“I know,” she said quietly, “I know.” She lit a cigarette and smoked thoughtfully. Liebling looked at her with hardly concealed impatience; he stood on one leg and then on the other. He held the side of his face and swayed from side to side as if with toothache. “Ach, Judith,” he said, bursting out at last. “You are half asleep, girl. Doesn’t this make you happy?”
“Yes,” she said sadly. “But I must have time to think — time to decide. It’s a decision that needs thought.”
“You what?”
“I need a little time — that is all…
“I don’t understand,” said Liebling. “After all, you have nobody here, nothing to keep you here. And your work — your career — it isn’t even as if you were a sabra!”
The word struck her like a smack in the face. She stood up and said: “Very well. I will think about it and let you know soon, quite soon.”
She embraced the old man and left him staring after her in reproachful amazement.
That afternoon she set off for Ras Shamir again in a state of doubt and confusion. How familiar the landscape seemed now, how intimate! It was as if her trials and tribulations in it had, as well as seasoning her, made her part of it. Who was it, she wondered, who once wrote that places where we are unhappy are always dearer to us than those where we were happiest? She had been both at Ras Shamir. Finally, too, she must see Aaron again before any decision could be taken. That was perhaps the crux of the matter. The Professor himself was driving her; he planned to drop her at the settlement and go on to Safad, where he had some business to attend to. “On my return journey tomorrow,” he said, “I’ll come back and see if you have decided anything. Perhaps you will see everything clearly and be ready for me. I feel sure you will.”
It was strange to walk the paths of the settlement again; to pass the schoolroom where the children were buzzing with laughter and reciting tables. In the main office Peterson sat in a characteristic mannish attitude, dictating a letter about apples. Judith climbed the staircase and poked her head in. “Ah!” said Pete. “Come in — come in! Why are you looking so sad?”
“Because they want me to go away,” said Judith, and explained all that had taken place at the Professor’s office in Jerusalem. Peterson struck her knee and cried: “Marvellous! Judith — of course you must go. Anyway, it was foreseen long ago, wasn’t it? A girl with your gifts can’t stay on and moulder away in Ras Shamir. Good Lord — what has got into you?”
“Something,” she said. “Where is Aaron?”
“He came back. Probably in the mountains again.” She paused expectantly.
“I wish to goodness I knew why I feel so confused,” Judith burst out. “Anyway, why should I trouble you with all these personal problems? It seems to be the eternal fate of us Jews in this generation to be chased from pillar to post. I envy you your life here!”
“Well,” said Pete with a laugh, “in my case — and by the way, it is a secret — you know that I am not a Jew at all, at least by race. I’m a Jew by choice, which perhaps makes me more Jewish than the Jews. I really think that you should go for your father’s sake, as well as Israel’s. Old Liebling is right.”
“Very well,” said Judith with a sigh, “but first I must see Aaron and ask him what he thinks.”
“Beware!” said Pete with a grin. Strangely enough that day Aaron was not to be found anywhere in the kibbutz. Nobody had seen him. That night Judith slept restlessly, turning and tossing. She had actually packed her exiguous belongings in a little suitcase — just in case (she told herself) the morning brought her a decision. In which case she could simply climb aboard the Professor’s car when it appeared and leave for Jerusalem. If there was to be a break with Ras Shamir, it must be a sudden and definitive one; Judith loathed protracted farewells, long-drawn-out partings. Yet somehow she could not decide definitively without seeing Aaron. The next morning she met the Professor; she had had an idea. “Will you drive me along the high road to the ninth milestone?” she said. “There may be someone there I need to see.” Liebling looked quizzical but said nothing. They drove in silence to the final curve of the high road into the hills and here she descended and took a footpath among the olives. She was going to see if Aaron was by any chance at his so-called “country house”. He was — he was in fact working in the garden, digging away. He gave a shout when he saw her and ran towards her, towards the breathless embrace which she had been imagining for so long. Somehow everything came back with it — her confidence, her self-possession. “I’ve been tidying up the garden.” He grinned at last. “I had a sudden sort of wave of energy; it’s as if for the first time the blasted place did seem to belong to me. Look… Already some semblance of order was beginning to re-emerge from the tangle. “Oh Aaron,” she cried, “I so much needed to see you. I hunted for you yesterday, everywhere.”
“I was here.”
“They want me to go to the States.” She suddenly blurted out the whole story, wringing her hands as she spoke, or softly banging her fists together in fearful indecision. He gazed at her keenly with sparkling eyes. “Of course you shall go,” he said. “Of course you must.”
She looked at him uncomprehendingly; suddenly she realized why she had been feeling such indecision, such a momentous upset. It had nothing to do with either Israel or her father or the invention or the USA. It was quite plainly and unequivocally a decision which depended, as she herself did now, very much on Aaron. He did not understand the expression on her face and tried now, despite his own feelings, to seem excited, warm-hearted, congratulatory about the whole matter. Inside he felt quite hollow and sick, but he was determined that nothing should stand in the way of Judith’s future.
“Of course,” he repeated excitedly. “You simply must. But surely it was all to be expected? Why should a girl with your gifts waste them here? No. But there, over there, Judith, you can play a part which will not only fulfill your own capacities but be a direct help to us here, to Israel. We are still desperately short of trained brains.” She was staring at him now with a slowly growing resentment in her eyes. “Besides,” he went on, hastily, lying now in order to help her as he thought, “they want me to join the regular army now and I shall probably be leaving the valley myself for a command in the Negev. It’s not certain but it’s on the cards.”
“So you don’t want me to stay,” she said in a harsh, small voice, as if talking to herself. “It’s all this sabra business again; you don’t feel I have any sort of stake in your blasted Israel. Very well — thank you for making up my mind for me.”
“Judith,” he protested, “I meant nothing of the kind. I certainly don’t want you to go in this state of mind. Listen…
But she was already walking back through the olive glade to the high road where the car waited for her. Thank God, she thought to herself, I am already packed up. I have my suitcase and can leave today. Aaron walked beside her saying: “Judith, please don’t be unreasonable. We must not separate on these false terms. I know you will come back sometime; and I’ll wait for you — I promise you…
But she climbed into the car and slammed the door shut. “Goodbye, Aaron,” she said, and motioned to the driver with her hand. Aaron stood in exasperated silence, biting his lip and watching the car slide slowly away down the long avenue of trees whose green foliage waved in the wind like sentient creatures waving farewell. He sighed and folded his strong arms across his chest as he watched it dwindle to a dot. Then he started and felt the blood suddenly beating in his temples. The car had stopped. The small figure, infinitely diminished by the long green perspective, got down into the road. It waved the car on and, as the vehicle slowly disappeared around the bend, the familiar figure began to plod slowly and determinedly back. “Judith!” he said under his breath — but he did not move, did not breathe, for fear that it was his imagination playing tricks with him. But no. Gradually the figure was growing larger as it approached him.