When Sarah was ready he helped her out of her shirt for the first time, unbuttoned the front and pulled the sleeves from her arms. She sagged forward, uncaring, as he removed her bra and freed her breasts. He wet the old sheet from the tap and in gentle circles wiped her shoulders and back and arms and stomach and, finally, her chest, with the cold wet cloth. Then he helped her into a clean shirt and took off her panties. He wet another part of the sheet and washed her feet and ankles and legs up to her knees. He wet it again and did the same to her thighs as high as he could. Now Jacob helped Sarah to her feet and supporting her with one arm around her waist, with her head lolling against him and her hair across his chest, he spread her legs and slid the damp cloth across her bottom and between her legs and wet it again until she was clean.
She groaned with fatigue as he helped her into a pair of clean knickers, laid her on the clean bed, and covered her with the fresh sheet up to her neck. He sat by her, holding her hand, as she sighed, and within moments she had turned on her side and fallen into a deep sleep. He arranged her hair, each strand a bewitching memory of her silky skin, her helpless womanhood.
Jacob kissed her fingers and let them go. He walked to the window, opened it to smell the night air, and stared out into the street. It was raining and pools of water glinted in the moonlight, raindrops dancing in them. He saw a man’s shadow with a ball on top followed instantly by a man in a hat walking by with an umbrella. He was out in the curfew. He must be some kind of official. Jacob leaned out and looked after him. Who is he? What does he want? Where is he coming from and where is he going? A grim smile came to Jacob’s lips. Good questions. Who among us knows?
He looked over his shoulder at Sarah, who turned with a groan. Jacob sighed, his thoughts confused.
On the afternoon of the fifth day, Sarah woke to feel Jacob’s hand caressing her, his fingers trailing gently from the nape of her back the length of her spine and at the last moment lifting his hand and doing it again. And again, and again. She shivered. Lower … please … After a few minutes she turned around to see Jacob lying facing her, smiling. Their noses almost touched, and she winked.
“You’re back?” Jacob said. “Good afternoon.”
Sunlight streamed in at an angle, forming a triangle of glaring light on the whitewashed wall. Sarah raised her hand to protect her eyes and said, “And good afternoon to you, sweet nurse.”
Jacob jerked back. “Uffff.”
“What?”
“Excuse me, but I think you need to brush your teeth.”
Sarah jumped up and fell down again. “Oh, I’m so dizzy.”
“You’ve been out for five days.”
“What? Really?”
“Let me check.” He placed the inside of his wrist against her forehead and held it for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. “It’s gone. The fever.”
Sarah sat up and stood slowly, deliberately, waiting for the floor to stop rising and falling, and walked carefully to the bathroom, where she closed the door and locked it. Jacob walked over and called out through the door, “It’s a bit late for modesty, you know,” and laughed.
He heard the lock shift and the door opened a crack. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
The door closed but there was no locking sound.
He heard the sound of flushing, and running water from a tap, followed by a shriek. He pushed the door open. Sarah was kneeling by the bath in her shirt, holding her hand beneath the tap. “Guess what? It’s hot. There’s hot water. Can I have a bath?”
“I guess so. Sure, why not? If there’s enough water.”
Even in the hospital the only hot water was in the operating rooms or brought by the nurses in little pans. “I haven’t had a hot bath in years,” Sarah said. “Years!”
“So it’s all yours.”
Jacob closed the door with a tender smile. She’s so beautiful, he thought. It was all so fast. She had suddenly fallen sick, slept for nearly a week, and just as suddenly woken up like a bear from hibernation. The doctor was right. A strong young woman. And what a woman. So beautiful in just a shirt. Even better without it. He smiled at the thought of washing her soapy breasts.
And what about me? When was the last time I had a hot bath? he wondered. A real bath, not that torture in the Human Laundry. The face of Hans Seeler intruded for the briefest instant, but he banished the image. My last bath? he thought. It must have been before we were rounded up. In October 1940. That must have been his last hot bath. October 1940. Almost five years ago. But come on. Think of Maxie, and all the others. And I’m whining about a hot bath. I’ll never be able to complain about anything for the rest of my life.
He sighed, emptying most of his lungs. He knocked on the door. “Please don’t let the water out when you finish. Save the water for me.”
“Pardon? I can’t hear.” The water was running. He opened the door slightly and put his lips to the crack, “Don’t let the water out when you finish. I’ll have a bath after you.”
He felt the door tugged from his hand, revealing Sarah in all her shirtless glory. She tried to raise a coquettish eyebrow like Marlene Dietrich. “I have a better idea,” she breathed. “Don’t have a bath after me. Have a bath with me.”
EIGHTEEN
Heidelberg,
May 26, 1945
Jacob stared at the closed door in disbelief. No. No! What an idiot! Why did he say no? What did he actually say? “Oh, uh, that’s all right, you go first.” What a cretin! “Oh, uh…” And then he’d closed the door.
In her face. She’d never forgive him. That was it, he had had the chance, and he’d blown it. She’ll be hurt, insulted, who wouldn’t be? She’ll think I don’t really like her, not in that way, but like a brother. My sister knew your sister. You nincompoop!
Would you like to have a bath with me? Yes. Yes! A thousand times, yes!
Jacob backed away like a supplicant in a Turkish court, never taking his eyes from the shut door, and fell onto the bed.
Get up, you moron. Knock on the door, say you’ve changed your mind, yes please, actually you would like to share a bath after all. Do it, you cretin! Get up. Take your life in your hands for once. Don’t be a victim anymore. She’s waiting for you. She’s insulted you didn’t jump on her and hug her and kiss her, that’s what she wants.
That’s what you want.
Oh, so much.
Jacob lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. What’s wrong with you! Shy? He sighed at the memory of washing Sarah, her surrender in her weakness. The calm thrill of her silky skin, oily with soap. The gentle undulations of her sleek, firm body.
And now, shy? Is that it? You infant.
Or afraid. Of what?
You know what.
In the camp nudity had been so commonplace it had no meaning, no value, it was more a sign of bestiality and cruelty and abuse than anything else. There was no such thing as beauty there, just pathos and pity. There it was better for a girl to hide her beauty, for it would only lead to immediate violent rape. There girls rubbed dirt into their hair and faces, not that they needed to, hunched their shoulders to look flat, walked in feces to smell bad, anything to keep the beasts at bay.
He put his hands behind his head and sighed. The worst feeling was of being so helpless, so useless, so unmanned. But that was then and this is now. If I want one thing right now, he thought, it is to get up and open that door.
Not that it’ll do me much good. Or her.
Jacob tensed. His heart sped. He raised himself to one elbow and looked at the bathroom door. It began to open. How? he thought: How do I always sense things?
He heard Sarah say, “Now you listen to me.” She was standing naked in the doorway, dripping on the floor. His eyes popped. She had his full attention. “I have considered the matter, and I must make the following demand. You will take your clothes off and you will get into the bath with me. Now. Come along immediately. Be a good little boy.” With that she turned around, slowly, leavin
g the door wide open. She raised her leg onto the top of the bath, wiggled her bottom, and slipped into the water.
If Jacob was indeed a little boy he’d have burst into tears. He certainly felt like it. A flood of warmth and gratitude surged within and a smile took over his entire face.
It was a big bath and there wasn’t much water. It barely covered their thighs as they faced each other. But Jacob’s smile was so wide and his eyes so bright that Sarah couldn’t help laughing. He looked like a mischievous child caught by the teacher. She scooped up water and dribbled it down Jacob’s chest, and he did the same over her breasts. When she giggled, Jacob did too, in a stuttering sort of way, as if remembering how, and soon they were fairly helpless with laughter. Jacob was gasping, Sarah laughing and coughing at the same time, so that Jacob put his arms around her to smack her back and they rubbed noses. The water rocked back and forth in waves. They held hands as they laughed and finally were able to sputter to a stop and lay back, spent, smiling contentedly at each other, their knees up, their legs hooked around each other.
Now Sarah leaned forward and scooped more water onto Jacob’s chest and rubbed soap on him and onto her hands and washed and stroked his shoulders and his chest as he lay back with closed eyes and purred.
So, he thought. Dreams do come true.
Then she turned around, leaned back against him, and took his hand and placed it on her belly. He encircled her with his arms and soaped her stomach and thighs gently for a long time with bubbles oozing between his fingers, and then he soaped her breasts for an even longer time. The only sound was their breathing, as the water cooled.
Until, her back against his chest, his legs wrapped around hers, hugging her, his head resting on her shoulder, he felt her tremble and thought she must be getting cold. He felt her breathing become short and fast. Her shoulders rose and fell, and her head flopped forward and she sat up, away from him, and he understood she was crying.
She wept without a sound. Jacob tried to pull her back but she shrugged him off. Her hair was wet, clinging to her long neck, and her skin was red where she had lain against him for so long. He put his hands on her waist and said, “What is it? Sarah? Shall we get out?”
She took his hands and pushed them from her body. As she stood and he absorbed her long lines and curves, and she stepped out of the bath and took a towel and dried herself, and went into the room, where she pulled on a shirt, Jacob thought how little he knew of her. Sarah had told him what happened to her, where she was from, about Hoppi and the baby, but she had never said a word about how she felt. Or any of the details of her war. Just the hard outline. Like a picture frame without a picture. On the other hand, he thought, neither had he. He hadn’t told her anything. Nothing at all.
He dried himself, feeling sad, looking at Sarah in bed.
A moment after he lay down next to her, both lying on their backs, Sarah said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You know. For crying like that.”
“Don’t be sorry, please. I understand.” And he thought he did. She was crying for Hoppi. She had only just heard that he was dead, she had fallen sick in her pain, and now she was weakened, and he had taken advantage of her. She depended on him, she had nowhere to go, she had been sick, and he had …
“No, it’s me who should say sorry,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“You know. Well…”
“What?”
“Well, Hoppi…”
She turned onto her side, away from him. “I’ve tried so hard not to cry,” she said. “It’s been so hard. So alone … for so long … I’m sorry…” Sarah wept and sobbed her heart out, and the sheet was wet around her. Jacob held her to him and stroked her and didn’t know what else to do or say. He held her until she had no more tears and her panting became heavy breathing and she seemed to have fallen asleep in his arms.
Not that Jacob didn’t have his own tears. He had wanted to whisper to Sarah, to soothe her, to tell her not to worry anymore, that things were different now, that he would look after her, that he loved her, but how could he say any of that? How could he know what would be? He didn’t know anything about the future, how could he promise her anything? They were caught in a maelstrom. Yes, they had survived. But for what? And above all, why?
Why live? And why them and not Maxie or their sisters or their parents or anyone else? Why were they, of all people, still alive?
What did they do to us? And why did they do it?
Jacob felt his eyes warm and stinging. He tried not to cry, he did his best, hugging Sarah, beneath the blanket, in their tiny cocoon of warmth and safety, and in his gratitude for this moment, this precious person in his arms, this lovely girl who was so lost and alone and in such pain … Jacob felt tears course down his cheeks. He felt so sorry for her, and for himself.
Now that he finally had someone, he had never felt so alone.
Sarah gently disentangled herself and wriggled around to face him. “You’re crying,” she said, putting a finger to his eye in wonder and tracing a tear to the corner of his mouth.
“No, I’m not,” he said.
“Yes, you are. You are. You’re crying.”
“Course I’m not,” Jacob said. “I can’t be. I’m a man.”
“Come here,” she murmured, and she put her hand behind his head and gently brought him to her, and as it wasn’t far their lips soon met. It was a sweet and gentle kiss, their very first.
It was sweet but it didn’t stay gentle for very long. Urgency crept into their embrace and they pressed against each other and they caressed each other, they murmured and sighed and moaned. Jacob pulled off Sarah’s shirt as she pulled off Jacob’s shorts. Now they held each other’s naked body and kissed and touched each other. Sarah sighed. “I want you.” She took him in her hand and he kissed her and pulled away and rolled his tongue around her stomach and lower, until she took him in her hand again and said, “Jacob, now, I want you now.”
Jacob pulled away, tried to go down on her again, but she pulled him up, kissing him. “Jacob, please, now…”
Jacob rolled onto his back and covered his face with the pillow.
“Jacob, Jacob, what is it?”
He groaned, in pain, in embarrassment.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Another groan until he almost shouted: “I’m sorry. I’m no good. I can’t.”
Sarah was breathless, her breasts heaving. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I can’t, that’s what. I want to, but I can’t. It won’t work.”
She fondled him in her hand. He said, “I can’t remember the last time I could.” He hated himself. He felt like half a man.
They held each other quietly. “It doesn’t matter,” Sarah said.
“Of course it does.”
“It doesn’t. It really doesn’t.”
“It does, it really does. But thank you.”
Jacob tried to touch her but hardly knew how. It had been so long and he had never really known anyway. And Sarah kept pushing him away. “Let me hold you,” she said, “it’s what I want, it really is.”
So they hugged, and talked, and made sandwiches and tea, and talked all the time until they fell asleep at night. Sarah told Jacob about Hoppi and the baby and the cemetery and she cried as he held her, and she laughed at the strange hiding places they had found and the suicide trick. And the Jewish Russian officer who had helped her. But she didn’t say how she had met him and Jacob didn’t ask. If he had, what would she say? That he had saved her from an animal who had punched her, kicked her, almost pulled her hair out by the roots, burrowed and bashed around inside her like a demented ferret in a tunnel until she had blacked out and woken to find herself alone in the dark and bleeding from every orifice, barely able to move a limb? Crumpled in the dirt like a used rag?
She could never tell him that. She could never tell anyone.
As for Jacob, as if to make up for his failure of the flesh, t
he words poured out, at last. The camp, his brother, the Rat, everything that tried to, and nearly did, but in the end, didn’t, destroy him.
He told her everything, except for what mattered most: that after the Rat killed Maxie it was only Jacob’s oath, the final words that Maxie ever heard, his oath of revenge, that had given meaning to Jacob’s inexplicable survival. Had Maxie understood, with his last breath? Yes. He knew from the shine in Maxie’s eyes as his spirit fled his corpse. Jacob was sure: Maxie died crying for revenge.
NINETEEN
It wasn’t clear to Yonni because it happened so fast, but he thought it was an elderly man, with a cap on his head. Ari said it was an officer in uniform. Omri didn’t see because he was asleep in the front passenger seat when the sudden swerve threw him against the door and the impact made him shout out. He thought a bullet had hit the jeep.
It took Yonni a moment to register what Ari had done. He jerked around in the backseat just in time to see the bicycle smash into a tree and the rider and one wheel crash down the slope into the bushes.
“Stop!” he yelled. Ari pulled his eyes from the mirror to the road ahead and accelerated into a long bend. Coming out of it, he pulled out sharply to avoid a tractor, and floored it again, his knuckles white on the wheel.
Jacob's Oath: A Novel Page 15