Free Zion by Colin Falconer Page A

haze of the afternoon, lay the Judean hills, brown and stark, the color of dung, a reminder of what the land was before they arrived. They had kept the promise Herzl and the Zionists had made; they had tamed the wilderness. But sometimes Sarah secretly longed for the way it was before, when they had first come here. In those days they had battled the wilderness for every inch, and she had not realized how sad it might seem when it was beaten.
    She thought about Rishou. His heart must break when he comes here. Perhaps it is why he spends so much time in Jerusalem now. When he returns to Rab’allah he must look down at us and what he sees rebukes him twice; it reminds him how his ancestors’ land was taken away from him, and it demonstrates how much more advanced our European ways have become.
    Isaac was playing soccer in the playground with four other boys. A fine boy, she thought; tall and athletic and good-looking. He was nearly eleven years old. Where had that time gone?
    He had been six years old when Asher had joined the Jewish Brigade and gone to fight in Italy. She started work with the Histadruth in Jerusalem and spent less and less time at the kibbutz . Yaakov had virtually raised him since then.
    Asher limped on to the verandah and eased himself on to a chair beside her. Sarah maneuvered another chair so he could rest his injured leg on it. “Don’t fuss over me,” he said.
    “You’re a wounded hero.”
    “Sarcasm is not an attractive side of your personality.”
    “Talking of personalities, you’ve behaved like a goat with a thorn in its backside ever since you came back here. What’s wrong?”
    “I don’t like being an invalid.”
    “It’s better than being a corpse.”
    He shrugged. “I’m not going to apologize for being alive.”
    “Of course not.”
    “I can’t stand sitting round here like a cripple!”
    “It’s not my fault, or my father’s.”
    She watched him wrestle with his pride. He scratched at the dressing on his leg. The bullet had not broken the bone, which was lucky, but it had damaged an artery, which was not.
    He grunted, which was as close to an apology as she had ever got from him. Asher and his pride! He nodded towards Isaac. “The boy misses you. You should come back here to the kibbutz .”
    “You’re here with him now. Anyway, my work for the Haganah is just as important as yours.”
    Asher was silent for a time. “Are you seeing anyone in Jerusalem?”
    Oh well, you know, just one of my old Arab lovers. “What an extraordinary question for a husband to ask his wife.”
    “I know things aren’t good between us.”
    “I didn’t think you noticed these things.”
    “I pick up little signals. Most men wouldn’t realize they hadn’t made love to their wives for a year but I’m very perceptive.”
    “You’ve been in Haifa, I’ve been in Jerusalem. It’s hard to be intimate with the Samarian hills between us.”
    “Why do you think I asked them to post me to Haifa?”
    She let the question hang.
    “When do you go back to Jerusalem?” he said.
    “Tomorrow, after Shabbat .”
    “Why don’t you find out if there’s something I can do with the Shai ? I’m going crazy round here. The doctor says it will be months before I can rejoin my unit.”
    Before she could answer, she heard someone calling Asher’s name. She looked up and saw Yaakov striding across the lawns towards them. A tall, gaunt figure loped along beside him.
    “Ash, you’ve got a visitor,” Yaakov shouted.
    Asher struggled to his feet. “Netya!”
    “ Shalom , Ash!” Netanel grinned. “How’s the hero of Atlit!”
     
     
     
    Netanel sat on the veranda with Asher, smoking endless cigarettes. A vodka bottle was uncorked on the table, but only Asher was drinking. “Our unit’s been ordered into Jerusalem,” Netanel said. “Headquarters thinks that’s where the trouble will start.”
    “We have to keep up the pressure on the British.”
    “But there’s bound to be a backlash