Raquela (35 page)

The road to statehood had been strewn with blood.

But was not every birth shrouded in blood? Who knew better than she? And how much more blood would be spilled in this birth?

“
We extend our hand to all neighboring states and their peoples in an offer of peace, and appeal to them to establish bonds of cooperation for the advancement of the entire Middle East
.”

Peace…cooperation…the advancement of the entire Middle East. Was it possible? Was it a dream? Why not?

Ben-Gurion's voice rang out:

“
We hereby proclaim the State of Israel
.”

Raquela stood up with Dr. Toaff and Esther and all the doctors and nurses.

They sang “Hatikvah,” the “Song of Hope.” It had never seemed so meaningful.

Raquela and Esther hugged each other. Dr. Toaff kissed them both, laughing and wiping his eyes. “Do you realize”—his musical Italian accent was thick with excitement—“now we're a nation like all other nations? For the first time in two thousand years, we won't be standing before kings and rulers with our hats in our hands. We're in charge of our own destiny. Children, we should celebrate.”

“I must tell my women first,” Raquela said.

Raquela bounded across the compound to the maternity ward.

“Women!” she shouted. “Listen. Ben-Gurion has proclaimed the State of Israel.”

The women jumped out of bed. Some had just delivered; some were heavy with babies ready to be born. They encircled Raquela, kissed her, hugged her until she was out of breath.

“Wait a minute,” she finally gasped. “I only delivered the news. I didn't deliver the state.”

“Raquela, Raquela,” one of the women sang out, “we're going home. Our babies will grow up in Israel.”

When the excitement died down and the women returned to their beds, Gerda asked Raquela, “Do you know when they'll let us out of here?”

“I'll go to Caraolas in the morning and bring back whatever news they have.”

At seven the next morning she taxied to the camp. Inside the gates she stopped in her tracks. A mass of people swept across the campground, marching, stamping, parading. Banners waved in the air:
LONG LIVE ISRAEL…LONG LIVE THE NATION OF THE JEWS
.

The paraders, dressed in their Shabbat clothing, wove in long lines about the tents and huts. Fiddlers played. Adi Baum pumped his accordion. Drummers beat rhythms on makeshift drums.

Thousands of people were marching in different lines. Raquela joined one of the lines, marching happily until her group spontaneously formed a circle and danced a hora, faster and faster. Adi Baum joined them, playing his accordion; then, the folk dance over, he led them in a parade again, toward the watchtowers.

Joyously waving their banners, the people called out to the soldiers, “Long live Israel! Now you too can go home.”

The soldiers leaned out of the watchtowers, smiling broadly, waving back.

Raquela caught sight of Josh and Pnina Leibner and their children marching in another line. She stepped out and hurried toward them; they too stepped out of line.

Raquela and Pnina hugged each other. “
Israel
.” Pnina said it was if she were trying out a holy word.

Only yesterday they had called their land “Palestine.”

But Palestine was derived from the name “Philistine,” the people who were constantly at war with the ancient Israelites. No, the name “Israel” was right. For thousands of years they had called it
Eretz Israel
—“the Land of Israel.”

“Josh,” Raquela said, “my women are clamoring to know when we can all leave. Have you got any word?”

“Nothing yet on Cyprus closing down. But we've heard Egyptian planes have dropped bombs on Tel Aviv. The Arab armies are massing at all the borders.”

She looked sadly at the people parading and waving their banners in ecstasy. In a few days, perhaps, they would be descending the gangways of Ike's and Gad's ships; immediately the men would plunge into the fighting, and the women and children into the war.

“I'm going back to the hospital,” Raquela said. “One of the nurses is holding the fort until I get back for the day shift. Will you let me know the minute you hear anything about closing the camps?”

She taxied back to the hospital. She found Gad waiting in the entrance to Maternity.

“Raquela,” he said, “we've got to celebrate the birth of Israel. Can you and Esther get off tonight and come out to the
Pan York!
Bring your bathing suits. Ike wants us to have dinner on the
Pan Crescent
. I thought it would be fun if we swam from my ship to his.”

“A night swim? It sounds fantastic, but is it safe?”

“Ike and I do it all the time.”

After dusk Raquela and Esther, dressed in summer cottons and carrying bathing suits, taxied to the Famagusta harbor.

A full moon threw stabs of light into the sea.

Looming up, the
Pan York
and the
Pan Crescent
seemed like two giants chained and fettered in the black water.

Aboard the
Pan York
Raquela saw two British soldiers patrolling the ship. Gad kissed Raquela and greeted Esther.

“We have to be careful,” he whispered. “The soldiers mustn't know what we're planning.”

“Why?” Esther asked. “Is it illegal to go swimming?”

“Off these ships it is. Remember, technically, we're still their detainees.”

An explosion detonated under the water. The two women flinched.

“What was that?” Raquela asked.

“A little game the British play with us every night. They drop one or two small bombs around us in the water to make sure we don't have any frogmen trying to free our ships. Don't worry. They've dropped their quota for tonight.”

Raquela looked across the water at the
Pan Crescent
a hundred yards away, its decks festooned with lights.

“Why don't you two go into my cabin,” Gad suggested, “and put your bathing suits on under your dresses. The crew and I already have our bathing trunks under our pants. The British mustn't see us in bathing suits.”

Soon Raquela and Esther were back on the deck, their dresses concealing their swimsuits, waiting with Gad until the patrol moved out of sight.

“Okay, everybody,” Gad commanded in a low voice.

Swiftly, they stepped out of their clothes, hid their dresses and shoes in a box on the deck, and climbed down the Jacob's ladder. A dozen or more crew members surrounded the two women as they swam through the dark cool water toward the
Pan Crescent
.

Gad reached Raquela with long smooth strokes. He drew her to him in the water and kissed her. Her face glistened with pleasure. She raised her head high in the salty water, tried to tread water, put her hands around his neck, and returned his kiss. The moon made a path to Ike's ship; she could see him standing with his crew on the deck.

“We'd better get out of this moonlight,” Gad said, “or the soldiers on one of our ships may see us.”

Raquela turned over and floated luxuriously, letting the water lap over her. Gad swam at her side, guiding her.

Arik
, she thought,
in a million years you couldn't guess what I'm doing right now
.

After a while she turned over, moving her arms rhythmically in a breaststroke.

“Have you seen Esther?” she asked Gad.

“She's probably swimming with the crew, but I'll go check. You keep on heading toward the ship.”

“Hi, Raquela.” Esther splashed beside her. “I haven't had this much fun since I got to Cyprus.”

A bullhorn shattered the night.

“
Attention! All personnel! Have sighted frogmen! Alert all naval craft!
”

Raquela and Esther sped toward the
Pan Crescent
, their hearts racing faster than their strokes.

A motorboat pulled up beside them. Strong arms reached down and dragged them into the boat; soon half a dozen of the crew were hauled up.

Raquela sat on a wooden ledge, searching anxiously for Gad. The British kept scouring the water for more swimmers. Apparently convinced they had captured them all, the seamen pulled into shore. The swimmers clambered onto the dock. Raquela's teeth chattered with cold and with fear.

“What are you going to do with us?” she asked a British officer who seemed in charge of the soldiers waiting for them.

“Take you to jail.”

“Jail!”

A paddy wagon pulled up. The captured swimmers were loaded into the wagon. Raquela shivered, her bathing suit dripping on the seat as they drove in the night air. She sat close to Esther. They did not speak.

In the Nicosia jail, a guard led them through a corridor. He unlocked the door of a large cell and pushed the crew members inside; farther down the corridor he locked the two women into a smaller, narrower cell. “You sure look like drowned rats,” he said.

Soon he returned and handed them two army blankets. The familiar-smelling blankets had never seemed so welcome. They wrapped them togalike around their bodies and slipped out of their wet suits.

Now warm and dry, they looked around the cell. Two iron cots flanked the walls.

Esther shuddered. “They're probably full of bedbugs and cockroaches.”

“Still, we can't stand up all night,” Raquela said. “It must be about ten o'clock.”

The two nurses gingerly brushed the dirt off the cots, then sat down at the edge of the beds.

“I wonder if Gad was caught,” Raquela said worriedly. “I pray he got away.”

They heard heavy footsteps outside their cell. A British military officer rapped his stick on the bars.

“Now would you two like to explain what you were doing? Frogmen, aren't you?” He glared at them.

“Frogmen!” Raquela gasped. “We're nurses from the British Military Hospital.”

“You don't expect me to swallow that cock-and-bull story. No nurses from the BMH would carry on like this. You're a couple of terrorists from Palestine.”

Raquela pulled the blanket closer around her body. “Please, sir, call the BMH. Ask for Dr. Mary Gordon. She'll vouch that we're not terrorists.”

He turned on his heels.

A few hours later, still unable to bring themselves to lie on the cots, Raquela and Esther saw the jailer approach. “You've got a couple of visitors. We've let them in because they brought you dry clothes.”

He handed them the summer dresses they had concealed on the deck, their shoes, and their purses, which held their wristwatches and ID cards. “I'll let you see your visitors for a few minutes.”

He returned with Ike and Gad.

“Thank God, you're safe,” Raquela whispered to Gad through the bars. “I was so terrified not knowing what happened to you.”

He looked contrite. “I saw them catch you. It was too late to help you get away. I swam underwater and managed to escape their net.”

Ike put his hand through the bars and touched Esther's face.

“Some jailbird!”

“They think we're terrorists, Ike,” Esther said. “We told some officer to get in touch with Mary Gordon. I don't think he believed us.”

“We'll call her ourselves.” Ike tried to reassure her.

“Time up,” the guard shouted.

Alone in the cell, Raquela and Esther changed into their clothes. Sleep was out of the question.

Sunlight began to filter through the prison corridor. Somewhere in Cyprus the sun was rising. Raquela could visualize the people stirring in the tents and huts. “One night behind bars and I feel as helpless as the refugees—like a trapped animal.”

“What a way to celebrate the birth of Israel,” Esther said. “In jail!”

The jailer appeared, unlocked the cell door and handed them each a cup of tea and a slice of rye bread. Famished, they ate the bread slowly to make it last longer.

The hours dragged. When would they be released?

They looked at their watches. Eight o'clock. Nine o'clock. Ten o'clock.

No one came.

Twelve o'clock. The jailer brought two bowls of soup.

“How much longer before we can go?” Raquela asked.

“Who knows? Maybe thirty days.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“But we haven't done anything wrong!” Esther protested.

“Never met a prisoner yet that didn't say that. Why did two good-looking girls like you want to blow up those bloody refugee ships?”

“It was only a swimming party,” Raquela said.

“Hm.” He slammed the cell door.

Raquela and Esther sipped the soup. More hours passed. Shadows were growing long in the prison corridor. Raquela looked at her watch. “It's five o'clock.”

“I'm getting exhausted,” Esther said, “but I can't see myself sleeping on this bed. Still, I guess if we're tired enough, we'll have to.”

Six o'clock. The jailer reappeared, his keys dangling. He opened the cell door.

“You two sure fooled me. It's the first time I ever locked up nurses.”

Sighing with relief, they followed him outside the jail. In the street, Gad and Ike embraced them.

“How did you get us out?” Raquela asked.

“Hop into the cab,” Gad said, “and we'll tell you everything. But you've got to report immediately to the matron.”

He ordered the cab to drive fast to the hospital.

“It was Dr. Mary Gordon,” Gad told them. “We got in touch with her and she went right to the top, screaming that no one had a right to lock up her nurses.”

“What about the crew?” Raquela asked. “Will you be able to get them out right away?”

“It's harder with them. But we've hired the best lawyer in Cyprus to work on it.”

The cab sped up the hilltop to the hospital. Raquela and Esther leaped out, said good-bye, raced through the complex of Nissen huts, and knocked on the door of Matron White's office.

The matron was imperious in her rage.