Tzili: The Story of a Life

24

ONCE MORE she had won her freedom. At that time the great battlefronts were collapsing, and the first refugees were groping their way across the broad fields of snow. Against the vast whiteness they looked like swarms of insects. Tzili was drawn toward them as if she realized that her fate was no different from theirs.

Strange, precisely now, at the hour of her newfound freedom, Mark stopped speaking to her. “Where are you and why don’t you speak to me?” she would ask in despair. Nothing stirred in the silence, and but for her own voice no other voice was heard.

In one of the bunkers she came across three men. They were wrapped from top to toe in heavy, tattered coats. Their bloodshot eyes peeped through their rags, alert and sardonic.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Tzili.”

“So you’re one of us. Where have you left everyone?”

“I,” said Tzili, “have lost everyone.”

“In that case why don’t you come with us? What have you got in that haversack?”

“Clothes.”

“And haven’t you got any bread?” one of them said in an unpleasant voice.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Can’t you see? We’re partisans. Haven’t you got any bread in that haversack?”

“No I haven’t,” she said and turned to go.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Mark.”

“We know the whole area. There’s no one here. You’d better stay with us. We’ll keep you amused.”

“I,” said Tzili opening her coat, “am a pregnant woman.”

“Leave the haversack with us. We’ll look after it for you.”

“The haversack isn’t mine. It belongs to Mark. He left it in my care.”

“Don’t boast. You should learn to be more modest.”

“I’m not afraid. Death is not as terrible as it seems.”

“Cheeky brat,” said the man and rose to his feet.

Tzili stared at him.

“Where did you learn that?” said the man, taking a step backward.

Tzili stood still. A strength not hers was in her eyes.

“Go then, bitch,” said the man and went back to the bunker.

From then on the snow stretched before her white and empty. Tzili felt a kind of warmth spreading through her. She walked along a row of trees, which now seemed rootless, stuck into the snow like pegs.

From time to time a harassed survivor appeared, asked the way, and disappeared again. Tzili knew that her fate was no different from the survivors’, but she kept away from them as if they were brothers who might say: “We told you so.”

And while she was walking without knowing where her feet would lead her, the walls of snow began to shudder. It was the month of March and new winds invaded the landscape. On the mountain slopes the first stripes of brown earth appeared. Not long afterward the brown stripes widened.

And suddenly she saw what she had not seen before: the mountain, undistinguished and not particularly lofty, the mountain where she and Mark had spent the summer, and not far from where she was standing the foot of the slope, and next to it the valley leading to Katerina’s house. As if the whole world had narrowed down to a piece of land which she could feel with her hands.

She stood for a moment as if she were trying to absorb all these painful places into her body. She herself felt no pain.

And while she was standing there sunk into herself a refugee approached her and he said: “Jewish girl, where are you from?”

“From here.”

“And you weren’t in the camps?”

“No.”

“I lost everyone. What shall I do?”

“In the spring they’ll all come back. I’m sure of it.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m quite sure. You can believe me.” There was strength in her voice. And the man stood rooted to the spot.

“Thank you,” he said, as if he had been given a great gift.

“Don’t mention it,” said Tzili, as she had been taught to say at home.

Without asking for further details, the man vanished as abruptly as he had appeared.

Evening drew near and the last rays of the sun fell golden on the hillside. “I lived here and now I’m leaving,” said Tzili, and she felt a slight twinge in her chest. The embryo throbbed gently in her belly. Her vision narrowed even further. Now she could picture to herself the paths lying underneath the carpet of snow. There was no resentment in her heart, only longing, longing for the earth on which she stood. Everything beyond this little corner of the world seemed alien and remote to her.

For days she had not tasted food. She would sit for hours sucking the snow. The melted snow assuaged her hunger. The liquids refreshed her. Now she felt a faint anxiety.

And while she was standing transfixed by what she saw, Mark rose up before her.

“Mark,” the word burst from her throat.

Mark seemed surprised. He stood still. And then he asked: “Why are you going to the refugees? Don’t you know how bad they are?”

“I was looking for you.”

“You won’t find me there. I keep as far away as possible from them.”

“Where are you?”

“Setting sail.”

“Where to?”

All at once a flock of birds rose into the air and crossed the darkening horizon, and Tzili understood that he had only called her in order to take his leave.

She put the haversack down on the snow. Her eyes opened and she said: “My search was in vain.” It was her own voice which had come back to her.

“So you’re abandoning me to the refugees, those bad, wicked people.” A voice that had been locked up inside her broke out and rose into the air. “I’m asking you a question. Answer me. If you don’t want me, tell me. I’m not complaining. I love you anyway. I’ll make you herb tea if you like. The mountain is unoccupied. It’s waiting for us. There’s no one there; we can go back to it. It’s a good mountain, you said so yourself. I’ll go to the village and bring back supplies, I won’t be lazy. You can believe me. Don’t you believe me?”

After this she sat for hours next to the haversack. She woke up and fell asleep again, and when she finally rose to her feet brown vapors were already rising from the valleys. Here and there a peasant stretched himself as if after a long sleep. There were no refugees to be seen.

“So you’re abandoning me,” the old anger flickered up in her again. It wasn’t really anger, but only a weak echo of anger. She was with herself as if after a long hunger. She narrowed her eyes and stroked her belly, and then she said to herself: “Mark’s probably not allowed to leave, for the time being. Later on, they’ll let him go. He’s not his own boss, after all.”

The snow thawed and the first convoys of refugees poured down the hillsides. Strange, thought Tzili, the war’s over and I didn’t know. Mark must have known before me; he must be happy now. Suddenly she felt that her life was moving toward some other destination, where the colors were different. She heard the voices of the refugees, and the sound was so familiar that it hurt her.

She thought that she would go to the high mountain where she had first met Mark. She set her steps in that direction but the road was covered with mud and she gave up. Later, she said to herself.

Afterward the commotion died down and the lips of the land could be heard quietly sucking all over the plains. The liquids were being absorbed into the earth.

“Thank you, Maria,” said Tzili. “Thanks to you I’m still alive. But for you I would already be in another world. Thanks to you I’m still here. Isn’t it strange that thanks to you I’m still here? I’m grateful to you, Maria.” Tzili was surprised by the words that came out of her mouth.

She let the memory of Maria flow over her for a moment, and as she did so she saw her figure emerge from the mist and stand solidly before her eyes. A tall, strong woman dressed with simple elegance. When she came into her mother’s shop she filled it with the breath of city streets, cafés, and theaters. She never hid her opinions. She would often say that she was fond of the Jews, although not the religious ones. Those she had always hated, but the freethinking Jews who lived in the city were men after her own heart. They knew what civilization meant; they knew how to get the most out of life in the city. Of course, her appearances would always be accompanied by a certain fear, because of her connections with the provincial officials, the tax collectors, the police, and the hospitals. And when her daughters grew up, the circle of her acquaintances was enlarged. Not without scandals, of course.

And when Tzili’s brother got one of her daughters into trouble, Maria’s tone changed. She threatened them brutally, and in the end she extorted a tidy sum. Tzili remembered this episode too, but she felt no resentment. A proud woman, she concluded to herself.

Katerina, with whom she had spent two whole seasons, had often used this combination of words—a proud woman. Katerina too, Tzili now remembered with affection.

And while Tzili was standing there in a kind of trance, the refugees streamed toward her in a hungry swarm. She wanted to run for her life, but it was too late. They surrounded her on all sides: “Who are you?”

“I’m from here.” At last she found the words.

“And where were you during the war?”

“Here.”

“Can’t you see?” One of the refugees interrupted. “She’s afraid.”

“And you weren’t in any of the camps?”

“No.”

“And no one gave you away?”

“Can’t you see?” The same man intervened again. “She doesn’t look Jewish. She looks healthy.”

“A miracle,” said the questioner and turned aside.

The news spread from one to the other but it made no impression on the refugees.

Later on Tzili asked: “Did you see Mark?”

“What’s his last name?” asked a woman.

Tzili hung her head. She did not know.

The cold spring sun exposed them like moles. A motley crew of men, women, and children. The cold light showed up their ragged clothes. The convoy turned south and Tzili went with them. No one asked, “Where are you from?” or “Where are you going?” From time to time a supply-laden cart appeared and the people swarmed over it like ants. The familiar words from home now sounded wild and foreign to her. The refugees did not appear contented with anything. They argued, laughed, and fought, and at night they fell to the ground like sacks.

“What am I doing here?” Tzili asked herself. “I prefer the mountains and the rivers. Mark himself told me not to go with them. If I go too far, who knows if I’ll ever find him?”

From here she could still see the mountain where Mark had revealed himself to her, illuminated in the cold evening light. Now the bunker was ruined and the wind blew through it. Her voice broke with longing. No memory stirred in her, only a thin stream of longing flowing out of her toward the distant mountaintop. The calm of evening fell upon the deserted ranges and she fell asleep.