Jaffa Beach: Historical Fiction (42 page)

Dear Samira, I hope that somehow this letter will find you
.


Take care of yourself. Everybody sends their love,Amina


A few days after she received Amina’s letter, Samira went to the bazaar. She found it swarming with people. She had heard that many Yahudim, store owners who ran away from Jaffa during 1948 fights, had returned and reopened their shops. Maybe Adon Nathan was one of them! How come she didn’t think of him sooner? Samira remembered how, in the bazaar, Suha always stopped to exchange a few words with him. “All I need is a bit of luck,” thought Samira.

It wasn’t difficult to find the shop, but to her dismay it was no longer the watchmaker’s shop. In the window were displayed beautifully ornate silver candlesticks, tea sets,
Kiddush
cups,
necklaces with silver Stars of David, others with silver crosses, prayer books with elaborate silver covers. It was a silversmith shop.

She stood in front of the window for a long time, until a young man, the image of a younger Mr. Nathan, appeared in the door frame and asked, “Jedati, how can I help you? Are you looking for something special?”

“Oh, young man,” Samira answered, “I was looking for Nathan Effendi, who once owned this shop.”

“He is my uncle,” exclaimed the young man. “When we arrived from Morocco, on the magic carpet, as my Yemenite wife called the airplane, my uncle, knowing I was a silversmith, helped me start the shop. And as you can see, with G-d’s help, the shop prospers.”

A young man who likes to talk, thought Samira.
Should I ask him about what really interests me
?

“What did you want from my uncle, maybe I can be of help,” the solicitous young man said.

“I wanted to greet him,
Shalom, Ahlan Wa-Sahlan Beek
, welcome back. But I’m glad I’ve met you. You seem to be as nice as he.” Gathering her courage, Samira raised her eyes to the young man. “I need to find the name and address of a Jewish hospital in Tel-Aviv, the one closest to Jaffa.”

“Are you talking about a maternity hospital?” he asked. Guessing that she didn’t understand the word, he said, “Where women give birth, a women’s hospital?”

Samira hesitated. “I think so.”

“Then I can help you. My wife gave birth to our son there. An old hospital, maybe demolished already. Freud Hospital on Yehuda Halevi Street,” he said aloud as he wrote on a slip of paper. “Here,” he handed the paper to her. Then he saw his uncle standing behind the old woman signaling to keep his mouth shut.

“
Salaam Aleikum
, Samira,” Adon Nathan said aloud. Samira turned, her heart throbbing.

“Did you bring news from Fatima Masri?”

4 9

November 1968

T
he artists’ room at Carnegie Hall filled up with people. Exhilaration was in the air. It was not every night that a new star, recipient of the Leventrittt Award, was introduced to the public. In the middle of the room, tired and smiling, Shlomi looked at the long queue of well-wishers waiting to congratulate him. He was happy, he knew he had played well, but he would have felt more at ease if he had been able to change into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. The heat in the room was overwhelming. Sweat trickled down his spine.

“When I grow up I hope to play like you,” a little boy, holding a half-size violin, said shyly. The boy reminded Shlomi of himself, addressing Isaac Stern, after one of his concerts in Israel. But where was Isaac? Shlomi’s eyes searched the noisy room. He saw him in a corner, a glass of champagne in his hand, chatting with Otto, both smiling back at him.

Otto had not talked to him yet, except for the hug before the concert, and to say
merde
, the French word musicians use to wish
good luck to one another before a concert. Sol Hurok, the famous impresario, approached Shlomi.

“Young man,” he said, “I have watched you play for some time. You have grown into a mature artist. Congratulations. Here is my card. Call me.”

Hurok was a man of few words but great deeds. To be represented by Sol Hurok meant an open door to an international career. Why didn’t he feel more excited about the opportunity? His eyes searched the crowd again. Where was D’vorale, his roommate, his love? Why wasn’t she by his side?

Oh, there she was, animatedly talking to Mazal and Lotte, his adoptive mothers, her arm around the waist of a middle-aged woman, a stranger. All were looking at what seemed to be a photograph, then to him, again to the photo and back to him.

While he signed the souvenir program for his admirers his mind went back to D’vora. Tonight she’d have to cajole him into making love!

The group including Otto, wearing his perennial bowtie (
he seems so much shorter now)
, Mazal, smiling, her golden earrings dangling, and Lotte, puffing (
probably the girdle is too tight)
, came toward him. Isaac walked behind his darling D’vora, his eyes fastened on the movement of her slim body; alongside her walked the unknown woman.

“This is my cousin Chana, actually my father’s cousin,” D’vora introduced her. It was clear that the woman wore a
shaitel
. “My grandfather and Chana’s father immigrated to Eretz Israel from Germany. Each one followed a different path, but we remained close and share in all of our family
Simchas
.”

“In the airplane we sat next to Chana,” Mazal followed D’vora’s words, “and as we told her the reason for our traveling to New York, she said she was a music lover also, so Lotte and I consulted with Otto, and decided to invite her to your concert.”

“A happy encounter,” D’vora declared. “Now Chana is here and shares in your success,” D’vora stopped in mid-sentence to kiss Shlomi, “I haven’t congratulated you properly yet.” With a glint in her eye she murmured in his ear, “But we have the entire night to celebrate.”

“This is such a happy and unexpected event that I have invited my cousin to spend the weekend with us,” D’vora continued, looking straight into Shlomi’s eyes.

Is she talking about the surprise we’ve prepared for our visitors?
Shlomi and D’vora had rented rooms at a bed and breakfast in Dobbs Ferry, not far from New York City, where an elderly widow hosted musicians, tired from life’s fast tempo in the big city. She catered to them, happy to listen to their relaxed music-making.

D’vora had asked the hostess to let them have the entire house.
Now she wants to bring her cousin, too. Why
? Seeing all eyes riveted on him, Shlomi acquiesced.

“It’s getting late, and we are tired,” Otto said, “the travel, the emotions of the concert, the memories it evoked. It is hard to describe what I felt during your performance. Our life together seemed to unfold in front of my eyes. I am so proud of you.”

Mazal and Lotte nodded in agreement.

“I’ll accompany you to find a taxi. We’ll see each other tomorrow morning at breakfast at your hotel,” D’vora, who seemed to have taken control of the plan, said.

“I saw Sol Hurok speak with you,” Isaac Stern said. “That’s a good sign, my boy, a good sign,” and he chuckled.

Dobbs Ferry, N.Y.

They had taken the train to Dobbs Ferry, a short distance from New York City. Shlomi was too tired to drive the morning after his concert. He had looked forward to talking long walks with Otto on the banks of the Hudson River, where they would replay the games of his childhood, competing in their knowledge of flowers and trees.

Besides playing violin duets with Otto, Shlomi’s biggest pleasure had been their hikes together with their regular group of
Shmurot Hateva
, every Saturday morning, from Eilat to Metula, to discover Israel’s beauties. The instructor, seeing Shlomi’s enthusiasm, took him aside, “Are you sure you want to be a violinist?” Shlomi must have been thirteen or fourteen at the time, “With your love for nature and your fabulous memory, you could definitely become a botanist or a horticulturist.”

Otto had smiled. “He takes after his mother. Like Shlomi, she loved music and flowers.” Anytime Otto talked about his mother, Shlomi’s heart listened.

Now, seated next to him on the train, Otto seemed smaller and thinner. Shlomi looked at the four women, D’vora, Lotte, Mazal and Chana, D’vora’s cousin, the woman who had appeared from nowhere. They had turned one of the train benches to face one another and were talking with animation. Shlomi was pleased by Lotte and Mazal’s arrival, he considered them family, but he felt uneasy about the newcomer. D’vora must have guessed the reason he wanted her and his loved ones to be together. He had planned to propose again. “It’s about time to make you an honest woman,” he’d said the first time, but she laughed and brushed away his words.

Why did D’vora invite this orthodox woman to share our vacation
? Shlomi had not alerted the owner of the B&B that there was going to be an extra person, and now he wondered if there would be an extra bedroom.

“Dobbs Ferry, next stop!” the train conductor announced.

“Avanti,”
Shlomi said, taking Otto’s arm. From the corner of his eye, he saw D’vora helping Chana, while Charlotte and Mazal buttoned up their jackets.

On the station platform, Shlomi turned to the group, “Are you ready for adventure? First take a deep breath, ozone, clean air, so different from New York,
is nicht war
? Lots of surprises await you here.”

D’vora shuddered.
Surprises are in store for you, too, my darling. Soon you’ll have to face them, and I am scared, scared for you!

“The B&B is not far.” Shlomi said.

“In that case, let’s walk,” Otto proposed. “After sitting in the train it would feel good to walk.”

On the way Shlomi introduced the town, “We discovered Dobbs Ferry by chance. D’vora calls it an enchanting village.”

“The spring is glorious here,” D’vora took over, “Daffodils and daisies, irises and forget-me-nots, a real symphony of colors. Even now, in the fall, you can see coquette geranium pots in the windows along Main Street.”

“We hiked on the Croton Aqueduct, which was the original water supply for New York City. You can still walk the trail today. The view of the Hudson River from the hills is spectacular. We actually plan to—”

“Stop, stop,” Charlotte interrupted Shlomi’s enthusiasm. “You forget our age,
Langsam,
slower, my dear child, I am tired already.”

Shlomi heard Chana whispering, “It’s so quiet here, it must be a nice place to raise children,” and saw D’vora’s response in her luminous smile.

“We have arrived,” D’vora said, after turning the corner onto Oak Street. She opened the gate in front of a white two-story house, surrounded by a luxuriant garden.

“Ach,” exclaimed Otto, “what breathtaking colors. The trees are already dressed for the holidays.”

“All maple trees, Scarlet Red maple and Autumn Purple Ash. Behind the patio you’ll see the Autumn Blaze, my favorite,” Shlomi said.

“C’mon friends,” Mazal called out impatiently. “You’ll have time to admire the trees later. Let’s get settled first.”

Inside the spacious living room, the women admired the low beams and the fireplace in which a friendly fire sang quietly. With
a sigh of relief, Charlotte threw herself onto one of the large chairs covered with floral chintz.

“Welcome to Dobbs Ferry.” The owner of the B&B, a woman in her mid-sixties with gray curls escaping from a tight chignon, greeted them, her hands still drying on a kitchen towel. Shlomi introduced his guests. A frown passed over the owner’s forehead, “I thought you mention five people? Of course I can ask my neighbor if she would.…”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” D’vora hurriedly said, “we are all going to share the rooms, my cousin and I, Shlomi and Mr. Schroeder, and Charlotte and Mazal told me that they’d like to be together.”

She turned to Shlomi, whose eyebrows formed an angry line. “I thought it would be best, since you and Otto have so much to tell one another.” She looked innocently at him, while Shlomi frowned.
Why doesn’t she want to sleep with me—does the others’ presence make her shy?

“In a minute I’ll serve coffee and tea. My petit-fours are about ready. And for Shlomi, his favorite, cranberry jam,” said the hostess. “Please, make yourselves comfortable and think of this house as your own home,” she ended graciously.

“We’d better unpack, even though we brought the minimum,” said Charlotte, ready to mount the staircase. She addressed the hostess, “Please show us our rooms first.” Mazal, Otto Chana and Charlotte followed the hostess, while Shlomi gripped D’vora’s arm.

“What’s all this?” he whispered. “Since last night I’ve had a nagging feeling that this holiday, which I so much looked forward to, is not going to turn out the way I expected.”

“Ouch, it hurts,” D’vora cried, freeing her arm. Shlomi thought he saw a cloud passing over her face. “I love you,” she said. “I want you to always remember, I love you with all my heart. You are, as my mother would say, my
basherte
. But,” she said coquettishly, “that’s on condition that you love me just as much.”

She kissed him on his lips, “Now I have to run upstairs and see if everything is in order.”