No Time for Tears

by Cynthia Freeman

  She turned and kissed him. “I thought it was ours.”

  “You should have thought about that while I was taking a shower. Don’t forget it next time.”

  “How about aboard ship? A date?”

  “A date … now, darling, you’d better get it moving. We’ve got exactly one hour before sailing.”

  They arrived at dockside just in time to say good-bye to the family, who’d been nervously waiting for them. Then, amidst serpentine streamers, confetti and boat whistles they waved good-bye to the family below as the ship made its way out of New York harbor on its way to Bermuda.

  It seemed to Chavala she was spending her days in good-byes.

  Two days later Sheine and Gunter were bound for Berlin, and in the next forty-eight hours the others would be going back to Palestine.

  The morning of their departure, as Chavala, Dovid, Reuven and Joshua sat having breakfast, she tried very hard not to think about the moments ticking away. For the moment she was tempted, very tempted, to give it all up in America, to go back with her family to Palestine, especially in the glow of having been with Dovid, having her body renewed by the nights together with him. But it wasn’t so easy, even though the rationalizations were powerful … she had come a long way, built her business. But the need of her family once they returned to Palestine would not have disappeared. And could she leave the whole burden on Moishe, newly married, or Chia? Of course not…

  And then the temptation turned almost to a demand, a challenge, when Reuven, all unexpectedly—except, if she thought about it, it really shouldn’t have been so unexpected—looked across the table at her, hesitated, and then blurted out what he’d been thinking about almost since the first minute he’d come to New York … Could Joshua come back with them to Palestine? At least for a visit?

  Seeing the expression of dismay on his mother’s face, Reuven realized he hadn’t exactly said it right. “What I meant, mother, it’s only June and Joshua won’t be starting kindergarten until September and … well, it would be great to have him for even a little while …”

  Dovid, as surprised as Chavala, held his breath, waiting for her answer. Of course her first impulse was to say no, it was out of the question, but that impulse gave way to what she knew was only fair … after all, Dovid, and Reuven, had been deprived by her of Joshua all these years. How could she begrudge them a few months … even if she did have a chill at the prospect, reinforced by the fear that somehow a vacation, a visit, might turn into something more permanent? Well, get it over with, she told herself, and smiling a smile she didn’t feel, said, “All right, Reuven, I think that would be all right.” She couldn’t bear to look at them when she said it.

  Reuven immediately got up and kissed his mother. “Thank you, thank you, mother, and I only wish that you could spend the summer with us too.”

  “That would be nice… maybe next year.”

  Dovid well understood what this would cost her, and his heart went out to her, knowing all too well the loneliness she would feel not only in his absence but now Joshua’s too. If ever he’d resented her denial of his younger son, it surely was not at this moment. “Thank you, darling… I always said you were a remarkable woman. You just keep on proving how right I am.” Getting up from his chair and going over to her, he took her in his arms, held her tight and kissed her.

  Joshua happily missed the whole drama of the moment. All he knew was that he was going to spend the next few months with his father and his brother Reuven, whom he adored….

  After all the good-byes, Julie and Moishe sat in the cab, feeling Chavala’s melancholy. The last months had been filled with such excitement, and the last weeks spent in the wonderful coming together of the family, that there was a distinct letdown for them too.

  Julie, feeling it keenly, said, “Chavala, why don’t you come and spend a few days with us?”

  Tonelessly Chavala said, “Thank you, but I guess not.”

  “I think it might be nice. For all of us.”

  Chavala shrugged. “It’s always nice, being together. No, darling, thank you, but I want to go home, be by myself a little while.”

  She wanted no such thing, Julie suspected, but also was sensitive enough not to press.

  When Chavala was finally alone in her living room, she looked about at all the things. They meant nothing. Self-pity rushed in to fight loneliness … What was she left with? Nothing. Dvora was much richer than she, and even Raizel, who at least had the comfort of her sons. All of them now had made lives of their own, all except her. Her father had warned her about false prophets and he’d been right… She went to her bedroom, undressed and looked at her body in the mirror. All those lost years away from Dovid, soon she’d be middle-aged—oh, shut up, for God’s sake … you made your bed, now lie in it. Which, she discovered, was easier said than done…

  Julie couldn’t bear to see what amounted to Chavala’s bereavement, trying to camouflage it as she might as she attended to business every day, smiling too brightly as she waited on the trade.

  It was noon of the fifth day when Julie went upstairs to Chavala’s office, and found her staring out of the window. Chavala was so deep in her own thoughts she didn’t hear Julie come in, and so was startled by the sound of her voice when she said, “Chavala, I think you need a vacation.”

  “What … oh, Julie, I didn’t hear you come in … I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said I thought you could use a vacation.”

  “A vacation? Why, you think I’m overtaxing myself going to the bank?”

  Julie ignored her try at humor. “I just happen to think a change would be good for you. Moishe and I have talked it over, and for once, Chavala, you’re going to do something for yourself—”

  “So, how good should I be to myself?”

  “By taking a trip.”

  “What would you suggest? The Bronx? Or, better still, Albany? That’s the capital of our beautiful state … maybe I could even have lunch with the governor.”

  “Joke all you want, you’re outnumbered. Moishe and I already have the tickets. You’re going to Florida. And don’t tell me Florida is only for winter. This is an emergency.”

  Chavala shrugged. Maybe they were right. Not maybe, they were … “So, when did you both agree that I should go?”

  “As soon as you can pack a bag.”

  “Fine. I’ll travel light, without my mind, which I think I lost a long time ago.”

  That night she packed, and the next morning Julie and Moishe saw her off to Miami.

  The first night she arrived at her suite of rooms in the Fountainbleu she thought the hotel was as big as Manhattan, and the dining room a runner-up to Grand Central Station. A few hours later, asking the maitre d’ for a table for one, she looked about the room at the elaborately gowned women, with varying shades of blond hair, bedecked with jewels, seated at tables with husbands and friends, and decided this definitely was not for her. She did an about-face, red-faced, escaped to her suite and dined in on room service. As she forced herself to eat, she decided one was, indeed, a very lonely number. At four o’clock in the morning, with the New York Times, Harper’s Bazaar and Vogue strewn about on her bed, she turned off the light and fell into a troubled, restless sleep.

  The next morning, after breakfast served in her room, she decided it was enough already. This kind of loneliness she certainly didn’t need. She got into her bathing suit, went downstairs and out to the pool. It was no better. Glamorous widows, happy married couples, seductive singles. Still… to go home without giving it a chance … no, she’d stick it out to the bitter end.

  But at the end of one week, Miami had defeated her. She surrendered and caught the first train to New York.

  When she arrived home, she wasn’t happy, but at least her misery wasn’t costing her anything, and there wasn’t the obligation to have a good time … What there was, though, was a letter from Joshua. He was having such a good time he only wished he could stay there all the time. Wonderf
ul news, exactly what she’d worried about in the first place when she’d agreed to his going.

  The next letter was from Sheine, and suddenly she was smiling. Sheine had given birth to a nine-and-one-half-pound baby boy.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  SHEINE’S JOY AT GIVING birth to Erich Dieter Hausman was less than complete when, shortly after his birth, Frau Hausman showed her disappointment that the little boy looked so much like his mother. “With that dark hair and those brown eyes …” For nine months she had seen herself cradling a blue-eyed, blond-haired cherub. Privately she bitterly resented the fate that had tainted the pure Hausman bloodline. By the time of the christening, Gretchen Hausman, at long last a grandmother, had almost managed to forget the infant’s alien genes. As they stood in the church, her thoughts were determinedly on the future, he would be a German to the very marrow of his bones, and she would direct his upbringing.

  Sheine, watching her son being baptized, felt like shouting out, He’s my son too, he’s a Jew and should be circumcised, in our faith a child of a Jewish mother is a Jew … If only she had the courage, but did she really have the right … hadn’t she forfeited that the day she became Elsa Beck Hausman … ?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  IN SEPTEMBER, AS AGREED, Reuven brought Joshua home.

  As pleased as Chavala was to see them, she was especially gratified that—whether it be because of Dvora’s giving him a greater sense of reality, or an unbending from maturity—Reuven seemed to have overcome his belligerence, even to have come to terms with her.

  He had forgiven her, true, but what he still resented, could not reconcile himself to, was being separated from his brother Joshua.

  But when Reuven left to return to Palestine, Joshua seemed morose. He stayed in his room as much as possible, he spoke to his mother with underlying tones of irritation bordering on impudence. Chavala felt at a loss to reach him, and so turned to Julie and Moishe for help.

  They reminded her that he was still a little boy, that at his age he was very impressionable. And Palestine, after all, could be seductive, and of course Reuven had become his idol. She shouldn’t, though, worry about it. When he went to school and made friends he’d forget about it.

  Chavala was not convinced. Joshua had become so remote, sitting like he did for hours, gazing out the window. At what…?

  At Palestine, that was what. America was a place he no longer felt was home. At night in his darkened room he would lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, reliving the events of the past summer. It was as though he were there now, remembering how uncle Ari had loaded the wheat into the wagon for Reuven, Zvi and himself to take to the mill to be ground into flour. Reuven, strong and tall, carried a bullwhip. “You always need to be prepared for an Arab ambush,” he said, and explained how from behind boulders along the road Arabs had a tendency to attack and steal the wheat. Joshua almost anticipated the ambush, it sounded like cowboys and Indians. When they traveled home his eyes would shift from place to place, and he would imagine piercing black eyes watching them … He remembered the time Reuven had held his hand when they climbed the mountain at Masada, and how at the top of it he told about the few zealots holding out against the powerful Roman legions for over three years. It was a story to fire his imagination. And then they’d tramped over the route through the desert where Moses had led the twelve tribes … What stories!

  Autumn had been beautiful, a time between summer harvest and winter planting, and it was a favorite time for hikes and outings. Reuven, in his zeal to imbue Joshua with a sense of their homeland, suggested to his aunt Dvora that she allow Joshua to spend a week with Zvi and himself exploring the countryside. Knowing the dangers, Dvora said no, that Joshua was only a little boy. Ari, on the other hand, felt that Reuven was more than equipped to handle the situation. For all her reluctance, Dvora finally gave in. The expedition was carefully planned. They were equipped with two canteens each. Ari briefed Reuven the night before, reminding him not to roam too far, that if they did, their canteens could be taken away by the Bedouins, and what would they do without water?

  Reuven laughed. “I’ve done this a dozen times, Uncle Ari. I know how to handle it.”

  “Mazel tov. But you better be very sure this time, or your mother will have your scalp if anything happens to Joshua, to say nothing of you or Zvi.”

  From the money Chavala had sent him, Reuven took twenty-five Palestinian pounds, as well as the camera, and off they went….

  As they entered the Arab city, the first stop on their adventure, Reuven’s heart skipped a few beats, though he tried not to show it. He was doing exactly what he’d been told not to do. Kabayah was a small Arab town known for its hostility toward Jews. As the boys passed the coffeehouses and bazaars the looks they received were hardly friendly. Still, they’d come this far, so shoulders back, chin out and head high, Reuven all but held his breath until they left the city behind them, without incident.

  Now they went on the road down to the Jordan. It was noon when they arrived and collapsed in a clump of eucalyptus. Joshua was exhausted, even though Reuven had carried him on his back a good part of the way. The little boy immediately fell asleep on the spread blanket, and Reuven watched protectively. It made him feel especially good to be his brother’s protector.

  When Joshua woke up, out came the hard-boiled eggs and tins of sardines from their knapsacks, all consumed with gusto. After they’d finished they changed into the extra clothing they’d brought along, Reuven took out the map and scanned it carefully.

  The middle of August was a month known for its hot, dry eastern winds, so to insure a supply of water the boys were obliged to walk close to the riverbed. But this in turn meant that Reuven and Zvi had to hack away with their bare hands at the dense vegetation, not to mention the difficulty of crossing the deep ravines.

  Toward evening as they neared the Damiya Bridge, they caught sight of a large Bedouin encampment pitched on the riverbank. To avoid it they circled west until they reached the main road through the Jordan Valley. By now it was dark. With very little water left in the canteens, Reuven decided that to conserve both their strength and water they should sleep where they were, alongside the road, rather than look for a place that might be free of thorns, snakes and scorpions. A vote was taken, the other two agreed.

  At dawn they began their trek back to the riverbed, avoiding the Bedouin camp, and continued on their way south. The day was a long tiring one, and by the time it was over and they’d gone to sleep the last of their water was gone. Several hours later they woke up with parched tongues. Reuven looked at his watch, it was midnight. The dry, utterly still air was beginning to choke them. He worried about Joshua, thought back to what Ari had said and now realized he shouldn’t have subjected Joshua to all this. He’d been so cocky … well, they were here now and he had to deal with the moment

  Nothing for it, in spite of the danger involved in passing the Bedouin camp, but to go back to the river. Reuven warned Joshua to keep as quiet as he could, try not to be afraid. Actually, Joshua was not afraid … not with Reuven along … Slowly, with Joshua on his back, Reuven led them toward the riverbed—

  Suddenly the night’s silence was shattered by the barking of dogs. In the darkness they had stumbled into the middle of the Arab encampment. Reuven’s first impulse was to run, but then, with more bravado than he felt, and telling himself that to run would only invite capture, he suggested they walk right in and face the Arabs.

  Zvi said, “No. Remember what my father said. I think we should run for it—”

  “My father told me never to be afraid, that if you don’t show any fear things have a way of working out.”

  Zvi yielded to Reuven, always the stronger, but was hardly convinced.

  As the three now stood in the circle of darkness Reuven called out, “Ya zalame, ya zalam, ya nass … O men, O man, O people.” And then: “We’ve come to pay our respect to your noble tribe.”

  Within moments the Bedouins appeared
from their tents with lit torches, saw the three boys trying to look self-confident. Silence.

  In the dim light the boys caught sight of the Bedouin chieftain, who seemed surprised and perhaps a bit impressed by such courage. Maybe Dovid had been right. “It’s kind that you should honor us with your presence. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “We would be grateful, son of Mecca, to share your water,” Reuven got out.

  The old chief actually laughed. “As a reward for your bravery, you shall have it.”

  Zvi trembled inside as he watched the water streaming into their canteens. Reuven said, “For your kindness, I would like to present you with this gift.”

  The old sheikh looked questioningly at the camera. Reuven explained the mechanics, then took out the film, inserted it. The boys were asked to spend the night. They slept on goatskin rugs, and in the morning they were given breakfast and left not only with canteens full of water but with camel-milk cakes. Reuven decided he’d been vindicated, Joshua was proud of him, and Zvi was just happy to be alive. Not to mention surprised.

  They traveled on a crowded bus to Gaza, then went directly to visit the old fort. But before they could explore, an Arab policeman arrested them and brought them to the local police station. They were suspected of being illegal immigrants. The police were, in spite of themselves, impressed by Reuven as he refused to be interrogated in Arabic, refused to be intimidated, and kept insisting that he was born a Palestinian. By the time he finished, Reuven was quite impressed with himself, sure that he had been believed. The Arab policeman, though, was not nearly as benign as the Bedouin chieftain. Until he could definitely establish that the three boys were not aliens, they were put into a cell, despite Reuven telling him in a rising voice that “My father’s name is Dovid Landau, he’s with the Yishuv Central. If you don’t believe me, get in touch with them. Besides, you have no right to keep us here. This isn’t a Turkish courtroom …”