The Gates of Zion (32 page)

“I come here always,” he said. “Every time after we pick them up. I think I will break sometimes, you know.” He gazed down at her, and his face was streaked with tears. “There is a poem your uncle told me by a man named Byron. ‘The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave, mankind their country—Israel but the grave!’”

“I heard it, but I never understood it before.”

“Everyone has a country. Everyone but a Jew. These—” he motioned toward the hold―“they have returned from the grave. It is hardest for me when I think that God has allowed such suffering. And it becomes my suffering because these are my people.”

Ellie wrapped her arms around Moshe and laid her head against his chest. “I wondered the same thing after the riot. Uncle Howard said that God didn’t do this. People did. And the people who did it don’t know God, don’t have the slightest idea who He is.”

“Perhaps Howard is right.”

“I haven’t really known, either―but I see this, and I think whoever God is, His heart must be breaking over the way we treat each other.

And, Moshe, it makes me want to know Him and be like Him.” She wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“I hope you find what you are looking for. I hope the same for myself —that somehow someone can heal the wounds we cannot see. It is difficult sometimes to be near suffering, is it not?”

“Makes me want to run and hide … but the sandwiches are getting stale.”

***

It was past curfew when Hassan entered the dingy lobby of the Semiramis Hotel. The desk clerk leaned against the counter reading the
Cairo Times
, which was spread out before him. He stared intently at the front page, studying the latest pronouncements by Arab leaders gathered at Cairo University to discuss which course to take against the Jews of Palestine.

While others talked, the Mufti in Jerusalem translated thought into deadly action.

Hassan’s final task at the hotel tonight was only one small example of Haj Amin’s political savvy. Nine other members of Haj Amin’s staff had already left the hotel for Bab el Wad. Only Hassan remained behind to redeem himself in the eyes of his leader. He would set the detonator on the bomb Gerhardt had packed in the battered leather suitcase he now carried.

Hassan glanced around the lobby. An old man dozed in a chair while another man stood in front of the iron gates of the elevator and argued with an old woman. Hassan instantly recognized her.

“There, you see, Mother.” The man pulled a pocket watch from his vest pocket. “You must stay here with me and Sammy.”

Hassan started toward the stairs, then hesitated.

“I cannot stay. The professor, he shall worry,” answered the old woman.

Hassan smiled and turned back to the elevator.

“And so shall I worry if you leave. My mother, must you be so stubborn? We shall simply telephone in the morning when the exchange is open. The professor would worry more if you were to leave now.”

Hassan raised his hand to his mouth and coughed, interrupting the discussion between Ishmael and Miriam. “Tonight is not a night to be out. They say there is disturbance in the Montefiore Quarter.”

“You see!” exclaimed Ishmael. “Not half a mile from here.”

“One cannot be too careful.” Hassan reached past Miriam and pushed the elevator button.

“Huh!” Miriam grunted, crossing her arms in disgust.

“The kind gentleman is right, Mother; now come along.”

“Jews or Muslims?” Miriam shook her head in resignation.

“Most certainly it is the Mufti’s men tonight, dear lady.” Hassan pulled back the grate of the elevator and stepped aside for Miriam to enter.

“That gangster!” the old woman spat. “Perhaps there would be some hope for peace were the devil not in our midst.”

“Mother, please.” Ishmael looked furtively around the lobby and gently urged her into the elevator.

“Hoodlums. Ignorant bullies, all of them,” Miriam said loudly as Hassan lugged the suitcase into the tiny cubicle and pulled the grate shut behind them. “A little Hitler, this Haj Amin, and the innocent die for his glory.”

“Alas, your words are so true,” said Hassan earnestly as the elevator lurched into a slow ascent. “Second floor?” he asked as it ground to a stop.

Ishmael shook his head. “No, thank you. We are on the fourth.”

Hassan stepped out into the darkened hallway of the second floor and closed the iron grate. “Pleasant dreams.” He smiled broadly and nodded farewell.

As the elevator groaned and whined away, he entered the room just to the right of the shaft. Switching on the light, he glanced around, then carried the suitcase to the wall that bordered the shaft, as Gerhardt had instructed him. Carefully he unlatched the locks and lifted the lid to reveal the simply wired bomb that contained enough TNT to demolish the hotel and shatter windows for half a mile. He wound the clock that would trigger the detonator and set the time for six o’clock the next morning. At that hour, people would just be waking up, though not yet out of their rooms. He regretted that they would have no warning of their impending death; it was those last expressions of fear on the faces of his victims that he most liked to imagine. Ah well, they would not die in their sleep, at any rate.

He closed the lid of the suitcase, switched off the light, and locked the door behind him. Then he skipped down the stairs, happy in the knowledge that, indeed, the innocent would die for the glory of Haj Amin, Mufti of Jerusalem.

***

Throughout the night, the
Ave Maria
raced just ahead of the storm. A little past midnight, Ellie wadded up her jacket for a pillow, lay down in the galley between the counter and the icebox, and tried to sleep. Seasickness had begun to take its toll on the refugees in the crowded hold, and Moshe had resumed his post in the bow of the ship, watching for signs of a British gunboat.

Just past four-thirty the little trawler shuddered and lurched. Ellie was jolted and rolled against the icebox. She struggled to sit up, bracing herself against the counter while she looked at her watch.

For a moment she could not remember where she was or why, and anxiety swept over her. She stood slowly, clinging to the countertop to keep from falling with the bucking of the
Ave Maria
. The ship, Moshe, the faces―all came back to her with a rush. She reached for a thermos of coffee that rolled across the galley floor and bumped her foot. Then she pulled on her jacket and made her way through the galley, past sick and sleeping refugees, and up the steps to the deck.

The night was black as pitch and the rain fell, slanted and hard in the wind, stinging her face. She groped her way to the wheelhouse with the thermos bottle tucked under her arm. When she opened the door, Moshe stood at the wheel as Ehud took his turn with the field glasses.

“I brought coffee,” she said cheerfully.

Neither Moshe nor Ehud answered; instead Ehud took the wheel and handed Moshe the field glasses. “She’s got us all right,” Ehud agreed.

“Yes,” Moshe answered grimly. “And she’s signaling another.”

“Sun will be up within an hour; then we’re done for.” Ehud stroked the wheel. “This may be our last voyage, old girl,” he said gruffly.

“It is not yet checkmate, my friend.” Moshe laid a hand on Ehud’s arm.

Ellie stared bleakly out the window of the wheelhouse, watching as the running light of a British destroyer cut through the water on a direct course toward them. “They are going to catch us? Can’t we get away?”

“We have been trying since two.” Moshe rubbed his forehead wearily.

Ellie opened the thermos and handed the coffee to him. Moshe took a swig, then handed it to Ehud. “We are not far from Naharia.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“There is no other way, I fear.” Ehud’s voice was filled with a sad determination. “Use the wireless. Call the kibbutz. We’ll run her aground on the beach. Just let the British try and follow her up a sandbar! They will drag their bellies three hundred yards out from shore.”

“It is your ship, Ehud. Your decision. Are you certain?”

Ehud silently stroked the wheel and nodded.

Moshe took Ellie’s hand. “Come with me. We haven’t got much time.”

Ellie followed him down the steps and onto the deck. Over the roar of the wind, she heard the engine of the destroyer. Then searchlights clicked on and slammed against the darkness that had covered the
Ave Maria
. As the light engulfed them, Ellie raised her hand against the glare. She felt curiously like a rabbit caught in the road by the headlights of an approaching car. She wanted to run, but there was no place to go. The wail of a siren screeched above the din of engines and storm.

“Come on!” Moshe cried, taking her by the arm and leading her down the steps. He stood on the bottom step and gazed over the pale faces before him. It was a recurrent nightmare, now become reality.

“For the past several hours,” he explained, repeating himself in three languages, “we have been pursued by a British destroyer. We turned back into the storm in hopes of evading her. It has done no good.

Now we will run the ship aground. Crews will be on hand to help you to shore. Do not fear.” He raised his voice as a moan of panic filled the hold. “You will be taken care of. There is little time.

Gather your things.”

He hurried past the questions and Ellie followed him, feeling helpless as she encouraged, in English, people who could not understand her words. She tried to smile as she pulled her hands away from fearful, clutching fingers. “Are we going to be okay, Moshe?” she asked.

“If ever you have prayed, now is the moment to do so.” He strode down the corridor past the galley to a small room in the front of the ship. He struck a match and lit a kerosene lantern, then sat on a wooden crate and began to tinker with the dials of a black radio.

Static crackled over the receiver. “It’s the storm,” he said impatiently as a high-pitched whine answered him. “Mary calling Gideon, come in please,” he chanted. “Calling Gideon. Mary calling Gideon.”

God, help us,
Ellie prayed silently.
Help him get
through.

“Calling Gideon …”

The whine slid into a human voice that crackled back over the receiver. “Mary … Gideon … you’re late.”

“We’ve got a wolf on our trail. We’re going to bring her in.”

“How many … repea … lambs?”

“Ninety-three. Repeat, ninety-three.”

When Ellie returned to the deck, the first gray light of dawn filtered through the black clouds, and the destroyer had been joined by a smaller gunboat. Ellie could plainly make out the movement of sailors on the decks of the ships. All eyes were turned toward them.

The destroyer slid alongside them, dwarfing the
Ave Maria
, causing her to shudder in its wake.

“BY

ORDER

OF

HIS

MAJESTY’S

MANDATORY

GOVERNMENT,” a stern voice bellowed over a bullhorn, “YOU

ARE UNDER ARREST.”

Ehud pulled the whistle in response, then turned hard to port and headed the
Ave Maria
straight into the shore and the breakers. “Get them up here, up on deck!” he yelled to Ellie.

Already Moshe had the refugees standing patiently in line. One by one he urged them onto the deck. Ellie helped with the children, calming them. When a young mother began to sob, Ellie put her arms around the woman, comforting her without words.

“Sing!” Ellie shouted to Moshe over the wail of the siren.

As the refugees filed on deck along the rail, Moshe began to sing “B’Shuv Adonoy,” and every voice joined him in a hymn of defiance against the giants pursuing them.

“TURN ABOUT!” ordered the bullhorn. “TURN ABOUT

STARBOARD,
AVE MARIA
. BY ORDER OF HIS MAJESTY.”

The refugees answered by singing louder as Ehud steered his little ship nearer and nearer to the breakers. Ellie could see a group of men and women waiting on the beach ahead. She reloaded her camera and snapped pictures of the defiant faces of the refugees and the armor of the destroyer as the captain bellowed insults and threats and finally turned back from Ehud’s suicide course.

The group on the beach launched two wooden lifeboats, pushing them out past the breakers toward the sandbar, where the bottom loomed up in anticipation of the
Ave Maria
’s final destination.

“Hold on, everybody!” Moshe cried as the little ship chugged steadily on.

Mothers clutched their children to themselves and held on to one another, tucking their faces down against shoulders and backs. The singing stopped, but the siren wailed on as the destroyer and her companion gunboat stood offshore and waited for the inevitable end.

In the wheelhouse, tears streamed down Ehud’s craggy face and clung to his beard in glistening drops. “You’ve been a fine lady.” He stroked the wheel. “I shall miss you.” He shoved the engine into reverse as the bar raised to meet her hull, and she slid onto the sand with a grinding thump and lodged herself securely. Ehud shut down the engine and clambered down the steps to help the passengers who had fallen to the deck.

Strong-shouldered young men pulled against the oars of the lifeboats, moving quickly toward the crushed hull of the
Ave Maria
. Moshe rigged a lifeline from her bow and threw it to a curly-haired young man in a boat below. Women and children calmly climbed down a rope ladder into the safety of the little boats. The stronger of the group and those who could swim moved to the bow and plunged overboard into the icy water, where members of the kibbutz waded out to help them to shore.

Ellie continued to snap pictures until the last minute, then packed the camera back in her bag and handed it to the little boy who had smiled at her the evening before.

“Tell him to hang on to this,” Ellie said to Moshe. Moshe put both hands on the boy’s shoulders and repeated her instructions in Polish.

“And it can’t get wet,” she added.

The little boy nodded seriously and clutched it to himself as he clambered down the ladder.

“Okay, this is it,” said Moshe as the last of the group plunged into the water and grasped the lifeline to shore. “All out?”