Free Raquela by Ruth Gruber

his arm around her and slowly began to dance again. “I didn’t want to come tonight. I figured these committee ladies would all be like my mother’s friends—all looking for a husband for their daughters.”
    â€œHad any good offers tonight?”
    â€œI didn’t give the ladies a chance. The minute I saw you, I said, ‘This is for me.’”
    Was he telling the truth? Then why did Debby keep his photo on her shelf?
    He broke the silence. “You still haven’t told me your name.”
    â€œRaquela Levy.”
    â€œRaquela! I’ve never heard that name before.”
    â€œIt’s Sephardic; it’s the Spanish ‘Raquel,’ with a Russian diminutive. My father wanted to name me Balforia because I was born on Balfour Day. But my mother had promised to name me for my grandmother.”
    â€œLet’s go down to the garden,” he said impulsively, dancing her toward the back door of the ballroom. “It’s too hard to talk with all this noise.”
    They walked down a short flight of stairs. The garden, filled with palms and fragrant winter-blooming flowers, lay in wartime darkness. The Jerusalem sky was deep blue and hung with silver stars.
    â€œHow did you know I was Debby’s boyfriend? How did you recognize me?”
    â€œDebby has your picture right next to her bed.”
    â€œIf she has any illusions, it just means she refuses to face reality. We broke up a few weeks ago. It was all wrong. We just weren’t meant for each other. You do believe me, don’t you?”
    â€œI don’t think you lie.” She said it without thinking, then realized that she wanted very much to believe it.
    A wind blew through the palms. Carmi pulled off his British army jacket. “Here, put this on.” He slipped it around her shoulders.
    â€œIf I were wounded—” He stopped short, drew back, and cupped her face in his hands. “If I woke up and saw a white uniform and your beautiful face, I would never want to get well. I’d want to have you take care of me forever. ”
    Through the open door, they could hear the musicians strike up a tango. “La Paloma.”
    In his khaki shirt, he drew himself up in the stance of a flamenco dancer. He brought Raquela toward him, gracefully flung her away, then drew her back and kissed her.
    She shut her eyes.
    Her body ached with his nearness.
    She wanted him to hold her, as no one had ever held her before—none of the boys in school, who took her walking through the quiet tree-lined streets of Bet Hakerem; none of the Haganah boys, Jacob’s friends, who kissed her, brotherly-fashion, on her cheek.
    She had never felt so intoxicated.
    But what if he were lying about Debby? What if he were one of those soldiers she was always reading about. The kind who believed everything was fair in love and war. Live today, for tomorrow you may be…
    The word “dead” had never frightened her before. She lived with it twenty-four hours a day, in the classrooms, in the textbooks, in the wards. Why now did it make her tremble? She had just met Carmi, yet already she felt a sense of loss clawing inside her.
    Outside the garden, a jeep revved up its engine, patrolling the blacked-out streets.
    â€œRaquela,” Carmi whispered. “It’s the most beautiful name in the world.”
    He drew her close. Inside, the musicians were still playing.
    â€œRaquela,” he said. “Raquela…Raquela…Raquela.”

FOUR
    FEBRUARY 1943
    T he next afternoon, the telephone rang down the dormitory hall. Raquela was called to the phone.
    â€œHello, Raquela.” Her heart catapulted.
    No one had ever spoken her name as he did. Carmi was talking urgently. “I’ve just got orders. My unit is leaving tomorrow.”
    â€œTomorrow!” She heard the dismay in her own voice, and it startled her.
    â€œI’ve got to see you before I leave.”
    â€œOf course.