by Ehud Diskin
I hid the revolver and ammunition in a concealed nook I had made above the curtain cornice in my room. The same nook held the box of jewelry, gold, and cash that I had taken from that Belarusian bastard, Nikolai.
THE DAYS PASSED, AND I missed Shoshana terribly. At first, we continued to walk to work together, but then we began to avoid each other, making up excuses. I even began thinking I should find another job.
One morning, when I was in the Cohens’ store, I noticed a woman loading a mountain of groceries onto the counter. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her eyes were large and brown. I watched as she examined products on the shelves. Her blouse and skirt did little to hide her fair skin and curvy figure.
After paying, she packed all her goods into the two floral shopping baskets she had brought with her. She tossed me a casual smile, and I smiled back. I thought of Shoshana—I still loved her—and then pushed the thought away. She had told me to find someone else. I had no reason not to pursue this attractive woman.
“Would you like some help with those, ma’am?” I asked. “I can see they are very heavy.”
“Sure. Why not?” she said, flashing me a look of playful curiosity and, again, a smile. “Thank you.”
Clearly aware of my intentions, Mrs. Cohen peered at me through her glasses with a look of disapproval on her round face. I ignored her and picked up the baskets.
“I’m Hannah,” the woman said to me as we left the store.
“David,” I responded.
It turned out that she lived just a few buildings away from me on Zephaniah Street. I followed her up the stairs to her second-floor apartment and placed the baskets on the floor by the door.
“Thank you very much,” Hannah said. “Would you like to come in for coffee?”
“Gladly,” I said. I picked up the baskets again and carried them into the kitchen. As I sat at the table, she started making coffee. I learned that she was twenty-eight years old and had lived in Jerusalem for several years.
When she asked about me, I just said that I was originally from Belarus. She wanted to know how I had spent the war, but I deflected her questions as best I could. A few minutes later, I finished my coffee and stood up to leave.
“You’re a nice person,” she said and leaned in toward me. It started out as a farewell kiss, but then she pressed against me, holding me tight, and we soon found ourselves in bed together.
Hannah proved to be a good lover—mature, experienced, and sensual. Later, as I started to get dressed, she lay watching me from the bed.
“David,” she said, “my husband is always on duty on Mondays and Wednesdays, and I’d love for you to spend the mornings with me. If there’s ever a problem, I’ll hang a colorful handkerchief on the balcony facing the street.”
“Husband?” I stopped buttoning my shirt and looked down at her, a little stunned by her words. I shook my head. “Funny, you didn’t mention him before.”
“Well,” said Hannah, “the thing is that I married him when I was quite young. He is much older than I am—sixteen years—but it has been a good arrangement for the both of us. He was a friend of my sister and her husband. I lived with them after my parents died. After a while I began to feel as though I was becoming a burden. I had no way to support myself, no skills.” She looked away and shrugged.
“Did they force you to marry?” I asked.
“Oh no,” she said quickly. “They were quite kind to me. But Avrum would stop by frequently, and he and I became good friends. He always said that he didn’t want to marry, nor have children, but when I turned twenty, he offered to marry me. He and my brother-in-law are very close, and I think he wanted to help all of us. He promised to take excellent care of me. We like each other, he is a good man, but that’s pretty much the relationship we have.” She gave me a smile. “And he doesn’t … satisfy me. Not like you do.”
I hesitated. Shoshana had said we would be friends, but so far, she had seemed to avoid me. Was there any reason to think she would change her mind and give me another chance? And what if she found out about Hannah? I had never had an affair with a married woman—but losing Shoshana had soured something inside of me, and right then, I just didn’t care.
“All right, I’ll come back soon,” I said. “By the way, what does your husband do?”
“I’ll tell you the next time,” she replied.
AFTER ANOTHER WEEK OR SO, my friendship with Shoshana suddenly began to get better. She stopped avoiding me, and we began to walk together again to Café Pinsk in the afternoons. Along the way, we had conversations about politics and local affairs, and then we would walk back to our apartments at night. I no longer tried to kiss her, and she seemed relieved.
One day, on our way to the restaurant, Shoshana asked me if I’d like to join her at the Edison Theater to see Alfred Hitchcock’s Spellbound. I was excited. It would be the first movie I had seen in Israel. I also hoped that her invitation meant she wanted to try moving our relationship forward again. Unfortunately, the man operating the subtitles reel, which was separate from the film itself, seemed less than fluent in English. Sometimes the translation lagged behind the film, and at other times it raced ahead.
The audience’s resulting catcalls got a little annoying, but the film was captivating, even if we didn’t understand all the words. Even better than the film itself, Shoshana willingly reached over to clutch my hand during the suspenseful moments. It thrilled me, and I wondered if the night would end with more physical contact between us. Alas, when we left the theatre, she held her hands together firmly in front of her. It was obvious that all she wanted from me was my friendship.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I WENT to Hannah’s apartment. Seeing no handkerchief on the balcony, I bounded up the stairs, two at a time, and knocked lightly on the door. Hannah opened it wearing a robe, which she hadn’t bothered to close, and I saw that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. I wrapped one arm around her waist and slipped the robe off her shoulders, regretting the fact that I still had to remove my own clothing before we would be naked in bed together.
Sex with Hannah was, again, wild and passionate. We devoured one another.
During one of our breaks, she surprised me with a question. “Do you have a steady girlfriend?”
I thought for a few seconds before answering. “I used to, but now our relationship is platonic, unfortunately.”
“Why?” Hannah asked.
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you another time.”
Hannah just stared at me thoughtfully, but she didn’t press for an answer.
I remained silent for a few minutes and then turned on my side to face her, reaching out to stroke her hair. “You still haven’t told me what your husband does,” I said.
She hesitated slightly. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise to keep it to yourself.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
She ran her fingers lightly across my chest. “My husband is an undercover officer in the British police.”
My smile disappeared. I was stunned. “Is your husband a Jew?”
“Of course,” she said with a shrug. “My husband’s service and the fact that we’re Jews don’t contradict one another. Yes, the Irgun and the Lehi fanatics think differently, but we believe that British rule is good for the Jews. If they leave, God forbid, the Arabs will slaughter us. There are many Jews who think the same.”
The look of astonishment on my face must have intensified, because Hannah continued, “Don’t get me wrong—my husband and I are good Jews, but we’re opposed to fighting the British.”
To my thinking, one could hardly be a “good” Jew and also be opposed to those who were fighting for freedom and independence for the Jewish people. But I decided that nothing good would come from a political argument with Hannah. Moreover, it occurred to me that I could use our relationship to glean information that might help me in my struggle against the British. I recalled Max and the British officer and decided to play the same gam
e.
“I feel the same way,” I said. “I’m just surprised—I thought I was the only one.”
“That’s wonderful to hear,” she said. “You’re good in bed, and we think alike! I’d like to keep you around.”
I raised both brows. “I’m not all talk. If you or your husband ever need any help, I’d be happy to do what I can.”
Hannah thought for a moment, put on her robe, took me by the hand, and led me into a small office. She opened the door of a cheaply made wooden cabinet, pushed her husband’s clothes to one side, and removed the plywood panel at the back. I was shocked to see a small weapons cache in the wall—two Lee Enfield rifles, one with a telescopic sight; two Sten 9mm submachine guns; and a .38-caliber Webley pistol.
“Just so you can see that we’re serious,” she said. “Avrum’s a gun fanatic. He’s a skilled sniper and goes to the firing range at least once a week to practice his technique. It’s a shame his technique in the bedroom isn’t nearly as good—but never mind. That’s what I now have you for.” She slid her arms around my neck, and I smiled.
“I have an idea,” she said. “Maybe I should find a way for you to meet my husband. Then if he finds us together, it won’t be suspicious—so long as we aren’t naked in bed at the time …” she added with a grin.
“Sounds like a good idea,” I said. “How would we arrange that?”
She kissed my neck and then flung her head back. “I know—the sole of one of my shoes is worn out. I’ll ask my husband to drop it off at the cobbler up the road one of these days, and I’ll let you know when I do. You’ll take a pair of shoes there to be repaired and find an excuse to strike up a friendly conversation with him.”
I agreed with her plan and then led her into the shower. We enjoyed the hot water together before I dressed and returned to my apartment.
Shoshana had already left her apartment, so I walked alone to the restaurant, my mind awash with thoughts. Hearing about Hannah’s husband—a fellow Jew—working with the British brought me back to my purpose in Jerusalem. I had been too distracted—contemplating my failed relationship with Shoshana, going to the movies, fooling around in bed with a married woman—now I needed to focus, to bring the fight to the British soldiers and police.
As I walked to work, the thought of fighting the British brought back memories of a revenge operation I had put in motion after my friend Zusha was killed in action, along with most of our partisan group.
After our disastrous battle with the Germans that day in May 1942, our group numbered just ten resistance fighters. I was the youngest. I was surprised when the others came to me a day or two later and asked me to be their commander. I tried to refuse, but they insisted that I was a capable fighter who kept a cool head, even in the heat of battle.
Reluctantly, I agreed and immediately began planning our next operation. The Germans always maintained a high level of alert when in the field; because of that, I thought it would be a good idea to attack them in the places they felt most secure. Having learned a hard lesson from Pavel’s betrayal, I decided to seek out our own information rather than get it from the locals. To that end, I sent a young partisan named Alec to keep track of the Germans’ activities so we could plan an offensive against them.
Alec was twenty-six years old. Although his facial features were delicate, he was strong, fast, and daring. What was most useful to us was his blondish hair, fair skin, and green eyes, which made him look Aryan. He carried an ID, forged with his photo, that had been taken from a villager the partisans killed for collaborating with the Nazis. Even better, Alec was fluent in German.
He began his surveillance near Minsk, and a few days later, his observations paid off. He discovered that a squad of six German soldiers patrolled the forest near the ghetto every night. This was where the Jews of the ghetto frequently tried to escape by breaking through the fence. The German soldiers would lie in ambush and pick them off as they broke through the barrier.
Our enemies were armed with MP 40 submachine guns that fired upward of five hundred rounds per minute and came with a large magazine holding thirty-two rounds. A coveted weapon, its only drawback was that it had a relatively short range, but we planned to use it primarily for nighttime operations and close-quarter combat in wooded areas.
Alec believed the best time to attack the German ambush force was an hour before dawn. “The six soldiers are on duty in rotation, with two soldiers awake for an hour and a half at a time while the other four sleep,” he explained. “An hour before dawn, the pair on duty will be tired and not fully alert.”
His reasoning made sense, and I instructed my men to prepare for the assault. The moon that night was only partially full, and the streets of Minsk were dark and empty. When the hour came, we had already taken our position in absolute silence some forty feet behind the German force, ready to open fire.
The two on-duty German soldiers were chatting cheerfully. They quieted when a figure emerged from under the fence, then a second and then two more. As they crept down the street, I heard muffled German voices and then saw the German soldiers raise their machine guns.
At that second, I yelled, “Now!” We opened fire, shooting the first two Germans and then killing the other four as they scrambled for their weapons. When the smoke cleared, we approached the soldiers carefully and found one alive, writhing in his blood.
“Leave him to me,” Alec hissed. The German’s face was contorted with pain, his eyes pleading for mercy. “Thank you very much, you filthy German pig,” Alec said in perfect German. “Thank you for giving me the pleasure of killing you.” He put a bullet through the man’s head.
I turned away and suddenly saw four dark figures pressed against a building halfway down the street—three young men and a young woman. No doubt they were Jews trying to escape from the ghetto. I summoned them to approach, and when they did, I recognized two as a brother and sister who had lived near my family’s home. The brother, Misha, was a year older than me, while his sister, Leah, was my age.
We stripped the soldiers’ bodies of their weapons, ammunition, and other equipment. We took their uniforms as well so we could carry out future operations disguised as German troops. A brisk two-and-a-half-hour walk saw us out of the area and back to a prearranged rendezvous in a ditch a few miles outside of the city. Fearing that the Germans would send out patrols to hunt us down after discovering the deaths of their comrades, we decided to remain in the ditch until nightfall. Our plan was to reach a more remote and less dangerous hideout before daybreak.
While we waited, I sat with Leah and Misha. I wanted to hear about the lives of the Jews in the ghetto since my escape and hopefully learn of my family’s fate. With tears in his eyes, Misha told me that the killing of Jews hadn’t ceased after I had escaped.
“Our parents were on the way home after a day of forced labor outside the ghetto,” he told me, “when a German soldier shot them for no reason. Things like that happen all the time. When they get bored, the Germans smash their way into our apartments, abuse and torture the residents, and finally shoot everyone. They’re being helped by squads of Belarusian policemen who have gladly seized the chance to abuse and murder Jews.”
“What about my family? Do you know anything about them?”
“Your parents were still alive yesterday,” Leah said. “We don’t know anything about your brother or sister.”
I was pleased to hear my parents were still alive but knew all too well that they could be murdered at any moment.
“Friends, I’m pleased you’ve escaped,” I said to them and to the other two in their party. “Your only chance of survival is to remain with us, but for that, you need to be fighters like us. And of course, we will help you become a part of our group.”
After the sun went down, we made our way to our regular hideout and bathed in a nearby stream, with Leah moving a little away from the rest of us. The clothes on the backs of our four new recruits were worn out and filthy, so we gave them clean ones. We didn’t
have any women’s clothing, so Leah had to dress in menswear. She was relatively short, and the clothes were baggy on her slender frame. She wore her blond hair tied up with a strip of cloth.
I felt drawn to her—to her delicate features and to the mature, yet earnest, look in her blue eyes. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with her, knew she could distract me from the dangers that lurked all around us. Moreover, she was the only girl in the group. Despite my tender years, it wasn’t hard to realize that a relationship between us could cause envy and undermine the close ties among the group, weakening us as a fighting force.
All of that was clear to me—but our decisions aren’t always guided by rational considerations. There was also biology, a man’s primal and powerful sexual instinct, coupled with the knowledge that we were living on borrowed time, that every day could be our last on earth, and that the things we put off until tomorrow might never come around again. And I had seen how she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t looking.
Leah’s expressions of admiration and gratitude soon turned to affection and, shortly thereafter, to love and adoration. Everyone in the group, including Misha, noticed. One day I was conducting one of my weapons-training sessions with the four new partisans. I had just given them a demonstration on the proper way to hold and fire a rifle and was moving from one to the other to correct their stances and grips when I got to Leah.
As I stood behind her, she leaned back and pressed herself against me. I found myself blushing and embarrassed. It was clear she had something other than fighting on her mind.
A day later, she approached me and said she wanted to talk to me in private. We headed off into the thicket. After we were out of sight of the group, Leah embraced me. “I love you, David, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I hope you have feelings for me too.”