she looked so
tired. You’ll find out that Atlit is full of gossip. Don’t worry about Hetty.”
“All right,” he said, looking at Shayndel with new interest.“So what’s the story with you and that Gruen fellow? Do I have a chance?”
“A chance at what?” Shayndel said, adding, “You moron,” in Hebrew, as she got up.
Back in her usual seat beside Leonie, she asked, “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you talk to the nurse?”
“Yes,” Leonie said, relieved she did not have to lie to Shayndel about that, at least.
After breakfast, Leonie had waited to go to the latrine until she thought she might
have a few minutes alone there. The pain in her abdomen was getting worse, and she
was afraid that soon she wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself; she had nearly doubled
over at breakfast. Leonie sat with her head in her hands until she heard someone else
come in and left, determined to get some medicine.
The building that housed the infirmary had once been used for storage, but the Jewish
Agency had plastered the walls and put in a new wood floor, making the place seem
airy and modern by comparison with everything else in Atlit. Six hospital cots made
up with starched white linen stood at crisp attention along the right-hand wall; on
the left were a desk, a few cabinets, and an examining room partitioned off with an
old parachute hung from the rafters.
Leonie was greeted with a warm, “Good morning, sweetie,” from the regular weekday
nurse, Aliza Gilad. “I’m glad you’re here early; the children are coming in for inoculations.”
Within days of arriving in Atlit, Leonie had presented herselfas a volunteer at the clinic, claiming that she had always wanted to become a nurse.
Aliza made it clear that she had little confidence in someone as young—and pretty—as
Leonie and assigned her only menial tasks: mopping the floor, carrying out garbage,
and washing metal instruments in alcohol. But Leonie proved herself well-suited to
the work of the sick bay. She didn’t flinch at the sight of blood or vomit, and she
was good with crying children, calm and reassuring with their distraught mothers,
too. Aliza began trusting her with more responsibilities and came to treat Leonie
as a protégée.
Leonie was glad to have a way to fill the long days and for Aliza’s growing warmth
toward her. But she had been bitterly disappointed to find that all of the drugs—even
the aspirin—were kept under lock and key. There was no way she would ever “find” a
dose of penicillin.
“Is Dr. Gerson coming today?” Leonie asked as she put on her apron. After meeting
all of the physicians who made regular visits, she had decided to approach one of
the two female doctors—a reserved and closed-mouthed Swiss.
“I don’t think we’ll be seeing her anymore,” Aliza said. “She’s got a big job in Tel
Aviv.”
“That’s nice for her, yes?” Leonie said, trying to hide her disappointment.
“Why did you want Dr. Gerson?” Aliza asked, as she readied a vaccine. “Do you need
something? Is there something I can do?”
“No,” Leonie said. “I was just thinking about, well, studying pediatrics. I wanted
to see what she thought of that.”
Aliza lowered her voice and asked, “Are you pregnant?”
“No.”
“A venereal disease, then.”
Leonie flinched.
“Don’t worry,” said Aliza. “And don’t think you’re the onlyone. You’d never guess who I’ve dosed in this place, including some of the girls you
know. Even staff.” She put a hand on Leonie’s arm and added, “Not that I would ever
tell.”
The door flew open and a flock of children marched in, shepherded by three teenage
volunteers from a nearby kibbutz. The girls were trying to get the little ones to
sing the alphabet in Hebrew, though some were barely old enough to walk.
Aliza melted at the sight of them. “Delicious,” she crooned. “Sweet as
tired. You’ll find out that Atlit is full of gossip. Don’t worry about Hetty.”
“All right,” he said, looking at Shayndel with new interest.“So what’s the story with you and that Gruen fellow? Do I have a chance?”
“A chance at what?” Shayndel said, adding, “You moron,” in Hebrew, as she got up.
Back in her usual seat beside Leonie, she asked, “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you talk to the nurse?”
“Yes,” Leonie said, relieved she did not have to lie to Shayndel about that, at least.
After breakfast, Leonie had waited to go to the latrine until she thought she might
have a few minutes alone there. The pain in her abdomen was getting worse, and she
was afraid that soon she wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself; she had nearly doubled
over at breakfast. Leonie sat with her head in her hands until she heard someone else
come in and left, determined to get some medicine.
The building that housed the infirmary had once been used for storage, but the Jewish
Agency had plastered the walls and put in a new wood floor, making the place seem
airy and modern by comparison with everything else in Atlit. Six hospital cots made
up with starched white linen stood at crisp attention along the right-hand wall; on
the left were a desk, a few cabinets, and an examining room partitioned off with an
old parachute hung from the rafters.
Leonie was greeted with a warm, “Good morning, sweetie,” from the regular weekday
nurse, Aliza Gilad. “I’m glad you’re here early; the children are coming in for inoculations.”
Within days of arriving in Atlit, Leonie had presented herselfas a volunteer at the clinic, claiming that she had always wanted to become a nurse.
Aliza made it clear that she had little confidence in someone as young—and pretty—as
Leonie and assigned her only menial tasks: mopping the floor, carrying out garbage,
and washing metal instruments in alcohol. But Leonie proved herself well-suited to
the work of the sick bay. She didn’t flinch at the sight of blood or vomit, and she
was good with crying children, calm and reassuring with their distraught mothers,
too. Aliza began trusting her with more responsibilities and came to treat Leonie
as a protégée.
Leonie was glad to have a way to fill the long days and for Aliza’s growing warmth
toward her. But she had been bitterly disappointed to find that all of the drugs—even
the aspirin—were kept under lock and key. There was no way she would ever “find” a
dose of penicillin.
“Is Dr. Gerson coming today?” Leonie asked as she put on her apron. After meeting
all of the physicians who made regular visits, she had decided to approach one of
the two female doctors—a reserved and closed-mouthed Swiss.
“I don’t think we’ll be seeing her anymore,” Aliza said. “She’s got a big job in Tel
Aviv.”
“That’s nice for her, yes?” Leonie said, trying to hide her disappointment.
“Why did you want Dr. Gerson?” Aliza asked, as she readied a vaccine. “Do you need
something? Is there something I can do?”
“No,” Leonie said. “I was just thinking about, well, studying pediatrics. I wanted
to see what she thought of that.”
Aliza lowered her voice and asked, “Are you pregnant?”
“No.”
“A venereal disease, then.”
Leonie flinched.
“Don’t worry,” said Aliza. “And don’t think you’re the onlyone. You’d never guess who I’ve dosed in this place, including some of the girls you
know. Even staff.” She put a hand on Leonie’s arm and added, “Not that I would ever
tell.”
The door flew open and a flock of children marched in, shepherded by three teenage
volunteers from a nearby kibbutz. The girls were trying to get the little ones to
sing the alphabet in Hebrew, though some were barely old enough to walk.
Aliza melted at the sight of them. “Delicious,” she crooned. “Sweet as
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