At midday she woke, sighing, and heard voices. Rising, she peeped through the door and saw that the door of the little room opposite was open. Three Orthodox Jews, in their long black coats and spade-shaped hats, were talking to the prophet earnestly and with elation. Their voices rose and fell. Moreover, the prophet himself, Melchior, was already up and dressed in new clothes of a rabbinical cut. He appeared to have regained his sanity at a single bound. His eyes shone, he embraced his visitors, answering them fluently in Hebrew, and making eloquent gestures with his hands. They had tears in their eyes and were obviously under the stress of emotions based in reverence and relief. He must, she thought, be some great Talmudic scholar or rabbi. Presently the little party made ready to leave; Melchior’s smashed suitcase was picked up reverently by one of them as they crossed the main room to the outer door. Once outside, they latched it carefully behind them and their voices faded softly, exultantly, into silence. She was alone now, and she examined her quarters with a desultory curiosity, walking about the gaunt room to look out of the barred windows which gave onto the dense shade of a lemon grove. Some fat crows lobbed about in the rank grass.
After a while one of the old women appeared with a stew-pot and a tin plate and spoon and set them down before her with smiles. Judith ate ravenously while the woman watched happily. She spoke a little imperfect Yiddish and, struck by her gypsy-like appearance, Judith questioned her, only to find that she was a Jewess from Bessarabia who had been in the country a number of years. “Then you speak Hebrew?” said Judith in Hebrew, which she spoke slowly but with tolerable correctness. The old woman chuckled and made an indefinite sign with her hand: “I am still learning. It is hard.”
She gathered up the eating utensils and took herself off again, closing the door softly behind her and leaving Judith once more alone. Time hung heavy that afternoon, and the girl was thoroughly bored with her own company by the time the doctor reappeared in the doorway; she was dusty but exultant as she threw her satchel on the table. “I’ve had a stroke of luck. I got the papers we need. Usually they take time to obtain. I was afraid you might be stuck here for a week. How are you feeling?”
“I’m quite fit.”
“Good. Then we can start right away. But first of all here is your identity card.” She rummaged in her satchel and produced a suitably creased and thumbed document. Judith saw with surprise that it actually had a photograph of herself stapled to it. “How did they get that?” The doctor smiled. “The Agency boys think up everything. You should have no trouble anyway. Especially once you are up at Ras Shamir with us.” She consulted her wrist-watch briefly and reflected. “I think we should move off,” she said, “as I still have three more people to pick up.”
A dilapidated lorry was parked off the road under the trees with a fat morose-looking girl at the wheel. Its interior was loaded with light wooden crates such as are used for fruit-packing. As they climbed in, the doctor introduced Judith to the girl, whose name was Anna, and in response to her greeting Judith received an ill-tempered nod. They set off along the dusty road with a roar, travelling northward, Anna driving with sullen concentration. The road ran for the most part along the sea-line and Judith looked curiously about her at the new landscape with its exotic vegetation. The jogging of the ancient vehicle was pleasant and conducive to drowsiness — indeed already the doctor nodded beside her. Twice they turned off the main road and ran into an olive-grove to halt somewhere near a cluster of tattered and abandoned-looking sheds, out of which emerged other passengers; two weary-looking girls of Judith’s own age, approximately, and a stout rosy woman in her late forties. They were each given an identity card before being shoved aboard over the tail of the lorry, to make themselves as comfortable as possible among the crates. Anna greeted them all with the same brusque contempt. “Come on,” she said sharply. “We’re late as it is.”
They ran northwards now, into the eye of the westering sun along the peaceful olive-groves powdered silver with dust. There was a good deal of military traffic on the road but it all seemed to be moving in the opposite direction. “Must be something up in Jerusalem,” commented the doctor, “I expect we’ll hear about it this evening.” Anna shook her head and muttered. The rest of them did not speak. The girls looked dazed and tired, while the ruddy-faced woman had wrapped her head in a scarf and fallen into a doze. They were all perhaps as recent arrivals as herself, thought Judith, dazed by haphazard travel and the dangers they had traversed. The lorry jogged on steadily with the sea to their left and the rough red outcrops of sandstone and granite on their right, cradling little valleys of green vegetation. A smudge of smoke appeared on the further edge of the coastline and the doctor pointed to it and said, “Haifa.”
The road began to curve and twist now, and on one of these curves they suddenly saw a figure detach itself from the shadow of an olive-tree and come racing down to the road waving its arms. It cleared the ditch at a bound and stood on the crown of the road with its arms outspread. A ripple of anxiety ran through them at the sight, and Anna for a moment increased speed as if she intended to run down the signalling figure, but all of a sudden she grunted and slammed on her brakes. “It’s Aaron,” she said, and her ugly face split into a smile. “So it is,” said the doctor. “What is he doing here?”
The figure facing them was that of a robust and broad-shouldered man in his late thirties, clad in nondescript clothes which faintly suggested British battledress. “What luck!” he cried, almost dancing with delight, “Anna darling!” And having stopped the lorry he leaped lightly onto the footboard and planted a kiss upon the ugly but radiant face of the driver. Then, thrusting his grinning face forward, he explained himself with breathless elation, his white teeth bared under the dark circumflex of a moustache which gave his face a faintly Kalmuk cast. “My bloody motor-bike broke down: I hoped you’d take this road. And you did. Bravo, Anna, bravo, Naomi! At least I shan’t have to spend the night walking to Haifa. Make room for me, will you?” He smiled at Judith and jerked his thumb with the easy assumption of authority. “You climb into the back with the others,” he said. Judith felt a sudden wave of annoyance at his tone and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could formulate either a question or a protest he had vanished again, uttering a brief “Wait.” While she climbed awkwardly over the back of the seat, surrendering her place and exchanging it for an uncomfortable crate among the other passengers, he had started to race back among the trees. He seemed to do everything at top speed. He stooped down to gather up a bundle and then ran down to the road once more, grinning with pleasure. The doctor moved into the centre to make room for him and he climbed aboard in high good humour, banging the door and crying, “All aboard!” The two women smiled indulgently at him as the lorry once more got into gear. He expelled his breath and mopped his head. Around his throat he wore a blue scarf and, dangling below it, a pair of binoculars; his useless motor-cyclist’s goggles he had drawn up on one leg so that he was wearing them on his calf.
“Well,” he said, and his tone suggested that of a good-natured autocrat of a small circle, “everything is marvellous; increasingly marvellous. The situation is getting so bad now that we can really afford to stop worrying. Another big trouble this afternoon at the Jaffa Gate with fifteen killed. Six British, my dears, and two Jews. All the rest Arabs. Tonight they are going to have a go at the Haifa factory.”
“I don’t see why you sound so elated,” said the doctor with a little shudder. “It’s horrible.” He looked suddenly chastened, like a scolded puppy, and nodded in agreement, his face grave again. “The horror is not of our making, alas!” he said in a different tone. They jogged on in silence for a while and now Anna turned the lorry northeast upon a road skirting mountain landscape — rude red rock burnished to the colour of dried blood in the sun. “I bet the road will be picketed,” said Anna gloomily. “It always is after trouble.” He seemed to cheer up. He put his arm affectionately around the doctor and said: “If we get through Nazareth without a block then there will be nothing to worry about. The only other person to stop us might be Lawton — Major Lawton — and we can talk him round. But what’s wrong anyway? Aren’t our papers in order? You girls have your cards?” He suddenly turned a narrow-eyed gaze upon the passengers in the truck, his lip curling. They all nodded. Judith gazed at him with mounting contempt. His manner infuriated her. Their eyes met coldly for a moment. “And you?” he said. “Why don’t you answer me?” Judith’s eyes ignited rebelliously, but she controlled her feelings. “I have my card,” she said. “Good,” said Aaron, turning back once more, the curtness of the word softened by a smile. “Then we have nothing to worry about. God, I’m hungry.” He groped about in his bundle for a piece of dry bread which he ate ravenously as he talked. Then he tilted a water bottle and drank. His lips were wet with red wine. He licked them carefully and wiped his moustache on the back of his hand. “Anyway,” he said, “Jerusalem likes my plans; we are going to get some more weapons if the bloody British don’t capture them.” He gave a short laugh. “And the valley of Ras Shamir will become a strong point. Good.” He rubbed his hands and then scratched his armpits. His buoyant, self-confident rudeness jarred on Judith. She found him one of the most disagreeable people she had ever met.