Exodus - Leon Uris [90]
Chapter Twenty-eight
DOV LANDAU SPENT his seventeenth birthday in yet another prison—Caraolos. He ushered in this birthday as he ushered in every day. He lay on his cot and stared at nothing and spent the day without uttering a word. He had not spoken to anyone since he had been dragged from the hold of the Promised Land. During the long weeks in Toulon harbor his hatred had grown.
At Caraolos a dozen welfare people and doctors and teachers and Palmachniks tried to reach him and break through his wall of bitterness, but Dov trusted no one and wanted no one near him.
By day he lay on his cot. By night he fought off sleep, for sleep always brought the recurring dream of that moment the doors of the gas chambers opened at Auschwitz. For hours on end Dov would stare at the blue tattooed numbers on his left forearm: 359195.
Across the path from his tent there lived a girl, and she was the most beautiful girl he ever remembered seeing. Of course, women could not be beautiful in the places he had been. She was in charge of many younger children and she always smiled when she saw him and she did not seem angry and aloof toward him as everyone else did. She was Karen Hansen Clement.
Karen saw Dov and made inquiries as to why he did not take part in school and other activities. She was warned to keep away from him, for he was said to be an “incurable” and maybe even dangerous.
Karen took this as a challenge. She knew Dov had been in Auschwitz, and her compassion seemed limitless. She had done amazing things with youngsters before, and although she knew it might be better to leave Dov alone her curiosity grew each time she went to her tent and looked over at his.
One day Dov lay on his cot, staring, and the sweat poured from him for it was very hot. He felt someone’s presence and jumped up instinctively and tensed at the sight of Karen standing near him.
“I wonder if I could borrow your water bucket. Mine has a leak and the water trucks will be coming soon.”
Dov stared and blinked his eyes nervously.
“I said I wonder if I could borrow your water bucket.”
Dov grunted.
“What does that mean? Yes or no? Can you talk?”
They stood and looked at each other like a pair of gamecocks. For that instant Karen was sorry she had come. She took a deep breath. “My name is Karen,” she said. “I am your neighbor.”
Dov still did not answer. He glared.
“Well ... may I use your bucket or not?”
“Did you come here to slobber over me?”
“I came here to borrow your bucket. You are certainly nothing to slobber over,” she snapped.
He spun away and sat on the edge of his cot and chewed his fingernails. Her abruptness disarmed him completely. He pointed to his bucket on the floor and she picked it up. He glanced at her quickly out of the corner of his eye.
“What is your name? I’d like to be able to call you something when I bring your bucket back.”
He did not answer.
“Well?”
“Dov!”
“Karen is mine. Perhaps you can call me that and we can say hello. At least till you learn to smile.”
He turned very slowly but she was gone. He walked to the tent door and watched her moving toward the British water tanker which had just passed through the gate. She was beautiful.
It was the first time in many months that an outside event had been able to penetrate Dov Landau’s absorption in himself. This Karen was completely different from the others who had come to see him. She was abrupt and snippy and afraid—yet there was a tenderness that radiated from her too. She did not gush over him or recite words she didn’t feel. She was a prisoner at Caraolos but she did not complain or seem angry like all the others. Her voice was sweet, yet it was very stern.
“Good morning, Dov,” Karen said. “Thank you for the use of your bucket.”
He grumbled.
“Oh yes, you are the one who growls instead of talking. I have a little boy like you in my kindergarten class. But he