The Gates of Zion (31 page)

“I’m trying,” she said, lost in his words.

“Finding the truth involves commitment to search, to be open and work at uncovering the facts.”

“You sound like an archaeologist.”

Moshe laughed. “I suppose. It is your uncle, after all, who first challenged me to search… . There are so many things I do not understand, yet I believe that just beyond my understanding lies the answer. God says that we will be a nation once again. I do not understand how we have survived the oppression of two thousand years of Christian and Muslim hatred, yet we stand on the brink of statehood. Therefore, what God said through the prophets must be truth. Perhaps my duty is to find the promises, and in those I will find truth for my existence. Does this make sense?”

“Isn’t it funny?” Ellie gulped her coffee. “I’ve spent my whole life thinking that what I feel is the way things must be. You’ve spent your whole life thinking about facts and truth. There has to be a place for both of those things: knowing truth in your head and feeling it in your heart. I’m trying, Moshe, really I am.”

He squeezed her hand. “And so am I. And Ehud and Howard and your flier friend David―”

Ellie stiffened. “David? He can’t see past the nose on his face.”

Moshe kissed her on the nose, then winked, “A common failing in human nature, is it not?” He laughed. “Judgment of another without the facts.”

“I sure had you figured all wrong, didn’t I?” She smiled up at him.

“I’m glad.”

“Since you have finally figured that out, my love—” he stood and stretched—“I will tell you that I think David seems to be a fine fellow. He was very brave in his little plane.”

“He’s a show-off, that’s all.” She stood and put her arms around Moshe’s waist.

“This may not be the moment to convince you otherwise.” He drew her close to him and kissed her gently.

“And what verdict have you reached about me, Your Honor?”

“Can you cook?” Moshe asked.

“Where is the kitchen?”

“You see; you really are perfect.”

Ellie followed Moshe down the narrow steps into the hold of the ship, where cases of oranges and Coca-Cola were stacked in a corridor that led to a dingy little galley. A brass-rimmed porthole looked out the bow of the ship, and the roar of the engine nearly drowned out conversation. There was barely room for one person in front of the wide wooden counter, where loaves of bread were stacked next to a large round of cheese and several sticks of salami.

“We will rendezvous with the refugee ship sometime within the next two hours,” Moshe shouted over the din. “They will be hungry.”

“How many should I make?” she asked, astonished at the amount of bread and cheese in front of her.

“As many as possible. They will eat it all.” He dug a large butcher knife out of a drawer and handed it to her. “Welcome to the Haganah, darling.” He kissed her lightly.

“What is this? Some kind of initiation or something?” She touched her finger to the dull edge of the knife blade.

“If you can survive this”―he inched his way past her and out to the corridor―“we shall make you sergeant in charge of pots and pans.”

She waved the knife in the air. “I feel like a pirate.”

“The British would agree with you on that point.” Then, rubbing his stomach, Moshe said, “If you get a free moment, bring us a couple sandwiches, eh?”

“What else have I got to do?” She took the first of twenty thick-crusted loaves from the stack and began to saw on it.

Moshe laughed, then returned to the wheelhouse.

The knife barely dented the crust of the bread and tore each slice into ragged chunks. Ellie rummaged through the drawers of the galley but found nothing sharper than a butter knife among the mismatched collection of silverware and utensils. She attacked the cheese with frustrated fervor until, two hours later, uneven chunks of cheese lay in piles next to mounds of torn bread. She slapped the sandwiches together, grabbed two warm Cokes, and headed for the deck, exhausted.

“Don’t you guys believe in knives that have blades?” she asked without ceremony as she presented a thick sandwich to Ehud and to Moshe.

Ehud gripped the wheel with one hand, his other encircling the sandwich as if it were a baseball. “Now this is what I call lunch!”

He attacked the sandwich. “She is generous, this girl of yours!”

Moshe studied the ragged facsimile of a sandwich, then attempted to find a side thin enough that he could take a bite. “Hmm. Generous.”

“If you don’t like it, Moshe”―Ellie crossed her arms and glowered―“you can use it for bait. Dough balls and cheese work great off the Santa Monica pier. Maybe you’ll catch a swordfish, and you can cut your own bread!”

“I did not say a word.” Moshe pulled a piece of cheese from between the bread and munched contentedly.

“I shall eat his!” exclaimed Ehud. “It is good and plenty big.”

“Thank you, Ehud,” said Ellie. “Back in the States we would call this a delicacy. Sort of, anyway.”

“You see?” Ehud opened his Coke with his teeth. “The girl has made us American sandwiches, and we are meeting the SS
America
. This is a good omen. Not to worry, Moshe.”

“Have I missed something?” Ellie paused with concern. “Is there something to worry about?”

Moshe studied the horizon to the north. “The ship is late, or we’ve missed her somehow.”

“What will we do?”

“We shall wait.” Ehud swigged his Coke. “She shall come.”

20

Checkmate

It was past four o’clock. The cry of the muezzin had already echoed across the Old City, calling the faithful to prayer. Haj Amin, Mufti of Jerusalem, rose from his prayer rug and slipped on his shoes. Then he entered the patio, where Hassan and Gerhardt waited.

“My friends,” he said serenely, taking a seat across from them. He clapped his hands twice, and a servant brought a silver pot of strong coffee and three tiny cups. Haj Amin poured the coffee himself and handed a cup to each man. “Have you seen the photograph in the American magazine?”

Hassan nodded, his eyes downcast.

“You are responsible for this, Hassan?”

“Your Excellency―,” he began, his cup clattering on the saucer.

“We appear as murderers to the world, do we not?” The Mufti snapped his fingers, and another servant brought a copy of
LIFE
to him. He thumbed through the pages until he found the photograph of the tailor. “And the world weeps in sympathy for the Jews?” He laughed as Hassan squirmed uneasily in his chair.

Haj Amin turned his gaze on Gerhardt. “Have you prepared our gift for the Jews of Ben Yehuda?”

Gerhardt nodded.

“Good. But I fear we must prepare another first.”

Gerhardt frowned and leaned forward, intently eyeing Haj Amin.

“It is a small thing.” Haj Amin flicked his fingers and smiled slyly.

“Hassan has told me he has seen the old woman, the housekeeper from the home of the redheaded woman. She visits your hotel frequently. Her son lives there, I believe?”

“Yes,” Hassan broke in, “and several other members of the family since the commercial district―”

Haj Amin cast a withering glance in his direction. “Quite enough, Hassan.” He coughed slightly. “It is, of course, the plan of the Jews to gain the sympathy of the world, to castigate us publicly in the press with pictures such as these. I need not tell you, Gerhardt, publicity and terror go hand in hand. We must, I fear, delay our gift to Ben Yehuda Street until the world has opportunity to weep with us over the loss of Arab lives.”

“What do you mean, Your Excellency?” asked Hassan.

“When the Jews bomb the Semiramis Hotel, who will say that we are unjust when we repay them an eye for an eye?”

“But the Jews have not―,” Hassan began, only to be cut short by a glance from the Mufti.

Haj Amin smiled knowingly at Gerhardt. “It is but a few Christian Arabs, more or less. Would tonight be too soon, my friend?”

“
Insh’ Allah
, Haj Amin,” Gerhardt answered. “If Allah wills.”

“Allah and the Mufti.” Haj Amin threw his head back in laughter at his own cleverness.

***

A late afternoon breeze ruffled the water as the
Ave Maria
bobbed in the swells. Chin in hand, Moshe stared at the chessboard propped on a rope coil between Ehud and Ellie.

“I think she has you, Ehud, my friend,” said Moshe, gulping down the last of Miriam’s zucchini bread.

Ehud scowled. “The game is far from over. The day will not dawn when Ehud Schiff shall be beaten by a woman.”

“The sun may set, however.” Moshe scratched his chin.

Ellie smiled sweetly at Ehud, then moved her queen. “Check.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Ehud in disgust, slapping his fist on his knee.

Ellie batted her eyes. “And a Gentile woman at that!”

“It is not yet checkmate!” he protested.

“Give it up, Ehud.” Moshe patted him on the back, then scanned the horizon for the hundredth time.

As heavy clouds gathered to the north, the tiny swells of the early afternoon had become broader and deeper.

Moshe frowned. “If they don’t arrive soon, we may be in trouble with the weather.”

“Like the last time, eh?” said Ehud with his eyes still intent on the board. “When you pulled the young beauty from the sea?”

Ellie looked up curiously. “That’s one I haven’t heard about.”

“A Venus, Moshe told me. She jumped and he saved her. Some lucky fellow will thank him one day, eh, Moshe?” He nudged Moshe, who pretended not to hear as he raised the field glasses to his eyes and search the horizon for the trail of smoke that would announce the arrival of the SS
America
.

“Did you pull her back into the boat?” asked Ellie, no longer interested in the chess game.

“Oh no,” interjected Ehud, ignoring the dirty look Moshe cast in his direction. “He swam all the way to shore with her. They spent the night on the beach, and then he took her to Fanny’s―”

“Moshe, why didn’t you tell me you were such a hero?” Ellie asked, feeling a rush of jealousy.

Ehud rubbed his hands together delightedly and moved his only remaining rook. “It is your move,” he instructed Ellie.

“It is just a part of this job,” said Moshe, still staring through the field glasses.

“Ah, now, admit it, Moshe.” Ehud crossed his arms. “You would not have jumped in for an old hag!” He narrowed his eyes with satisfaction as Ellie’s concentration disintegrated.

“Shut up, Ehud!” Moshe snapped. “Play.”

Ehud shrugged innocently. “It is her move, is it not?”

“Was she really that pretty, Moshe?” Ellie absently fingered her knight.

“A dream made in heaven, Moshe told me.” Ehud stared hopefully at Ellie’s fingers. “So move already.”

“I suppose she was,” Moshe answered irritably, “somewhat beautiful.”

Ellie moved her knight without thinking, and Ehud clapped his hands together as he made the final move of the game. “Checkmate!” he cried triumphantly. “So, my sweet Gentile lady, you lose!”

“You did that on purpose!” Ellie protested.

“I do not understand.” Ehud grinned, gathering the chess pieces into an old shoebox.

Moshe stood and walked to the bow of the ship, then peered through the field glasses at the thunderheads. There, in a thin line against the dark gray clouds, he saw a wisp of smoke. “There she is,” he called over his shoulder. “Looks like she’s just ahead of the storm.”

“That is not good.” Ehud handed the box to Ellie. “We are late as it is. After we transfer the passengers, we shall perhaps not land them until dawn.”

“I’ll bet the sandwiches are stale, too,” said Ellie miserably as she wondered about the beautiful woman Moshe had rescued.

“No matter,” said Moshe. “Let’s get her under way.”

The sun was low in the sky when at last the
Ave Maria
pulled alongside the rusting hulk of the freighter SS
America
. One by one the refugees—women and children far outnumbering the men—were lowered to her deck.

Ellie overheard Moshe speaking in low tones to Ehud about the need for men of military age. “We must make it clear that this must be the last group until statehood is established. From now on only young men. Or women strong enough to train to fight. It is too dangerous to risk transport otherwise.”

Ehud nodded grimly, and Ellie hurried off to photograph the faces that reflected every argument for the statehood of Israel. Gaunt and hollow-eyed, cradling babies and clutching small children, women were led into the hold of the bobbing little trawler. They carried tiny bundles of belongings or nothing at all, and Ellie thought of her own duffel bag stowed belowdecks. She had brought more for an overnight trip than these people even owned. Grateful but haunted eyes met hers as she helped a mother carry a baby down the steep steps. Ellie fought off a feeling of horror as she remembered the newsreels showing the concentration camps and the faces of men and women as they waited in line for death.
What have these people
lived through?
she wondered as they patiently took their places on the
Ave Maria
.

No words were spoken that she could understand, but Moshe talked to each person in a kind, loving way, patting backs and shaking hands in welcome. When a thin, knobby-kneed boy in short pants and a ragged sweater smiled up adoringly at her, Ellie noticed that his teeth were decayed. “How will he eat?” she asked Moshe, aware that the boy would not understand her.

“When one is hungry enough … ,” he answered. Then he spoke to the boy in Polish and ruffled his hair affectionately. “We will make sure his teeth are fixed. It is the scars we cannot see that break my heart.”

He shook his head sadly, then directed the boy to the hold as Ellie snapped their picture together. As Moshe’s eyes embraced the boy, Ellie thought once again how much Moshe
belonged
. Her heart filled with admiration for him.

When the last person was safely loaded and at last the
Ave
Maria
pulled away from the SS
America
, Ellie blinked back tears and touched Moshe’s back as he stood in the bow with the wind on his face.