by Judith Gould
The tour took up the better part of the morning and overlapped into the afternoon. Dani saved the fields and irrigation system for last. Before they headed out there, he stopped off at the single men's dormitory to get his rifle.
Wordlessly Tamara watched him sling it over his shoulder in the kind of casual manner that told of his having done it many hundreds of times before. As they walked through the fields, Dani pointed out the armed sentries keeping guard while the kibbutzim toiled. Tamara was more than a little disconcerted to find that every fieldhand had not only farming tools at hand but also a loaded rifle within easy reach.
She struggled to keep up with Dani's pace. He was fit and used to the heat, but she was beginning to tire. Small as the kibbutz was, the sun was overwhelming and she felt hot, wilted. Her feet hurt and her shoes pinched; sturdy as they were, they hadn't been made for walking in such rugged terrain, and she'd been on her feet for hours. Her head was spinning from all the information Dani threw at her.
She was relieved when the tour was finally over and they headed back to the dim coolness of her father's house. Schmarya had not yet returned, and this time Dani came inside. They sat facing each other across the round parlour table. He'd pushed the menorah off to one side so they could look at each other without obstruction, and poured two glasses of wine. Tamara was so parched that she had to gulp two full glasses of water before taking cautious sips of the wine.
Even so, because of her sudden tiredness, it went straight to her head.
Dani's deceptively lazy eyes studied her openly from across the table. She felt a stirring of fear. They were too intent for her comfort, those eyes. Their tawniness seemed both to leap out at her and to stretch back into endless smouldering depths. There was something unsettling about them, as if they could see into places her eyes could not.
He caught her look. 'Is something the matter?'
She shook her head and quickly lowered her eyes as though the wineglass she cupped in her hands was worthy of study.
'You are beautiful,' he said softly, startling her. 'Even more beautiful than on film.'
She felt a rush of emotion and looked up. 'You saw some of my films?' Quickly she raised her glass and drained it, hoping the wine would clear away her awkwardness.
'I have seen one. Anna Karenina, at the cinema in Jerusalem. I enjoyed it very much. I never liked Tolstoy until then.' He smiled.
She returned the smile, feeling silly at how important his approval suddenly was to her.
He picked up the wine bottle and refilled her glass without once taking his eyes off her. 'Are you still planning to return to Tel Aviv on Friday?'
She nodded. 'That's when I told Inge I would be back. If I don't show up, she'll worry herself sick.'
'Why do you not invite her to come here?'
She looked startled. 'Can I?'
'Of course.'
'But . . . Brigadier Diggins. He's been having his men follow us. Surely sooner or later he's bound to find both of us here.'
Dani suddenly laughed. 'Your father is an old fox. He has outwitted the brigadier for years. What makes you think the brigadier can catch him now?'
'I don't know. Me?'
Dani shook his head. 'Your father is like a phantom. He has been known to appear and disappear at will. Once the brigadier actually caught him, and he escaped right from under his nose.' He paused and grinned, but his voice was low. 'Does that change your mind about staying?'
'Yes,' she said a little too quickly. Giddily, she felt both disturbed and immensely pleased. She wondered if he were aware of the power he held over her. 'Yes,' she repeated more slowly, huskily.
'I am glad that is settled, then. I shall send a message to Tel Aviv so your friend need not worry about you. On Monday, someone will go fetch the rest of your luggage and drive your friend here.'
She stared at him. 'You seem to have it all worked out.'
'I like to think so.' He smiled rakishly. 'You see, I enjoy your company. You are not like any woman I have ever known.'
She felt an irrational pinch of jealousy. He was extraordinarily handsome. Extremely masculine. There must have been plenty of women.
He seemed to sense her thoughts and reached across the table to take her hand in his. 'So, it is all set then, yes?'
She nodded dumbly.
'Good. I, for one, hope you like it here.' He flashed her that lopsided grin that had been so evident yesterday but had been lacking throughout the seriously conducted tour. 'You see, it is very important to me that you do.'
'And why should that be?'
He leaned closer and held her gaze. 'Because I do not want to move. I like it here.'
'Why should you have to move?'
'Because I intend to marry you.'
Chapter 27
But they didn't marry until more than a year had passed. She wanted to make certain first that she was really in love with Dani and that she could live happily on the kibbutz. Meanwhile, she lived in her father's house so that she wouldn't have to move into the single women's dormitory, something both she and Dani agreed would cloud her view of communal living. It turned out to be a favourable arrangement, since Schmarya was gone most of the time and she usually had the house to herself.
'If we were married, we could have a home of our own,' Dani told her during one of his daily visits.
'I know,' she replied, 'but I'm not ready for that yet.'
'I love you.'
'I love you too. But if I find I go crazy living here, I don't want that to ruin a marriage. This place is your life, Dani. Your soul is here. We both know that you wouldn't be happy anyplace else. So please, don't rush me. I just need more time.' She curled the chest hair which poked out of the V of his half-open shirt around a finger.
'If that is all it is,' he said doubtfully.
'That's all it is,' she assured him.
And it was true. She simply wasn't ready to be rushed into marriage. So far, the siren's call of Hollywood hadn't tempted her at all. Making movies wasn't glamorous, it was hard work. Nor did she miss Los Angeles. Here, away from the jungle of city life, she could enjoy calm and introspection. Fans weren't all over her wherever she went, screaming and clawing at her and shoving autograph books in her face. Above all, here there were no reminders of the painful past. At Ein Shmona, every newcomer arrived with a clean slate and could have a fresh start in life. For the time being, at least, she liked the feeling of being removed from the rest of the world and felt at home. And why shouldn't I? she often asked herself. This was the rugged chosen land of her father, and tracing her lineage back two or three thousand years to her forebears would surely have led her to this same merciless terrain which had been the chosen land of Moses and Esther and King David as well. Although she couldn't have explained it, just being here felt somehow right. The Biblical past seemed to come alive for her.
For the first time in her life she felt Jewish, and she liked it.
Here was her past, and here, she hoped, would be her future.
Meanwhile, there was more than enough to keep her busy. She didn't want to be a burden, so she insisted upon doing her share by working in the fields. Not content with her ignorance of Judaism, she set out to embrace and practise her faith wholeheartedly. She read books, went to temple, asked endless questions. Three evenings a week she attended classes in Hebrew. After six months she was proficient enough to teach drama and English classes in the school.
Everything was new and exotic and fascinating. She loved the sabbath, with the solemn ritual of lighting the Shabbas nacht lichten, the traditional foods, the stories of the Old Testament which were far more exciting than anything Hollywood screenwriters had ever come up with. But she loved the holidays best of all. That was when she really felt the gap between the present and the ancient days closing, so that the centuries seemed merged into one.
Of course, there were heartaches too. Inge hated the kibbutz. She stayed for three months, but then she couldn't take it any longer. She loathed the
constant heat, the lack of seasons, the perpetual drought. She complained about the scarcity of commonplace items she had always taken for granted, and about the demands communal living made upon her. Being Catholic, she felt like a perpetual outsider. 'It is a nice place to visit,' she said, 'but I do not think I could stay here forever.'
One evening when Tamara came back after toiling in the fields, she found Inge packing her bags. For a moment she could only stare in shock. 'Inge! What are you doing?'
Inge did not look up. 'What does it look like I'm doing? I am packing.'
'But you're not leaving already! Maybe if you give it a little more time . . .'
Inge shoved the last stack of neatly folded blouses into a suitcase and pressed down firmly on the lid with one hand. With the other she snapped the latches shut and then straightened, clapping her hands as though to rid them of dust. She turned to Tamara. 'There. I believe that is everything.'
Tamara came over and stood in front of her. 'But you can't go!' Desperation was strong in her voice.
'Liebchen, I must.'
'But how will I live without you?' Tamara asked wretchedly. 'We've been together ever since I was a baby!'
'You love Dani.'
Tamara nodded. 'Yes, I do.'
'Then I think you will live very happily without me,' Inge said gently.
'But what are you going to do?'
'Remember the days I spent alone at the hotel in Tel Aviv when you first came here?'
Tamara nodded.
'Well, then you will remember the people I told you I had met, the Steinbergs.'
'The ones from Boston,' Tamara said glumly.
Inge nodded. 'They have written to me and want me to come to Boston. The children's governess has quit her job, and they want me to fill the position. Linda and Marty Steinberg are lovely children, and they need me. Mrs. Steinberg wrote that I was the only person they ever took to so well.'
'I should never have left you alone at the hotel.'
Inge stood silent for a moment. 'Sooner or later, we would have had to part, you know. The two of us could not live together for the rest of our lives. All little birds need to fly and make their own nests. Now that you have found yours, be happy!'
'But are you really, really sure you don't want to stay? We can make a whole new life for ourselves here, Inge! There's so much to be done! For the first time ever, I feel as though I'm really needed.'
'What you are feeling is good.' Inge nodded. 'Knowing that makes it much easier for me to leave.'
Tamara paced agitated little circles. 'There's so much good you could do here too.'
Inge smiled. 'I am sure there is, and I will come back and visit you from time to time. It is not as if we had a fight and are parting enemies, never to see each other again.' She walked around the bed and took Tamara's hands and held them. 'This is a nice place to visit, Liebchen, but I prefer something greener, with seasons.' She gave a wan little smile. 'I am a little old to play pioneer, you know.'
'But you're not old!'
Inge regarded her with a tilted head and then stroked her cheek. 'Tamara,' she said softly, 'everything is working out for the best. Can you not see that? You have found a place for yourself here, and I have found a place for myself.' She gave Tamara's hands an affectionate squeeze. 'You have a whole new life ahead of you, and so do I. What more could we ask for?'
'To be together,' Tamara said glumly.
'Tamara.' Inge sighed, let go of her hands, pulled up a chair, and pushed Tamara down into it. She pulled up a chair opposite. 'You have found your father, plus a handsome man you love, and even an exciting new world. Be satisfied with that! You know I cannot be with you forever.'
Tamara looked across the room at the pieces of luggage. There was something so infinitely sad about packed bags.
'Now do me a favour,' Inge said. 'Since I am leaving in the morning, and have finished packing, let us spend the rest of the evening together, drinking wine and reminiscing. I want our last hours to be happy ones.'
Tamara forced a smile. 'All right.'
'Good. And who knows? Someday, perhaps, we will be together again.'
'Someday, perhaps ... I feel like I've deserted you!' Tamara blurted.
'No, no!' Inge said harshly. 'Do not speak like that. You are certainly not deserting me.'
'But it just won't be the same without you.'
'I should hope not!' Inge said with comic gruffness.
Schmarya and Tamara looked up expectantly as Dani came in and slipped into one of the parlour chairs. He was agitated, his face grim.
'It is official, then?' Schmarya asked heavily.
Dani nodded angrily. 'Yes,' he said tightly, 'I have just returned from Jerusalem. It is official. God help us all.' He clenched his fist and suddenly slammed it down on the table with such force that the menorah teetered precariously. None of them made a move to steady it. 'You know what this means,' he added miserably.
Schmarya sighed. 'This damn White Paper.' He shook his head sadly. 'Sometimes I think Jews were put on this earth only to suffer.'
'Isn't there anything we can do?' Tamara asked.
'We are doing everything we can,' Schmarya replied wearily, 'which is not enough. No, my children, not nearly enough. We are at the mercy of Great Britain, and we are powerless. With the White Paper reducing immigration to 75,000 Jews over the next five years, the British have cut it to a mere trickle. They have, in effect, nearly stopped it.'
'But why!' Tamara wanted to know.
'Why?' Her father laughed humourlessly. 'Because the British are afraid that war with Germany is inevitable, and they are taking no chances. Britain is terrified that Hitler will win the Arabs'to his side.' He sighed again. 'So the British government has sold us down the river in exchange for barrels of crude oil. They are more concerned about commerce than about Jews.' He smiled wryly. 'It was to be expected, I suppose. We should have known in our hearts that something like this would happen.'
Tamara was pale. 'So in other words, the German Jews who wish to emigrate—'
'—will be slaughtered,' her father finished for her. He rubbed his weary face with his fingertips. 'They are as good as dead already.'
'How can we let—'
'Wait.' Dani held up a hand. 'There is more.'
They stared at him.
'Although it is not yet law, a proposal has also been made giving the high commissioner the power to keep Jews from moving around in certain regions within this country.'
Everything inside Tamara stood still. 'They can't be serious!'
'Let me assure you, they are dead serious,' Dani said.
'It will be like Russia all over again.' Schmarya was perturbed, but not in the least bit surprised. 'We should have seen that coming also,' he murmured, nodding slowly. 'It would close off half of all Palestine to Jews. It is the answer to all the Arab prayers.'
'And two more things . . .' Dani began.
Tamara's voice was a strained whisper. 'You mean there's still more?'
'I am afraid so. They want to put heavy restrictions on the sale of land currently owned by non-Jews. In other words, the Jewish Agency would find it nearly impossible to purchase more land—'
'But that's preposterous!' Tamara interrupted.
'That is reality,' Dani said. 'Now for the last item, the biggest slap in the face of them all. The British want to establish Palestinian self-government within ten years' time. One based on Palestine's present population, needless to say. In other words—'
'Since Palestine is two-thirds Arab, and the Jewish population cannot increase much more, it would be an Arab government,' Tamara murmured.
'Exactly.'
Schmarya scraped his chair back and stretched his legs in front of him. 'They way I see it there is only one thing we can do,' he said flatly.
They both looked at him.
Schmarya's face was as hard as granite. 'Since we cannot afford to let what the British propose take place, we must step up our efforts to win our freed
om from the British. I shall go and speak with David Ben-Gurion tomorrow. He will call a meeting of the Community Council, and perhaps we can come up with a strategy.'
'Do you really think you stand a chance?' Tamara asked. 'I mean, Great Britain is so strong. Surely—'
A faint smile touched her father's lips. 'Did not David slay Goliath?' he asked her softly.
She reflected on his words, and then she made her decision. 'I want to help in any way I can. Count me in on whatever you plan to do.'
Both men stared at her in surprise.
She looked from one to the other. 'What's the matter?'
'I ... I guess you caught us a little off-guard,' Schmarya said mildly.
'Why should I have?' she asked. 'This is my country too, you know.' She tossed her head. 'My mind is made up. I intend to stay here for good.' Her smile across the table at Dani was glorious. 'Would you please set a date for the wedding, darling?'
They married two weeks later.
There was no justice of the peace, no media-attended circus. They were married by a rabbi under a chuppa. The ceremony would have done Zelda Ziolko proud.
They spent a blissful honeymoon at Eilat, and for two weeks left the cares of the world behind. All they had eyes for was each other, as if they were the only two people alive on earth. They walked the palm-lined beaches hand in hand, dived in the cool, transparent Red Sea, and chased the colourful, fleeting schools of fish along the spectacular shoals of the rainbow reefs. They joked, cuddled, and shrieked like carefree children, chasing each other with spiny crabs, threatening to slip them into each other's bathing suits. When he scraped his foot on the treacherous coral, she bathed the wound, kissed it solemnly, and made it well. As if such a thing were possible, each day seemed better than the last and brought contentedness on an ever-higher scale. Tamara had never been happier in her life. The memories of Louis became hazier, and the sharp twinges of pain she felt whenever she thought of him were becoming more and more subdued. She truly believed that Louis would have been happy for her.
