Judith

  “If you want my opinion, Sir,” said Carstairs.

  “I don’t,” said Lawton.

  “Well, I’ll give it to you anyway, Sir. I think we’ve lowered our moral standards by not arresting her. It’s seldom one has a chance to arrest so pretty a girl. Here we are now, doomed to wenchlessness all the way to Jerusalem.”

  But Lawton was in no mood for banter. He turned up the car radio full blast and the strains of “Lili Marlene” enveloped them.

  10

  The Cipher

  Judith took Pete at her word and, claiming her papers, set off with the flock of sheep, having been formally confided to the care of old Karam, the Yemeni shepherd, and his two small grinning sons. Karam was a story-teller, a fortune-teller and a singer of old songs. He had a splendid great winged moustache and a small brass flute. They followed the flocks slowly along the verdant meadows and into the shadowy defile from which the river emerged. The pasture was rich hereabouts, and there were shady trees in the shadow of the cliffs. The pleasant noise of rushing water punctuated the silence and the shrill voices of the two boys who clambered about as active as goats. Somewhere up the mountain, invisible to them, there were Arab sharpshooters guarding the unmarked border. More than once they had been shot at, while the boys were always scaling the cliffs, much to the annoyance of the old man, who was always afraid that one of them, or both, might be shot by the sentinels on the Syrian side. But it was hopeless to try and control them; besides, once Ali had come slipping and slithering down the ravine among the loose stones with bullets chipping off flakes of rock all round him. He was bursting with laughter as he gained the shadow of the cliffs again. He had been snooping in the Arab camp and had even stolen a dagger which, still bursting with laughter, he threw in his father’s lap. Apparently, immediately behind the ramparts of stone, the desert began, and here lay an Arab force of some size, belonging to the tribe whose chief was Prince Daud, and whose advisers were rumoured to be British. It was hard to imagine this abrupt change from the desert to the encampment when one looked across this verdant and peaceful valley.

  Midway up the cliffs were a number of gloomy-looking caves, which Karam very firmly declared out of bounds to them all; they were called the Whistling Caves by the Arabs, he said, and they were full of djinns which haunted them. While he himself was no Muslim, it was clear that he was quite superstitious, as befitted a star-gazer and teller of fortunes. He told Judith that there was a dark man in her life and the information amused her; pretty soon this man was going to threaten her. Later still he was going to die or be very badly hurt, Karam could not see which as yet. Or else, triumph over his enemies... Judith was a thorough-going sceptic and paid no attention to these sallies. But she worked and rested, and began to adore these apparently lazy days spent by the water. Then, one day, old Karam was unwell and the sheep went out with only the two boys for shepherds; as usual they wandered off on some expedition — it was to try and get a golden eagle nestling from the crags — and she was left alone. Some little flutter of emotion dispersed the sheep and two of the small lambs, much to Judith’s horror, made a bee-line for the Whistling Caves. She called for the boys, but they were nowhere to be seen. There seemed to be nothing for it but to follow them and try to drive them back. It was with trepidation that she entered the gloomy corridors of the first cave, in which she could hear the frightened bleating. She entered hesitantly, calling to them. She had hardly gone ten paces when a hand closed over her mouth and she felt a pistol pressed into her back. Terror rendered her speechless — had she been in a position to speak. She was turned round by strong hands and a torch was flashed in her face. Then she was released and found herself confronting a very angry though familiar figure. It was Aaron. He was in a towering rage.

  “Fool. You have probably given away my position, wandering around with your blasted sheep. Why can’t you do as you’re told and keep them down by the river?”

  A mixture of rage, fright and a sense of injustice brought her very close to tears. Besides, his grip had bruised her. She flew out at him:

  “You have no right to treat me like that. To speak to me like that.”

  Aaron said grimly: “I have. I am supposed to be in military command of this valley. Look.”

  In the light of his torch she saw the reason for his concern, for a man sat bowed over a wireless set, jotting furiously on a pad. She heard the tittering of static which satisfactorily explained the djinns which haunted this forward observation post. She apologized, and his temper cooled.

  “I am sorry too,” he said coldly, “but you can’t leave this cave until dusk. I’ll arrange to get the sheep back to the shepherd. You had better sit down somewhere.”

  She did as she was told, and sat down on the cold rock. The operator worked furiously for a while and then took off his earphones. He handed across a sheaf of paper covered in block capitals and Aaron groaned. He sat down and clasped his head; then catching her eye, he smiled ruefully.

  “We have been listening in to the British talking to their mission. Vital information. But now we are really stuck. With the new military mission they’ve changed code and we can’t break it — even Jerusalem is stumped. We are getting pages and pages of gibberish. And it might be of vital interest. They were talking of giving Daud armoured cars...

  His despair made him for a moment seem almost sympathetic. She saw the long ribbon of paper hanging from his fingers and said:

  “Can I see?”

  He handed it to her without a word, and lit a cigarette. She gazed at the long lines of capitals. She said:

  “Would you let me have a big piece of this? I might be able to do something.”

  Aaron blew a dispirited streamer of smoke in the air, and said with contempt:

  “What do you think you could do?”

  Judith felt the sting of his manner.

  “Perhaps nothing, but I could try.”

  In her mind she was already turning up the laws of recurrence and probability, like a spade turning up earth.

  “At any rate, nothing would be lost,” she said, almost humbly. “I could leave these for you in Pete’s safe. Tomorrow.”

  Aaron sighed once more.

  “If you wish,” he said with indifference.

  When dusk fell he allowed her to leave the cave and descend to the river-bank. The rest of the sheep had already started for home with the two boys. She could hear their shrill shouts. Aaron stopped and said:

  “Whatever you do, don’t repeat this little excursion, or you are likely to get shot. And keep it secret.”

  Then he turned on his heel and strode off. She swore with rage under her breath:

  “The bloody self-importance of men!” she said; but then, looking at the papers she had been loaned, her lips set in a grim line. She stayed up until after midnight that night, covering sheaves of paper with calculations until a smile of triumph dawned, for the code yielded. This was to be her answer to the self-important young man. She copied out the scheme neatly in an exercise book, bundled the papers together and turned in. The next morning she gave them to Pete. She explained what they were and spent a quiet morning by the river with her own work. Towards noon, she saw Aaron coming along the river-bank with great excited strides. She watched him with a cool contempt. He was ugly, she thought, and his self-possession had a disagreeable habit of foundering under rebuke, so that he looked like a chastised puppy. He stood before her at last, with his hands outspread apologetically, but smiling.

  “Well,” she said at last, “what do you want?” Aaron said:

  “I came to apologize and to thank you.”

  She looked at him seriously for a moment. Then:

  “I accept both.” She grinned.

  “I have never been more surprised,” he added.

  “You don’t think much of women’s brains?” she asked ironically.

  “Most women have none. Admit it.”

  “Have most men?”

  “Of course, and am I not among
the have-nots myself?”

  “You are very modest today.”

  “I am very grateful indeed.”

  He turned abruptly and started to go away. Then a thought struck him and he came striding back.

  “Do you ride?”

  “I have ridden,” she said.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I used to.”

  He frowned in thought for a moment and then said, with a touch of hesitation:

  “Would you ride with me this afternoon? I have to go up to the other end of the valley — couple of hours...

  “With pleasure,” she said.

  “Good,” he said softly. “Good.”

  So it was that she found herself mounted on a fleet white Arab horse, galloping across the greensward of the upper valley with Aaron beside her on his own. They crossed the maze of green rides and climbed to where the silver olive trees began to grow more dense. Here there was a deserted shack of boards in an untended garden, where he dismounted to gather wild flowers.

  “This is my country house,” he said with mock pride. “My grandfather built it and lived here for many years. It belongs to me.”

  “It is beautiful,” she said.

  “When I think of all the work I put into this garden,” he went on ruefully, “as a child. Look at the damn place now. Nothing but weeds.”

  “It smells of thyme.”

  She rolled over luxuriously in the sunlight and pillowed her head, chewing a blade of grass. He looked at his watch.

  “Another five minutes,” he said, and frowned. She groaned.

  “Really so soon?”

  Aaron sat with his arms round his knees, head bent in thought.

  “There’s always too much to do,” he said, “especially for a general without an army — or rather with an army I shall have to borrow.”

  “Why don’t you come and live here?”

  “If ever I marry I shall.” He laughed. “Après la guerre.”

  “If there is any après about it.”

  He lit a cigarette.

  “It will end this year or next, I’m sure. But then we shall have to face the music here unless I am mistaken. Somehow we must get Israel born.”

  “Haven’t you had enough of this war?”

  “Yes.”

  “So have I. Too much. Can’t we think about peace a little? I have so much work to do as yet...

  “That is just the point,” he said angrily — almost angrily. “You don’t really believe us when you hear our plans for a free Israel.”

  “It sounds so problematical. You are so weak. The British are strong, and with their oil interests to worry about...

  “You will see,” he said.

  “I hope you are right.”

  “Israel must get itself born — it must.”

  They rode back in silence to the kibbutz. As he reached her down from the saddle he stood for a brief moment with his hands on her shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes.

  “Thank you, Judith,” he said softly. “It was a memorable day for me.”

  Then, as if of a sudden abashed by his own frankness, he stepped back a pace and added:

  “And it was particularly splendid, as I am leaving tonight.”

  To her own intense surprise she felt a sudden pang, like a pain; it was as if she had allowed the thought of him to lie neglected and unevaluated in a corner of her mind. It had somehow never occurred to her that he might go away. But why, she asked herself, should such a notion surprise, almost shock her? Aaron was nothing to her. She had come to accept him as part of the landscape, as part of the furniture of her new life here in the kibbutz. To her own amazement, and indeed vexation, she felt herself turn pale, and her voice when she spoke was very far from calm.

  “For good?” she said, astonished that the very phrase should weigh so heavily on her tongue.

  “For at least a year,” he said. “I have to go south on an Army course. Sometime I’ll be posted back, I suppose, since I belong to this valley, but... I can’t say when at all. I wanted to go and say goodbye to my country house today. That is why I was so pleased you let me show it to you.”

  “Oh, Aaron,” she said, still struggling with this new unfamiliar sense of disappointment, “I wish I had known!”

  “It was perfect,” he said. “Goodbye.”

  He climbed into the saddle and grabbed the reins of the second horse. She stood irresolutely before him as he smiled down upon her. Then, as he turned his horse, she cried, “Good luck!”

  But he was trotting away from her and without a single backward glance.

  That evening she worked late on the papers which the Professor had left her; light was slowly beginning to dawn on her as the tangle of formulae gradually began to take coherent shape under her swift pencil. The kibbutz was silent and everybody was long in bed. She worked now in the deserted school-room. It was pleasant and cool with its deep hedges and green outside. As she worked, she heard the soft sound of footsteps on the gravel path outside. Something flew through the open window like a moth and fell with a soft plop upon her papers. It was a white rose.

  But by the time she reached the door and opened it there was nobody to be seen on the dark path outside.

  11

  Grete

  There were other things too, to keep her constantly interested and active, not least the observation of the camp’s inhabitants, their reactions to the life which, for so many of them, was utterly new and not always entirely pleasant. Despite the comparative bliss of freedom from torture and suffering, few were able to adapt themselves at once to the curious atmosphere of discipline without unkindness, ample food without luxury and, above all, the integration into group-life which only boarding-school children normally know, and soon forget when they leave. Some felt uneasy and slightly on the defensive, as if there was some catch in the whole thing. The blonde girl, Grete, who had so startled them by her scornful declaration of illegal entry, was one of these. Though they never became close friends, her life and Judith’s in the kibbutz ran along fairly parallel lines, and, perhaps because they were so different from each other, a certain liking sprang up between them, and they often talked for a while during their free periods. There was something in the dark, serious eyes of Judith which attracted confidences, and Grete found herself telling her of her experiences only a few days after her arrival on the dark beach.

  “When we reached the kibbutz,” she said, “I was handed over to a very ugly girl with spots who seemed to be one of the duty nurses. But I don’t know now: everyone seems to take turns at doing everything. She was brusque and it made me feel rather weepy. She told me to wait for the doctor, and took down my particulars. Horrid performance. Name, age, profession. I nearly fainted, but she gave me some water, and that awfully nice woman doctor came in. She was much more helpful. She had my dossier, from the Agency, and she was sympathetic. The wretched nurse-girl took me to the showers and gave me a hot drink and a sedative. Funny — while she read my dossier she said — the doctor, I mean — ‘You’ve had quite a time haven’t you?’ It seemed such an understatement! When they were unpacking my small bag, they found my child’s photograph. I don’t know what got into me. When the doctor handed it to me, saying she thought he had my eyes, I went berserk and tore it up. She didn’t say a thing for a moment, and then just ‘Tell me.’ I did, I filled up the gaps in the dossier, without a murmur. At least she already knew where I had spent the last eighteen months — I didn’t have to go into that.”

  “Where?” asked Judith simply. Her large eyes were kind and not curious, and Grete told her the rest. About the officers’ brothel and, before that, about her marriage to the Nazi Colonel of impeccable Aryan descent. “When Hitler came to power the party learned that I was a Jew, and faced him with the choice of surrendering his position or his wife. That was how I found myself in Auschwitz. For ages I believed that my son had suffered the same fate. My husband, whom I have never seen since, was posted to the Russian front. For all I knew,
he was dead. But a year ago I met a man who knew him, and he repeated a conversation with my husband which suggested that the child might still be alive, with foster parents in some neutral country. But I don’t know where — I don’t know where.”

  Judith nodded in silence.

  “I told the doctor of my confusion of mind. Perhaps you can understand. I should love nothing better than to find him again, and yet, with half my mind, I do not want to find him because... well, you know why!”

  She stretched out her arm, bared it and lifted it up to Judith’s face. On the smooth flesh, a neat seven-digit figure in blue was printed grotesquely along the arm, next to another shorter row of figures with a perfectly straight line through them.

  “She said she understood,” went on Grete, “but that time would change it. That what I needed now, and what they could give me, was hard work here in Ras Shamir, manual labour. I nearly laughed.”

  The two young women looked across the river to where a group of girls was busy washing clothes in the clear water and hanging them up on the bushes. As they thumped the clothes on the flat rocks, they sang Ushavtem mayim besason, their voices sounding gay and innocent over the murmur of the stream.

  “Can you follow the words?” asked Judith.

  “More or less. ‘You will draw water with exultation’?”

  “And then?” asked Judith.

  “Well, then I met Pete. She knows all about everyone and everything, I think. All about me, certainly. We walked through the kibbutz in the shade of the willow trees. There were roses and sprinklers and it felt rather unreal. We came to the place where they park the tractors, and there were a few new machines. There was a young man — David — the second in command — you know him? Yes, well he was servicing them. He showed them to Pete with enormous pride. And then he said he was glad to see me looking alive. He said I looked quite dead when we arrived — strange that he should notice, don’t you think?”

  “Very,” said Judith with a straight face.