Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (110 page)

She slammed the trapdoor shut and slapped the rug back
down over it. Lurching backward, she gnawed at her nails.
There were more than enough explosives down there to blow
her to kingdom come, of that she was certain.

Shakily she walked back out to the living room, opened the
door, and stared out at the lush green fields. People were bent
over the crops, like gleaners in a Millet landscape, and far in
the distance, on a rise, she saw a shadowy sentinel standing
guard, the butt of a rifle resting on a hip.

She sat down on the stoop to wait. Despite the blast of
ovenlike heat, she felt chilled and rubbed her arms briskly. She tried to occupy her mind with more pleasant thoughts,
and mulled over what she had learned about him.

He was neat, and very clean. The house was pristine. He
read more for knowledge than pleasure; she'd seen no novels
or escapist fare. He spent very little time at the house. However, even if he could visit it only sporadically, it obviously
meant a lot to him. It was not a house, it was a home. The
mezzuzah, menorah, and Jewish literature suggested that his
religion and heritage meant everything to him.

Yet despite the homeliness, there was the underlying atmos
phere of a fortress: the windows were small, the front door
heavy. Even the neatness had a military precision about it.
And the arsenal . . .

Was such a cache of arms
really
necessary?

She hoped she didn't have to find out for herself.

Tamara heard the truck before she saw it. She lifted her head
and her eyes scanned the fields. Then she saw it, half-hidden
by the lush crops. It appeared to float atop the greenery.

She leapt up from the stoop and watched it turn in the dirt
track that crisscrossed the fields and led to the house.
Moments later, it headed straight toward her. Playfully she
ducked into the house and hid behind the door. Peering out,
she watched the truck grow bigger and bigger until it swelled
to full size. Brakes squealed as it rumbled to a stop. The crunch
of the hand-brake rang out loud and clear.

She held her breath, barely able to contain her excitement. Then the door on the driver's side jerked open and her father
ducked out. He was about to climb down when she stepped out from behind the door. He caught sight of her and froze,
his good foot casually poised on the running board, one hand resting on the door for support. His mouth broke into a smile
of pure joy.

'I always knew this place was very special,' he called out.
'But I did not realize it was such an attraction that it would
become a tourist stop like Jerusalem or Bethlehem!'

'Father!' she cried softly. 'Oh, Father!'

Then he swung himself down and she flew forward into
his arms, her face pressing against his chest, her tears of joy
mingling with the salty-smelling shirt that clung wetly to his
hard-packed muscles.

Chapter 25

It was a time of self-discovery, a time of strengthening and
affirming the faith that Tamara felt had always lain dormant within her. From the moment she had set foot in Ein Shmona,
she found herself immersed in the Jewish experience. For the
first time in her life, she began to understand what it meant to
be a Jew, and it struck a deep emotional chord within her. Everywhere she turned, she found herself face-to-face with
more and more evidence of the faith which was her heritage, but which was as foreign to her as Buddhism or archaeology
or physics—but, she had to admit, much more fascinating than
any of those subjects could ever be. The agricultural pioneers
of Ein Shmona did not only farm the land, she found, but also
lived a utopian ideal which blended politics, day-to-day living
and religion into a unique life that was both physically
comfortable and spiritually rewarding. She found herself
being constantly surprised and impressed.

Schmarya was seated across the table from her in the com
munity dining hall. Despite his urging her to eat, she was too
excited to have much of an appetite. To please him, she took
a few bites of her chicken and then pushed the rest of the
food around on her plate. Her eyes scanned the other casually
dressed diners, and she listened to the exotic musical sounds of
mingling languages, trying to absorb it all. Hebrew, Yiddish, Russian, German, and Polish all competed with the music
coming over the radio. It was like sitting in a large, simply
furnished restaurant which served delicious, hearty home-
cooked specialties and drew an international clientele of
diners. But unlike any restaurant she had ever frequented,
there was an air of informal good cheer and undisguised cama
raderie such as she had never known. The camaraderie on the
movie sets was closest to it.

'I like it here,' she said, looking around. 'Is everyone always
this friendly?'

Schmarya glanced about also. 'Oh, now and then we have
arguments and feuds, but generally, yes.' He motioned reproachfully with his fork. 'You are not eating.'

Dutifully she took another bite of chicken. 'Is the food
always this good?'

'Always.' He smiled. 'It should be getting even better in six
months or so.'

'Oh?' She sipped her wine. 'Why's that?'

'A few months ago a German family escaping Nazi per
secution emigrated here and joined our kibbutz.'

She set her glass down. 'And the wife's a great cook,' she
guessed, laughing.

'No, the husband, actually. It so happens that Herr Zimmer
mann is a chef of world renown. He used to be head chef at the Hotel Kempinski in Berlin. Germany's loss will be our
gain.'

'But I don't understand.' She took another sip of her wine.
'You said they're already here. Why isn't he cooking? Why
does he have to wait six months? Is he ill?'

'No, no.' Schmarya laughed. 'It is the way we do things here
on the kibbutz. All newcomers must first work in the fields.
You see, they have to
earn
the privilege of changing to a job
of their choosing.'

Tamara stared at him. 'You mean . . . he's not
allowed
to
work at his trade?'

'No one is, until after they have toiled in the fields for a
specified period of time. It is that way with everyone who
comes here.'

'But what if their skills are exceptional? Surely you make
exceptions in certain cases?'

He shook his head. 'I'm afraid not.' Seeing her incredulous
look, he added softly, 'Can you think of a single more import
ant skill than growing food?'

'In other words,' she said, 'even if I wanted to join the
kibbutz, you'd toss me a hoe and send me straight out into the
fields?'

'At the risk of ruining your pretty, manicured fingernails,
yes.' He smiled. 'Though you would not have to hoe right
away. The first job is clearing rocks and stones out of the
fields.'

'But isn't that being a little tough on people?'

He shrugged. 'It is a tough country. To survive in it, we
must also be tough, each one of us willing to pull his fair share
and work for the common good. You see, the kibbutz is not a
democracy. That form of government would never work here.
So we practise socialism, though ours is tempered with justice,
equality, and liberty. However much we love liberty, the
freedom of the individual is secondary to the needs of the
commune as a whole. Since the fields are our livelihood, they
necessarily take first priority.'

'Well, I can tell you one thing,' Tamara declared. 'If I were
Herr Zimmermann, I'd probably be glad to plough and har
vest instead of slaving over a hot stove! Speaking of which, I
noticed your house doesn't have a kitchen.'

'That is because I do not need one. We all dine here, in the
communal dining hall. It is much more economical than having
individual kitchens.'

'I see. But to backtrack, I have a question. What happens
if, say, the Zimmermanns don't like it here?'

'Then they have no obligation whatsoever to stay. They are
free to leave, and may do so if and when they choose.'

'Do many people who move here end up leaving?'

'Some. There have been those who find the life too regi
mented for their individual tastes, but for the most part, the
people who move here enjoy
it.
The work is hard, but the
rewards are satisfying. Perhaps not as far as personal gain is concerned, but for the community as a whole. It is as though
each one of us works for something greater, a more noble
ideal than just ourselves.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Isn't that like communism?'

'Yes, in a way. But in a communist country people do not enjoy freedom and justice. We do. Our socialism is only for the common good, and as long as a person's interests are so inclined, his every need is provided for. The education of children, legal costs, medical care . . . everything is borne by
the kibbutz. Even food. No one has to do without. You might
say we have a cradle-to-the-grave responsibility to each other.
And don't forget, anyone is free to leave here at any time.'

She was impressed. 'It's amazing. And
you
thought all this
up?'

'Good heavens, no,' he laughed. 'It is hardly an original
idea. We are merely carrying on where others left off. There have been agricultural settlements like this one for over fifty
years already. But what distinguishes us from them is that ours
is the first community in the desert. The rest are in the north,
where the land is richer. Most of them are in the Galilee.'

Tamara was fascinated, and couldn't hear enough. From
the pride in his voice, she could tell that she had hit upon
his favourite subject. Even after leaving the dining hall, they
talked about the kibbutz long into the night.