“Does he need the doctor?” he asked in Hebrew.
“No. He is fine,” Aliza said.
The officer looked at Danny. “Are you fine?”
Danny smiled and replied in English, “I am very good, indeed.”
The inmates hated John Bryce solely on principle. He was not a vindictive or petty man and he permitted the Jewish Agency free rein within the camp. Even so, he was considered a prig and a fool for his insistence on following rules to the letter, often causing delays and complications a more lenient commander might have avoided.
Not much was known about him; he was a career officer in his late forties, his skin deeply lined from years of service in India. He had fought in North Africa during the war against Germany and was ending his career in Palestine.
His feeling for Tirzah was so obvious that Leonie had to turn away, embarrassed and a bit envious. She thought it extraordinarily romantic that he had risked exposing himself by rushing to her side this way. Tirzah kept her eyes on Danny, so it was not easy to read her face.
“Well, then,” said Colonel Bryce, finding there was nothing for him to do. “Carry on.”
Aliza took another look at Danny’s wound and secured a much smaller bandage over it. “It looks very dramatic,” she said, pinching his cheek. “The girls will swoon over you.
“Keep him still for the rest of the day and send him to me in the morning for a quick check,” she said to Tirzah. “And don’t make too much of this. Boys will be boys. They smash themselves up and they heal. Don’t smother him.”
After everyone left and Leonie began to sweep up, Aliza asked, “So, tell me. Is the pain sharp? In the lower abdomen? Do you have a sore throat?”
“How do you know all of that?”
“It’s my job to know,” she said, and motioned for Leonie to go behind the curtain. A moment later she appeared with a hypodermic. “Turn around,” she said and lifted Leonie’s skirt. “I’ll give you another shot in a few days.”
“Thank you,” Leonie whispered.
“No need,” Aliza said. “Come outside. I need a smoke.”
They sat on the bench on the shady side of the shed and shared a cigarette in silence. After a short while, Aliza said, “I could never do what Tirzah is doing.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean? Fucking for her country!” Aliza smirked. “I shock you, do I? How old are you, anyway? Seventeen?”
“Almost eighteen.”
“I suppose I look like an old lady to you, but if she is thirty-five, I am only ten years older, which isn’t too old, if you know what I mean. Besides, I know what goes on in the world.” She took a long drag on the cigarette and shook her head. “I suppose women have always been asked to do this kind of thing. You can get a man to tell you almost anything in bed. But by now, Tirzah must be an expert about the British prison authority and maybe something about the police department, too. Still, for a Jewish woman to have to stoop so low? It makes me sick.
“Of course, when you really stop to think about it, she deserves a medal and a pension, just like any other soldier. What a sacrifice. What a shame.”
Leonie said nothing but she wondered whether Aliza might have misjudged the situation. Bryce was obviously in love with her. Danny was fond of him. As for Tirzah? Leonie guessed and thought, Poor woman.
II September
Rosh Hashanah, September 7
Tirzah had let it be known that the evening meal that started the Jewish New Year would be specia
l, so speculation about the menu had become a topic of discussion and debate.
“There is a big argument about the proper ingredients for carrot tzimmes,” said Shayndel as she reached for another potato from the mountain before her.
Tirzah, who was chopping a bowl of onions, made no reply.
“I think there’s even a wager about whether there will be sweet or savory noodle kugel.”
Shayndel thought she heard Tirzah laugh. “What?” she asked. But the cook only continued chopping.