The Settlers

by Meyer Levin

  In Nazareth, Shabbatai Zeira was arrested. The Bimbashi Achmed Bey, and his blundering nephew Sayed had been swept aside as Hassan Bek took all in his charge. Whoever had not been arrested of the Jewish leaders must be seized. Every shomer must be seized. And from Nazareth to Gilboa came the most gruesome tales. The “specialist from Beirut” was in attendance, a doctor who watched as men were brought to the verge of death and then gave them respite, so that the torture could begin all over again. If any emerged, it would be as broken men.

  Only if Zev were found might it all come to an end; if he was not dead and devoured by hyenas, he must be found; the entire Yishuv was now desperately searching for him.

  When Leah brought Menahem’s food to him that night in Gidon’s cave, she saw at once in her brother-in-law’s eyes that peculiar glowing melancholy that came upon him where hatred and bitterness came to others. The look was not of despair but of the sick-heartedness one sometimes feels in the face of insensate suffering, as at the side of a doomed, fevered child. Nor could one have the solace of accusing God, of questioning God, since God was no longer believed in.

  As was his way, Menahem spoke only of what moves should still be made, in a dark voice but with his thin bitter smile. From his yeshiva days he had retained at least one rule against sin: despair was forbidden. First, Leah herself must not remain here in Mishkan Yaacov but had best at once leave the Galilee. If, because of the new tumult about Zev’s escape at Metulla, the searches had not yet reached Mishkan Yaacov, they were still certain to come. And though neither Motke nor Avraham Halperin would reveal anything of her presence that night in the carriage, what might happen if she were apprehended here, arrested, and beaten? No, another Sara Aaronson was not wanted. He had thought everything out. She had best return to her girls and remain as though she had been there all the while. She could return there on a wagon with sacks of grain from her father, and if stopped on the way, she was bringing wheat for the refugees. Schmulik must ride with a rifle to protect the grain, and then he could bring back the mules and the wagon.

  Climbing down, Leah’s limbs were heavy. Below spread the village, and the kvutsa, and beyond were the fields of two more kvutsoth that had grown in these years, and also of the village of Kinnereth, there lay all the golden clean oblongs of harvested fields, the green squares in fodder, and the winding pale green lanes of eucalyptus that she and Reuven and the chevreh had planted knee-deep in mud; all lay so peaceful.

  What wrong, what evil had they done in all this? Were they still to be driven out to the Armenian fate whose threat had never been lifted from them? How could—not God—but mankind, the world itself, permit all this endless cruelty?

  And what had been done about the Armenian fate? Two years had passed, and who spoke of it, except those who feared it for themselves?

  Then Leah drove all this from her mind. No, she was giving way to panic, she was lacking in courage.

  All day Zev had lain hidden high in the Lebanon hills, in a cradle of stones heaped around him. At night he had moved westward, to reach the sea.

  The sun reached the stones and when it rose high, reached into his wound. He felt the flesh healing. Malka’s bread was half finished.

  His thirst grew. He scarcely knew the region except that far down there must be the Litani. Could he show himself, even to a stray shepherd? All would be hunting him now, the Jews themselves, the Shomer added to the Turks, and for the gold on his head, the Arabs. The mark of Cain—he could have laughed at such children’s tales, but still, Cain wasn’t hanged—God only sent him into exile. What did even the Bible know of what could be done to a man, by men? Then Zev cried at himself, “Idiot.” In their good days when he and Sara had frequented the hotels in Jerusalem, she had taught him one thing, “Don’t imagine everyone knows about you all that you know about yourself.” Oh, she had such intelligence.

  And only now the grief for her broke through in his heart. A long time, he lay still. She seemed to come and say to him, “Foolish one, do the fellaheen hereabouts even know that in the world a vast war is taking place?”

  If he found a cluster of houses around a stone well, could he not appear by the well, saying he had lost his way seeking a short cut to Zidon? Water, then olives, goat’s cheese, pittah, even dates—he had coins on him still.

  Thus, walking in the nights, Zev on the fourth day came in sight of the sea, and through two more nights, following the shore, came below Haifa. It was as though a charge of strength flowed up into him from the familiar earth. The night no longer was night to him; just so it must be to a blind man when he is in his familiar room. There he moves freely.

  * * * *

  How many nights had they lain together waiting among these rocks of Athlit, for the blink of a ship’s light? Zev hastened into a half-run, as though the outline of the British vessel must surely be out there, discernible beyond the high jagged outline of the ruined walls. He could almost hear Sara, as always, running with him, falling behind out of breath, calling, “Wait for me.”

  For a moment he stood still from the blow of her absence, just as he used to stand waiting for her to catch up. And then he moved on. She herself had sent him bread. “Live!”

  Each thing that had happened since contained a sign. Alone he had escaped them all, once again, and here he stood unhindered in the very place where they should have been waiting to trap him. Saraleh, here I am! The sign of fate was absolute. To have reached this far meant he would succeed to the end.

  With the British he would return, a commander of advance troops. The first he would search out would be Motke, and—a blaze of fire. Even before the Turks, before Hassan Bey and Hassan Bek, he would cut down the whole pack of his own, Shimshoni too, the “idealist,” and all the “fair” ones. Only Menahem had been half decent, perhaps because of Leah’s influence there in the carriage. Menahem he might spare.

  At a half-run, Zev came to the ruined wall. Close to the base, the fourth large stone—he clawed at it, heaved it over. Here, he and Sara had dug.

  Nothing. Only Sara had known this place. In the last, might she have sent their trusted Abu, hoping still to buy off Hassan Bek with a barrel of gold? His wound throbbed. His strength flowed out like tidewater. Zev let himself drop, mindless of the sharp stones. Let the waters come in and sweep him out, this was the bleak jest he had known awaited him, all his life.

  There was one other place, but what use to look? Then something returned to him: A time Malka had caught him stealing a few bishliks from her jar of house money, and the uncle had beaten him until the rod broke. As soon as his wounds half-healed he had taken every coin in the crock and fled Metulla forever. Zev pulled himself up and made for the second hiding place. His fingers tore through the layer of earth and almost at once felt the wooden cover of the keg. Yes! the top was still nailed down. With stones, with torn fingers, he pried it open. Even in the night the luster appeared. One keg for him. The half of what they had put away. Sara had thought of him even in the end, she had left this untouched for him.

  And this time there came a flow of tears.

  Filling his pockets, Zev covered the rest, for this too was an assurance to himself that he would vanquish, he would return and yet be rich. With a heady recklessness he even made his way toward the agricultural station. Who knew? Once before the English had managed to leave a message.

  The highway was empty as he had known it must be, for him. There in their lanes stood Aaron’s palm trees, their distances perfectly measured by Aaron Aaronson himself in the planting. The whole area lay still; the fellaheen had surely quit this place as accursed. And here he, the hunted one, walked freely.

  The door was open, its lock smashed. Papers, books, broken jars, specimens, dried excrement, a smell of spilled chemicals and urine.

  Upstairs, the same. The bookcases where they had kept tea and biscuits for their long vigils, all broken glass.

  Behind the agricultural station rose the Carmel; at the top was a village of the Druze. Zev climbed th
e slope. On the outskirts of the town a rider was just emerging from his yard. With words in their own tongue, Zev stopped him; the Turks had just seized his mount, Zev said, and he had far to travel. He had gold, he would pay a good price for the horse.

  In the face of the young Druze, Zev saw that his luck still held. The Druze asked no questions. Though he would not sell his own mount, he brought out an excellent mare from his stable; Zev even bargained a bit to make everything seem normal. And a large, warm pittah was fetched, together with several balls of sheep-cheese such as they made.

  At last he was mounted again!

  As though an insect were crawling on her skin, the sense of a prowling presence came to Leah in her sleep. Wakening, she listened, hearing nothing but the breathing of her girls. Yet she sensed the presence.

  Not far off, perhaps in the lane on the other side of the dense acacia bushes, she heard a horse neighing. Then she heard a tiny scratching, a fingernail it could be, on the pane behind her cot. As though someone knew where she lay.

  And still her girls slept in their weariness.

  Leah put her face against the window. Above her pots of geraniums, in the dark glass, she could make out indistinctly the form of a head. She knew. It was he. Even through the black pane the huntedness came to her.

  Taking her hobnailed shoes in her hand, she moved barefoot between the two rows of girls. Their breathing made the air of the room heavy but not unpleasant. Like the summer night air at home when she had slept in one room with all her brothers and sisters.

  Outside the door she still moved barefoot, keeping to the cabin wall, but she did not find him. Then he moved out from behind a cypress, and caught her hand. His skin was like burning iron.

  Her first hushed outcry was, “You’re feverish.” Then, “Are you mad, twenty girls are in there, it only needs one to wake and scream.”

  “Water,” Zev murmured.

  “Wait behind the acacias. I’ll bring it.”

  Slowly his fingers unlocked from her arm. His eyes hovered over her face. Leah moved with him, half-supporting him, as far as the break in the acacia wall. “For the horse too,” he gasped.

  Just inside the cabin entrance they kept a tall jar of water; Leah gathered a tin cup, a pail. She found him by his horse. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she saw now that his face was hollow, stubbled, he was half starved and in a malarial attack. A dirty scarf was around his neck, with dark patches, dried blood. “They shot at me. My old comrades. Motke tried to assassinate me.” He gulped more water. “Nothing can kill Zev!” he half-cackled. “I got away. All the way from Metulla, I got here.”

  From the other end of the land, wounded, hunted by everyone. For an instant there coursed through Leah, unwanted and denied, that peculiar unquenchable self-pride of a woman to whom a man has made his way despite every peril. And she wanted to cry back, “No, no, Zev, not me! You are mistaken.” It was not through feelings of that kind that she had made the men take him into the carriage. Even now, he must not imagine it.

  They could not remain in the open lane. If caught here, he en dangered even the girls. “Come. Hurry.” But the horse? A horse’s neighing might attract a dog. Tomorrow Leah could say she had bought the animal from some Bedouin, to haul their produce. “Wait.” She would tie it up in their lean-to. But in the morning—what to tell the girls? Last night there had been no animal. How? From whom? She would make a mystery of it as though it had to do with the transfer of arms. Ask no questions.

  In dazed weakness Zev followed her into the grove. Luckily the old watchman’s hut was no longer used for arms. Ah, if the Turks were to comb all the abandoned huts in all the groves, whom would they not find!

  A half-rusted padlock hung on the door; Leah had the key.

  Inside they felt their way to a small pile of empty sacks. Zev could hardly stand long enough for her to spread the burlap on the earth. He slid down then, and at once the shivering overtook his body; his knees pulled up; doubled, he huddled into a ball.

  Then the tale poured from him. Again and again Leah attempted to hush him, attempted to leave, promising to return with food, with quinine, but each time she tried to rise up, the fingers clawed at her skirt, her arm, with the fierce strength of the fevered.

  All, all, the betrayal at Shimshoni’s Har Tsafon, the two watchmen on the floor at Metulla. Bitterly he told of his homecoming. “Malka—a mother to me, she drove me out.” The mountain nights alone, hunted, and at last the ruins of Athlit, and the empty hole where the gold had been, under the rock, and casting himself down in despair to be carried away by the tide. And then the second hiding place. “It was there! It was a sign!” As though fed on each escape, his pitch rose, from the bitterest hatred to his old unconquerable boasting. Nothing could kill him! Alone against all the hunters! On these last days and nights, passing through the thick of them! Only the fields for shelter. Not a drink of water. But he would live and revenge himself on his enemies.

  Then, as if all was proven, all was concluded and certain, “Leah, I have gone through the flames, and believe me, all the rot of me has burned away. Leahleh, only one week, two weeks, keep me here until the English come. You—for me you were always the real woman. Leah, I have gold. I will buy a pardess of a thousand dunans. You will be a queen. All the others, what are they, nothings, a man’s passing need. Only Sara I revered, and she, she was far above me, she was not like us of the ordinary earth. All the others—nothings. They would let a man die. But a woman, a real woman—” and amazingly his tongue fell into the chant of the Sabbath blessing, Eshet chayeel, a woman of valor, what is she—and Leah found herself choked, even weeping, not for him, but with tears slowly coursing down her cheeks, tears for she did not know who, for Sara, for the train of prisoners, for the miserable starved Turkish deserters who came begging for bread, for Avshalom who had ridden away from here to his death.

  Zev’s head was in her lap; a new, violent trembling had come over his body, his words had fallen away, she heard his teeth striking against each other and she held his head, but his body thrashed as though the limbs would break. Then she slid down on the earth and held him against her until at last the thrashing subsided and he slept, the poor, fevered, hunted one, the hated one, the mistaken one, the braggart and the weakest of men.

  When word came to Hassan Bek in Nazareth that the hunted one had again escaped, his hurling fury was such as one read about in despots of ancient times. It was such that among his blasphemies his commands could not be heard, his servants and subalterns fled his riding whip, he raged through the corridors, the stables; unable to remain in one place, he mounted and clattered off with a troop to make arrests in person—every one of the Jews was a traitor, a spy, he would tear their secrets out of their flesh. That treacherous Jew, that shomer that had been brought back from the north, let him hang by his feet until the truth tumbled out of his mouth—a shomer, they were all in it, he would castrate the lot of them! Let every house in every settlement be searched, let that lying conniving Kurdish Jew from Sejera be sent to Damascus, there Djemal Pasha would know how to burn the truth out of him, and that fat fool of a Kaymakam in Tiberias, that Jew lover, Azmani Bey, who had not made a single arrest, let him move his fat carcass, what was he waiting for, Hassan Bek could not be everywhere at once—out! out! send the fat-belly out to scour the settlements.

  Mati would be the least likely to be noticed, a boy carrying bread and cheese and a jar of water as though for himself in the fields, and he was still small enough so that his head could scarcely be seen above the high brambles when he climbed.

  His uncle Menahem the shomer had moved from Gidon’s cave, for sometimes sheep and goats grazed nearby. It was now Reuven’s cave that he was hiding in, the one Reuven had explored long ago, letting himself down with a rope tied around a big rock above. The cave had only a small mouth in the face of the height, and Reuven had said that in the times of the Romans, Jewish fighters had hidden inside there.

  Menahem had already caught
sight of Mati approaching, and now gave a bird whistle.

  Making sure there was not a goat or a sheep on the hillside, Mati moved closer along the cliff wall, so even a watcher could not see; he was careful not to leave a trodden path in the brush. Directly below the cave he looked upward. In the half-light his uncle’s face appeared, the height of three men above him, and then Menahem let down the rope for the provisions. But what Mati had been puzzling over was how Menahem got into the cave the first time, after he had seen a shepherd too close to his other hiding place. Menahem hadn’t even had a rope; it was Schmulik who brought it to him after he heard the bird-whistle signal from the new place.

  “How did you get in?” Mati asked.

  “What do you think, Mati?” his uncle answered, as a test.

  “Did you climb down, or up?”

  “Find out.” Slowly, Menahem pulled up the food.

  The boy stood, carefully examining each crevice in the rock. His uncle was not like a teacher who, if you don’t give the answer right away, makes you feel you’re a stupid.

  “I am a human fly,” Menahem whispered down. Only with children did he sometimes show such playfulness.

  It was true, Mati considered, that flies oozed out a stickiness so that they could walk on walls, and upside down. Perhaps the men of the Shomer had discovered how to make such a substance and stick it on their hands and feet—no, that was foolishness.

  Something in Menahem’s look made him study the rock sidewise. There Mati saw a faint ridge. It would be very hard, but a man could creep along there. And also Mati saw crevices where a man might work downward from the top, clinging with toes and fingers. Then he could inch sidewise, and thus the cave could be reached. Why had he not seen this until now? “Sidewise,” he gave the answer.