Day After Night (21 page)

“Oh, just go,” said Shayndel, distracted and worn out after a long day of second-guessing
and biting her tongue. “What are they going to do to us at this point? I’ll see you
in the morning.”

“Good night,” Leonie said and kissed her cheek, ashamed of how easy it was to lie
to her friend. She held her breath, as though she were diving into deep water, as
she ran across the shadows toward the infirmary. Knowing the clinic was empty, she
took the key from beneath a loose floorboard, let herself in, and locked the door.

Feeling her way slowly through the dark, Leonie found Aliza’s desk and opened the
drawer where she hid the candy. She sank to the floor and let one of the sugar marbles
dissolve in her mouth, savoring the solitude along with the sweet.

She could not remember the last time she had been completely alone. Madame had not
permitted her to close the door to her room after they had found her with the razor
blade; not that Leonie had been trying to kill herself. She knew exactly
how deep to cut and when to stop. She glanced at the cabinet that held the needles
and scalpels, but it was locked with a key that Aliza never left behind.

Leonie crawled to the space between two cots and ran her fingers around the hem of
her skirt. By the time she opened the catch on the safety pin, she was sweating and
breathing heavily. But she grew calmer after pressing the point against her fingertip.
It was still sharp enough.

Leonie pulled off her shoes and socks and cradled her left foot in her hands and waited
until her breathing slowed down, forcing herself to prolong the anticipation. Then,
pressing her cheek against the inside of her knee, she pushed the tip of the pin into
the space between her big toe and her second toe. She gasped quietly and welcomed
the sensation, relaxing as pain took precedence over fear and memory.

It was only a few moments before the throbbing started to fade. Leonie removed the
pin slowly, squeezing at the tiny wound, putting her pinky finger to the warm blood
and placing the salty drop to her tongue, exactly as she had in the brothel. That
was where she had created this small, silent ritual of punishment and purification.

She took her time, eight times in all, one foot after the other, ending with the worst
jab, between the fourth and smallest toe. And then Leonie leaned back and closed her
eyes, relishing a moment of respite, the closest she came to peace.

Aliza found her on the floor in the morning, sound asleep, her cheek against the floor,
fully dressed, her shoes neatly tied, her hands pressed between her knees.

Early morning was Shayndel’s favorite time of day. She savored the short walk from
the barrack to the kitchen when the air was still and clear, free of the dust kicked
up by hundreds of feet. She would look at the mountains, which changed color from
one morning to the next, blue or gray or even gold, depending on the clouds and the
angle of the sun. But this morning, she saw nothing but the ground in front of her.

It had been a bad night, disturbed by dreams of running after things—first a train,
then a child, then something she could not remember. She woke up worried about who
was going to get out of Atlit and who was not, determined to pry the answer to that
question out of Tirzah and Nathan. She would not let them dismiss her as they had
yesterday. She would be immovable.

Nathan was already in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug in his hands,
watching Tirzah slice cucumbers.

“Good morning, comrade,” he said. “Where have you been? We’ve been hard at work for
hours.”

Tirzah glared at him. There were dark circles under her eyes; clearly she hadn’t slept
well either.

“The breakout is tonight,” she said.

“Tonight?” Shayndel said. “The Iraqis are getting out tonight?”

“Not just them,” Nathan said. “Everyone is going. The whole camp.”

“But there are,” Shayndel calculated quickly, “two hundred, at least.”

“Yes,” Nathan said. “It will make for a dramatic story, don’t you think? Of course,
you are to be the captain for your barrack. We’ll give you more instructions later
today.”

Tirzah said, “You should ask what she thinks about Myra in Barrack C and Regina in
D.”

Shayndel knew that she was grinning like an idiot, but she couldn’t help herself.

“What do you think?” Nathan asked. “Can we depend on those two girls? Are they able
to keep a secret? Will the others follow orders from them?”

“Both solid,” Shayndel agreed. “But this won’t be easy with the little ones, you know.”

“Look at her, worrying and biting her lip,” Nathan said. “I thought you’d be thrilled.
I was even counting on a kiss.”

“What’s the plan?” Shayndel asked, ignoring his puckered lips. “How are you going
to take out the guards? What kind of transport is coming? Where will we be going?”

“Relax, sweetheart. It’s all taken care of,” Nathan said. “Your job will be to help
us to wake everyone up and get them dressed
and out of the camp quickly and quietly. Come back before lunch and I will tell you
everything you need to know.”

“That’s enough for now,” Tirzah said, shoving platters of cheese and tomatoes into
Shayndel’s hands, sending her out into the mess hall.

Shayndel sat down, oblivious to her friends at the table. Her mind raced and wandered:
swimming on the beach in Tel Aviv, picking kibbutz oranges, walking the narrow streets
of Jerusalem.

Leonie waved a hand in front of Shayndel’s eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t tell me that. You look like the cat that caught the mouse. Are you in love?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shayndel shrugged and scanned the room. Did Myra have enough
Hebrew to communicate with the Palmach? Was Regina levelheaded enough to remain calm
when things went wrong—as they were bound to?

If only she could talk this over with Malka, her beloved comrade-in-arms, and a great
judge of character. Shayndel and Wolfe used to call her “the Psychologist.” When Wolfe
was planning a particularly nervy mission, he would ask Malka’s advice about whom
to bring along, whom they could trust. Wolfe admitted that he tended to believe the
worst about people, though he probably could have talked the guards in Atlit into
opening the gates for them in the name of the glorious Zionist future, or for the
sake of Allah, or whatever they needed to hear. His nickname had been “the Politician.”

And I was “the Old Lady,” thought Shayndel. I brought up the rear and carried everybody’s
doubts, the one they could count on to argue in favor of getting more information
before
setting out on a dangerous operation. It was my job to keep them from forgetting that
they could get killed, too.

Shayndel and Leonie chewed and swallowed in silence, lost in their own memories and
worries. Everyone at the table noticed and Tedi asked, “Are you two having an argument?”

“Not at all. Nothing like that,” Shayndel said, a little too brightly. “Time to clean
up. I’ll see you all later.”

“And you?” Tedi said, sliding over and trying to read Leonie’s mood. “I noticed you
didn’t sleep in the barrack last night. Were you in the infirmary?”

Leonie nodded.

“I wish I could have done that, too. I barely slept because, well, because of what
I told you about my … about the stench on that … woman.”

The mention of Lotte sent Leonie to her feet. “I should get to the clinic and talk
to Aliza about her.”

Tedi watched her hurry out and regretted having told Leonie about her heightened sense
of smell. Maybe Leonie would tell the nurse that
she
was crazy and ought to be locked up. Or maybe she was overreacting. Everyone seemed
a bit tense today, Tedi thought; probably because of those poor guys in the locked
barrack. Still, she couldn’t stop worrying about what Leonie might be thinking or
saying about her, and decided to talk to her, even if that meant going to the infirmary,
which she usually avoided. No amount of disinfectant, alcohol, or bleach could erase
the acrid residue of terror and dread that accosted her even before she reached the
door.

Two guards were posted outside; a young Arab well-known in the camp for his quick
temper, and an avuncular Brit with a receding chin. As she reached the step, they
lifted their guns to block her way.

Tedi pointed inside. “I have to visit my friend.”

“First you have to smile,” said the Englishman, shaking a finger and grinning so broadly
that she had no choice but to obey.

“All right then,” he said and waved her in.

Though it was still early, every surface in the clinic was littered with scraps of
gauze, tubes of salves, needles and probes. The new arrivals had kept Aliza busy swabbing,
dressing, and dosing their blisters, rashes, sprains, and pains. She had given away
all of her candy, too.

When Tedi walked in, Leonie was standing beside the nurse, holding a metal basin as
Aliza lanced an ugly-looking boil on the shoulder of one of the new men.

“What can I do for you?” Aliza asked.

“I … I came to talk to Leonie,” Tedi stammered. “It can wait.”

“Hmmm,” said Aliza, assuming she’d come for a dose of penicillin. “Come back when
it’s quiet and we’ll fix you right up. But on your way out, make yourself useful and
take the sheets over there to the laundry.”

Tedi had to pass between two young men who were lying on cots; one of them had a swollen
knee, which was propped up on a pillow. The other sat up, leaning against the wall,
his face flushed and his eyes glittering.

The man with the elevated leg said something in Arabic to Aliza, who laughed and translated,
“He says you are too tall.”

The feverish patient pointed at Tedi and said, “‘
Ha Tikvah
’? Yes? You are the ‘
HaTikvah
’ girl.” He sang a few bars of the anthem and Tedi smiled and nodded.

“Ahh,” he said, placed his hand over his heart, and began to
sing. The words were incomprehensible but the melody ached with longing.

Tedi had never seen a more beautiful human being. His lashes were so thick, his eyes
seemed ringed with kohl. His black curls lay in perfect rows across his damp forehead.
He smelled of almonds.

As he finished singing, Aliza clapped her hands and said, “He was singing from Song
of Songs. Love at first sight! Leonie, did you see this? Just like in the cinema.”

Tedi clutched the laundry to her chest and ran out, flattered and aroused by the baritone
quaver, the olive-brown skin, and the face that reached for her like an outstretched
hand.

“Foolishness,” she muttered, as she bent over to pick up a towel that had escaped
from her arms. That was what her mother used to say, rolling her dark blue eyes, whenever
anyone spoke about romance.

“Foolishness,” her father would echo sadly. Tedi stood up quickly, struck by the thought
that perhaps her mother had never loved her father that way at all. The idea that
her parents’ marriage had been loveless made her feel disloyal and lonely, and she
pushed it away.

She also tried to shake off the sensation of that young man’s voice vibrating in her
own chest, and the mouthwatering smell of warm almonds. That really is foolishness,
she scolded herself, starring down into the barrel of laundry.

“Are you all right?”

Tedi turned to see Shayndel’s worried face. “What are you looking at in there?”

“Nothing,” Tedi said. “I was a little dizzy.”

“This is not a good time to be sick. Maybe you should have the nurse take a look at
you.”

“I’m fine, really,” Tedi said.

They heard Nathan’s voice in the distance. “Twenty more jumps and I will take off
my pants.”

“I think I’ll go see what they’re laughing about over there,” said Tedi. “Will you
come?”

Shayndel shook her head and went back to the barrack, where she sat on the bed and
pared her nails as she told herself off.

In the ten weeks that she had been locked up in Atlit, she had grown comfortable,
and even worse, proud of her status among the other prisoners. She had become complacent
and docile. She knew that Malka and Wolfe would have made fun of her. They would have
expected more of her. Shayndel wondered if those two would be looking over her shoulder
for the rest of her life.

“Of course not,” said the voice of Malka that resided inside her head. “You will get
married and have children and life will crowd out everything else. I will become an
old memory, me and Wolfe. And don’t pull that face; you know I’m right.”

Shayndel paced the barrack, trying to clear her mind and stay calm until it was time
to get back to the kitchen. She found Tirzah sitting on the steps at the back door,
smoking a cigarette. “Don’t ask me,” she said, before Shayndel could say a word. “I
have nothing new to tell you.”

Shayndel sank down on the step and stared out at the mountains. It might be nice to
live up there, she thought, but she didn’t much care where she was sent: mountains
or desert, kibbutz or city, tent or bunker, as long as it was away from Atlit and
these long empty days and Tirzah’s unrelenting scowl.

Distracted, Shayndel scratched at her forearms until Tirzah slapped her hands. They
sat together, disliking one another, until Nathan rounded the corner, dragging his
feet and chewing his lower lip.

“What’s the matter with you?” said Tirzah. “Did everybody stop laughing at your stupid
jokes?”

“You have all the sensitivity of a cactus,” he said.

“I had no idea you were such a delicate flower.”

Nathan kicked at the dirt. “It’s off for tonight.”

Shayndel jumped up. Tirzah asked, “What happened?”

“They didn’t say. Maybe they need another day to assemble the men.”

“No, no, no!” shouted Shayndel.

“Calm down,” said Nathan.

“Don’t tell me what to do. I have to get out of here.” She knew she should lower her
voice, but she couldn’t stop. “No more waiting. Now. Tonight.”