Exodus - Leon Uris [187]
Kitty watched quietly in the doorway. The old woman turned to her.
“So this is Katherine Fremont. My child, you are very lovely.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Saltzman.”
“Don’t make with the ‘Mrs. Saltzman.’ Only Englishmen and Arabs call me that. It makes me feel old. Sit down, sit down. I’ll order tea. Or perhaps you would rather have coffee.”
“Tea is fine.”
“So you see, Ari ... this is what an American girl looks like.” Harriet made a gesture of tribute to Kitty’s beauty with mischief twinkling in her eyes.
“I am certain that not all American girls are as pretty as Kitty ...”
“Stop it, both of you. You are embarrassing me.”
“You girls don’t need me. I have a few things to do, so I’ll just beat it. Kitty, if I’m not back for you would you mind taking a taxi back to the hotel?”
“Go already,” the old woman said. “Kitty and I are going to have dinner together at my flat. Who needs you?”
Ari smiled and left.
“That’s a fine boy,” Harriet Saltzman said. “We have lots of good boys like Ari. They work too hard, they die too young.” She lit a cigarette and offered Kitty one. “And where do you hail from?”
“Indiana.”
“San Francisco, here.”
“It is a lovely city,” Kitty said. “I visited it once with my husband. I always hoped to go back someday.”
“I do too,” the old woman said. “It seems that I miss the States more every year. For fifteen years I have sworn I would go back for a while, but the work never seems to stop here. All these poor babies coming in. But I get homesick. Senility is creeping up on me, I guess.”
“Hardly.”
“It is good to be a Jew working for the rebirth of a Jewish nation but it is also a very good thing to be an American and don’t you ever forget that, young lady. Ever since the Exodus incident started I’ve been very anxious to meet you, Katherine Fremont, and I must say I am tremendously surprised and I don’t surprise easily.”
“I am afraid that the reports overromanticized me.”
Behind Harriet Saltzman’s disarming friendliness functioned a shrewd brain, and even though Kitty was completely at ease she realized how carefully the old woman was estimating her. They sipped their tea and chatted, mostly about America. Harriet became nostalgic. “I go home next year. I will find an excuse. Maybe a fund-raising drive. We are always having fund-raising drives. Do you know that the American Jews give us more than all Americans give to the Red Cross? So why should I bore you with these things? So you want to go to work for us?”
“I am sorry that I don’t have my credentials with me.”
“You don’t need them. We know all about you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. We have a half dozen reports already on file.”
“I don’t know whether to be pleased or offended.”
“Don’t be offended. It is the times. We must be sure of everyone. You will find that we are really a small community here and very little happens that doesn’t come back to these ancient ears. As a matter of fact I was reading our files on you before you came this afternoon and I was wondering why you have come to us.”
“I am a nurse and you need nurses.”
Harriet Saltzman shook her head. “Outsiders don’t come to us for that reason. There must be another one. Did you come to Palestine for Ari Ben Canaan?”
“No ... of course I am fond of him.”
“A hundred women are fond of him. You happen to be the woman he is fond of.”
“I don’t think so, Harriet.”
“Well ... I am glad, Katherine. It is a long way from Yad El to Indiana. He is a sabra and only another sabra could really understand him.”
“Sabra?”
“It is a term we use for the native born. A sabra is the fruit of a wild cactus you will find all over Palestine. The sabra is hard on the outside ... but inside, it is very tender and sweet.”
“That is a good description.”
“Ari and the other sabras have no conception of American life, just as you have no conception of what his life has been.
“Let me be very candid. When a gentile comes to us, he comes as a friend. You are not a friend, you are not one of us. You are a very beautiful