“So maybe you aren’t as smart as Hayyim said you were.”
“Hayyim?”
“Hayyim Meyer. Surely you can see the resemblance,” he said, turning his head to show off his profile. “Everyone tells us we look more like brothers than cousins.” He took a half-empty pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and waved it in front of her. “He sent these for you. I hope you don’t mind sharing,” he said, handing it over. “Do you have a message for him, if I see him?”
“Tell him,” Zorah said, trying to think of something clever, “tell him … thank you for the cigarettes.”
“A real romantic, aren’t you? Why don’t I give him your love and tell him you’re pining to see him again.”
Zorah watched him walk off and stamped her foot. “His name would be Hayyim.”
“What did you say?” asked Leonie, who had been waiting for her. “Hayyim means ‘life,’ doesn’t it?”
Zorah held out the pack of cigarettes. “Do you want one?”
“Chesterfields? How nice, thank you.” As Leonie extracted a cigarette, a slip of paper fell to the ground. “What’s this?”
Zorah picked it up and unfolded it.
“There is only the letter M,” said Leonie. “Does it mean anything to you?”
“Sort of.”
“Meyer.” Leonie smiled. “Non?”
“Meyer, oui,” Zorah said, so plainly miserable that Leonie knew better than to tease.
“I’m going to the calisthenics class now,” she said. “This Uri fellow is very entertaining. Will you join me?”
Before Zorah could say no, Leonie added, “Why not?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”
Shayndel chopped the cucumbers in time with the internal metronome that had woken her early that morning. At first she thought there were real drums beating somewhere in the camp, but eventually she realized it was her own heartbeat urging, Let’s go, let’s go.
She tried to ignore it, but the beat grew louder and more insistent, crowding out everything, including her usual good humor. She had snapped at Tedi and growled at the two Arab guards who normally exchanged smiles and a thumbs-up with her. She was, she realized, behaving just like Tirzah, who had not even said good morning when she arrived.
“Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum,” she muttered, bringing the blade down in time. Her hands were sweating so much, she had to stop and wipe them every few minutes to keep the knife from slipping.
The back door hit the wall with a sharp crack, announcing Nathan, who sailed into the kitchen, followed by Bob and Uri. “Look who’s here,” he bellowed.
“This is good news?” said Tirzah. “You two had better stay out of trouble today.”
“They have plenty to do,” Nathan said, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth.
“Since Nathan figured out how to disarm the rifles, everyone is much more confident,” said Uri.
Tirzah and Shayndel looked at each other, and then stared at Nathan.
“You really are a pig,” said Tirzah. “I’ll bet you didn’t let on that it was Shayndel who told you how to fix those guns.”
He ignored her completely. “Let’s get out there,” he said, grabbing a handful of olives and heading into the dining room. “I’ll show you which men we’ve chosen as barrack leaders.”
“What a schmuck,” Shayndel sputtered.
“What do you expect?” said Tirzah. “At least he gets things done.”
Shayndel pulled off her apron, muttering Yiddish curses under her breath. She was familiar with arrogant men; among her partisan comrades, self-importance had been a survival skill, as essential as the ability to sleep on the ground. Even so, in her outfit, the boys knew better than to pretend that they were tougher or smarter than the girls.