Sister Pelagia and the Red Cockerel (40 page)

The Bedouins had gone, but the Arabs and Circassians were still there, just waiting for their chance.

Dr. Sherman, who lived in the Rothschild settlement of Zikhron-Yaakov, had told Magellan: “Do not be like the biblical king Josiah, young man. He refused to submit to Pharaoh and was killed, and in this way he destroyed the entire kingdom of Judea. And you know, the fateful battle took place in the very same Valley of Megiddo where you and I are now standing.” But Magellan had told him, “This is the place our kingdom was destroyed, and this is the place from which it will be reborn.” It was a good answer, a beautiful answer.

Today, after they had buried Rokhele in the silty soil, the doctor had started remonstrating with Magellan again, and this time the young man had no answer for him, because there was nothing he could say.

Dr. Sherman had said: “You can shoot at bandits, and sometimes it works. But you can’t shoot at malaria. How could you buy land in this pernicious place without consulting the old-timers like us? And this is only the beginning—the worst disaster will come in summer, at the peak of the fever season. As well as the lowland pasture, you ought to have bought a plot on a hill. Surely you can see that the locals only ever settle on high ground? The wind disperses the swamp vapors up there. But then, the Arabs would never have sold you a plot on a hill. The cunning rogues will wait until the malaria season begins and most of you die, and then buy the land back for a song. Or just take it back. It’s the Jews’ own fault, we have spoiled them. They used to live by their own labor—meagerly, but honestly. But we’ve driven them crazy with our European money. Why should they cultivate their own land if they can earn more by cultivating ours? Why should they bother to exert themselves if there are fools like you around?”

Magellan’s face had gradually turned darker and darker. He glanced sideways at the other members of the commune, who were listening to the prophecies of doom. At last he roared: “Get out of here, you old raven! I’m sick of your miserable squawking!”

The doctor took offense and left. Malke felt sorry for him, but Magellan had done the right thing. They had sworn an oath to lay down their lives in this land, but never to abandon their goal.

And Rokhele has already laid down her life, Malke thought with a shudder as she remembered the repulsive champing of the rotten ground under the blades of their spades. But she hardened her heart and told herself:
Never mind, others will come. They’re already on the way. And even if they bury me in that filthy swamp too, it will be better than if I had stayed at home and lived to the age of fifty, or even a hundred. What sort of pointless life would that have been? A female vegetable with a husband, children, a daily routine …

And then, Magellan was so handsome!

“HEY! HEY! OVER here, quickly!” the lookout Sasha Briun shouted from the roof of the
han
. “Look!”

Earlier, when they had a dog, they hadn’t bothered to set a lookout. Magellan said they ought to get a new dog, but where could they find another one like Polkan?

Everyone dashed up onto the roof, to the lookout tower, and peered into the twilight.

There were dark shadows bustling about over by the river—at the spot where they had buried Rokhele only an hour ago.

“They’re digging up the grave!” Sasha shouted. “I didn’t realize at first what they were up to over there, but then I took a closer look. Honestly they’re digging it up!”

They started dithering and dashing about, not knowing what to do. But then Magellan appeared and shouted, “Follow me!” And they each grabbed something—an axe, or a rifle—and ran toward the eucalyptus tree.

Rokhele was lying there, half-covered by a sprinkling of wet dirt. Absolutely naked. They hadn’t even left her undershirt on her, they’d taken every last thread.

Screeching in fury, Magellan pulled his revolver out of its holster and loped off, taking huge bounds along the path that led to the Arab village two miles away.

Malke was the first to go dashing after him, panting for breath and smearing the tears across her face, but she kept up, even with her short legs. The others ran behind.

When they had covered half the distance, someone at the back shouted, “Magellan! Look! Fire!”

Looking around, they saw the
han
silhouetted against flickering red flames.

They rushed back. It was harder to run now, because they were worn out.

THEY SAVED THE house—thank God, there was water in the barrel. Only the lean-to shed for equipment was burned down. But the sacks with their collection of seeds had disappeared, and both cows and the horse were gone, too. The safe with their reserve funds of three thousand rubles had been torn out of the wall. And the brand-new American harrow, which was worth its weight in gold in Palestine, had disappeared as well.

There were hoofprints left behind on the ground.

“Shod,” said Magellan as he shone the torch on them. “So it’s the Circassians, not the Bedouins. They must have been lying in wait until night came. And then, what a stroke of luck—we all went rushing off without even locking the gate.”

“That’s what they call ‘the luck of the Jews,’” Coliseum said with a sigh. “What are we going to do now, with no seeds, no harrow, no money?”

Someone (Malke didn’t recognize the voice, it was trembling so badly) sobbed, “We ought to go to Zikhron-Yaakov. We’ll die here …”

Some sniveled and wailed, some shook their fists in the air in helpless fury, and some just stood there hanging their heads. Malke was crying. Not because she was afraid, but because she felt sorry for poor Rokhele and for the cows, especially Pestrukha, who used to give two full pails of milk.

But Magellan didn’t swear or wave his arms about. When he was finished with the hoofprints, he went to see if the marauders had got as far as the cellar where the weapons were kept. And when he came back, he said calmly, “They didn’t find the guns. So not everything is lost. If they want war, we’ll fight.”

“Fight who? Daniel-bek?” Shlomo the apothecary asked.

The luck of the Jews, part 2

THE CIRCASSIANS WERE known to have appeared in Palestine twenty or twenty-five years earlier on the initiative of the sultan, who had rewarded his faithful
bashi-bazouks
with good land for their bravery in the war against the Russian and Serbian infidels. Before they became Turkish warriors, these men from the Caucasus had fought under the green banner of the great Shamil, and they had left their native mountains after refusing to become subjects of the tsar. His Osman Majesty had decided to follow the example of his northern neighbor and acquire his own Cossacks, who would prop up the sultan’s power in his decaying realm. Abdul-Hamid had been expecting that after he gave his soldiers land and exempted them from the payment of tribute, they would feed themselves. They would keep an eye on the restless Arab population, plow and cultivate the land, breed sheep. But yesterday’s
bashi-bazouks
had not turned into Cossacks, they had already lived for too long—almost a hundred years—by nothing but war and pillage and completely lost the habit of any kind of peaceful occupation.

The Circassians’ mode of service officially consisted of maintaining order on the roads. However, they interpreted this mission in their own way, and soon every passing traveler had to pay them a toll. And when the trade caravans started avoiding the Circassian
auls
and the road taxes starting drying up, these intrepid warriors had found themselves new sources of income: they hired themselves out to the caravans as guards, or hunted down criminals with a state price on their head, and sometimes they themselves even plundered villages or kidnapped rich travelers for ransom.

The police didn’t get involved with the Circassians, because every Circassian was a born warrior who had been riding horses since he was a baby, could shoot straight and never miss, and slashed with a sword like the very devil.

The
aul
that was closest to the New Megiddo commune had a reputation as the most belligerent of all. While the Circassians in the other settlements had gradually been drawn into a slightly more settled way of life and begun to abandon their pillaging ways, Daniel-bek’s clan still regarded any form of work as a disgrace for a
dzighit
, or armed horseman, and they earned their living exclusively by means of the rifle and the dagger.

The real reason for this was the
bek
himself. He had spent his entire life on a horse and was fond of saying that he would die in the saddle. But Daniel-bek wasn’t ready to die just yet. At the age of seventy-something, he was still strong, still restless: he had recently taken a new thirteen-year-old wife, and they said she was already pregnant.

As many as fifty horsemen rode to Daniel-bek’s banner, a six-pointed star with a half moon and a horse’s tail. The arrangement of their village was exactly the same as in their native Caucasus: they had set a stone watchtower at the top of a steep hill and surrounded it with low huts, or
saklyas
. A sentry stood on the tower day and night, keeping a sharp lookout in all directions. The Circassians did not keep dogs, because the high mountain variety they had brought with them had not survived the Palestinian climate, and the immigrants despised the local breed.

MAGELLAN SAW THIS circumstance as the weak spot in the Circassian defenses.

When the communards realized that their leader was not joking and he really did want to make war on Daniel-bek, a sudden silence filled the inner yard of the
han
. Even Malke, who was always ready to support Magellan in anything, felt frightened and wondered if he hadn’t gone too far this time and alienated the others.

But Magellan behaved as if such a possibility had never even entered his head. “Look here,” he began briskly, heaping up a mound of earth and sticking a twig into it. “This is the hill, and this is the tower. The stones are the
saklyas
.”

“And what’s that?” someone asked, pointing to the wavy line he was drawing in the dirt.

“The river. The slope here is very steep, almost a cliff. And in the southwest, over here, the slope is shallow, and the road …”

It was a fine idea of his, this model. Everybody crowded around and studied Magellan’s handiwork instead of sniveling and arguing.

“The goal is clear,” he said, wiping his hands on his trousers. “To teach the Circassians once and for all to leave us alone. And, of course, to get back what was stolen.”

“Magellan, they won’t give it back willingly. They’ll shoot at us,” Coliseum said gloomily.

“And we’ll shoot at them. Didn’t I teach you how?”

“If we kill even one of them, it will start a blood feud. They told us about that. And there’ll be no end to it…”

Magellan sliced through the air with his hand: “We’ll try to manage without any deaths. But if we can’t, we’ll have to eliminate all the male Circassians. Every last one. Otherwise, Coliseum’s right, we’ll never be free of them.”

“Absolutely all of them?” Malke asked. “Even the little boys?”

There was the sound of nervous laughter. Sasha Briun said, “I don’t really think I can shoot a grown man, let alone a child. Drop it, Magellan, this is real life, not some novel by Fenimore Cooper.”

“That’s just the point, Sashulya, this isn’t a novel, but real life. Either it defeats you and knocks you to your knees, or you defeat it.” Magellan shook his head, so that a strand of chestnut hair fell down across his forehead, and Malke couldn’t help admiring him—he looked so fine just at that moment. “The Arabs call the Jews
uliad-el-mot
, ‘sons of death,’ because we are afraid of everything. It’s time to show the Arabs, and the Circassians, and the Bedouins, that new Jews have arrived who aren’t afraid of anything. Or, rather, the old Jews have come back. The ones to whom all this land belonged two and three thousand years ago. If you can’t shoot at people—then learn how. So, who’s with me?”

Malke immediately raised her hand and shouted, “I am!”

After a girl had put her hand up, it was embarrassing to play the coward. One by one the other members of the commune raised their hands.

“I never doubted it,” Magellan said with a shrug. “So this is what we’re going to do. Shlomo and Coliseum stay here to guard the
han
. Malke, you stay with them, you’re in charge. Make sure the Arabs don’t raid the place and steal all that’s left. The rest of you, follow me!”

Ah, how cunning! Trying to soft-soap her by leaving two crocks to look after the house and putting her in charge. “Oh, no, I’m not having that!” Malke declared. “Shlomo and Coliseum can lock themselves in and not open up for anyone. But I’m going with you. Do we have equality or not?”

They did—she insisted on it.

THE TWENTY-FOUR communards advanced in single file along the empty road through the wide valley. There was no moon or stars to be seen, the sky was veiled by clouds. Magellan led his army at a brisk pace, almost a run—no doubt deliberately, so that they would put all their energy into the movement and there would be no time to think and hesitate.