Exodus - Leon Uris [228]
Dov spent much of his money for books and art material. He walked along Jaffa Road searching the many bookstores for texts on art, draftsmanship, and architecture.
He locked himself in his room with his books and art material, some dried fruits and bottled soft drinks, and waited for contact from the Maccabees. Dov studied by candlelight. He was unaware of the pageantry that took place outside his window on the Street of the Chain which ran between the Jewish and Moslem quarters to the Dome of the Rock and the Wailing Wall. He would read until his eyes burned and he could read no more, then he would lay the book on his chest and stare at the ceiling and think of Karen Clement. Dov had not realized how badly he would miss her nor that missing her could cause an actual physical pain. Karen had been with him for so long he had forgotten what it was like to be away from her. He remembered every moment with her. Those days at Caraolos and on the Exodus when she lay in his arms in the hold of the ship. He remembered how happy she was and how beautiful she looked that first day at Gan Dafna. He remembered her kind, expressive face and her gentle touch and her sharp voice when she was angry.
Dov sat on the edge of his bed and sketched a hundred pictures of Karen. He drew her in every way he remembered her but crumpled each picture and threw it on the fioor, for no picture could show how beautiful she was to Dov.
Dov stayed in his room for two weeks, leaving only upon necessity. At the end of the second week he needed some more money and he left his room with some rings to pawn. As he reached the entrance to the building he saw a man standing in the shadows. Dov wrapped his hand around his pistol and walked past, poised to spin around at the first sound.
“Don’t move, don’t turn,” a voice from the shadows commanded.
Dov froze in his tracks.
“You made inquiries for Bar Israel. What do you want?”
“You know what I want.”
“What is your name?”
“Landau, Dov Landau.”
“Where do you come from?”
“Gan Dafna.”
“Who sent you?”
“Mordecai.”
“How did you get into Palestine?”
“On the Exodus.”
“Keep walking out to the street and don’t look around. You will be contacted later.”
Dov became restless after the contact was made. He rose to the point of chucking it all and returning to Gan Dafna. He missed Karen terribly. He started a half dozen letters and tore each one up. Let’s get it over with ... let’s get it over with, Dov said to himself again and again.
He lay in his room reading and began to doze. Then he roused himself and lighted fresh candles: if he fell asleep and the old nightmare came he did not want to awaken in a dark room.
There was a sharp knock on his door.
Dov sprang to his feet, picked up his pistol, and stood close to the locked door.
“It is your friends,” a voice said from the hallway. Dov recognized it as the same voice that had spoken to him from the shadows. He opened the door. He could see no one.
“Turn around and face the wall,” the voice commanded from the darkness. Dov obeyed. He felt the presence of two men behind him. A blindfold was tied over his eyes and two pairs of hands led him down the stairs to a waiting car where he was shoved on the back floor and covered and driven from the Old City.
Dov concentrated on sensing where he was being driven. The car screeched into King Solomon Street, followed the Via Dolorosa to Stephen’s Gate. It was child’s play to Dov Landau, who knew his way through a hundred alternate routes in the blackness of the sewers under Warsaw.
The car shifted into a lower gear to make a hill. They must be driving past the Tomb of the Virgin toward the Mount of Olives, Dov calculated. The road became smooth. Now Dov knew they were driving past the Hebrew University and Hadassah Medical