Exodus - Leon Uris [192]
“Shalom, ema.”
“Ari, Ari, Ari ...”
“Now don’t cry, ema ... shhhh, don’t cry, don’t cry.”
Kitty saw the massive Barak Ben Canaan rush out and throw his arms about his son.
“Shalom, abba, shalom.”
The old giant clung to his son and slapped his back again and again, repeating, “You look good, Ari, you look good.”
Sarah studied her son’s face. “He is tired. Can’t you see how tired he is, Barak?”
“I’m fine, ema. I have company. I want you to meet Mrs. Katherine Fremont. She is going to work at Gan Dafna tomorrow.”
“So you are Katherine Fremont,” Barak said, taking her hand in his two giant paws. “Welcome to Yad El.”
“Ari, you’re such a fool,” his mother said. “Why didn’t you telephone and say you were bringing Mrs. Fremont? Come in, come in ... you’ll take a shower, you’ll change your clothes, I’ll make a little to eat and you’ll feel better. You’re such a fool, Ari.” Sarah put her arm around Kitty’s waist and led her toward the cottage. “Barak! Bring Mrs. Fremont’s luggage.”
Jordana Ben Canaan stood before the newly arrived Exodus children in the outdoor theater. She was tall and straight, with a statuesque carriage and long shapely legs. Jordana, with red hair hanging free below her shoulders, had a striking and classic beauty. She was nineteen years of age and had been in the Palmach since leaving the university. The Palmach assigned Jordana to Gan Dafna to head the Gadna unit which gave military training to all children in the village over fourteen years. Gan Dafna was also one of the prime places for hiding arms and smuggling them to the Huleh settlements. Jordana also worked on the mobile Voice of Israel secret radio when it transmitted in the Huleh. Jordana lived at Gan Dafna, right in her office.
“I am Jordana Ben Canaan,” she said to the Exodus children. “I am your Gadna commander. In the next weeks you will learn spying, messenger work, arms cleaning and firing, stick fighting, and we will have several cross-country hikes. You are in Palestine now and never again do you have to lower your head or know fear for being a Jew. We are going to work very hard, for Eretz Israel needs you. Tomorrow we will have our first hike. We will go over the hills north to Tel Hai. My father came to Palestine through Tel Hai nearly sixty years ago. It is the place where our great hero, Joseph Trumpledor died. Trumpledor is buried there, and a great stone lion near the graveyard looks down upon the Huleh just as the statue of Dafna looks upon the Huleh. On the lion are written the words ... ‘It is good to die for one’s country.’ I might add to that: it is good to have a country to die for.”
As Jordana entered the administration building later she was called to the telephone. She lifted the receiver, “Shalom, Jordana here.”
“Shalom! This is ema! Ari is home!”
“Ari!”
Jordana ran from her office to the stable. She mounted her father’s white Arab stallion and spurred him through the gates of Gan Dafna. She galloped bareback down the road toward the village of Abu Yesha with her scarlet hair waving in the wind behind her.
She galloped full speed into the main street of the Arab village, sending a dozen people scurrying for safety. The men at the coffeehouse turned and sneered. What a disrespectful prostitute this redheaded bitch was to dare ride through their streets wearing shorts! It was fortunate for her that she was the daughter of Barak and the sister of Ari!
Ari took Kitty’s hand and led her through the door. “Come along,” he said, “I want to show you some of the farm before it turns dark.”
“Did you have enough to eat, Mrs. Fremont?”
“I’m ready to burst.”
“And the room is comfortable?”
“I’m just fine, Mrs. Ben Canaan.”
“Well, don’t be too long, dinner will be ready when Jordana gets down from Gan Dafna.” Sarah and Barak stared after them, then looked at each other. “She is a beautiful woman. But for our Ari?”
“Stop being a Yiddische momma. Don’t go making a shiddoch for Ari,” Barak said.
“What are you talking, Barak? Can’t you see the way he looks at her? Don’t you know your own son yet? He is so tired.