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Authors: Anita Diamant
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honey. I could
eat you all up. Look at those cheeks. Like apples. Like plums.”
Leonie thought it was a good thing that the children didn’t know enough Hebrew to
understand what she was saying, otherwise, they might have thought that the plump
woman with the odd bun and the yellow teeth wanted to devour them, like the witch
in Hansel and Gretel.
“Don’t worry,” whispered Aliza, as she readied the hypodermics. “We’ll take care of
your little problem after we finish with the babies.”
Leonie was relieved and mortified. As much as she hated for Aliza to know about her
problem, at least she would be cured before Shayndel grew more suspicious.
The first little girl to get a shot burst into shrill tears, which set the entire
group to wailing. Their cries grew louder and more inconsolable, and nothing, not
even the promise of candy, could make them stop. Each child struggled and shrieked
more than the one before and Leonie began to feel like a monster, pinning arms back
as Aliza came at them with the needle. Finally, the last one was inoculated and the
children were led out, tears drying on their cheeks as they sucked on lollipops from
America.
“I saved two red ones for us,” said Aliza, putting one into her mouth as she offered
the other to Leonie. They tidied theroom in silence, white paper sticks between their lips. Leonie glanced at the nurse,
hoping she would return to the conversation about her problem, when a half dozen sweaty
boys barged in, all shouting at the same time—a shrill mishmash of Yiddish, Hebrew,
Polish, and Romanian.
At the center of the racket was a pale, slender child whose face was covered in blood.
“He fell making the goal,” said one of the older boys. “I told them he was too small
to play with us, but he whined and begged until we let him. And then he fell and he
hit his head.”
“Where is he?” came a woman’s voice from outside. “Danny? Are you all right?”
Leonie didn’t recognize her at first. Tirzah must have been washing her hair, which
was still damp and hung halfway down her back, brown with golden streaks. In the kitchen,
it was all bundled into a thick black net, which made her look older and more severe
than the beautiful, distraught woman reaching for her son.
“I will not have this madness in my clinic,” said Aliza, at the top of her lungs.
“Leonie, get rid of these wild animals right now.”
Leonie grabbed the box of lollipops and waved it over the boys’ heads. “Outside for
a treat,” she announced, and they followed, as eager and as docile as the toddlers.
When she returned, Danny was lying on a cot with Tirzah beside him, her hand on a
large white compress covering most of his forehead.
“It was just a little cut,” Aliza said to Leonie. “It only looked bad because it was
on the scalp, which always bleeds like crazy.”
Tirzah frowned, dubious about the nurse’s breezy diagnosis. Then again, she frowned
about almost everything.
The inmates were glad when Tirzah’s son visited from akibbutz somewhere in the south. Danny’s monthly trips meant there would be a cake
at least once during his stay. His presence also spiced up conversations at meals,
as newcomers engaged in ever-more-outlandish speculations about the chilly woman who
ran the kitchen for the Jewish Agency. She wore no wedding ring; did that mean Danny
was a bastard? Perhaps she was a widow. Or maybe her husband divorced her for the
way she oversalted her soup—or for fooling around with another man.
Danny was a sweet kid, a skinny seven-year-old who had his run of the camp and spent
his days playing with whatever children happened to be there. When they were very
young, he organized games of jacks or tag, but when there was a group of boys his
age or older, he pushed himself into their races and matches.
Tirzah stroked her son’s cheek. “Doesn’t he need stitches? When is the doctor
eat you all up. Look at those cheeks. Like apples. Like plums.”
Leonie thought it was a good thing that the children didn’t know enough Hebrew to
understand what she was saying, otherwise, they might have thought that the plump
woman with the odd bun and the yellow teeth wanted to devour them, like the witch
in Hansel and Gretel.
“Don’t worry,” whispered Aliza, as she readied the hypodermics. “We’ll take care of
your little problem after we finish with the babies.”
Leonie was relieved and mortified. As much as she hated for Aliza to know about her
problem, at least she would be cured before Shayndel grew more suspicious.
The first little girl to get a shot burst into shrill tears, which set the entire
group to wailing. Their cries grew louder and more inconsolable, and nothing, not
even the promise of candy, could make them stop. Each child struggled and shrieked
more than the one before and Leonie began to feel like a monster, pinning arms back
as Aliza came at them with the needle. Finally, the last one was inoculated and the
children were led out, tears drying on their cheeks as they sucked on lollipops from
America.
“I saved two red ones for us,” said Aliza, putting one into her mouth as she offered
the other to Leonie. They tidied theroom in silence, white paper sticks between their lips. Leonie glanced at the nurse,
hoping she would return to the conversation about her problem, when a half dozen sweaty
boys barged in, all shouting at the same time—a shrill mishmash of Yiddish, Hebrew,
Polish, and Romanian.
At the center of the racket was a pale, slender child whose face was covered in blood.
“He fell making the goal,” said one of the older boys. “I told them he was too small
to play with us, but he whined and begged until we let him. And then he fell and he
hit his head.”
“Where is he?” came a woman’s voice from outside. “Danny? Are you all right?”
Leonie didn’t recognize her at first. Tirzah must have been washing her hair, which
was still damp and hung halfway down her back, brown with golden streaks. In the kitchen,
it was all bundled into a thick black net, which made her look older and more severe
than the beautiful, distraught woman reaching for her son.
“I will not have this madness in my clinic,” said Aliza, at the top of her lungs.
“Leonie, get rid of these wild animals right now.”
Leonie grabbed the box of lollipops and waved it over the boys’ heads. “Outside for
a treat,” she announced, and they followed, as eager and as docile as the toddlers.
When she returned, Danny was lying on a cot with Tirzah beside him, her hand on a
large white compress covering most of his forehead.
“It was just a little cut,” Aliza said to Leonie. “It only looked bad because it was
on the scalp, which always bleeds like crazy.”
Tirzah frowned, dubious about the nurse’s breezy diagnosis. Then again, she frowned
about almost everything.
The inmates were glad when Tirzah’s son visited from akibbutz somewhere in the south. Danny’s monthly trips meant there would be a cake
at least once during his stay. His presence also spiced up conversations at meals,
as newcomers engaged in ever-more-outlandish speculations about the chilly woman who
ran the kitchen for the Jewish Agency. She wore no wedding ring; did that mean Danny
was a bastard? Perhaps she was a widow. Or maybe her husband divorced her for the
way she oversalted her soup—or for fooling around with another man.
Danny was a sweet kid, a skinny seven-year-old who had his run of the camp and spent
his days playing with whatever children happened to be there. When they were very
young, he organized games of jacks or tag, but when there was a group of boys his
age or older, he pushed himself into their races and matches.
Tirzah stroked her son’s cheek. “Doesn’t he need stitches? When is the doctor
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