October 8, Monday
Early morning was Shayndel’s favorite time of day. She savored the short walk from the barrack to the kitchen when the air was still and clear, free of the dust kicked up by hundreds of feet. She would look at the mountains, which changed color from one morning to the next, blue or gray or even gold, depending on the clouds and the angle of the sun. But this morning, she saw nothing but the ground in front of her.
It had been a bad night, disturbed by dreams of running after things—first a train, then a child, then something she could not remember. She woke up worried about who was going to get out of Atlit and who was not, determined to pry the answer to that question out of Tirzah and Nathan. She would not let them dismiss her as they had yesterday. She would be immovable.
Nathan was already in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug in his hands, watching Tirzah slice cucumbers.
“Good morning, comrade,” he said. “Where have you been? We’ve been hard at work for hours.”
Tirzah glared at him. There were dark circles under her eyes; clearly she hadn’t slept well either.
“The breakout is tonight,” she said.
“Tonight?” Shayndel said. “The Iraqis are getting out tonight?”
“Not just them,” Nathan said. “Everyone is going. The whole camp.”
“But there are,” Shayndel calculated quickly, “two hundred, at least.”
“Yes,” Nathan said. “It will make for a dramatic story, don’t you think? Of course, you are to be the captain for your barrack. We’ll give you more instructions later today.”
Tirzah said, “You should ask what she thinks about Myra in Barrack C and Regina in D.”
Shayndel knew that she was grinning like an idiot, but she couldn’t help herself.
“What do you think?” Nathan asked. “Can we depend on those two girls? Are they able to keep a secret? Will the others follow orders from them?”
“Both solid,” Shayndel agreed. “But this won’t be easy with the little ones, you know.”
“Look at her, worrying and biting her lip,” Nathan said. “I thought you’d be thrilled. I was even counting o
n a kiss.”
“What’s the plan?” Shayndel asked, ignoring his puckered lips. “How are you going to take out the guards? What kind of transport is coming? Where will we be going?”
“Relax, sweetheart. It’s all taken care of,” Nathan said. “Your job will be to help us to wake everyone up and get them dressed and out of the camp quickly and quietly. Come back before lunch and I will tell you everything you need to know.”
“That’s enough for now,” Tirzah said, shoving platters of cheese and tomatoes into Shayndel’s hands, sending her out into the mess hall.
Shayndel sat down, oblivious to her friends at the table. Her mind raced and wandered: swimming on the beach in Tel Aviv, picking kibbutz oranges, walking the narrow streets of Jerusalem.
Leonie waved a hand in front of Shayndel’s eyes. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t tell me that. You look like the cat that caught the mouse. Are you in love?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shayndel shrugged and scanned the room. Did Myra have enough Hebrew to communicate with the Palmach? Was Regina levelheaded enough to remain calm when things went wrong—as they were bound to?
If only she could talk this over with Malka, her beloved comrade-in-arms, and a great judge of character. Shayndel and Wolfe used to call her “the Psychologist.” When Wolfe was planning a particularly nervy mission, he would ask Malka’s advice about whom to bring along, whom they could trust. Wolfe admitted that he tended to believe the worst about people, though he probably could have talked the guards in Atlit into opening the gates for them in the name of the glorious Zionist future, or for the sake of Allah, or whatever they needed to hear. His nickname had been “the Politician.”
And I was “the Old Lady,” thought Shayndel. I brought up the rear and carried everybody’s doubts, the one they could count on to argue in favor of getting more information before setting out on a dangerous operation. It was my job to keep them from forgetting that they could get killed, too.
Shayndel and Leonie chewed and swallowed in silence, lost in their own memories and worries. Everyone at the table noticed and Tedi asked, “Are you two having an argument?”
“Not at all. Nothing like that,” Shayndel said, a little too brightly. “Time to clean up. I’ll see you all later.”
“And you?” Tedi said, sliding over and trying to read Leonie’s mood. “I noticed you didn’t sleep in the barrack last night. Were you in the infirmary?”