Two Princes and a Queen

by Shmuel David

  “I see that there isn’t anything to keep us together. Sometimes I don’t even understand what I’m doing with you,” she said and turned away.

  “Why are you getting so upset?” I felt angry as well. “There’s nothing personal here. Can’t we speak like two adults, without you taking everything personally and getting upset every time?”

  But there was no one there to talk to.

  I thought she’d settle down after a while. That she’d realize she’d been irrational and come to apologize, or at least come to meet me without saying anything. I waited. I thought I’d see her in Mr. Goldman’s classes, but she stopped attending. I came to class every morning. Right after feeding the pigs, I ran there, my heart beating in anticipation of a possible meeting—would she be waiting there by the door? But she didn’t come. During the lessons, I eagerly waited to see the door handle turning and the door opening, revealing Inge’s beautiful freckled face. She’d say she was sorry for being late, then come and sit beside me as if nothing had ever happened. When she didn’t show up, I became distracted by thoughts of her, trying to understand what in my words or behavior had pushed her away from me. Mr. Goldman noticed I was daydreaming during his classes and even rebuked me once in front of the whole group.

  “Young Mr. David, I’ve noticed something is bothering you of late. Perhaps you would be kind enough to share your thoughts with us?”

  After the lesson, I went to help with the building of the new school that was taking form according to Father’s plans. It helped ease the heartache I felt about not meeting Inge. After a few days, I gave up and decided she was too important to me and I didn’t want to lose her because of my ego. I went to the infirmary to look for her.

  “She’s busy with the doctor now,” an elderly woman in the waiting room told me in a local Serbo-Croatian dialect. “My daughter’s inside. She’s been suffering from stomachaches for quite some time.”

  I sat impatiently waiting for the door to open. It took an eternity. What could be taking them so long? Why weren’t they finished already? Then the door opened. A young woman, her face and eyes shrunken and emaciated, came outside with Inge’s hand placed warmly and gently on her shoulder. Inge saw me and smiled. She actually seemed pleased that I’d come, and even asked me to translate the doctor’s instructions for the local patient. The three of us sat on the bench. Inge gave me the instructions, and I translated them for the sick young woman and her mother.

  When they left the infirmary, we sat on the bench together.

  “I’m sorry if I insulted you the other day. I didn’t mean to.” I gently placed her hand on my knee and softly stroked it.

  “I’ve thought about it a lot as well,” she said, and I saw the sorrow in her eyes. “I was wrong to be so angry with you; after all, it really wasn’t personal. I’m sorry too.” She placed her warm hand on mine.

  That moment, a great weight lifted from my heart. The moment I’d longed for so much those past few days had finally come, and I was filled with happiness. I told her I was in a hurry, because I’d promised Mikhailo I’d help him with the harvest. Today, I would cut the grass by myself for the first time and take it in a horse-drawn wagon to the pigsty.

  We parted with my promise to come and visit her at the infirmary that afternoon, and I ran lightly back toward the house.

  ***

  The construction of the school was finally completed, and Wednesday afternoon was declared the date for the festive opening ceremony. Sime Spitzer, chairman of the Federation of Jewish Communities, had also been invited to the ceremony.

  “Even in such times of waiting and uncertainty, it is our duty to maintain hope and go on with our lives,” said Mr. Sime Spitzer at the humble ceremony.

  Dvoriansky spoke next and said that it was important to have a school for children and youths who had to discontinue their studies for a noble cause.

  “We are building a school that will serve as an example for all other schools in the area, also because of our fine teachers.” He mentioned their names, and the large crowd responded with enthusiastic applause. “We’ve received a supply of school uniforms, khaki clothes with a black beret bearing a golden star. This will be a school in the full sense of the word!” added Dvoriansky enthusiastically. “At the end of the ceremony, we will distribute the uniforms in the supply room. There are three sizes.”

  Martha’s children’s choir sang three songs in honor of the event, and Fredl accompanied them on his accordion.

  Then came the first day of school and I was very excited. It had taken me longer than usual to feed the pigs that morning, and as I wanted to get there early and save a seat for Inge, I planned on skipping breakfast.

  “Sit down, Hanne, and eat some breakfast like a decent human being,” Mother scolded me when she saw me wearing my school uniform, about to leave for my first lesson. “Sit down this very moment and eat something,” she said, cutting a few slices of Militza’s corn bread.

  I just couldn’t stand that bread, and the cheese leftovers were moldy.

  The Mayer family from Vienna, whose daughter Stella was six years younger than me, had moved into the house next to ours. Mother was very angry about the smell of meat patties constantly issuing from their kitchen. She saved every penny so she could buy food for us at the Kladovo market on the weekend, but the smell of meat coming from the neighbor’s house had made her feel she was neglecting us.

  Unwillingly, I finished my breakfast then ran to the southern end of the village, where the new school was located.

  The first lesson was with Mr. Dvoriansky. I really like his lessons. He always manages to include something about survival. In the previous lessons, we’d learned about the First Jewish–Roman War, about Elazar Ben Yair and the ploys that helped the rebels survive the siege. In my imagination, I pictured myself as one of the rebels in Ben Yair’s army, a skillful sniper, able to shoot an arrow straight into the forehead of a Roman soldier while the walls were being breached. I planned on going to the forest after school, to find some branches suitable for a bow. For my bowstring, I planned on using a fishing line I’d found not far from Petrović’s fishing-net shed.

  In literature class, we read another chapter from Franz Werfel’s book The Forty Days of Musa Dagh16—dealing with the Armenian community that had managed to resist the Ottomans on “Mount Moses”—Musa Dagh. Five thousand members of the community went up the mountain and fortified themselves under harsh conditions to protest the deportation and exile decrees handed down by the authorities. The book’s lead character, Gabriel Bagradian, is a wealthy man living in Paris, who returns to his homeland for ideological, patriotic reasons—in order to lead a rebellion.

  Bagradian had become a sort of idol to us, as if he was one of ours. After reading another chapter in the classroom, I was certain that one day, I’d be just like Gabriel Bagradian.

  There is only one copy of the book in the Hechalutz group, and I haven’t been able to get it yet. There’s a whole list of readers waiting to read it, and we’d already asked Naftali Bata to get us more copies.

  Mr. Goldman asked if such a terrible disaster could happen to another nation. Everyone said that nothing in the world could compare with the cruelty of the Turks, and that it seems that only the uncivilized nations of the orient could act in such a cruel way.

  Mr. Goldman tried again.

  “Could the persecution of the Jews in Europe today lead to a similar catastrophe?”

  He listened to our silence, then added, “Think of Bagradian, living in Europe with European manners and etiquette, language and culture, almost forgetting that he was Armenian, until the Turks came along and reminded him. Doesn’t it remind you of anything?”

  “It definitely reminds me of something,” I said. “My father never imagined we’d have to leave all the luxury and comfort of our lives there to join this expedition, but then a time came when the writing was on t
he wall. We didn’t fear for our lives like the Armenians, but there was less and less work. My father couldn’t get new contracts, and we were treated poorly by the authorities. It was easier to make up our minds about leaving after we heard about what was happening in Germany and Austria.”

  “Thank you, Hanne,” said Mr. Goldman. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. We are now in the midst of a historical process, and while it’s still too early to draw comparisons, things appear to be headed in a similar direction.”

  After the lesson, I allowed my imagination to run wild again; this time, my thoughts wandered to the land of Palestine.

  I thought about the fact that when we finally reached our land, we’d build a Jewish nation that would serve as a model for the whole world. We’d be strong, but we’d treat the meek and the persecuted with compassion.

  On Mr. Goldman’s shortwave radio, we keep hearing about the horrific riots in Palestine, about what the Arabs are doing to the Jews and the British. I’m willing to be drafted into the fighting units. I’ll join the fighters who are trying to protect the land from Arab rioters and help get rid of the British, who are preventing the Jews from emigrating to Israel. We will show the whole world that the Jews are no longer a persecuted foreign minority, but transformed into courageous fighters in their own country.

  Meanwhile, I want to prepare, so I can join the fighting forces the moment we get there. I don’t have any way of practicing with firearms, but I can practice shooting with a bow and arrow, or wrestling and judo, just like the people of the Bosnian resistance who fought the Austrian Empire before the Great War.

  In the afternoon, I wanted to walk with Inge along the riverbank. I was hoping she’d finally accept my invitation today. She refused, of course. She’s always in a hurry after school to get back to Dr. Bezalel’s infirmary. He has a cabin that serves as an infirmary on board Penelope, and she cleans and organizes it every day.

  I decided to go on my own, make a bow and arrows, and do some target practice, perhaps even use my arrows for hunting and self-defense. I headed toward the well. Behind the remains of an ancient wall, a narrow pathway winds its way into the forest. I’d been walking down that path for the past few days, curious to learn where it led. Tall trees tower on both sides, vines cover the bark of the trees like a green wall strewn with flowers, like the robe of a king from one of my childhood picture books. I decided to pick a flower for Mr. Schuster, the science teacher, who kept telling us how excited he was about the coming of spring. I was looking for the point I’d reached the previous day when I heard the soft sound of trickling water. I looked around for a supple branch suitable for a bow. The trickling sound became louder and my feet got wet. A short walk later, I found myself on a wooden bridge crossing the stream. I stopped and sat down to look at the clear water. Plump fish swam lazily, and two crabs rested on the bank, enjoying the springtime sun. If I had a fishing rod, I’d try to catch some trout for Mother. I knew how hard the food shortage was for her.

  But the fishing line in my pocket wasn’t long enough to serve as a rod. Two weeks ago, old Petrović had showed me how to make a fishing rod from a long pole and a thin nylon fishing line with a hook on the end: He made a slit with the edge of his pocketknife at the end of a flexible wooden rod. Then he threaded the end of a fishing line he’d pulled from the bottom of a pile of nets into the slit, winding it around the rod several times. Finally, he grabbed the line and pulled it tight.

  “You see, that’s how you tie the line to the rod so it doesn’t get loose.”

  He took a metal box of various-sized hooks from his pocket. Choosing a medium-sized hook, he tied it to the other end of the fishing line and said, “Simple, huh? Now we can go fishing.”

  I decided to ask him for a fishing line and a hook so I could go fishing in the forest. Perhaps Inge would join me. She’d probably love to go out for some fresh air in the woods. These past few days, I’d been thinking a lot about Inge. I felt that she was drifting away from me again. Perhaps this was because I was with my parents in Mikhailo’s hut, while she’s with all the youths on board Penelope. I was afraid this might draw us apart. I had also noticed a tall fellow called Menachem hanging around her. I don’t know if she has feelings for him, but I really miss her during my lonely nights in the hut.

  I wonder what she’d say about the fishing rod I’m planning to make. Perhaps she’d take some fish back for her group. But first we’d both eat, collect firewood, and light a fire, just like the children in Treasure Island when they learned to survive on their own.

  I took out the pocketknife Father gave me for my bar mitzvah. I always keep it in the pocket of my trousers. I opened it and gently started to shave both sides of the branch until the edge was bright and smooth. I cut away all the bulges on the sides, as Petrović had taught me. I cut slits in both ends of the branch. I took the fishing line from my pocket to wrap it around the end of the bow. Then, looking up, I saw that the sky had filled with black clouds, and a wide, colorful rainbow stretched across the western horizon. I finished wrapping the string and ran toward the village.

  The sky was black and the sun had completely vanished. The wind grew stronger, bending the treetops. The rain, which started as a light drizzle, gradually intensified, forcing me to take cover under the branches of a vine-covered tree, which formed a thick protective roof. The rain fell like a curtain of water. A blinding flash of lightning was followed by a loud clap of thunder rolling across the sky. I sat hunched up, waiting for the rain to slacken so I could run back to the village. Time seemed to stand still, and I prepared myself for the possibility that I might not be able to get home. I was afraid Mother and Father would be worried.

  Luckily, the rain subsided after a while. The powerful downpour became a light drizzle. Shivering with cold but fairly dry, I left my hiding place and ran toward the village. I could already see the pointed spire of the church from a distance, when I suddenly heard the sound of crying coming from the bushes next to the pathway.

  As I got closer, I heard wailing.

  “They’re going to kill me. Help, they’re going to kill me…”

  He lay on the ground, his pants pulled down and his torn coat thrown next to him. His face was covered with blood, his lip torn open, and his left eye swollen. Despite this painful sight, I was able to recognize Gaetzer, the swindler, who had brought the calf for the Penelope groups on that unforgettable morning. Wherever there was money to be made, Gaetzer was there. Everyone had taken pleasure in hating him as early as the Tzar Nikolai days. Even back then, everyone complained that he was exploiting the misery of people on the boats for personal profit. They also said he’d received a generous sum for that calf. When we disembarked from the boats, he opened a store and everyone started calling him “Gaetzer the profiteer.” He would always show up elegantly dressed, wearing gold chains and expensive watches.

  “I hope he turns green with envy,” said Mother.

  Now, I bent over him and tried to encourage him to speak, but he was too badly hurt to say anything intelligible. I didn’t know how to help him or dress his wounds. I didn’t have the necessary means either. I had to go for help. We were close to the harbor. I told him to hang on and ran toward Dr. Bezalel’s infirmary.

  “What’s wrong, Hanne? Why are you so wet and out of breath?” asked Inge with concern.

  “Come quickly. We need the doctor urgently,” I answered while trying to regain my breath. “Bring the first-aid bag, and tell the doctor to bring one too.”

  She took the first-aid bag from the corner next to the stretcher.

  “The doctor went out to examine a patient on Penelope,” she said. “But tell me, what happened?”

  “It’s Gaetzer. He’s hurt and needs urgent help.” I beckoned her to follow me.

  On the way, we met Efraim at the well and took him along to help.

  “Come with me,” I said, taking the first-aid bag from Ing
e.

  “What’s happened?” asked Efraim with concern.

  “Someone has beaten Gaetzer half to death. He’s bleeding all over. It’s terrible.”

  “I knew this was coming,” said Efraim. “He’s been asking for it.”

  “But not this. You won’t believe what those barbarians have done to him.”

  “Don’t be naive. The man was getting on everyone’s nerves with his greed,” Efraim said, trying to keep up with me.

  “It doesn’t matter how much they hated him,” Inge interfered. “You can’t act like that. A Jew must never hit his brother.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Efraim. “Everyone knows he’s a thief and a profiteer. He had it coming.”

  We reached the place where I’d found him. Gaetzer was still mumbling.

  “Kill me… They’re going to kill me.”

  Inge bent over him and examined his wounds. She tried to make him tell her where it hurt. With the skill of a physician, she felt his limbs from head to toe and checked for fractures or hemorrhages.

  “You’re very lucky, Mr. Gaetzer,” she said with a broad smile, the one I thought was reserved just for me. “Let’s check your back and stomach as well.”

  He had a few blue bruises on his back, probably from a club or a metal rod. Gaetzer didn’t speak, and Inge took out an antiseptic and started to clean his bleeding face.

  “Hanne, hand me the bandages and help me cut,” she gave me the scissors. Efraim just stood and watched. “Don’t worry, Efraim,” she turned to him. “You and Hanne will take him to the sickroom once I’m done.”

  After Inge had finished dressing the wounds, we picked him up carefully. Efraim grabbed his feet and I supported his shoulders. With slow, measured steps, we made our way down to the harbor. When we finally reached the infirmary, Dr. Bezalel was already waiting for us there.

  “Lay him down on the second bed on the right,” he said. “I’ll be with him in a moment.”