No Time for Tears (34 page)

No, war was not easy. The irony of it all, he thought… he had run away from the old country so he wouldn’t have to serve in the army for twenty-five years, which was the penalty for being born a Jew, and his American-born son came back from the war without legs … “How were things when you left Eretz Yisroel?”

“Not really better than when the Turks were in control. The British are about as bad, they just seem a little more civilized.”

He nodded. “So now that you’re here, what does your husband do?”

What did her husband do?
He is very unhappy because he had the misfortune to have married the wrong woman.
A woman who did not stay by his side … “My husband still lives in Palestine …in Tel Aviv. He works for the Zionist Agency.”

The sadness did not escape him. And in his eyes Chavala saw no censure. “You mean you’re alone here?”

“No. My brother and one sister came with me, and I have a little boy.”

“You’ll forgive me for asking, it’s not really any of my business, and if you don’t want, you don’t have to tell, but how is it you left your husband?”

A very good question—a question to which Chavala wasn’t so sure now, if she ever was, she had all the answers … “Mr. Leibowitz, I became responsible for my family when I was sixteen”—and Chavala thought of the night Chia was born—“I knew then that my life did not belong just to me. I have three sisters who need help, and a brother. I will
not
allow them to live out their lives in poverty, and it takes money to make that not happen. And there are nephews and nieces who have to be educated … You maybe want to know why I want to get into the jewelry business? Well, Mr. Leibowitz, a small pair of my mother’s diamond earrings was able to buy us a little safety. At least away from the pogroms,” she said as her hand felt the pouch pinned to her camisole, “and a few little stones bought us passage here to America…”

She had almost killed a Bedouin, not for the stones, but maybe it was God’s sign … his giving her the
chance
for more life … Her mind shifted back to Mr. Leibowitz’s first question. “I love my husband very much, and he loves me, but we can’t melt into each other’s mind and body just because we are husband and wife. I want to secure my family and he loves the land.
His
land. Our needs, dreams are so different, somehow we haven’t been able to fit them together …”

Mr. Leibowitz shook his head, two people with a child couldn’t find a way? He heard what she had just told him but still … “How long can a man and woman be apart?” He said it kindly.

“As long as it takes.”

“That could be years—”

“How many men came from the old country and left their wives and children? I guess you could say this isn’t so different, just a little reversed? Because I’m a woman, it seems strange. If I were a widow, God forbid, no one would ask. But in this life, Mr. Leibowitz, we are called on to make a few sacrifices and I don’t find mine—or Dovid’s—any more tragic than other people’s. It’s … it’s the way it is …”

Mr. Leibowitz took out his handkerchief, lifted the wire-rimmed glasses, wiped his eyes and blew his nose. For a moment he sat with his thoughts.

And Chavala sat with hers too … here she’d been talking about her personal life to a total stranger she’d met only twenty minutes ago. Strange … unless there really was a destiny directing poor humans … after all, was it
just
chance that she had looked up at
his
window? And that she’d been drawn to his place?

“Well, Chavala, you said you wanted to be a jeweler. You seem a fine young woman, I will be very honest with you. Some people get very rich in this business, but most just make a living. You’re not a jeweler and—”

“But a person can learn.”

“True. A person can learn to sell shoes, but a jeweler is born. It’s handed down from father to son.”

“I won’t argue with you, Mr. Leibowitz”—destiny seemed to be abandoning her—“but somehow I’ll learn.”

Chavala’s courage, determination impressed Mr. Leibowitz. “I don’t know why, but I have a feeling about you.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was time for lunch. “The help are eating now, but right after I’ll introduce you to Yetta Korn, she’s the head lady from the pearl stringing, from there you’ll begin.”

Chavala couldn’t believe it. Destiny—plus old-fashioned Chavala-stubbornness—was back. “
Thank
you, Mr. Leibowitz.”

“You’re welcome,” and taking his lunch from a brown bag he said, “Here, you’ll share a corned beef with me and a cream soda.”

Chavala was so touched she forgot to ask him how much her salary would be …

Later she sat next to Yetta Korn with a tray of cultured pearls, watching as Yetta separated the sizes and colors with a pair of forceps.

After a few days Chavala was knotting the long strands as though she had done it all her life. The years of sewing and intricate embroidery had made her fingers nimble. And her ears and eyes observed everything. She listened to Mr. Leibowitz talk to the jewelers when they came to buy. And she put a million questions to him. She worked while the others took their lunch so she could eat later while the men in the back molded the wax forms.

One day Mr. Leibowitz said, “Chavala, what took me a lifetime you want me to teach you in a week.” He said it with a smile.

She smiled back at him. “No … sooner. A week, I can’t wait.”

Chia and Reuven, Chavala thought, had adjusted to their new surroundings quickly. She was only half-right … she was so busy learning and working that she missed the problem with Reuven.

As for Chia, she wanted so badly to become a teacher, as she’d once told Aaron, that she even went to night school. Every spare moment was spent in studying. Not so with Reuven. He hated school, couldn’t understand the language and made little or no effort to learn. The only time he felt comfortable was when he went to the yeshiva, and not so much because he was very religious … he just loved the sound of Hebrew … the sound of home …

This day had been especially bad for him. On the way home the other kids had taunted him about his clothes … “Ain’t he pretty? Look at them fancy…”

Although he could not understand he knew well enough that they were calling him names.

“Hey, get a load of them shoes!”

“Greenhorn!”

“How do you say screw in Hebrew?”

“That’s good, Hymie,” a boy named Jake Goldstein said, “you’re a poet and don’t know it. Screw and Hebrew, they rhyme!”

The other two boys screamed with laughter as Reuven stood there, surrounded.

“Let’s take his pants down and see if his shmuck’s the same as ours.”

Suddenly Reuven was on the sidewalk with his pants down. He struggled and kicked and landed his foot in the face of one of the boys. His other foot managed to land between another’s legs, and the boy doubled over. But he was outnumbered. He took blow after blow and would have been knocked unconscious if it hadn’t been for Goldfarb the tailor, rushing out of his shop with a broom in his hand and screaming in Yiddish, “Get away, you lowlifes … you
bonditten!
You’ll all be in jail… wait, you’ll see …”

The boys ran off, less on account of Goldfarb than because Jake was holding his lower regions in pain and Hymie’s nose was bleeding.

Mr. Goldfarb helped Reuven up. “Come, you’ll wash up in my store,” he said in Yiddish.

But Reuven stood unsteadily and said in Hebrew, “I don’t understand … thank you, but…”

When Chia came home and didn’t find Reuven she went to the roof, where she knew he would be. Reuven was standing at the parapet looking out beyond the city.

Chia saw only his legs, the sheets flapping in the breeze obscured the rest of his body.

“Reuven,” she called out.

It took a moment before he answered, “Yes,” then viciously tore the sheets off the line and stood in front of her.

Chia gasped. “What happened to your face?”

“I got into a fight.”

“Come here, sit down and tell me.”

They sat on two empty crates, Reuven kicking at the pebbles that stuck to the tarpaper. One eye was swollen shut, and there was a long, deep gash on his cheek.

“Reuven, tell me what happened—”

“I
said
I got into a fight.”

“I know, but what happened, why?”

“Why?” he said, clenching his fists together as the muscles in his face tightened. “Because
ema
wanted us to live in a
civilized
place … I hate it here, Chia, and I’ve never forgiven her for bringing us here and leaving
abba
—”

“Don’t say that about your mother … she loves us, don’t you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand. I think she’s selfish, she doesn’t care about us, only about what
she
wants—”

“Reuven, you’re
wrong.
She gave up her own happiness so we could—”

“Who asked me if this was what I wanted? As soon as I can earn enough money I’m going home—”

“This is your home now.”

“No, not ever … and it’s not my country either.”

“You’re just upset, come downstairs and I’ll fix you something to eat—”

“Thank you, I don’t want anything to eat.”

“Well then, come down with me while I make supper … please?”

Chia hadn’t understood a word he’d said. No one was listening. His loneliness … he couldn’t stand it… there was no one to share anything with anymore … only
abba ….
a million miles away …

But Chia had understood. She was going to spend more time with Reuven, take him to Central Park, where she heard they had ice skating. There was the zoo, and this summer they could go to a beach called Coney Island. She would do things with him and try to get him interested in one of the settlement houses where he could learn to play a game called basketball. And she would talk to her big brother, Moishe, convince him to help her …

“You won’t tell
ema
, will you, Reuven?” Chia said quietly.

That evening Reuven was the center of attraction.

Chavala almost fainted when she saw her son. “How did this happen?” she asked more calmly than she felt.

“Playing ball.”

Inspecting the eye, she said, “What kind of ball is this?”

“Something like soccer,” he told her, taking her hand away.

“We’ll go to the doctor.”

“
No
.” What he needed was not a doctor.

“Reuven, darling, please don’t be stubborn, we’re going to—”

“No.” he got up and went to his room.

Chavala shook her head. “I don’t know, he seems so angry at me …”

“He’s at that age, Chavala,” Moishe said. He had, of course, noticed it too, the anger at Chavala.

Chavala shrugged. “I know growing up isn’t easy, but I don’t remember you at that age being so … so belligerent.”

“It was different with us, we weren’t in a strange country … we had it easier …”

Chavala knew better, but what could she do? Moments like these, she questioned her wonderful reasons for coming here …

Moishe got into bed, turned off the light. “Reuven?”

“… Yes?”

“What really happened?”

“I got beat up, is what
really
happened.”

“Did you fight back?”

“I tried, but you can’t beat five bullies.
Ema
was afraid of the Arabs. Against them, I had a better chance. I knew what ambushes to stay away from and I always had a chance. At least I spoke their language. I feel like … running away—”

“Listen to me, Reuven, no one can run away for long—”

“What did
ema
do?”

“She didn’t run away, she came here to build a better life for all of us,
you
included.”

“She didn’t do such a good job.”

“Listen to me … she gave up a lot, being with her husband, so we could have it better … a few bullies don’t count. Arabs or Americans … the thing to remember is the Turks. How were we treated? And now the British? We Jews spilled our blood for them, died for them, fought in their war and they loved us like poison. In this country the government’s not like that. Here you don’t have anyone to really be afraid of … except maybe yourself … We had to
beg
to fight for them. Remember, Reuven, I was in their army. You should have seen how they treated us, even at Gallipoli in the midst of a war. We couldn’t eat at the same table. We were kept in separate barracks in London. And if you have any idea that we’ll ever have a country there, you’re wrong. There will be a Palestine, sure, but the
British
will be in it, like the Turks for three hundred years before. They’ll rule our people and give the Arabs guns and look the other way. Be grateful, Reuven, that your mother gave you a chance to be free, have something better…”

Reuven wasn’t listening. He wasn’t interested in his uncle’s sermon. He would fight the British
and
the Arabs to be able to see Athlit. To walk in the vineyards and swim in the waters at Caesarea … he hated the snow and the cold, streets crowded with people babbling in a language he couldn’t understand. Life here had no meaning for him. He was an outcast, a stranger. A Jew … what else? But in Palestine he could work not to be a stranger … like his father was doing…

As Chavala sat at her table stringing pearls she had great difficulty keeping her mind on what she was doing. It was on Reuven … he’d become so silent, so distant. She couldn’t reach him. Of course he missed Dovid, and so did she. Terribly. But if she allowed herself the luxury of feeling continual guilt about him she wouldn’t be able to sustain herself, keep going … After all, she was a woman, not a piece of wood. She had her feelings … her needs too …

Of course she often had huge misgivings about having left Dovid, but she pulled herself up short and tried to reason them away … Dovid was a grown man with a strong will of his own, he was trying to fulfill his dream … but Reuven … Reuven was a little boy. She felt more responsible for him than for Dovid or herself … The loneliness, it was hard on adults, but for a little boy missing his father … The idea of sending the boy back popped into her mind, and just as quickly she tried to push it out… she’d convinced herself that
this
country was where her son would have the best chance not just to survive but to be spared the horrors she and Dovid had grown up with. She had to be strong, not crumble at the sight of her son’s unhappiness, remind herself that it would all be worth it to him one day … Except the effort was giving her sleepless nights. She was becoming ill. In the last few days she had been unable to keep food down, and this afternoon she felt dizzy and faint. When five o’clock came she was more than relieved the day was over. She had to go home and lie down.