Tzili: The Story of a Life

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BUT IN THE MEANTIME they put off the decision from day to day. They learned to go short and to share this frugality too. He would drink only once a day and smoke only twice, half a cigarette. The slight tremor came back to his fingers, like a man deprived of alcohol. But for the many shadows besieging their temporary shelter, their small happiness would have been complete.

From time to time, when the shadows deepened, he would go outside and shout: “Come inside, please. We have a wonderful bunker. It’s a pity we haven’t got any food. Otherwise we’d hold a banquet for you.” These announcements would calm them, but not for long.

Afterward he said: “There’s nothing else for it, we’ll have to go down. Death isn’t as terrible as it seems. A man, after all, is not an insect. All you have to do is overcome your fear.” These words did not encourage Tzili. The dark, muddy plains became more frightening from day to day. Now it seemed that not only the peasants lay in wait for her there but also her father, her mother, and her sisters.

And reality stole upon them unawares. Wetness began to seep through the walls of the bunker. At first only a slight dampness, but later real wetness. Mark worked without a pause to stop up the cracks. The work distracted him from the multitude of shadows lying in wait outside. From time to time he brandished his spade as if he were chasing away a troublesome flock of birds.

One evening, as they were lying in the darkness, snuggling up to each other for warmth, the storm broke in and a torrent of water flooded the bunker. Mark was sure that the multitudes of shadows waiting in the trees to trap him were to blame. He rushed outside, shouting at the top of his voice: “Criminals.”

Now they stood next to the trees, looking down at the gray slopes shivering in the rain. And just when it seemed that the steady, penetrating drizzle would never stop, the clouds vanished and a round sun appeared in the sky.

“I knew it,” said Mark.

If only Tzili had said, “I’ll go down,” he might have let her go. Perhaps he would have gone with her. But she didn’t say anything. She was afraid of the plains. And since she was silent, Mark said: “I’m going down.”

In the meantime they made a little fire and drank herb tea. Mark was very excited. He spoke in lofty, dramatic words about the need to change, to adapt to local conditions, and not to be afraid. Fear corrupts human dignity, he said. The resolution he had had while building the bunker came back to his face. Now he was even more resolute, determined to go down to the plains and not to be afraid.

“Don’t go,” said Tzili.

“I must go down. Inspection of the terrain has become imperative — if only from the point of view of general security needs. Who knows what the villagers have got up their sleeves? They may be getting ready for a surprise attack. I can’t allow them to take us by surprise.”

Tzili could not understand what he was talking about, but the lofty, resolute words, which at first had given her a sense of security, began to hurt her, and the more he talked the more they stung. He spoke of reassessment and reappraisal, of diversion and camouflage. Tzili understood none of his many words, but this she understood: he was talking of another world.

“Don’t go.” She clung to him.

“You have to understand,” he said in a gentle voice. “Once you conquer your fear everything looks different. I’m happy now that I’ve conquered my fear. All my life fear has tortured me shamefully, you understand, shamefully. Now I’m a free man.”

Afterward they sat together for a long time. But although Tzili now said, “I’ll go down. They know me, they won’t hurt me,” Mark had made up his mind: “This time I’m going down.” And he went down.