“They’ve forgiven you,” said Tzili.
“No one forgives Linda. Linda doesn’t forgive herself.”
“In Palestine everything will be different,” said Tzili, repeating the speaker’s words.
Linda chewed the fish and said nothing.
Tzili felt a warm intimacy with this fat woman who spoke about herself in the third person.
All night the speakers spoke. Loud words flooded the dark beach. A thin man spoke of the agonies of rebirth in Palestine. Linda did not find these voices to her taste. In the end she could no longer restrain herself and she called out: “We’ve had enough words. No more words.” And when the speaker took no notice of her threats she went and stood next to the box and announced: “This is fat Linda here. Don’t anyone dare come near this box. I’m declaring a cease-words. It’s time for silence now.” She went back and sat down. No one reacted. People were tired, they huddled in their coats. After a few moments she said to herself: “Phooey. This rebirth makes me sick.”
That same night they were taken aboard the ship. It was a small ship with a bare mast and a chimney. Two projectors illuminated the shore.
“What I’d like now,” said Tzili for some reason, “is a pear.”
“Linda hasn’t got a pear. What a pity that Linda hasn’t got a pear.”
“I feel ashamed,” said Tzili.
“Why do you feel ashamed?”
“Because that’s what came into my head.”
“I have every respect for such little wishes. Linda herself is all one little wish.”
For the time being the sight was not an inspiring one. People climbed over ropes and tarpaulins. Someone shouted: “There’s a queue here, no one will get in without waiting in the queue.”
The crush was bad and Tzili felt that pain was about to engulf her again. Linda no longer waited for favors and in a thunderous voice she cried: “Make way for the girl. The girl has undergone an operation.” No one moved. Linda shouted again, and when no one paid any attention she spread out her arms and swept a couple of young men from their places on a bench.
“Now, in the name of justice, she’ll sit down. Her name is Tzili.”
Later on, when the commotion had died down and some of the people had gone down to the cabins below and a wind began to blow on the deck, Tzili said: “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For finding me a place.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s your place.”
Afterward shouts were heard from below. People were apparently beating the informers and collaborators in the dark, and the latter were screaming at the tops of their voices. Up on the deck, too, there was no peace. In vain the officials tried to restore order.
Between one scream and the next Linda told Tzili what had happened to her during the war. She had a lover, a gentile estate owner who had hidden her in his granaries. She moved from one granary to another. At first she had a wonderful time, she was very happy. But later she came to realize that her lover was a goy in every sense of the word, drunk and violent. She was forced to flee, and in the end she fled to a camp. She didn’t like the Jews, but she liked them better than the gentiles. Jews were sloppy but not cruel. She was in the camp for a full year. She learned Yiddish there, and every night she performed for the inmates. She had no regrets. There was a kind of cruel honesty in her brown eyes.
The little ship strained its engines to cross the stormy sea. Up on the deck they did not feel it rock. Most of the day the passengers slept in the striped coats they had been given by the Joint Committee. From time to time the ship sounded its horn.
Linda managed to get hold of a bottle of brandy at last, and her joy knew no bounds. She hugged the bottle and spoke to it in Hungarian. She started drinking right away, and when her heart was glad with brandy she began to sing. The songs she sang were old Hungarian lullabies.