The Gates of Zion (45 page)

He glanced up and smiled as he jerked his thumb back toward the door marked
Photo Lab
.

Ellie knocked on the door. Then, convinced that the noise of the press had overruled her knock, she simply turned the knob and walked into the cluttered, brick-lined lab. The sound of loud music greeted them. Ellie recognized the thundering cannon of the
1812

Overture
instantly as it roared from a large hand-cranked phonograph in the corner.

A bald-domed, thin little man sat on a three-legged stool at a counter.

He was working intently on something. Behind them the thunder of the printing press slowed to a whine and a final bang before it stopped. The
1812
boomed on.

“I’m Judith!” Ellie yelled over the music.

The little man raised his head as though he heard something, then lowered it again and resumed work.

Ellie tried again. “I’M JUDITH!”

The man turned on the stool, his eyes lighting up as he saw the two women standing by the door. He stood and walked toward the phonograph. “You’re early!” he shouted in reply.

Ellie took a deep breath. “My watch … ,” she began as the man slid the needle off the record and silence fell. She lowered her voice.

“My watch …”

“Yes, I know. It runs a little fast,” he finished pleasantly. “So, sit down, Miss Warne. And you are Miss Lubetkin,
nu
?” He pulled two more stools up to the counter, then disappeared into another room.

Ellie and Rachel exchanged puzzled glances; Ellie’s ears felt numb from the sound level of the
1812 Overture.
Soon the man emerged, carrying a large cardboard box that he set before them. Then he plopped down between them.

“Gets a little noisy in here, doesn’t it?” Ellie asked.

“A necessary evil.” The man smiled. “If we should happen to get careless and blow ourselves up, you know, it would not be good to have the British investigate the noise, you see.” He pulled a metal film can out of the bag and held it up. “An ordinary film can, eh?” He unscrewed the lid and showed Ellie the film inside. “Film, yes?” He dumped the can into her palm and tapped the bottom. “Primers. For blasting you see,” he said triumphantly.

Ellie nodded as he carefully placed the primers back in the can.

“Now I see why you chose the
1812 Overture
.”

“Yes, you must be very careful. The bulbs―” he held up an ordinary-looking flashbulb—“I am afraid if you dropped it, the flash might ruin your picture.” He smiled proudly. “Your camera is loaded as well.”

Ellie swallowed hard. “Some kind of firecrackers you mix up here, Professor.”

He carefully set the bulb down and slapped his hands on his knees with satisfaction. “For Independence Day. I will help you pack your bag. The English at the gates will not disturb you. If you are stopped by the Arab Militia patrols before you reach the Quarter, do yourself a kindness and stand back if they insist on rummaging through your bag. No doubt what you carry will serve its purpose a bit prematurely if they are not gentle with the contents.”

“This could blow me up?” Ellie asked gingerly.

He gave her an exasperated look. “Indeed, if you are not considerate.”

Ellie sighed, then smiled with resignation. “It’s dangerous.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “What did you expect―tea and cakes?”

“I don’t know what I expected. But this is certainly much more than I had hoped for.”

“Good. Good.” He smiled back and lifted her camera bag to the table. “Then I wish you Godspeed and good luck, my dear.” He began packing the concealed explosive with a care that made Ellie’s throat suddenly feel very dry.

Minutes later, Ellie held the camera bag carefully, though trying to appear natural, as they entered the bakery on the corner of King George Street and Julian Way. A crowd of women buying for the holidays shouted over the countertop at two harried clerks who bustled back and forth, shouting irritably into the back room to fill orders.

“This reminds me of Saks Fifth Avenue during a sale!” Ellie shouted to Rachel as they took their place at the end of a long line. Twenty minutes later they had jostled their way to the front of the glass cases, where a woman with her hair pulled severely back in a bun glared at Rachel.

“Well, hurry up, hurry up. There are others waiting!” she snapped.

Rachel hesitated. “My name is Judith,” Rachel repeated the code name.

“You’re early,” the woman growled.

“My watch always runs a little fast.”

“Well, I don’t know if your order is ready.” She turned and shouted toward the back room. “Order for Judith!”

A moment later a large shopping bag appeared at the window in the back. Two loaves of challah, the holy day bread, extended from the top. The woman grabbed it roughly, causing Ellie to wince as she wondered what the bread had been seasoned with. The woman slung it over the counter to Rachel, who started to leave.

“Thank you!” Rachel yelled above the din.

“Wait a minute. You forgot to pay!” the woman demanded.

Rachel blanched. “How much?” She fumbled in her pocket.

“Let me get it.” Ellie stepped in quickly and counted out some change on top of the counter. It had not occurred to her—or to Rachel, either, evidently—that Rachel would have to pay for her bakery goods for the sake of appearance. She heard Rachel sigh with relief as Ellie carefully shielded her camera bag from a heavyset woman who shoved in behind them.

Rachel cradled her shopping bag like a child as they inched their way out of the stuffy little shop.

“How about that Moshe?” Ellie said. “Making us pay.” She shook her head indignantly. “I’m going to submit a voucher, and he can pay me back.”

Their next stop was a small dress shop on King George, only three blocks away. A bell tinkled as they opened the door, and a gray-haired woman of about seventy stepped out from a back room. She wore a tailored burgundy suit of the latest fashion “Dear me,” she said in an elegant Austrian accent. “Custoomers. May I helf you?”

“My … name … is … Jud-ith,” Ellie pronounced very carefully.

“You’re early.” The woman’s accent dropped away instantly.

Rachel and Ellie exchanged amused glances. “Our watches always run fast,” said Ellie.

The old woman placed a
Gone to Tea
sign in her window, then locked the shop door. She led the girls down to the basement and there, for an hour and a half, she transformed them from slender and well-dressed young women to dowdy and plump matrons with bullets and grenades appropriately concealed beneath layers of bulky clothing and padded brassieres.

“The main thing, my dahlings,” the woman said as they waddled out the door, “is to make sure the men do not
want
to search you. I think we have accomplished this goal.” She smiled and closed the shop door, pulling up the shade as they left.

Both Ellie and Rachel were breathing heavily when they finally reached home. Ellie wiped the sweat from her brow as they carefully laid their cargo down on the sofa in the front room. Uncle Howard peered in at their backs and stuttered loudly, “I b-b-beg your pardon!” The outrage in his voice was unmistakable.

They turned around and Ellie waved coyly, batting her eyes at her astonished uncle. “Yoooo-hoooo.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, girl!” he blustered. “What have they done to you?”

Ellie appraised the striped robes he held in his arms. “What are they doing with you?”

“I’m going as an Arab. I’ll throw this on over my clothes once I get to Mamillah Cemetery. Then I walk to the other side and enter Arab territory, and that is that.”

“When are you leaving?” Ellie felt a wave of concern and hesitancy about the entire enterprise.

“Right now.” Howard clearly caught the panic in Ellie’s eyes, for he walked toward Ellie and Rachel. “But first I think we should commit this night and ourselves into the hands of God, children.” He stretched his arms out and put his hands gently on their shoulders.

“Good idea,” said Ellie, bowing her head. “’Cause I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Howard tucked his chin and closed his eyes. Rachel, looking awkward, did the same.

“Dear Lord,” Howard prayed, “we ask You to go with each one of us tonight. Keep us safe in Your loving hands. Watch over our every thought and action, and guide us home again. We ask in the name of Your Son who died for us. Amen.”

“Amen,” Ellie repeated, hugging Howard. “Be careful, you old teddy bear.”

Rachel looked away as Howard kissed Ellie on the top of her head.

“Be careful yourself,” he told Ellie. “I feel like I’ve just hugged an armadillo. What have you got in there?”

“They said the idea is to make sure nobody wants to search us.”

“It will be a rousing success, I assure you.” He rubbed his ribs and winced. “Well, I’m off. I’ll meet you back here before morning. If we’re not back by daylight …”

“If you’re not back before daylight,
what
… ?” Ellie eyed him with alarm.

“Send the cavalry.” He chucked her chin, then hurried out the door to meet Moshe.

***

Gerhardt opened his second pack of cigarettes for the day and tossed the cellophane out the window of the slow-moving cargo truck as it crept up Bab el Wad. The haggard-looking English deserter behind the wheel glanced frantically at him.

“Blimey! You’re not gonna smoke that thing in ’ere, are you?” He wiped the sweat from his brow as Gerhardt took the matches from his pocket. “There’s enough explosives in this truck t’ blow ’alf of Jerusalem t’ kingdom come!”

Gerhardt narrowed his eyes and smiled as he leaned forward and struck the match on the dashboard, only inches from where the fuse protruded from a metal pipe. “Only the Jewish half.”

The deserter swore and moved his hand to the door handle. “Do that again, mate, an’ you’ll find yourself another driver!”

Gerhardt threw his head back in laughter, then inhaled the harsh smoke. Two trucks, filled with explosives and driven by English deserters with a hatred of Jews almost as intense as his own―the plan was foolproof, he mused. It would be perhaps the greatest triumph of his career.

***

There was still more than an hour before the No. 2 bus would leave for Zion Gate. Rachel fixed Yacov a quick lunch of cream cheese and strawberry jam on thin slices of bread.

“You are a good cook,” Yacov said as he took a bite.

“My mother used to make these little sandwiches for me,” Rachel answered. “Out of wild blackberry jam. We had gathered the berries ourselves, you see… .” She remembered picnics by a broad river and the sun sparkling through the green leaves above them.

“Very good.” Yacov gave his eye patch a tug, then stuffed his mouth full.

“When you are done, please put your dishes in the sink,” she said, afraid of the memories that so often crowded around her. She stood for a moment, her back against the counter, watching as Yacov happily finished lunch. How often she had seen that same expression on the faces of her brothers as they gulped their food and gathered their books and stood fidgeting as Mama straightened their yamulkes and tugged on their jackets! Then they had slammed the door and run down the block to the synagogue for lessons.

Rachel swallowed hard and silently left the kitchen for the solitude of her own room. In less than an hour, she knew, she would be in the streets of the Old City. Perhaps she would walk by the very house where her grandfather lived. Perhaps she would pass him in the street, and he would never know her.
It is unfair of Moshe that he
has not allowed even five minutes for me to see him for the first
time, to touch his face and know that I am not alone in this world.

But then, Moshe must have known that there could never be enough time in the world for her to say all the things she wanted to say to the old man. Five minutes, one hour, one day, could never be enough.

Ellie tapped on the door, then poked her head in. “I’m taking my 35

millimeter camera along, just in case,” she began.

The emotion in Rachel’s eyes must have shown. “What’s up?” Ellie asked, sitting on the bed next to her. “Are you afraid?”

Rachel shook her head. “Oh no!”

“You worried about something?” Ellie coaxed.

Rachel had learned that Ellie was not one to give up, even if she should mind her own business.

“I am—” Rachel controlled the quaver in her voice—“homesick.”

Ellie gave her a quick hug. “So close, huh? You know we’ve got to get out of there before dark, and the captain doesn’t even come on duty at the gate until four o’clock. That gives us an hour, Rachel.

Maybe a little more. Are you telling me you think we could deliver this stuff
and
track your grandfather down? And that would be enough time for you two to get reacquainted?”

“You are right, of course.” Rachel was calm again. “To see him and not to stay would be torture.”

“The only people going in to stay are men. And Moshe is having a difficult time just getting enough food to them. I am sorry, though.”

“It is silly and selfish of me. I must wait, if it means I am helping what Moshe is doing. But they say my grandfather does not even know I am alive. No message can reach him. If there were only some way once we are in the Old City… .”

Ellie frowned and bit her lip thoughtfully. “Well, it’s possible we could leave a note for him someplace. Have you ever talked to Yacov about it?”

“No. What purpose … ?”

“The boy’s from the Old City. There can’t be that many old rabbis living there. Maybe
he
knows him. Or at least knows somebody who knows him. I keep telling you, Rachel:
Talk to him!
He even speaks Polish!” Ellie’s enthusiasm had more than a touch of irritation to it.

Ashamed of her reluctance to talk to the boy, Rachel looked away.

“He’s been here three days,” Ellie continued. “For heaven’s sake, come on, Rachel! You sit around here feeling sorry for yourself, and in three days you’ve never even asked the one person who might be able to give you some answers.”

Tears welled up. “Are you angry with me?” Rachel asked, afraid she had lost her only friend.