in, “we had an issue at the other end of the ward. I’m here alone, Yom Kippur, you know. What is it?”
Diana’s voice was faint and unclear. “My stomach hurts, it’s a sharp pain and then an ache.”
“It’s the last of the placenta, the uterus, all normal, here, have a drink, no need to worry. Try to sleep.”
“I was asleep, but it hurts. It hurts right now.”
“I can give you a painkiller but it’s better not to.” She patted Diana’s wrist to reassure her.
Diana shifted in the bed and wiped her brow. “I feel a bit clammy.”
“You do look a bit pale. But really, there’s nothing to worry about…”
“Aren’t I supposed to look glowing and healthy?” Diana said, catching her breath. “I feel terrible. And my stomach hurts a lot.”
“Well, you need to rest, let’s wait and see if it goes away. If it doesn’t, I can give you a painkiller. Here, drink if you feel like it.” She left a glass of water at Diana’s bedside and her footsteps became fainter.
Diana lay back, breathing heavily, trying not to panic. She should ask to see the doctor. She couldn’t call Tamara, it was Yom Kippur and she wouldn’t answer the phone. Nobody was working in the whole country, except presumably the most junior staff in hospitals and the like. Nurse Nastasiya doesn’t seem to know much. How old is she, twelve? A painkiller and a glass of water. How many years of medical training does it take to come up with that?
She tried to sleep but sensed that warm ooze between her legs again. She felt blood. And now she felt woozy, as if the room was spinning. She closed her eyes but it was worse. She opened them and the room steadied but now she felt breathless. Something wrong? Or just panic? She wanted to call the nurse but didn’t want to be a nuisance, obviously she has a lot on her plate. And what does she know, anyway?
She thought of Peter. His grin and wide eyes when he would see their tiny daughter, her hand the size of his thumb. He would kiss the baby and lie down next to them and she would sleep with her hand on his cheek, as she always did, and he would sleep with his hand on her stomach, as he always did.
She felt her strength ebbing, her breaths were short and rasping. She called for the nurse. She could barely hear herself.
“I feel awful,” Diana said, when the nurse finally appeared. “Do I have a fever?”
“No, you’re just warm from sleep.”
“No. There’s something wrong. Please, can I see the doctor?”
“He’s very busy. He’ll be doing his round in the morning. No need before that, everything is fine.” The nurse patted Diana’s hand. “You’re fine, really, just very tired. It’s natural.”
“I’m worried. Do I have a temperature?”
“I’ll check if you like. But there’s really no need. Let me see.” She put the back of her hand on Diana’s forehead and withdrew it with a start. “You’re burning,” she said. She took a thermometer from her gown. “Put this under your tongue.”
She left the room and came back with two pills and more water. “The doctor says to take these and he’ll come by as soon as he can. Don’t worry, dear, everything is all right. He’s just a bit busy right now, he’s the only doctor here today.”
Diana was white and sweating. Nastasiya began to change the pad, and the towel she had put beneath her. Both were soaked in blood.
Nurse Nastasiya took Diana’s pulse. Her lips tightened. “Very slow,” she muttered. She took her temperature, Diana saw concern on her face.
“What is it?” she whispered, gripping the nurse’s wrist. “My stomach is really bad, it hurts a lot.”
She wiped her brow. The sweat was cold. She was dizzy and closed her eyes and felt worse, everything was spinning. She began to panic. Where’s the damn doctor? She felt blood between her legs, the whole bed was wet.
“Nurse. Nurse. What’s wrong?” Her face was as white as the sheet. “I need a doctor.” She tried to shout, “Now!”
But the nurse was already running down the corridor, yelling, “Doctor, Doctor.”
“Peter, Peter.” The words barely passed Diana’s lips. An unbearable sadness weighed upon her, she sank into the sheets, into a void, her fingers searching for her baby. Come little baby, what is your name, I have milk for you. What’s happening to me? Peter, come to me, where are you, I need you, now …
The tapping of rapid footsteps, a face, a man’s face, peering at her. A sharp pain in her arm, an injection. Everything blurred, Diana’s eyelids fluttered and closed, she sighed, her lips curled with the beginning of a smile.
* * *
Bonn airport was closest but there was a quicker, direct connection from Frankfurt, an hour forty drive away in the rented Mercedes, which should get him there in time, if he raced. An Office contact met him with his flight ticket, and to return his car, which saved Peter another twenty minutes, and an El Al official raced him through VIP check-in straight to the aircraft. As he entered the plane the steps pulled back and the door closed.
From receiving the message a hundred miles away to takeoff it took two and a half hours. Couldn’t be quicker, he thought smugly. He hadn’t even checked out of his hotel room, that would be taken care of. Lucky he always carried his passport. The message from the Office was to return home instantly, and he’d taken them at their word. They had bought him a business-class ticket too, things were looking up.
But what was the hurry? Was it to get him back to Israel or out of Germany? If it was to leave Germany, then something must have gone wrong somewhere and he had to get out before he was arrested. But what? Maybe it wasn’t only to do with him but a related operation?
And if it was to get back to Israel, why? Skorzeny? Must be something to do with him. He’s not a person who can be handled. Diana would have never shaken his hand. She’d have shot him.
No complaints though, this way he’d get to see his baby sooner.
He fell asleep, playing with names for his little girl, and woke only with the loud clapping that greeted each successful landing in the Holy Land. Why did passengers always do that? He never joined in. Was it such a surprise the pilot landed the plane? Nobody ever applauded him for doing his job.
As Peter walked down the airplane steps he saw a familiar face from the Office, a young woman who worked in the reception area. That’s strange, he thought, but knew better than to ask her what was going on. She wouldn’t know anyway. She had been sent to fetch him, that’s all she would know.
They drove in an airport car from the plane straight to the VIP lounge. Why here? This was not good. He felt his heartbeat. Wary now, he followed the woman past the sofas and chairs, where a politician he recognized was drinking coffee with a group of people, probably reporters, leaning forward with notebooks in their hands.
He followed the young woman into a small room, and stopped in confusion, as she said, “I’ll be outside,” and closed the door.
Waiting for him were Arie and Tamara, her eyes red and swollen. She held a handkerchief in her hand. Arie looked like a ghost.
Peter went cold and felt he would vomit.
“What is it?” he said.
“What is it?” he said again, when they didn’t answer.
Arie’s face crumpled
. He stepped forward and took Peter into his arms. “I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry.”
“But what is it, tell me, is it my baby, what’s wrong?”
Tamara burst into tears. “No, Peter,” she said. “It’s Diana. Diana died.”
Peter froze. Not a muscle twitched, not an eyebrow rose, he didn’t blink. Slowly his eyes met Arie’s, who fought to compose himself. Peter didn’t feel Tamara’s arms around him, he heard nothing, he didn’t know that he was drinking water from a glass. He didn’t know that he had lowered himself onto the sofa and was lying on his back, eyes fixed on nothing, breathing deeply and loudly.
“Peter. Peter?” Arie said.
Peter’s heart thudded, harder and faster, the beat in his head got louder and rattled his skull, like a howl. He tried to stand but fell back. All he said was, “No, no.”
A doctor sedated Peter with an injection and they took him home.
* * *
Waves broke against a seawall, again and again, throwing up a plume of spray, which turned black. A river rose and rose and filled a canyon until it became a dam that burst, carrying with it houses and cars and people flailing and struggling against rapids breaking against huge rocks. Men struggled to breathe, little dots, they sucked in air and called for help as they went under. A baby screamed and that was too much.
Peter started awake in the dark, panting. There was breathing next to him. He didn’t understand and felt with his arm but the sleeping figure came awake and it was Arie. “Peter, Peter, are you okay?” He took Peter’s arm and shook it.
“Is it true?”
“Yes, Peter. I’m so sorry, it is.”
“Do the boys know?”
“No, they don’t. We thought we should wait till you were home. We’ll tell them if you like. Tamara will.”
“No. No. I will. But what happened? Oh, God. They said she was fine.”
“I don’t understand much, the doctors will tell you. There was internal bleeding, a huge amount, and I think they didn’t realize in time. Of course, they’ll never admit it. She went into shock, and then cardiac arrest. And it was Yom Kippur, a skeleton staff, they didn’t react quickly enough. They tried electric shock but it didn’t work. That’s what I understood. I may be wrong.”
Promised Land Page 23
