Not the least of my trouble was the inability to make myself understood, I would have been helpless had not Paul’s reassuring voice come to me across the dividing curtain. All through that long night he directed and encouraged me as best he could, while busy with his own patients in the men’s side of the tent.
Again and again he translated my needs to the willing Abdul. He in turn called back orders to the women. The air reeked as the emetics took effect on first one then another, leaving the perspiring, heavily-robed women stretched out in weakness, but no longer tortured by the poison. Gratefully I saw that I would not need the stomach pump. The powerful emetics administered were apparently in good time. My once-white uniform hung limply upon me and my head “split” as the air became more and more stifling; yet no curtain was raised to admit the night air. I think that I would have collapsed with the last woman had not Paul spoken.
“Tanya, go outside for a little air before the next round. I’ll come as soon as I get this last one relieved.”
The chill night air struck my damp body making me shiver from head to foot. Though I knew I was being foolishly reckless, I could not bring myself to go back into that reeking tent after my coat, so I stood for several minutes breathing in the clean, cold air, dreading to go inside, but guessing, from Paul’s words, that there was more to do.
Abdul came to me and I welcomed his coming as if he were a friend.
“I think women will be all right.”
“The doctor makes miracles, too. I think not one die.”
He went on to the jeep and then Paul was beside me to accept the basket with its bottles of coffee and sandwiches from Abdul. However, his hand had felt the clammy cold of my hands and he scolded me until I went in again for my coat.
Thankfully I slid into the wrap and took the cup of very hot coffee from Paul’s hands, but the sandwiches held no appeal.
“How’s it going?” Paul asked between sips of coffee and big bites of his sandwich.
“They’re all—well, empty! They still look sick.”
“I don’t think the women were affected as much as the men. They ate last. I’ve had two pumping jobs. I’m glad you didn’t have any trouble like that, but you will have to stay with them. Keep giving them the emetic until you are sure there can’t be even a bit of the poison in them. Then give them epsom salts. When you’re sure there are no signs of shock—by the way you remember shock symptoms, don’t you?” At my hesitant “yes,” he continued, “Well, watch them for the signs and when you are sure there aren’t any showing signs of shock you can sleep, not till then!”
I shivered as the cold penetrated my coat, but I felt no desire to return to the hot tent.
“Better drink some more coffee, but don’t stay out here too long. They’ve got to have more liquid, more emetics. Okay?”
“Okay.” I nodded and he put his arm around me to draw me close then released me to run back to the tent where his patients waited. His swift embrace put new life and purpose into me and scarcely stopping to drink from the thermos bottle I, too, returned to go the rounds again. Grateful smiles came to the wan, shy faces obediently lifted to drink of the sickeningly warm liquid. I smiled back and wondered that I had ever felt fear of these dark-eyed inhabitants of the black tent.
Toward morning I slipped out to get one of the blankets from the jeep. I rolled up close to the door of the tent where I could push my nose out to get the clean, fresh air. My patients were sleeping comfortably; presently, I, too, slept.
The sun was halfway up the sky when at last I awoke. The tent flaps had been raised a little so that the softly warming breeze fanned my face. The air was circulating within the tent. A woman came to me with a small, steaming cup of coffee unlike any I had ever tasted, also a bowl of thick, porridge-like cereal. There was no spoon, but I was thankful that I had been given a bowl, at least. I saw the other women dipping into the one large pot with their hands.
A memory stirred of things that I had heard about the hospitality of the Arabs, how easily they could be hurt. I knew that last night’s work had won friends for us; that the friendship could be made more lasting by eating with them. I handed back the bowl and made gesture toward the circle of women. The flashing smile and voluble chatter of the woman as she led me toward them made me glad that I had decided to share their food. I washed in a bowl filled with clean water then took the place vacated for me in the circle. They took their turns in strict sequence and when my turn came I found the concoction in the big bowl delicious. There was the sweetness of dates and the smoothness of rich butter and honey, also a new kind of bread with many cups of tea. I found that I was hungry.
As we ate and smiled at each other, I saw that without the night’s experience of illness these women had not the robust appearance of our women, yet they seemed happy and contented enough. They chattered like magpies with complete disregard of the fact that we could not understand each other. I nodded, smiled, and gestured, finally allowing myself to be led about to see their weaving on crude looms. It seemed to me that there was an endless number of shawls and rugs of all sizes already finished and many started.
I could see that they had need of many. There were no chairs, beds, or tables. Rugs served every purpose. Rugs were the chairs the beds, the tables, even the colorful walls of the big tent. I recalled that these people often moved from place to place in search of pasture for their flocks of goats, sheep, and cattle after the fashion of our common ancestor, Abraham. How easily they could move since all their furnishings could be rolled into tight bundles for easy transportation! How my mother would have loved the colorful rugs and shawls, I thought, as I felt their softness and admired the lovely patterns.
I had sat on one of the smaller rugs at breakfast and there had been a larger one by the door where I had put my blanket. I saw them being lifted and rolled; then to my surprise they were placed in my arms. I tried to protest, but such wild chattering arose, as the women tried to make me understand that I must take them, that when I went out to join Paul at the jeep I carried various medical supplies, the blanket, my coat, the thermos, and two rugs besides.
“Look, Paul, they made me take these beautiful rugs!”
“I know. The jeep is overloaded with gifts. I would have preferred that they had not paid us.”
“The rugs and small things are not pay, they are gifts from brother to brother, from friend to friend,” Abdul interposed quickly. “You could have refused to give of your gifts when we asked you to come, but you did not. These are our gifts, with them may we give the wish that we live like brothers.”
“Thank you,” Paul said, simply. “I am glad if I have gifts you can use. I shall be glad to use the gifts you have given us.”
He turned and helped me into the jeep; soon we were speeding away from the black-walled tents which would not seem like hovering hawks again. We drove for a time in silence, then I turned impulsively to Paul.
“Paul, do you think they meant it? About our living like brothers here? I mean do you think they will not bother us as other villages have been bothered?”
“You heard Abdul say it. We have no need to fear them, I am sure.” He nodded and I felt secure.
As we drew near to our village I looked for the first time with eagerness at the orchards and the fields about the protecting walls. I had never cared to leave the enclosure. Inside we had seemed so safe and unworried. Perhaps now, however, I would enjoy walking outside in the cool, green orchards. The gate might even be left wide open and the towers left vacant because Paul believed that these Bedouins spoke truly when they called us friends. What Paul believed I, too, could accept.
Some of these thoughts I tried to convey to my mother when she came to hear of our strange night. She caressed the soft, colorful rugs with loving fingers. I had known that she missed the many bright knicknacks and scarves with which she had always decorated our home. So I spread the bright things for her to see and divided them into two piles, one for her and one for me. Together we hung
them against the bare white walls for it seemed too bad to have them on the floor to be soiled and worn with passing feet. Their beauty enhanced, even seemed to warm our room. No longer just another clinic, it was now more like a real home.
“These women have skilled fingers, Tanya. Look, such beautiful weaving,” Mother exclaimed again and again.
“You should have seen the endless number of rugs and shawls in their tent, Mother. They use them for everything. You would have liked the women. I wish I could have understood them and spoken to them. They live so differently, yet, they seemed happy. Maybe if we could talk to each other we could learn something from them and they from us.”
“I was frightened when you went there last night,” Mother said soberly.
“I was afraid, too. But Paul knows how to handle people—no, he doesn’t handle people—I think he just understands and likes them. But then they like him, too,” I mused. “Mother, Paul has made us safe from the Arabs.” Her surprised look urged me on. “I mean here. But if he could make peace for us here, why could he not find the answer to the problem for all the land?”
“That would be a big job for a very wise man, my daughter.”
“Well, he has been doing the impossible, hasn’t he? He brought me here when there was no hope that I would ever be allowed to come. He made me well and strong when I was almost past curing. He scattered the Arabs who bothered us in Haifa; now he has made friends with those who have been menacing the village daily, according to the men and women who have been working in the fields. Besides, he is good and kind and wise!”
“You love him very much, my daughter. But without love to blind me I know that you are right—I mean in saying that your husband is good and kind and full of unusual wisdom. I am happy, indeed, in your happiness. I pray God often that there will be fruit to add richness to your joy.”
I hid my face as her words reminded me of the other, and to me, closer worry. I know that it seemed strange to my mother and to others that no child had yet come to bless our union. The fear possessed me again that I had waited too long to go forth to meet Isaac. Perhaps I had found love only to lose it to another less reluctant to let it come in.
Like the women in the black tents on the hills I had hung a curtain between us, invisible yet no less separating, and like them I dared not tear it down.
7
AHMED
THERE WAS DAILY PROOF that the Arabian offer of friendship had been real. Gradually the guards relaxed their vigilance and stories of former troubles were lost in new ones of friendly contacts. Often, as I snatched a few minutes from the work in the clinic to walk in the fragrant orchards and vineyards, I met burnoose-clad, grinning Arabs. Even the women came and watched with interest as our brown-limbed girls and boys pruned and harvested the ripening fruit. Work was disrupted often as some inquisitive Bedouin sought to learn more of some phase of the work. Often, too, our men went across the valley to help in the new project started by the black-tented people. There was no time for jealousy, envy or hate while hands were busy and minds occupied with the work of making the land “blossom as the rose.”
However, such peace as we enjoyed in our little valley was not found in most of the land. The radio continually brought to us disquieting news of uprisings and fighting among other Jews and Arabs. The British were hard put to it to keep any semblance of order. There was news of sudden ambush and bloodshed, followed by retaliation. The Arabs fought the British for their part in bringing us to Palestine; we fought them because they would not allow more of our people in; Arab and Jew fought each other until it seemed the land must flow with blood everywhere, except in our peaceful valley.
It seemed strange that no trouble came to us. Hinted whispers, however, told that our Bedouin friends were not entirely passive. Several times I had awakened to hear the thundering of hooves or the high-powered purr of motors as they passed in the night going to raid another village miles away. How was it possible? Our friends, yet harmful to others of our people. How long would it be before they tired of friendliness with us to turn on us again?
“The Arabs are a peculiar people, Tanya. They have lived long in the desert with their own creeds, their own thoughts, their own laws. They are not backward—rather let us say that they love simplicity, and so their laws have been simple, their demands simple, their way of life simple. One of their laws has been that the guest in the house receive every consideration and not come to harm while under their roof. A more complicated people would use lure to get an enemy into their power. If an Arab tells you that you are his brother and receives you as a guest you can be sure that you are safe—at least while you are his guest!”
Paul smiled a little as he said that, but he had let me see that under his assurance there was a little worry, too.
“You mean that we are living in a kind of truce, now?”
“You might call it that. Certainly our brothers of the desert are not spending all their time gardening! But then their raids on other villages are really a part of their way of life. They live hardily, wildly. They always have. When one group or tribe gathers a flock large enough to arouse attention, immediately another rides, hard, with loud shouting, almost school-boy enthusiasm and raids the prosperous flock. It seems to be their way of letting off steam. Both sides know that given time that flock will be snatched back. Maybe they need sports, polo, football and other games to work off their zest for living.” He shook his head, thoughtfully. “Perhaps we are too serious, too grasping to understand them or they us. We feel that we have advanced; they ask to what have we advanced? We think that they are backward, yet the very simplicity of their lives gives them an elemental happiness impossible in our complex life. But to us the important thing right now is that they accept us; let us live here in the way that we want to live. Perhaps as we work together and other sections erase their differences we shall reach peace.”
“But in those other villages that they raid are Jews like ourselves! It seems a queer kind of brotherliness, Paul, that permits them to hurt our friends and relatives!”
“Because they are our friends, our relatives? Little Tanya, I only finished telling you how all their lives they have played at feuding and raiding among themselves. Why should they feel any less compunction about plundering an alien people? The incentive for the raids has always been a greater prosperity that they seek to share.”
“But what right have they?”
“None, when looked at from our viewpoint. Yet, that is the way they have done for centuries. Property, that is, property on the hoof shuffled back and forth and the raider always knowing that sooner or later he would be raided.”
Scornfully I sniffed. “Sounds childish!”
“It doesn’t exactly sound adult to me either. We simply don’t think and act that way. We call it robbery; they call it a game if they bother to call it anything. We write books of complicated laws to cover what we call lying, cheating; their laws are so simple that they don’t need to be written.”
“They don’t have any laws!”
“Oh, yes, they do! At least to them they are adequate. Perhaps one which is important, because it affects us just now, concerns their spoken word, as good as their bond, we’d say. They have said that they won’t molest us; I feel sure that they will not as long as things remain as they are.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?” I asked slowly.
“I really do.”
So I believed it, too. Perhaps Paul was only guessing when he tried to explain the Arabs to me. Certainly back of his words was enough truth to give reason to the unreasonable security we were then enjoying.
The fame of our immunity spread; I realized with pride that messages and messengers were coming with increasing frequency to consult with our elders. Often I spent the evenings alone, or with my mother, as Simon and Paul conferred with other Jews from less fortunate villages. I could not hear what was being said in the big dining room, where the meetings were held, but I was sure that although you
nger, Paul must be the one most heeded. Mother often chided me for my pride, yet not without some amusement to make gentle her scolding.
“Tanya! Tanya! Never have I seen one so puffed up with pride and boasting! Beware, lest thy pride go before a too-sudden fall!”
“But Mother, I am not proud of myself! It’s Paul! Paul always knows the right thing to do! You yourself said that he was wise and good.”
“I do not need you to remind me that I did, and still do think that your Paul is good and that his head is full of understanding, my little one. But there are others with wisdom and not the least of them is my husband, the good Simon. I might say that added years make more sure his wisdom; it has had the strengthening of experience to prove its worth. What passes for leadership in youth is often called forwardness by those older, but just as wise.” She smiled but I still knew beyond question that it was to Paul that all eyes were turning.
My pride was justified a few days later when the village sent Paul as their delegate to a secret meeting. Nevertheless Mother’s words, too, were vindicated when he chose the impudent Lilah to accompany him.
“Why do you have to take her?” I questioned.
“Well, I don’t suppose I absolutely have to do so, but she knows shorthand and can take notes. Not only that, but she has been in on most of our conferences.” That was news to me, not pleasant news either. “She grasps things so quickly that she is usually one jump ahead of the majority. Maybe she will have some ideas to add to mine, if I get any at all.”
One conference led to another. It seemed that Paul was always just leaving or returning. Lilah did not always go, but she went much more frequently than seemed necessary to my troubled mind. Each time they returned together it seemed that they had more secrets and more little jokes to share. As their intimacy grew I shrank more within myself and away from Paul. He did not seem to notice it, or, if he did, he did not show that he cared. True, we were so busy when he was at home that we had time only for work. We retired too exhausted to talk. He regretted the necessity of absence from the clinic, but under his able teaching I had gained knowledge enough to be able to do most of the routine prescribing. However, the work lacked interest for me without him; sometimes I could not keep from showing impatience. I scolded and nagged, not so much for neglecting the clinic, but to cover my own feeling of being neglected.
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