Separately, the men were interrogated hours on end. When they stood firmly behind their story, the torturing began. Dovid was thrashed on the soles of his feet, then dragged down the stone corridor into a windowless cell, with the door bolted behind him.
Absalom underwent the same horrors, but at least he had not, like Dovid, gotten a violent attack of malaria… In the middle of the night he rapped on the stone wall that separated the two cells. No response. He wondered if Dovid were still alive. Sliding down on the cold stone ground he had nothing to do but consider his own dismal future … it wasn’t so much dying that enraged him, but to die without having seen Sarah …
He thought only of her. As long as he could stay alive, she was his bridge to sanity.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SARAH, SEATED AT THE head of the table in the imposing dining room of her husband’s house, looked positively regal in her gold brocade, and her emerald and diamond jewels shimmered in the candle glow. Her radiance charmed General Von Himmelstein. This Jewess was enchanting, but how could she be married to such a boor? She made the other women seem pale in every respect by comparison.
“How do you find living in Constantinople?”
“Fascinating, and you?”
“Hardly Berlin… but with war, one settles for less.”
“I can imagine.”
“Then you have been there?”
“Yes, once, with my brother.”
“Then you know what I mean.”
“Of course.” She smiled, but scarcely listened. Here she lived in luxury while her people starved. And for all the indulgences of her husband, he’d not sent a coin to Palestine. He grew richer and richer from the war and was oblivious to the suffering of others. He all but pandered to the Turks.
Her loathing for him had become so great she would no longer even depreciate herself by living with him. Although she had entered into a loveless marriage, in the beginning it seemed unimportant… she had sacrificed for what she honestly believed was Rivka’s happiness, this man was genuinely fond of her, and that was enough. Children, to whom she could give all her devotion and love, would have compensated for all she’d given up, but she soon learned he was unable to give her the longed-for child. Now she was grateful she had none…
She was taken out of her reverie when she saw her husband nod from across the table to her, which was the cue for the ladies to retire to the drawing room so the men could smoke their long black cigars and sip their brandies while talking behind closed doors of how to cheat the government on materiel issued to the army.
Sarah sat on the brocade divan and poured the demitasse for the ladies, who discussed the latest fashions … Pity that Paris was a part of France … Such a shame the Germans hadn’t conquered the French yet … Of course these local merchants who called themselves couturiers were too dreadful for words … Well, that was war and one had to put up with the inconveniences … Sarah thought of the hills of Zichron, about the vague letters she received from Aaron and nothing from Absalom.
After the guests had left, Sarah went uneasily to the bedroom. She undressed, put on her peignoir and sat at the dressing table, brushing her hair. She saw her husband’s reflection as he spoke to her while taking off his clothes.
“You were indeed an asset to me this evening, my dear. Von Himmelstein was quite taken with you—”
“And that pleased you?”
“Of course, like the emerald around your neck, a beautiful wife can be invaluable. Your charm hardly hinders my position. In the case of Von Himmelstein, it was indeed important.”
“Really? In what way?”
“He happens to admire beautiful women.”
“And that doesn’t in some way offend you? Most husbands would resent another man expressing his thoughts so openly.”
“Not where Von Himmelstein is concerned …” She was being weighed by the pound … like his gold.
“What makes him the exception?”
“Every government purchase order has to be approved by him.”
“I see … and the two of you discreetly cheat the government. Instead of an item costing ten dollars, the price the government is charged is twenty and you and the general—”
He laughed. “You’re much too bright for a woman….”
After a sleepless night Sarah impatiently waited for her husband to leave. That morning she sat across the table from him as a dutiful wife. Went through all of the usual amenities of pouring his coffee and buttering his toast as he sat like a contented potentate.
As he wiped the crumbs from his moustache and folded his napkin he said, “You will wear the scarlet sari and rubies this evening, my dear. We’ll have the pleasure of entertaining a most distinguished Turkish official.”
“Will he also be enchanted with me, do you think?”
“Now, Sarah … well, I must leave … you will remember to be attentive to the governor’s wife this afternoon at tea?”
“I’ll remember every word you’ve said.”
When he was finally gone, Sarah leaned heavily against the door. Then she went quickly to her boudoir. Her personal maid had already prepared her bath and laid out her frock. She went through the usual routine of the morning except for one variation… she wrote a note to her husband.
There was no salutation:
I will be out of your reach by the time you read this. There are not sufficient jewels in the world to keep me living with a man as despicable as you. If you try to come after me I will expose your illicit dealings. Berlin would take a very dim view of that. For a woman I am indeed very bright, and my brother is not without influence.
She left the note, sealed, on his shaving stand, then opened the safe, took out the contents and laid them on the dresser. With a sense of relief she took off her wedding ring and placed it on top of the jewel case….
When the time came she stepped into a limousine and was driven to the governor’s mansion. She was the model of propriety and graciousness that would have made her husband feel his investment in her was worth every one of his jewels.
When it came time to leave, Sarah walked through the huge bronze doors to the street, where her chauffeur waited. “Drive me to Madame Armound’s.”
When the driver left her off she entered the couturier’s shop and waited until the chauffeur parked the car, then slipped out and hurried along the crowded street in the opposite direction. When she reached the marketplace she went into the first shop and purchased a traveling suit, a pair of shoes, some lingerie and a small overnight case. Leaving the shop she got into a cab that took her to the railroad station.
When she had finally been seated and leaned back in the coach, for the first time the tensions eased some.
From Constantinople she traveled to Damascus. The trip was a nightmare … trains were being requisitioned for the military, the searches were constant and the malfunctions were endless. For hours at a time she would wait until the parts were repaired. After what seemed like a month she finally got back to Zichron. The tension and weariness still showed in her face, but she would recover … she was home.
When she stood and looked at her hilltop, the tears came from her eyes. She forgot her fatigue and ran up the incline until, breathlessly, she opened the door to her beloved home. Echoes of her childhood rang in her ears … ema … abba … sounds of “Clair de Lune” … a Chopin waltz … Emily Bronte … Rivka … starched white dresses … pink hair ribbons … Aaron … dear Aaron … beloved Absalom … And then her mother came into the room. Malka Aaronson stood in hushed silence for a long moment. This was too much to take in. Then they were in each other’s arms as their words mixed with tears. “Sarahla, you’re home” … “Oh yes, ema,” … “Dear God, I can’t believe it, am I dreaming?” … “No, ema, it’s no dream, I’ve come home, and you’ll never lose me again …”
Now Malka held her daughter at arm’s length. Suffering was in her daughter’s eyes, but there would be time to talk later. “Come, Sarah, you must rest�
��”
“No, please … where is abba?”
“In the vineyard. Now go upstairs and refresh yourself. You will see him at dinner, but first you’ll want to see Aaron.”
Sarah crossed the courtyard to her brother’s small house. She hesitated for a moment. What would he say? Would Aaron—or her father—disapprove of her running away from a husband who had given her every luxury? More to the point … marriage was a contract, presumably sacred and not to be broken. Would he understand that she had to leave to save her sanity? She took a deep breath, opened the door and saw Aaron reading.
When he looked up, his reaction was like his mother’s shock. Slowly he got up from the chair, not quite believing she was there, then quickly took her in his arms and held her tight. In that moment Sarah knew she had returned to them. She was home. Without words of explanation, she knew Aaron somehow understood.
“Sarah, darling, you’re home …” He took her hand and they sat side-by-side on the sofa. Sarah was already feeling a sense of peace she’d not known since her marriage. They sat in silence, looking out at the rolling hills of Carmel, to the vineyard where abba was working the soil between the vines. The oleanders were in bloom. God, Sarah thought, this was home, and it was as close to paradise as she would ever be. Or want to be.
And then she turned to him, and her story poured out. She talked about her life… her husband … his insensitivity … “I felt as though I was prostituting myself, taking his gifts that had been paid for in blood. In Constantinople we knew what was happening to the Armenians, and life went on. While I sat at my husband’s lavish dinners, being the grand hostess, bedecked and bejeweled, an entire Armenian village was being wiped out. As I sipped tea with the governor’s wife their villages burned to the ground. A million people murdered. Doesn’t that go beyond human understanding? You must have heard about it here in Eretz Yisroel.”
Aaron nodded.
“But I’m afraid hearing and seeing are two different things. Some people in Constantinople were even denying it as propaganda against the Turks. They said that the warmongers were deliberately stirring up horror stories to inflame world opinion. But where are the civilized voices? I’ve heard no outcries. The Turks are so barbaric they left the roadsides stacked with corpses waiting to be buried. And the graves of those who had been were so shallow the human forms could be seen bulging beneath the dirt. Dead children, almost skeletons, were strewn about. Women raped a hundred times, then left to die of starvation. I heard about and I saw some of these sights when I traveled, though I wasn’t supposed to. The sound of the train wheels reverberated in my ears, and, Aaron, it sang out its warning, ‘The Jews are next … the Jews are next.’ I’d put my hands over my ears to drown out the prophecy … Yes, Aaron, we are next and the world won’t hear our cries, either. We have to save ourselves, Aaron … something has to be done before it’s too late …”
Sarah was trembling so, Aaron brought her a brandy.
When she’d calmed some, Aaron said, “Something will be done, Sarah …”
“We’ve said that for so long … where does our help come from?”
“Ele’azar asked that on another hilltop. When he stood in Herod’s temple at Masada and prayed, he found the answer. We here on our hilltop will find ours. Now, dearest, I think ema will be waiting for us to have dinner, and abba will be anxious to see you…”
Sarah felt a strangeness … an evasiveness in Aaron. She had felt something of it in his letters. It was as though he wanted to tell her but couldn’t.
“Aaron … there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”
“Nothing, Sarah … nothing.”
“I know you too well, Aaron … Whatever it is I want to help.”
He looked at her closely. Did he dare put her in the kind of danger knowledge of NILI would bring? Did he have a right not to?
“What is it?”
And then slowly he told her about NILI, how it had come about… When he had almost finished he said, “The Yishuv knows nothing … some of the Shomrim are against us … but above all, the village must not know. No one except those few who are involved. Ema and abba do not know and must never find out—”
“What about our brothers? Do Alex, Zvi and Shmuel know?”
“Only Alex is involved. I’m afraid we have a house divided. Zvi is in the Negev, and Shmuel in Galilee. It’s best that way, and I respect their feelings.”
“And Absalom?”
Aaron tried to turn away.
“What is it, Aaron, please tell me … I’m a woman, not a child you can protect I can help.”
There was a long pause, “Absalom is in jail.”
“Dear God, no! Where?”
“At Beersheba.”
“Why … what is he being held for?”
“I blame myself, I should have insisted it was too great a risk …” And he told her the story, from the time Dovid and Absalom had left.
Sarah suspected there was more … “Aaron, don’t keep anything back from me.”
He hesitated then: “I’m doing everything I can to … to save them. You must be very strong, Sarah. I’m sure you understand—”
“Are you telling me that they could be … hanged?”
Aaron nodded slowly.
For a moment Sarah thought her knees would collapse under her. “Take me to him, Aaron.”
Aaron looked at his sisters eyes. To deny her was difficult, but for her to see Absalom this way would be more painful. “Sarah, you said you wanted to help.”
“I do. This cause is mine too—”
“Sarah … somehow I’ll bring Absalom back to you. I promise. And you can be of help right now—”
“Anything, Aaron.”
“Tomorrow morning I want you to go to Jerusalem and bring Chavala back.”
“Yes, of course, Aaron. I’ll go. But you do assure me that Absalom and Dovid will return soon?”
He looked at his sister’s eyes. “Yes, I promise.”
He wished he could be convinced of what he’d said, but if anything happened to Absalom there would be time enough for Sarah to weep.
Aaron never took up an issue with Jamal Pasha that could be handled by lesser thieves. But in this case the Germans were involved. Even the bribes that were taken and stashed away did not release the men from prison. When Aaron complained to a Turkish underling, he shrugged and made further promises and more baksheesh was extorted. But the sands in Absalom’s and Dovid’s hourglass were running very low.
This time as a show of strength, he took two of the top agronomists with him, Samuel Guri from Athlit and Zalman Kishon from Hadera. At this moment Aaron had never been more appreciated by Jamal Pasha. His star was high in the royal orbit. The Turkish granary was bulging with an enormous tonnage of grain and fodder, which had been delivered the previous week.
Jamal Pasha greeted Aaron and the two men with Oriental exuberance.
“Ah… my dear Aaronson.”
Aaron acknowledged the greeting. “You have met my chief agronomists, Mr. Kishon from Hadera and Mr. Guri from Athlit?”
Pasha looked at the two men, then realized he’d never seen them and if he had he surely couldn’t remember. “Yes, of course … now sit … sit.” Handing the cigarette box to Aaron first, Jamal said, “These are the finest, they are made personally for me … a special blend, so aromatic.”
Aaron never smoked, but he took one to oblige, as did Kishon and Guri. To refuse would be a gross breach of etiquette.
“They’re marvelous, wouldn’t you say?”
“Marvelous,” Aaron answered. “Now I believe—”
Jamal interrupted, wanted to savor the moment, knowing the best was yet to come. Aaron was bringing him good news. “You’ve ridden far … let me have some coffee brought.”
“That would be fine.”
All three despised the dark black bitter brew, but Absalom’s and Dovid’s lives were surely worth a sour stomach.
After the ritual hospitalit
y was finished, Jamal’s eyes glistened as though with lust after a woman. “Now, to the reason you are here. How much wheat, barley and fodder do you have this time—?”
“None,” Aaron answered calmly.
“None… do I hear you correctly?”
“Yes, and would you like to know why?”
“Would I like to know why?” He got up and commenced pacing the room.
Turning abruptly, Jamal shouted, “Why?”
“Because you keep putting my men in prison.”
“I put your men in prison? Your men have never been molested since that little episode in Jaffa. I gave you my word it would never happen again, and now you sit there with this accusation?”
“The manager at the station in Hadera is now being held in Beersheba as well as my top agronomist from Athlit … I can only deliver what you want if I have the men … I don’t mean the fellaheen … mere workers … to get the yield you want requires the brains of men like Guri here. How much tonnage, Samuel, were you personally able to have produced in this last shipment?”
“Five thousand tons of grain this spring, by rotating the crops last fall … which, of course, was not my idea but Dovid’s.”
“And what was your productivity, Zalman?”
“At Hadera we produced three thousand tons of fodder over and above the prior shipment.”
“How responsible for that yield were you, personally?”
“Well, I’d say I made my contribution, but without Absalom’s scientific expertise it could never have happened.”
“And there you have it. Workers to plow, to harvest, to sack, to pick and to deliver, we can get easily. But without men like Landau and Feinberg we have no production.”
Jamal frowned. Landau and Feinberg? Those two Jews could grow figs in the Sinai! Never mind if he liked them or not, the important thing was that they had been responsible for those yields. Jew or Armenian, made no difference, whoever could produce was vital to winning the war and to his private treasury … “Let’s begin again. You say your men are being held in Beersheba?”
No Time for Tears Page 19
