Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [101]
Over a period of years, most of the pioneers had developed a measure of immunity to malaria. Newer members hit for the first time often went down hard. Nathan lasted for three weeks in the swamp and was on the verge of quitting and running away when the decision was made for him by an unfriendly mosquito.
His temperature shot up so high he became delirious. When the fever failed to break, it was decided to move him to the small Hadassah hospital in Tiberias.
Chills and fever raged for several days. The quinine treatment added to his hallucinations and left his head ringing constantly.
When the malaria subsided, Nathan was so debilitated he was scarcely able to walk. He opened his eyes on the sixth morning to see Misha and Bertha sitting at his bedside. Misha handed him a letter from his father. Nathan set it aside to read later.
“I have come to a decision,” Nathan said weakly. “Namely, I am leaving Kibbutz Hermon. No, no, no, don’t try to talk me out of it.”
Bertha and Misha somehow managed to register dismay.
When they had gone, Nathan sat up and opened the letter from his father.
My son, Nathan,
... it was good to get from you, your last letter, and hear firsthand what a great success you are making in Palestine, particularly after your terrible tragedy with Rosie Gittleman.
I write to you wonderful news, namely, your brother Matthias is going to make aliyah in a few months. Such joy for a father. Two sons in Eretz Israel!
...beyond all expectations, the shiddachs have been made for Ida and Sarah, which only goes to prove that sometimes charm is better than beauty. Ida is to marry soon, Modele the baker, whom I’m certain you recall. He’s a bit older, no Greek God, but a good provider and even from peculiar matches can come beautiful children. And Sarah soon afterwards is to go to the chuppa with Manny Dinkle, a teamster who works steady.
...but the biggest surprise is Rifka, who we thought was beyond marrying age. Who should she get, no less than the respected widower Rabbi Silverstone.
...your brother, Mordechai, has become one of the most important intellectuals in Vilna and his wife is expecting a second child. We pray, hopefully, for a boy this time.
... as for ourselves, what can I say? A young tree bends, an old tree breaks. We are creaking, but so long as there is such pleasure from the children, we bear up.
My son, my son, I hate to close with bad news, but the pogroms by the Poles are worse than anything the Czar could have dreamed up, worse than 1880. They say a hundred thousand Jews have been slaughtered so far. We are relatively safe here in Wolkowysk, but who knows.
The Ukraine, they say, is even worse than Poland. Over a hundred separate pogroms have taken place. It is not like the Cossacks riding through town and leaving. This is organized. Entire villages are being burned down. They even kill by hand to save bullets and no known torture has been spared. ...
Nathan trudged into the office of Mrs. Cohen of the Zionist Settlement Department, took off his cap, set down his rucksack, and sat opposite her desk.
“Are you absolutely certain about this?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Cohen, a portly, motherly woman, shook her head sadly. “My husband and I came to Palestine in the Second Aliyah. I know it’s difficult to believe, but things were much harder in those days.”
“I don’t want from you a talking-to,” Nathan said.
“I’m entitled,” Mrs. Cohen answered. “I put a child into the grave here during the war. She died of malnutrition. My husband was tortured by the Turks for spying for the British. He was crippled and also died of his injuries.”
“So, with such horrible memories, how can you go on living in Palestine?” Nathan asked.
“How can I not go on living here? Can I tell my husband and daughter it was all in vain? From yesterday to today and from today to tomorrow, I see things change. Give us a year or two, Nathan. The Labor Federation is really beginning to change