Day After Night

by Anita Diamant

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “I told you it was a stupid idea,” said the other man, who looked even more like a bear than his brother. He turned to Zorah and pleaded, “Tell them we didn’t hurt anybody. We didn’t even turn anyone in to the police, and we didn’t fight. We were cowards, my brother and I. We went to Denmark and waited it out,” he said.

  “Why did you come here, then?” she asked.

  “There was no work in Danzig. There were a couple of Mossad guys in town after the armistice; we found out that they needed ironworkers here, shipbuilders. That’s what we used to do. We had the documents, so I figured—”

  “Where did you get Jewish papers?” But Zorah was unable to keep the edge out of her voice and the older brother said, “Forget it. No one’s going to believe a word we say.”

  “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” she said, but they shook their heads and turned away.

  Outside, the man in the white coat had changed into a worn leather jacket. “What did you find out?”

  “Not much,” said Zorah. “They’re from Danzig. They say they were shipbuilders and ran away during the war. They are not going to tell me anything else. Not terribly bright, those two. I don’t think they have any idea what they’re doing here, actually. What happens to them now?”

  “If it was up to me, I’d take them to the border and point them north and good riddance,” he said. “The Yishuv may put them on a boat. I could care less.”

  “But tell me something,” Zorah said. “Why are these guys in the clinic? They aren’t sick. If you’re rounding up Christians, why don’t you bring over that Russian girl in A barrack who is more than happy to tell everyone that she’s not a Jew?”

  “And then there’s the one in your barrack,” he said.

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “That German creature, of course. Unbelievable story. A war criminal in Eretz Yisrael. You didn’t know?” he said.

  Zorah tried to look bewildered instead of relieved; he didn’t seem to know about Esther.

  “So maybe you aren’t as smart as Hayyim said you were.”

  “Hayyim?”

  “Hayyim Meyer. Surely you can see the resemblance,” he said, turning his head to show off his profile. “Everyone tells us we look more like brothers than cousins.” He took a half-empty pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and waved it in front of her. “He sent these for you. I hope you don’t mind sharing,” he said, handing it over. “Do you have a message for him, if I see him?”

  “Tell him,” Zorah said, trying to think of something clever, “tell him … thank you for the cigarettes.”

  “A real romantic, aren’t you? Why don’t I give him your love and tell him you’re pining to see him again.”

  Zorah watched him walk off and stamped her foot. “His name would be Hayyim.”

  “What did you say?” asked Leonie, who had been waiting for her. “Hayyim means ‘life,’ doesn’t it?”

  Zorah held out the pack of cigarettes. “Do you want one?”

  “Chesterfields? How nice, thank you.” As Leonie extracted a cigarette, a slip of paper fell to the ground. “What’s this?”

  Zorah picked it up and unfolded it.

  “There is only the letter M,” said Leonie. “Does it mean anything to you?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Meyer.” Leonie smiled. “Non?”

  “Meyer, oui,” Zorah said, so plainly miserable that Leonie knew better than to tease.

  “I’m going to the calisthenics class now,” she said. “This Uri fellow is very entertaining. Will you join me?”

  Before Zorah could say no, Leonie added, “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”

  Shayndel chopped the cucumbers in time with the internal metronome that had woken her early that morning. At first she thought there were real drums beating somewhere in the camp, but eventually she realized it was her own heartbeat urging, Let’s go, let’s go.

  She tried to ignore it, but the beat grew louder and more insistent, crowding out everything, including her usual good humor. She had snapped at Tedi and growled at the two Arab guards who normally exchanged smiles and a thumbs-up with her. She was, she realized, behaving just like Tirzah, who had not even said good morning when she arrived.

  “Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum,” she muttered, bringing the blade down in time. Her hands were sweating so much, she had to stop and wipe them every few minutes to keep the knife from slipping.

  The back door hit the wall with a sharp crack, announcing Nathan, who sailed into the kitchen, followed by Bob and Uri. “Look who’s here,” he bellowed.

  “This is good news?” said Tirzah. “You two had better stay out of trouble today.”

  “They have plenty to do,” Nathan said, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth.

  “Since Nathan figured out how to disarm the rifles, everyone is much more confident,” said Uri.

  Tirzah and Shayndel looked at each other, and then stared at Nathan.

  “You really are a pig,” said Tirzah. “I’ll bet you didn’t let on that it was Shayndel who told you how to fix those guns.”

  He ignored her completely. “Let’s get out there,” he said, grabbing a handful of olives and heading into the dining room. “I’ll show you which men we’ve chosen as barrack leaders.”

  “What a schmuck,” Shayndel sputtered.

  “What do you expect?” said Tirzah. “At least he gets things done.”

  Shayndel pulled off her apron, muttering Yiddish curses under her breath. She was familiar with arrogant men; among her partisan comrades, self-importance had been a survival skill, as essential as the ability to sleep on the ground. Even so, in her outfit, the boys knew better than to pretend that they were tougher or smarter than the girls.

  Nathan’s conceit made her want to scream. She was so wound up she didn’t even try to sit down for lunch but stayed in the kitchen, pacing and sipping a cup of tepid tea. Every few moments, her hand went to her left shoulder, searching for the strap of the small machine gun she had carried for nearly two years in the forest. The damned thing used to slip off a hundred times a day and she was forever pushing it back.

  “Some women fuss with their scarves,” Malka would tease, “but for Shayndel, it’s her darling gun.”

  Shayndel assumed that the Palmach would not be handing her a weapon. We will be herded like prize livestock, she thought; they will take us out through the fence on the north side of camp, the emptiest, darkest, and least-defended flank. From there they will hurry us through those fields to trucks or buses, and then …

  Thinking about what lay ahead set Shayndel’s heart pounding again, as though she were already on her way, crawling through a gash in the fence, running after strangers into a moonless night. She knew something about escapes.

  During the war, she had helped Jews through the shadowy forest, always in the worst kind of weather, it seemed. There was one family with seven-year-old twin boys who arrived during an ice storm, all of them frightened out of their senses. The only way to get them to cross a frozen river on their way to the campsite was for the partisans to drag them across on their coats.

  Shayndel remembered talking down to them, as though they were stupid, as though she were above feeling the kind of fear that rose off them like steam.

  Shayndel started scrubbing the stove, moving her arm back and forth, one-two, let’s-go, ba-dum, so focused that she didn’t notice when Goldberg came in.

  “This kitchen doesn’t deserve such devotion, I promise you,” he said.

  “It’s just something to do,” she replied. “I’m going a little crazy. The waiting is hard.”

  He took the brush out of her hand. “Go outside,” he said. “Get some fresh air. It’s a nice day.”

  She did as she was told, but once she got out into the sunshine, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She headed back to the barrack to change her shirt, which was soaked.


  She had only one other blouse, an ugly beige cast-off with a stain on the sleeve. At least I have good shoes, she thought, looking down fondly at the sturdy brown brogans she’d gotten from the Red Cross. She decided she would wear the short pants for the escape. They were her favorite item of clothing because of their deep pockets, front and back, and because they had once belonged to a boy named Marvin Ornish, whose mother had sewn a tag with his name into the waistband, securing it with a hundred tiny stitches.

  She looked around, at the valises stuffed under the beds, the sacks hanging from rafters. She used to envy the others their rescued treasures, but not anymore. At least I don’t have to worry about schlepping or leaving anything behind, she thought.

  Shayndel had a few useful pieces of clothes and a leather rucksack, but the possessions that mattered most to her fit into the envelope tucked under her mattress. She withdrew the photographs, slowly, one at a time. There was Malka, smiling right into the lens, fully aware of how pretty she was, though the picture didn’t do her justice. Her hair was much blonder than the black-and-white image suggested, and her brown eyes were flecked with green. She was curvy under the baggy jacket and wool trousers.

  Wolfe never looked at the camera. He turned to gaze into the distance, showing off his impressive profile. It was an odd vanity in a man who seemed to care so little about his appearance. From the front, he was a garden-variety Jew, strange-looking, even, with his left eye a bit higher than the right. But from the side, with his dark brown hair, straight and heavy and hanging over that long, aquiline nose, he looked both intellectual and imposing. And he knew it.

  Shayndel pulled out the picture of the three of them standing on cobblestones outside a church. Wolfe was in the middle, of course. I look like their little sister, she thought, which is why everyone thought that Malka and Wolfe were the couple and I was the third wheel. She put her finger on Wolfe’s mouth.

  Why was I smiling like that? Had he said something funny? Or was it Shmuley behind the camera who made me laugh?

  Shmuley had been the company clown, and he had been in especially good spirits the day of this picture. He had just recovered from a horrible bout of diarrhea. They had been pinned down for a week, cut off by the icy roads and the threat of desperate, starving deserters, and Shmuley had been so sick that Malka had wanted to get a doctor for him. She had gotten into a big fight with Wolfe about it, but he said it was too dangerous and put his foot down.

  Shmuley got well without a doctor. But he was killed just a month after the picture was taken. A sniper. Out of the blue. Shayndel had no photograph of him.

  What was his last name? “Oh my God,” she whispered, horrified that she could not remember.

  She put the snapshots away carefully, placing them inside her scarred backpack. Her mother had scolded Papa when he gave it to her. “That is not feminine enough for a girl,” she said. “Give it to Noah.”

  “It will keep her powder dry,” said Papa, who loved to plague them with puns.

  It was quiet in the barrack. The rhythmic drumming had become a dull throb just below her navel. Let’s-go, let’s- go, let’s-go.

  Shayndel walked to the clearing in front of the dining hall where Uri was holding his class. The day was perfectly clear, warm but no longer humid, and yet Tedi was sweating heavily as she stood before him, her face flushed and her fists clenched.

  “This is not appropriate for girls,” Uri shouted, at the end of his patience. “It’s a kind of fighting that is too crude for you. Hand-to-hand. Brutal. When you reach the kibbutz, they’ll teach you to handle a gun, but not this.”

  “Why shouldn’t I know how to defend myself?” Tedi said. “I want to learn to do what you showed him.” She pointed at one of the boys.

  Shayndel slipped in beside Leonie and asked, “What’s going on?”

  “He was teaching them how to break away if someone grabs you from behind.”

  “There is no need for you to learn this. One of our men will take care of you,” Uri argued.

  “But what if I’m alone?”

  “Someone as pretty as you?”

  “Show her,” said Shayndel, moving to Tedi’s side.

  “We don’t have time for this,” said Uri.

  “You’re full of shit,” she said coolly and stepped closer to him. “Why don’t you try it on me and I’ll show them how easy it is to throw a man to the ground.”

  “Why don’t you just go back to the kitchen?” he said.

  “I’m finished in there,” she said, “and if you’re not willing to do your job, I’ll teach Tedi myself. Leonie, come here, would you? I want you to stand directly behind me and grab me by the arms as tight as you can.

  “Now, Tedi, the most important thing is to not think too much. Do not plan or hesitate. Just watch what I do.”

  As Leonie tightened her grip, Shayndel blew all the air out of her lungs and went limp, as though she had fainted. Her collapse startled Leonie, who let go just enough for Shayndel to turn quickly and jab her elbow back between Leonie’s legs.

  “You don’t have to be big or strong to make this hurt,” said Shayndel. “He will go down, I promise. Then you run as fast as you can.”

  No one said a word.

  “Do you want to try?” Shayndel asked Tedi, whose face was white. “No,” she said softly, “I understand.”

  Everyone was staring at Shayndel or trying not to. “Does anyone else want to try?” she asked. “No? All right,” she said and marched away, one-two, one-two, one-two.

  Leonie ran up behind her. “You were wonderful.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have embarrassed Uri like that, even though he had it coming.” Shayndel winced and grabbed at her abdomen.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “All day I’ve had this bellyache and it’s getting worse.”

  “Do you have your period?” Leonie whispered.

  “Oh, no! Not today.”

  Shayndel had been relieved when her cycle had stopped in the forest. It was miserable trying to manage that mess while they were moving from hovel to hole, rarely bathing or washing their clothes. Besides, it had given her the freedom to make love with Wolfe without worrying about a baby.

  But Malka was afraid that she would never have children. “I want sons,” she had said. “Girls are too much trouble.”

  Shayndel grinned and said, “Well, at least we can enjoy the sex for now. And since you can’t guarantee boys, maybe it’s better if your period never comes back.”

  Malka had flinched at that and refused to talk to her the rest of the day. But she wasn’t the sort to stay mad, and the next morning it was as though the conversation had never happened.

  Shayndel ran into the latrine and sat on the toilet, her head in her hands.

  “Chèrie?” Leonie peeked around the partition and handed her a folded cotton napkin. “It’s from the clinic; I took some extra ones, too.”

  “Thank you,” said Shayndel.

  “Does it hurt?” Leonie asked, as they walked back to the barrack, arm in arm.

  “Not really. I just forgot what it felt like. There isn’t much bleeding, thank goodness.”

  “But you seem upset.”

  “It’s just, well, inconvenient,” said Shayndel.

  “I am still waiting,” Leonie said. “I never had mine.”

  “Never?”

  “No.”

  “How old are you?” Shayndel asked.

  “I am seventeen. No, it’s October, so I am eighteen. I think perhaps it will never happen to me.”

  “Don’t worry. I was nearly sixteen when I got mine. Someone told me that it goes away when you don’t eat right. With enough good food, we’ll all get back to normal and have all the babies we want—I know you said you don’t want any, but still …”

  Leonie shrugged and smiled, as though it didn’t matter. She could never tell Shayndel about the abortion that might have left her barren—or the doctor’s disdain, or the way she could practical
ly taste the steel of his probes and scalpel as they entered her, or the blood pooling on the floor beneath the kitchen table. If she confessed to even one detail of her disgrace, all the hard work of restraint and containment might come crashing down and she would never be able to regain her balance. Worse still, Shayndel would hate her.

  “But I have to ask you about something,” Shayndel said, in a hushed, urgent tone.

  “Anything,” Leonie said, pushing her hair off her forehead and resuming control of herself and her secrets.

  “Tedi says that you think Lotte, the German girl, is SS. But why didn’t you tell me yourself?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Leonie, “I wasn’t sure and then I was afraid you’d think I was crazy. When she was in the shower, I saw what I thought was an SS tattoo on the inside of her upper arm. It might have been a bruise or a birthmark and the whole thing seems so impossible.”

  “You’re perfectly sane, but that woman is a raving lunatic,” said Shayndel, who knew that whatever Lotte’s story might be, she posed a threat to the success of their escape. “We have to get her out of the barrack.”

  “No one will argue with you about that,” said Leonie.

  “I wanted to tell you how proud I was of you, standing up to Uri like that. And now I find out that you weren’t feeling well, yet you were so strong, so powerful. I suppose you had to learn that sort of thing in the war.” She looked over at her shyly. “It must have been terrible what you went through.”

  “Some days were worse than others,” said Shayndel, remembering the worst day of all. They had underestimated the band of German deserters who had taken refuge in their forest. Wolfe and Malka had been cut off from the rest of their unit and were outflanked, outrun, and shot down like deer in a hunting party.

  Leonie kept still as pain and loss played across her friend’s face.

  “You don’t think ‘terrible’ when you’re in the middle of it,” Shayndel continued. “You don’t think much at all. We tried to kill Nazis and collaborators. We blew up some bridges. We helped some people escape. We tried to stay alive.”