Leon Uris (63 page)

When the month of May came the rains were gone and the Huleh Valley and the hills of Syria and Lebanon turned a rich green and the valleys filled with carpets of wild flowers and the buds on the spring roses of Galilee burst into magnificent reds and whites and oranges and once again Gan Dafna prepared for a holiday. It was time for Shavuot to celebrate the bringing of the first fruits of the new year.

All holidays concerned with farming were particularly close to the hearts of the Jews of Palestine. Shavuot at Gan Dafna had become traditional for the coming of delegations from the Huleh settlements to the children’s village to share in the celebration.

Again Gan Dafna took on the air of a carnival as truckloads of farmers arrived from the Yad El
moshav
. Sarah Ben Canaan came.

They arrived from the border
kibbutzim
of Kfar Giladi up on the Lebanon border. They came from Ayelet Hashahar
kibbutz
on the lake and from Ein Or. They came from Dan on the Syrian border and from Manara on the mountaintop.

Dr. Lieberman expressed his disappointment to Harriet Saltzman and Kitty that the Arab delegation from Abu Yesha was only half the usual size and that Taha was missing. The meaning was obvious and saddening.

Kitty managed to see each truck as it arrived. She hoped that Ari Ben Canaan would come and she was unable to mask her disappointment. Jordana in turn watched Kitty, with a cynical smirk.

Some soldiers came from Fort Esther. These were among the “friends” who always tipped off the village when an arms search was on the way.

The day was filled with merriment. There were athletic contests and open house in the classrooms and laboratories. There was
hora
dancing on the center green, and outdoor tables bent under the weight of food.

At sundown everyone moved to the outdoor theater cut into a hillside, set in the middle of a stand of pine trees. The theater filled to overflowing; hundreds more lay about on the surrounding lawns. As it turned dark multi-colored lights came on, strung through the pines.

The Gan Dafna orchestra played “Hatikvah”—the Hope—and Dr. Lieberman spoke a brief welcome and signaled the parade of Shavuot to begin. He returned to his seat with Kitty, Sutherland, and Harriet Saltzman.

Karen led the parade. The instant Kitty saw her she felt fear. Karen sat astride a large white horse and balanced the staff of the flag with the white field and the blue Star of David. She wore dark blue slacks and an embroidered peasant’s blouse and sandals on her feet. Her thick brown hair was done in pigtails and hung to her small breasts.

Kitty gripped the arms of her chair. Karen looked the very spirit of the Jews!

Have I lost her? Have I lost her? The wind whipped the flag and her horse broke for a second, but Karen turned it into line quickly. She is gone from me as she is from the Hansens, Kitty thought.

Harriet Saltzman was looking at Kitty and Kitty lowered her eyes.

Karen passed out of the spotlight and the parade continued. The five tractors of Gan Dafna were polished and shined. Each pulled a flatcar loaded with fruits and vegetables and grains grown at the village farm.

Jeeps and trucks and station wagons buried under flowers from the gardens passed by. Trucks passed by filled with children in peasants’ clothing holding rakes and hoes and scythes and power tools.

The livestock was passed in review, led by the cows, which were decked in ribbons and flowers, and the horses were shiny with manes and tails braided. The sheep and goats were herded past and then the pet dogs and cats and a monkey and white rats and hamsters were led or carried in affectionate display.

Children passed holding cloth of material they had grown, spun, and woven and newspapers they had printed and their art work and baskets and pottery. Their athletic teams marched by.

When the parade was done there was a final rousing cheer from the audience.

Dr. Lieberman’s secretary slipped alongside him and whispered into his ear.

“Excuse me, please,” he said, “I have an important phone call.”

“Hurry back,” Harriet Saltzman called after him.

The lights in the trees were turned off, plunging the place into darkness for a moment before a spotlight shone on the stage. The curtain opened and the tambour beat and a reed flute played an ancient melody. The children began to enact the Song of Ruth. It was done in pantomime against the plaintive sound background of the two instruments.

Their costumes were authentic. The dances were the slow and sensuous movements of the days of Ruth and Naomi. Then came performers who danced with wild leaps and a passion like that of the dancers Kitty saw on top of Tabor.

How they lived for the re-creation of their past, Kitty thought. How dedicated they were to regaining the glory of Israel.

Karen stepped onto the stage and commanded an instant expectant hush. Karen danced the part of Ruth. Her movements told the simple and beautiful story of the Moabite girl and her Hebrew mother-in-law who traveled to Beth Lehem—the House of Bread. The story of love and of one God had been retold at Shavuot since the days of the Maccabees.

Ruth had been a gentile in the land of the Jews. Yet Ruth was an ancestor of King David.

Kitty’s eyes were glued to Karen as she enacted Ruth’s words to Naomi that she would come to the land of the Hebrews with her.

“
Whither thou goest I will go; and where thou lodgest I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people and thy God my God.
”

Kitty was dismayed as never before. Could she get Karen away from this? Kitty Fremont was the stranger. She would always be a stranger. The gentile among the Hebrews, but she could not say as Ruth had said, “
Thy people shall be my people.
” Would this mean losing Karen?

Dr. Lieberman’s secretary tapped Kitty’s shoulder. “Would you come to Dr. Lieberman’s office at once?” she whispered.

Kitty excused herself and slipped from her seat. She walked up to the top of the theater and looked back for a moment to see the children dancing the dance of the reapers and to watch Karen go to sleep at the feet of “Boaz.” She turned and left the theater.

The path was dark and she had to be careful of trenches. Kitty turned her pocket flashlight on the ground. She crossed the center green and passed the statue of Dafna. Behind her she could hear the beat of the tambour and the cry of the flute. She walked quickly to the administration building, led by the single light.

She opened the door to Dr. Lieberman’s office.

“Good Lord,” she said, startled at the sight of him, “what’s the matter? You look as though ...”

“They have found Karen’s father,” he whispered.

B
RUCE
S
UTHERLAND DROVE
Kitty and Karen to Tel Aviv the next day. Kitty used the pretext that she had to do some overdue shopping and wanted to give Karen her first look at the big city. They arrived slightly before the noon hour and checked into the Gat Rimon Hotel on Hayarkon Street, on the Mediterranean. After lunch Sutherland excused himself and left. The shops were closed during the midday hours so Kitty and Karen romped along the sandy beach below the hotel, then cooled off from the heat with a refreshing swim.

At three o’clock Kitty ordered a taxi. They drove to Jaffa where one of the faculty at Gan Dafna had recommended some great buys in Arab and Persian brass- and copperware. Kitty wanted some things for the cottage. The taxi took them into a narrow, twisting street in the center of the Jaffa flea market. A row of shops were indentations in a Crusader wall. They stopped before one of the holes in the wall guarded by a fat individual sitting asleep in the doorway, with a red fez tipped over his eyes. Kitty and Karen studied the shop. It was five feet wide and not much deeper and a mess of hanging pots, pans, plates, jugs, vases, urns, candlesticks, and what not. The floor had not been swept for at least ten years.

The fat Arab sensed the presence of customers and awakened from his sleep. He gallantly gestured to the women to enter his domain. He shoved some brassware off two boxes and offered them as seats, then ran outside and called for his oldest son to get some coffee for the honored guests. The coffee arrived. Kitty and Karen sipped it and politely exchanged smiles with the shopkeeper. The son stood by the door, a portrait in stupidity. A half dozen spectators gathered on the outside to observe the proceedings. The attempts to converse soon proved frustrating. There were grunts, gestures, and hand wavings in place of a common language. Whereas Karen spoke Danish, French, German, English, and Hebrew and Kitty spoke English, Spanish, and a smattering of Greek, the Arab was versed only in Arabic. He sent his son out once again to find the flea market interpreter and in another few minutes the intermediary was produced. The interpreter’s English was of a pidgin variety, but he was conscientious and the shopping commenced.

Kitty and Karen browsed around the shop blowing dust off encrusted antiques, some with a hundred years’ coating of dirt and tarnish to testify to their authenticity. After forty tense minutes of womanly thoroughness, every piece in the shop had been handled by one or the other shopper. They settled on a pair of vases, three long-spouted Arab coffeepots of exquisite delicacy, and an enormous Persian plate with thousands of hand-engraved figures depicting an entire legend. Kitty asked the price for the entire lot, cleaned, polished, and delivered to her hotel. The crowd on the outside pressed closer as the interpreter and the proprietor went into a huddle.

The interpreter turned and sighed. “Mr. Akim, him heart broke. These treasures to depart. Plate, he swear by Allah, three hundred years.”

“Just how much is it going to take to mend Mr. Akim’s broken heart?” Kitty asked.

“Because lady, your daughter here, so beautiful, Mr. Akim make special bargain. Take all, sixteen pounds sterling.”

“It’s a steal,” Kitty whispered to Karen.

“You can’t pay him what he asks,” Karen said with exasperation. “Do you want to ruin his day by not bartering?”

“I’m taking it and running,” Kitty whispered. “That plate alone would cost three or four hundred dollars in the States.”

“Kitty! Please!” Karen cried in disgust. She stepped in front of Kitty and the smile disappeared from Akim’s face. “Nine pounds sterling and not a
grush
more,” Karen announced firmly.

The interpreter reported the counter-offer to Mr. Akim. Mr. Akim was offended. He went into wails of anguish. He had a large family to feed. Again his kind heart was being taken advantage of. The items picked by these sharp-eyed women they knew were antiques ... on his honor, his father’s honor, and by Allah’s beard. Thirteen pounds.

“Twelve and that’s final.”

Akim sobbed that he was being cheated but he was a poor Arab so what could he do. He was putty in the hands of these clever women. Twelve and a half.

It was a deal.

The bartering was over and smiles bloomed within and without the shop. There was an extended handshaking ceremony. Akim blessed Kitty and Karen and all their subsequent offspring. She left the name of her hotel and advised Akim he would be paid when the cleaned and polished goods were delivered. She tipped the interpreter and the stupid son and they left.

They walked through the flea market amazed by the amount that could be jammed into the tiny shops and the degree of filth one street could collect. As they approached the end of the street a man who looked like a
sabra
stepped up to Karen and exchanged several words in Hebrew and walked away quickly.

“What did he want?”

“He saw by my uniform I was a Jew. He wanted to know if you were English. I told him who you were and he advised us to return to Tel Aviv. There might be trouble.”

Kitty looked down the street but the man was gone.

“He must have been a Maccabee,” Karen said.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Kitty’s heart was in her mouth until they were out of Jaffa. They drove to the intersection of Allenby Road and Rothschild Boulevard. Allenby Road was filled with new shops, and Rothschild was a wide street with a center parkway lined with ultramodern three-storied white apartment houses. It was a striking contrast to the flea market of Jaffa. Cars and buses moved in a steady flow and people walked with the big-city gait, all in a hurry.

“It is so thrilling,” Karen said. “I’m glad I was able to come. It is hard for me to realize that everyone here, bus drivers and waiters and salespeople, are all Jews. They built this whole city ... a Jewish city. You don’t understand what that means, do you ... a city in which everything belongs to the Jews.”

Karen’s words annoyed Kitty.

“In America we have many important Jews, Karen, and they are very happy and very much American.”

“But it’s not the same as a Jewish country. It’s not the same as knowing that wherever you go and whatever you do there is still one corner of the earth where you are wanted and that belongs to you.”

Kitty fished in her purse quickly and took out a piece of paper. “Where would this address be?”

Karen looked at the paper. “Two blocks down. When are you going to learn to read Hebrew?”

“Never, I’m afraid,” Kitty said, then added quickly, “I chipped two teeth trying to say some words yesterday.”

They found the address. It was a dress shop.

“What are you going to get?” Karen asked.

“I’m going to buy you a decent wardrobe. It’s a surprise from Brigadier Sutherland and me.”

Karen stopped dead. “I couldn’t,” she said.

“What’s the matter, dear?”

“There is nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”

“It is fine for Gan Dafna ...” Kitty said.

“I have all the clothing I need,” Karen insisted.

Sometimes she sounds like Jordana Ben Canaan, Kitty thought. “Karen, let’s not forget that you are a young lady. You won’t be betraying the cause if you dress up in something nice once in a while.”

“I am quite proud of ...”

“Oh, quiet!” Kitty said with finality. “You sound more like a
sabra
every day. When you are away from Gan Dafna with me you are going to make me and Bruce proud of you.”