by Niv Kaplan
Her body tensed. He moved away.
She was rather tall, with long slender legs that were somewhat bent inward at the knees. She was wearing a tight pair of Levis and a tee shirt with no sign of a bra underneath. Her skin was white and smooth, her curly blonde hair flowing, covering her shoulders. He noticed she was barefoot. It made her even more special. In the summer he would spend most of his time barefoot. He loved the feeling. She was looking back at him intently. He reached over and touched the small scar under her left eye. She lowered her gaze and gently removed his hand.
"Would you like to go for a walk?" he asked.
She smiled radiantly, her expression becoming playful. "Where can we go at this time of night?"
"Oh, we could stroll around and experience the kibbutz at night.”
"What is there to experience at night?" she asked playfully.
"Not much, to tell you the truth, but all I really want is to talk."
She was measuring him. He seemed sincere even though he was drunk.
"Can I trust you?" she asked.
"In what way?"
"Not to take advantage of the situation," she said seriously, keeping her eyes on him.
"What situation?" He raised his hands, playing dumb.
"A situation where a boy and a girl may end up doing things they will later regret," she said, still serious. Mikki looked at her carefully, instantly realizing the girl was no one-night stand and if he made a wrong move, he would lose her.
"You want the truth, Karen?"
She didn't answer but kept looking into his eyes.
"Truth is," he continued after a few seconds, "I'd love to take advantage of the situation; I usually do but…" she kept staring as he went on, "in this particular situation, I'll probably not get very far and I'll certainly lose the one girl I have been waiting for all my life."
She seemed to relax then she smiled and moved a step closer to whisper in his ear. "I love to talk, let's get out of this dump."
Mikki felt elated. He would have this gorgeous, beautiful woman, all to himself. He would walk out of the club with her and all eyes will be looking at him with envy. Shlomo, Ronni, and the rest of them would remain, wondering how he managed to pull it off. He would take her for a walk. They would end up somewhere romantic. One never knew how such events ended up.
They were about to leave when a voice stopped them. It was Shlomo, noticeably drunk.
"You owe me, Mikki!" he shouted in Hebrew, roaring over the loudspeakers. It was a touchy moment. Mikki kept his cool, replying in Hebrew.
"For this Shlomo, I'll owe you the rest of my life."
Ronni went into one of his laughing fits. Hank gave a thumbs-up sign and the stereo blasted “Go Your Own Way”.
Mikki and Karen left the nightclub.
Kibbutz Geffen was located in the Hula valley in the northernmost part of Israel, approximately halfway between the Sea of Galilee and the Lebanese border. To the east flowed the River Jordan below the Golan Heights with Syria just beyond and to the west were the Naftali mountain range. Known for its magnificent scenery and rich soil, the valley was considerably populated and exploited to grow everything from cotton to apples. “In 1973, during the Yom Kippur War,” Mikki was saying, “Syrian forces managed to push the IDF off the Golan Heights, almost across the Jordan River.” Mikki didn't know it at the time, but Syrian tanks were a mere four kilometers from his kibbutz when the IDF made a remarkable effort in keeping the Syrians from invading the valley and eventually pushed them back off the Golan Heights.
They were walking along the kibbutz's security fence. Built on top of a hill, the location offered a magnificent view of the valley which shimmered at night with lights from the many settlements nestled in and around it.
Karen talked about herself.
She grew up in Westlake Village, California, a suburb, thirty miles north of downtown Los Angeles, graduating from Westlake high school a week before arriving in Israel. The trip was her graduation present from her wealthy parents. Her father, Paul, was head of a fast growing high tech company. Karen knew little of her father's business but what little she did manage to convey of research and development, computers and lasers seemed very posh and complicated. Her mother, Martha, kept herself busy with local fund raisers and ladies’ cosmetics sales. Karen's older sister, Lisa, was graduating from the University of California at Los Angeles with a Bachelor's degree in Economics and had already been accepted to a Master's degree program at Pepperdine University in Malibu. Karen had planned to spend two months in Israel and a month touring Europe, before going back to attend the University of California at Santa Barbara. She, too, was set on getting a business degree but had not yet decided whether it would be Accounting, Marketing, or Management Information Systems. She wasn't worried. It would be a year before she needed to make up her mind.
Mikki was intrigued and a little envious as he compared the circumstances they each faced. There he was, getting ready to serve his country for three years, with no idea how he would come out of it and certainly no clue as to what he wanted to do afterward. She, on the other hand, just barely out of high school and already confident about continuing her education, joining the fast-paced business world, and presumably getting full guidance and support from her wealthy and capable parents.
Karen leaned with her back to the fence, facing Mikki. It was a splendid night, the stars brightly forming a magnificent array of shapes across the dark sky. Her eyes sparkled, blending in with the stars and the lights in the background. A light breeze caressed her hair and she closed her eyes, taking in the nightly sounds and smells, enjoying the moment.
They came from two entirely different worlds, he reflected. He had spent all his life in the kibbutz which was essentially a mini-universe that usurped the wealth of its inhabitants and in return ventured to equally take care of all their needs. His parents never had such concerns as paying bills, being insured, buying clothes, or even cooking food. Education was something they had to acquire but it was not viewed as a vital tool needed to prosper. Individual contributions varied, yet everyone was treated equally and took an active part in the decision-making process. A heaven for growing up, the kibbutz was a comfortable and very protective environment that, among its vital shortcomings, rarely exposed its youth to the outside world.
"How long have you lived with this fence around you?" she asked.
"Ever since the infiltrators figured out how vulnerable these settlements were."
"I thought your borders were heavily guarded?"
"They are," Mikki replied, "but there is no way we can guard every inch. They find creative ways of infiltrating."
"Can this fence prevent them from entering the kibbutz?"
Good point, he thought. If they were able to penetrate border fences augmented with land mines and patrols, surely this fence was no obstacle.
"This fence is just another hurdle in their way," he explained. "It cannot prevent them from entering, but routine patrols can spot a break-in and alert the community faster than if there was no fence at all."
The explanation seemed to satisfy her. She turned around and looked at the quiet valley below. Mikki felt a strong urge to sneak close behind her, put his arms around her, and kiss the back of her neck; but he didn't dare. He had to keep his promise. Instead, he stood beside her and surveyed the valley.
"Will you stay here forever, Mikki?"
"That depends…"
"On what?" she asked, turning her head to look at him.
"On where you're gonna be…" he replied looking straight ahead, trying to keep a straight face.
"You don't know me," she said, suddenly serious.
Mikki turned and looked at her, surprised by the seriousness in her voice. His stomach tightened. He wanted romance. He wanted fun.
"You're right Karen, I don't know anything about you other than what you've told me tonight and that you smell great, but to me, this is reason enough to want to be with you for the rest of my life; s
hall we go see the rabbi?"
Karen smiled and faced the valley again. "How old are you, Mikki?"
"I was eighteen in February. How about you?"
"I'll be eighteen next month."
"How come you finish school so early in the year?"
"No particular reason. It's the way the system works there. When will you finish School?"
"End of May."
"Then what?"
"Three years defending the Holy Land," he declared contemptuously.
She was quiet again. Mikki watched her from the corner of his eye. There was a sadness about her that made her seem mature for her age.
"Isn't it strange," she said speaking softly, looking up at the stars, "here we are in the prime of our lives, ready to conquer the world, yet without a clue as to where we are going or what will become of us."
"I thought you had it all planned out," he remarked.
"It looks that way, doesn't it, Mikki?"
He waited for her to continue.
"Truth is, it only looks that way," she said, quickly turning to face him, her voice wavering. "Nothing is ever what it seems, Mikki. Nothing is ever what it looks like on the surface."
She closed her eyes again. A tear slid down her face as she turned away from him. Mikki felt disappointment strike the pit of his stomach. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready to deal on such level; not four months away from losing his freedom.
Karen almost read his mind.
"Sorry," she said with her back to him, "I didn't mean to ruin the night. Maybe someday I'll figure it out."
She turned, neglecting to elaborate on what it was she needed to figure out. She was smiling again. "Let's go back to my room. I'll make you a hot cup of coffee and send you off to sleep. We both need to get up real early tomorrow."
Swift mood changes threw him off. Confused, he walked quietly by her side through the kibbutz's unlit pathways back to the Volunteer House. The night didn't turn out the way he had planned.
Nothing ever did.
CHAPTER 2
The alarm went off.
Mikki heard it but did not move. It seemed to be coming from a distant planet. He tried to avoid it but it wouldn't stop. He finally reached up, blindly searching for the shelf over his bed in an effort to put an end to the miserable noise. Then he found the old alarm clock and slammed the button down, killing the racket.
It was quiet again. He opened his eyes and sat up looking out the window. It was pitch dark. He found the switch, turned on the small lamp next to his bed and looked at the clock. It was 4:00 AM. Then it hit him: Chicken loading time! The most despised jobs of all.
Every male, age seventeen and older, was expected to perform it at least once a month during chicken loading season. There was no getting off and the kibbutz's personnel director made sure everyone got his fair share. No excuses were accepted and if one was to miss too many chicken loading shifts, one would be blacklisted.
It was indeed a loathsome job. A shift of about twenty, barely awake kibbutz members, would gather in the huge chicken hangars at the kibbutz's industrial zone, always before sunrise when the chickens could be kept in the dark and scarcely moving, making them an easier target to catch. A huge semi-trailer truck, filled with empty, metal screen cages, would pull up and park along the elevated ramps that led into the chicken house. A few of the men would unload the empty cages and line them up on the ramp next to the truck. The rest would enter the dark and smelly chicken quarters and begin chasing chickens. He would need to feel his way in the dark hall and get real close to ground level to try and catch as many chicken legs as possible. An accepted minimum was three in each hand. The stronger and more experienced could catch as many as five. Once he managed to trap a half a dozen or so chickens, he would carry them screaming and scratching to the ramps outside and stuff them inside the metal cages to be loaded back onto the truck. By the time the truck was fully loaded and ready to go, the chicken chasers looked like the chickens themselves with feathers and dust to spare. The ordeal would normally last an hour unless another truck showed up. One could only pray it would not.
Mikki got up, brushed his teeth and stuck his head in the running water under the faucet. He would shower once he got back. He put on his filthiest shirt and dirtiest pants, threw on an old army jacket and slid into a torn pair of sneakers; no socks. It was 4:15 AM when he left his room. He had fifteen minutes.
For a moment, he stood outside his room absorbing the cool spring air. He loved to see the day take shape able to watch the sun rise to the east over the Golan Heights. Walking silently in the dark, he thought of Karen. There hadn't been a day since their first meeting that he hadn't thought of her. In the three weeks that had passed since her arrival they would meet on occasion throughout the day, but always with people around. They would exchange the customary pleasantries but rarely go beyond that. He would ask her for her daily plans, hoping she could fit him in but she would never commit; always random rushing about. He was afraid the chance for a meaningful relationship was slipping away.
The volunteers were invariably awarded those service jobs greatly disliked by kibbutz members. Karen worked the early dining hall shift. She would start early, at five in the morning, helping to prepare breakfast and lunch. The dining hall job meant preparing the food, setting the tables, washing the dishes, constantly having to obey commands from kibbutz members. The volunteers were expected to work only six hours a day, so Karen would get off at eleven and have the rest of the day to herself.
School was out, for all practical purposes. Graduation would take place at the end of May and Mikki had no regularly scheduled classes other than the scheduled final exams. He would spend half the day working in the kibbutz's factory manufacturing tire molds and the rest studying for the exams. The factory had its own little dining hall which served breakfast to the factory workers but these days Mikki found a host of excuses to go to the main hall so he could meet Karen. He would sit with his buddies at the breakfast table, nibbling at his food, half listening to the conversation, and very alertly watching her go about her work.
She would light up the place with her beautiful smile, he observed, watching her gracefully move about, chatting cheerfully with the many friends she had made in the short period of time she had been there. Beautiful women quickly became popular, he thought, feeling pain in his stomach any time she would stop and talk to any of the men. He knew she could have any one of them if she so desired, married or not. They were all drooling over her as she moved from one table to the next, obviously enjoying the attention. He couldn't stand it. He recalled their first night together, thinking it was impossible to figure what turned women off. The harder he tried, the less he was appreciated.
It was his own fault, he thought, as the stench from the chicken hangars hit his nostrils. The jerks did seem to have more success, he muttered to himself in frustration, then decided he needed to see her right after chicken loading, dusty, smelly and all.
He shivered as he saw the huge semi-trailer parked next to the chicken house. Shlomo met him at the entrance.
"What's the good word, Mikki?" he asked, too cheerful for such an early hour, steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
"Any more of those left?" Mikki asked, referring to the coffee.
"Better get two of them Mikki, we got two trucks today!"
"What are you so cheerful about?"
"I didn't get any sleep last night," Shlomo said with a mischievous grin, hurrying after him into the chicken house offices where everyone gathered.
"You must be tired then."
"Very tired, Mikki, very, very tired…"
Mikki poured himself a cup of coffee and looked around. The shift had more people than usual. An extra truck it was. He estimated it would take an hour and a half to complete. He tried to avoid asking Shlomo the question, but knew it was pointless. Shlomo would not be denied boasting of a rare sexual encounter.
"Did you score last night?" he asked impartially.
"It wasn't Karen, was it?" he asked, his voice threatening.
"I wish…," Shlomo replied with a sigh.
Mikki relaxed. He had often seen Shlomo and Ronni around Karen and her friends. They were young, energetic, carefree, and many thousands of miles from home. No telling what they would do.
"Who was it then?"
"Karen's friend, Connie!"
Mikki lost interest. "How was she?" he asked, hoping to get it over with.
"She's into some weird stuff," Shlomo flaunted.
Mikki didn't want to hear the rest of it but he suddenly had a thought. "Did she mention anything about Karen and me?"
"What do you wanna know?"
"Anything Shlomo, I can't get close to her. I think she is avoiding me."
He sounded more desperate than he wanted to, knowing Shlomo would jump at the opportunity to gain something or ridicule him, but at that point he no longer cared. Luckily Shlomo was too cheerful to notice.
"According to Connie, Karen feels you are the one avoiding her!" he enthusiastically informed Mikki.
So there was still hope! Mikki suddenly realized, a burst of new energy rushing through his body. The chicken loading shift flew by. He worked like a machine, stuffing one load of chickens after another without letting up and before the last of the metal cages slammed shut over the final batch of the condemned birds, he was briskly on his way up the hill toward the main dining hall.
He found her in the kitchen, sitting on a wooden stool with a group of semi-retired ladies, peeling onions. The ladies were gossiping among themselves in Hebrew. The only Hebrew Karen ever learned was at a Woodland Hills Hebrew school, back in the sixth grade. She could pick up a few words but not enough to follow the conversation. She was staring at the pile of onions in front of her, when Mikki walked in.
"Good morn…" he started to say and was instantly cut off.