“Amen,” Meira said. “And so we give thanks.”
“I don’t.” Tony’s voice vibrated with a scorn that banished the few moments of peace they’d shared.
Meira ducked her head again and tried to grab hold of what she’d experienced during David’s prayer. Blessed are You, Adonai. Help our boy. Have mercy. Have mercy.
She picked up her sandwich, bit into it, and chewed. Chewing worked. Swallowing was harder.
Just get it finished. Get through it. “Joy comes in the morning.” Of course, it was only noon. She wasn’t sure she could wait until morning, not even a metaphorical one.
8
Meira
Meira focused on the need to finish what they’d begun instead of on her son’s attitude. Or at least, she tried to, because what she wanted to do was forget everything and walk around the lake—or even grab a book and put up the hammock. At the end of the hall, her studio waited for her, the perfect place to create and lose herself.
Soon. Once they’d finished this. Once Tony had forgiven her.
She’d imagined herself a good mother, a kind one, educated, talented. Now she felt like a mom-failure, a woman looking to excuse choices she’d made.
But, if she’d learned one thing, it was that quitting never worked.
“I will tell you more of our story, if you’d like. Even if you wouldn’t, I’ll still tell you.” She looked for at least a sliver of a grin, but Tony focused on his plate. With a sigh, she said, “Your grandfather decided we needed to leave Jerusalem while the bomber was still at large, and so he took us to a hotel on the beach at Tel Aviv, quite a luxurious one.”
“A hotel on the beach is kind of neat.”
David pointed to her sandwich, as if to suggest she eat. “We were all trying to come up with a solution that would offer the needed protection,” he said. “I knew what I wanted, and I’d spoken with my uncle and my mother’s cousin, a high-ranking rabbi, but I hadn’t asked your mother the important question.”
“To marry you,” Tony said. “Romantic stuff again.”
“A little. Don’t sweat it,” David said.
Meira had taken a sip of tea, but neither eating nor drinking held much appeal. “While your dad was working from his end, my father was trying to get us out of the country. I lobbied for us all to leave together, maybe to visit my brother in England, but Aba said that was too risky. If my mother went with me and they, the Popular Front, found out, she’d be at risk. And if we went to London, my brother could be in danger.”
“They’d follow you there?”
“Aba was convinced the PFLP and Fatah had fairly sophisticated information-gathering operations, and he was in a position to know something about it. He planned to stay at my uncle’s house, which was built like a fortress because my uncle’s job was even more important than Aba’s.”
David said, “Once your mom and her family left for Tel Aviv, I figured my time was running out and I’d better get busy on that question.”
“You proposed?”
“I did.”
“Like on your knee in front of her?” The image must have amused Tony, because he relaxed enough to grin.
“Like on a bench on the boardwalk at sunrise,” David said. “Much more comfortable, I can assure you.”
“It was quite a spectacular morning,” Meira said. “The sun sparkling on the Mediterranean made me forget for a moment all the mess surrounding us. So when your father took my hand and looked into my eyes, I saw the promise of love and protection. And I said yes.”
“His eyes, huh? Boy, Dad, you had her fooled.”
David raised his brow and punched Tony in the bicep. “Funny.”
Tony’s grin widened. “So, Mom, weren’t you still scared?”
“Scared of your father?” she asked, smiling at their antics.
“You know, scared of the bad guys, scared to leave home. The whole thing.”
When David had asked, her whole being had yearned toward him. And then reality had set in, the permanence of her decision, the yes that she’d uttered without conscious thought. “I was petrified. Especially because everyone seemed bent on making it happen immediately—the wedding and the leaving.”
Yes, she’d wanted to be with David, but at what price? She hadn’t had time to be certain of love, and suddenly everything had felt rushed.
And it had all been happening—had all become necessary—because she hadn’t used the brains she’d been born with or the common sense her father had drilled into her. All because she’d presumed instead of relying on the training she’d received in the military when she’d been taught to look, to listen, and, above all, to be careful.
Instead, she’d fallen back into the pattern of her artistic self, her emotional, emotive self. And that choice had endangered every single person she loved.
She realized David was saying something. She tried to focus on words that sounded like “whisk her off to a faraway land.” He rubbed his palms together in a gesture that used to make a younger Tony laugh.
At least it made him smile half-heartedly now.
She let a smile play on her face in response to Tony’s effort as she picked up where she hoped David had stopped. “You were also planning to take me far from people who wanted to kill me.”
“There was that.” David set down his plate, looking at her with that old familiar gleam that set her heart beating in a little tap dance. “You seemed half in shock when we stood before the rabbi. All I could imagine was that you were marrying me because I was the lesser of two evils, and I felt desperate to show you how much I loved you. I wanted to distract you and talked about the grand adventure we were about to begin. I hated the thought of you being afraid. I wanted only to take care of you.”
She sighed as his words sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with fear. The darling man. “And I told you I wasn’t so much afraid as I was furious. A madman was dictating our future, and we were running for our lives. Of course, I was furious.”
The surprise in her son’s eyes turned to a gleam that looked a lot like admiration. She laughed. David joined in. “You’ve never heard your mother act the warrior woman? Just wait until we get to the part in Virginia.”
“Virginia?”
“You’ll hear that soon enough. Right now, we need to tell you what happened at the airport on the day after our wedding.”
“Our very small and intimate wedding in the hotel suite,” Meira said. “Which was wonderful. But I suppose, being a guy, you’d rather hear about guns than weddings.”
“Kinda.”
1979
The morning sky hid behind a translucent cloak of gray as a storm hovered offshore, forcing the sea into waves that it tossed at the beach. By afternoon, the wind would beat rain against the coastline from Haifa south.
They were supposed to leave that afternoon, but if planes couldn’t take off once the weather worsened, Meira might be able to postpone her goodbyes. Another night and day here with her family would be lovely.
She’d hated it when Yaacov had left for school in England, but there’d always been the promise of him returning soon, of them together again, maybe not in the same house, but near enough to visit whenever they wished. Near enough for her to seek solace in her parents’ love.
She couldn’t believe she’d actually married a man from so far away. And yet, it might be the best and only way to protect her family from the repercussions of that one moment on the street when she’d been witness to a crime. Besides, she’d wanted to, hadn’t she? For the first time in her life, she’d wanted to have it all with a man—home, family, children. If only she could have it all right here.
She packed quietly while David showered. He had little rearranging to do, other than to replace the suit he’d worn for the wedding with his traveling khakis.
When they joined her parents for a last breakfast, Ima grabbed her arms, drew her close, and whispered, “How was your wedding night? Good?”
Before she c
ould answer her mother’s question, David cleared his throat. “Meira, a little censorship.”
His statement surprised an embarrassed bark of laughter from her. “Sorry. I got carried away.” She grinned at her husband before turning back to their son. “Anyway, the storm blew itself out, and the flight was scheduled to leave as planned. The agony of departure hit me hard. Boarding a plane that would take me away from home and all I knew would have been impossible if your dad hadn’t laced my fingers in his and reminded me that we were forever.”
“Mush again, Dad,” Tony said, obviously embarrassed.
“But it’s G-rated mush. That’s okay.”
“So what happened next? Are you just going to talk about a boring old airplane ride?”
“Patience,” David said.
Meira smiled. “Your grandparents went with us into the airport. Ima and Aba—my names for the ones you call Nonna and Nono.”
“I guess all this is why I didn’t get to call them Teta and Giddo, like Bahir’s grandparents.” He sounded resentful. “Because they’re Jews.”
Meira nodded, as if he’d spoken reasonably. Patience was the word of the day. “They liked the Latin version well enough, but it was hard having to avoid the truth when they visited us here. It nearly killed my Ima.”
“It should’ve,” Tony said, not quite under his breath.
Meira sucked in her breath, too stunned to reprimand him.
That wasn’t a problem for his father. “Don’t let me ever hear you say something so ugly and cruel again.”
Tony’s head jerked up. His face had blanched. She was sure he’d never heard that harsh tone from his father. “I . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
“Think, next time, before you open your mouth. You’re not too old to find it washed with soap.”
“Yes . . . yes, sir. I . . . I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean it.”
“Your nonna loves you, Tony,” she said. “Whatever name you use for her. And so do we.”
He bit his lip and nodded, then swiped at tears with the heel of his hands.
“Now, let’s get back to my story. You ready?”
Tony’s head bobbed, but he didn’t look at her.
“My parents went with us into the airport terminal. They planned to go straight from the airport to my uncle’s house in Jerusalem.”
1979
Meira wasn’t certain why one particular movement caught her attention as she followed David toward the El Al desk. The terminal was crowded, people talking, hurrying, dragging suitcases. In spite of the chaos, she noticed a hand snaking out from under a jacket.
She was about to say something to David, but he must have also seen the hand and the gun it held, because he yanked her behind him.
It took mere seconds. As her husband whisked her out of the line of fire, an elderly Arab woman walked between them and the gunman, close enough for him to grab her and point his weapon at her head. She screamed.
The scream brought Meira peering around David’s arm. It was the bomber, the knife wielder. People backed away.
“Ya Elahi!” The old woman babbled at the gunman in Arabic. “Inta Majnoon! You are crazy! Let me go!”
The madman pulled her with him as he backed against a nearby wall. He swung his gun in an arc before pointing it again at the old woman’s head. “Ikhrasi, shut up!” he answered her in Arabic. Then he switched to Hebrew. “Don’t anyone come too close, and you,” he said to David, “you get out of the way, or I’ll shoot this old lady and then both of you.”
Aba raised himself to his full height and spoke with a haughty tone that was new to Meira. “You will not get away with this.” He had moved in front of Ima.
When the old woman wouldn’t stop squirming, the gunman tightened his hold until she squealed. “Khalas! Enough!” he said to her before turning back to Aba and then to David. “I will empty this gun before you or anyone can touch me.” His voice was a low, vicious growl. “I will finish what we started. Allahu Akbar!”
Meira heard the threat. That crazed man would kill her new husband, and she could not let David sacrifice himself. She tried to step out from behind him, but he grabbed her wounded arm to keep her where she was. She cried out in pain.
“I’m sorry,” he said over his shoulder. “Do not move.”
She spoke to his back in low tones. “He will kill us both.”
“He may kill me, but he’ll be dead before he gets to you.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” She could be as adamant as he, but it did nothing for her temper or her fear.
The crowd had parted, leaving her family, the gunman, and the elderly woman to stare at each other. Surely, though, there were other armed men in the airport. Someone would fix this.
And then she spotted a soldier signaling from behind his rifle, and her heartbeat accelerated. Hope surged as she willed the marksman to hurry. And to make his shot count before the gunman’s trigger finger closed.
“Why didn’t you just leave the country?” David asked the man. “You could have.”
“Because of her,” he said. “My brother at arms is even now being tortured in your jail. I know what happens. You Jews kill us. Therefore, I kill you. I am not afraid to die, but first I will take you—and her.”
Lord, please do something.
“It doesn’t have to end this way.” David’s grip tightened on the wrist he still held behind his back.
Did he want her to do something?
And then, as if at some signal she hadn’t noticed, David dropped to the floor, dragging her down with him. She barely had time to register much before she heard the noise. When she looked up, she saw that a bullet had slammed into the gunman’s head.
He had fallen, and it was ugly. It was very ugly.
“Oh, man. His head blew up?” Tony’s eyes glittered with excitement.
Oops. She should have omitted that detail.
“Pretty gruesome,” David told him. “But it was the fastest way to disarm him. That gun of his looked ready to go off into me or your mother.”
“Did anyone throw up? I might have thrown up.”
David shook his head. “I think they wanted to. Your mom and Nonna looked like they might, they were so pale, but there weren’t many other people who saw the gore before someone covered him up.”
“What’d they use? I mean, before the ambulance got there?”
“Somebody had a jacket. I didn’t pay much attention because I was busy holding your mom. She couldn’t stop shaking.”
“So what happened then? He was dead and all, so wasn’t that the end of things?”
“I wish,” Meira answered.
1979
A siren wailed outside the airport. David lifted her and cradled her to him. “I’m so sorry I was rough with you.”
She could feel the thudding of his heart. As the blood rushed past her ears, she wondered if her own heartbeat were audible. Her mother’s hands touched her hair, caressed her back. Her father’s calm voice asked if they were okay.
“I hurt her,” David said. “Trying to keep her from heroics.”
Aba’s laugh held no humor. “I saw that. Thank you. A little pain to her arm was a lot better than a bullet in her head.”
Meira still couldn’t speak. She might never speak again.
“He was a fool. Suicidal,” David said, his attention focused on her.
A soldier approached her father. “Sir, are you all right?”
Aba nodded. “Thank you, son. I’m grateful for your presence.”
“Yes, sir.”
David looked at her father. “You alerted them?”
“Your uncle did. We agreed it should be done, just in case someone wanted access to any of us.”
Meira turned to her father and flung her good arm around his back. “Toda, Aba. Toda raba.”
“Thank that marksman.”
She dashed tears from her eyes. She felt suddenly exhausted.
“Come,” David said. “I think we ne
ed to find somewhere to sit for a few minutes.”
“No,” she said. “First, we need to check into our flight.”
David lifted her chin. “He’s dead, you know. You don’t have to rush to leave with me. If you want to stay here, you’re free to do that, to take your time and follow me later.”
They were safe, she and her family, at least as safe as anyone could be in a world where people hated them just because of their faith. She didn’t have to go. Not today. Someday, yes, because she’d married him.
She hadn’t had to do that either. And yet . . . and yet she had.
She looked into David’s eyes and saw vulnerability. Taking his hand in hers, she stood on tiptoe to touch his lips with hers. “No. I don’t have to go with you. But I want to.”
The smile that spread across his features was so sweet, so welcoming, it made her want to spend the rest of her life basking in it.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“I am.”
The bark of laughter from behind her and her father’s whispered words broke the solemnity of the moment. “We chose well, my love, didn’t we?”
“Hush, Eban,” Ima answered. “We shouldn’t gloat.”
“But look at them. In love already.”
Meira turned in David’s arms to grin at her parents. “You chose very well.”
“More mush,” Tony said with all the disdain of an adolescent male.
“Absolutely,” his father said. “Your mother’s good at it.”
Meira raised her brows. “And you’re not?”
He winked at her. “Doing my humble best.”
Tony slurped the remnants of his drink and rattled the ice cubes in his glass. Meira could see when his attitude shifted. He’d listened with curiosity to an exciting life-and-death story, but now he remembered why they were here.
“So,” he said, the snark back in his voice, “a bad guy bit the dust. And you moved here.”
From Fire Into Fire Page 5