Day After Night

“Don’t get so excited.”

“You’re after her,” Zorah said. “I saw you this morning. Whatever it is you suspect, leave her alone.”

“I was asked to find out something about her background, her origins,” said Shayndel.

“Why? Are they going to enforce race laws in Eretz Yisrael?”

“I am only doing what I was asked to do.”

Zorah sneered. “And if they told you to take the little boy away from her, would you do that, too?”

Shayndel did not know how to answer that.

“Ha!” Zorah pounced. “I didn’t think so. And I am going to be watching out for her, for both of them—Esther and Jacob—to make sure nothing happens to them. And that means I will be keeping an eye on you.”

“A real guardian angel. What happened to our angry cynic?”

Zorah opened her mouth but before she could argue, Shayndel said, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about your secret heart of gold.”

At lunch, Tedi was the last to join the rest of the girls from her barrack. “You look terrible,” Leonie said, as Tedi sat down. “Are you ill?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, glaring at Shayndel.

“Come to the infirmary later and have a nap,” Leonie offered. “The beds are much softer and I can set up a curtain.”

“Sounds like a delightful invitation,” said Nathan, putting his hands on Leonie’s shoulders as he walked up behind her. “Don’t fight it,” he cooed as she slapped him away, then gestured at two new men who had followed him. “Allow me to present my friends, Bob and Uri.”

Shayndel shook hands with them first, sizing up what she recognized as the Palmach’s reconnaissance team for the escape. The first man was a very tall, muscular blond who made his way around the table, ending with Esther and Jacob, who stared up at him open-mouthed. “I know you are wondering what kind of Jewish name is Bob. My family moved here from Australia.” He grinned. “And I like to be different.”

“Bob and Uri are here to help me teach physical education,” said Nathan.

“Of course,” muttered Zorah. “And I am here for the rest cure.”

“Rest cure, eh?” said Uri, who was compact and swarthy like Nathan. “You have quite a vocabulary for a new immigrant.”

“Zorah is tall smart,” Jacob piped up.

“You mean very smart,” corrected Nathan, patting his head. “And yes, these fellows are here to help me get everyone strong and fit for life in Eretz Yisrael, even you, Mistress Weitz of the sharp tongue.”

“How do you know my last name?”

“Darling,” Nathan drawled, “I know everything.”

“Weitz? Is this the great beauty that Meyer told us about?” Uri asked, and winked at her.

Zorah took a sip from her mug, hiding her reaction to Meyer’s name. It had been three weeks since she had last seen him, on Yom Kippur. It had been eight days since his second letter arrived. Both of them had come to her in official-looking envelopes, handed over discreetly by Goldberg, the Jewish guard.

Meyer’s first letter had been utterly formal and so bland, it might have been written by a dutiful nephew to a maiden aunt, inquiring about her health and the weather. But in the second, he had described a sunset over the Mediterranean, sprinkled tobacco crumbs into the folds of the paper, and signed it M.—which had seemed wildly romantic to her.

“Miss Weitz is blushing,” boomed Nathan.

“Leave her alone,” shouted Jacob, who jumped up and punched at Nathan’s arm.

“Meyer has a competitor.” He laughed, picking the boy up and holding him over his head.

“Put him down,” said Esther.

Zorah glared at Shayndel, who chimed in, “Enough, Nathan. Put the boy down.”