Ishmael's Oranges (12 page)

Inside it read:
Sunday 12 noon
. Judith's Hebrew class was at noon too, she remembered. She was struggling with the readings and the Rebbe had said she needed extra help. Could Dora be persuaded to let her skip it just this
once?

At the end of class, Peggy was packing up her desk with Kathleen's help. She flashed Judith a bright smile as she approached, hesitant. ‘What's up, little Jude?'

‘Peggy, can I come late to the party?'

‘Why on earth would you do that?'

‘It's at the same time as my Hebrew class. My mother already said yes to the Tryouts, she'll never agree to this too.' Judith heard a couple of giggles behind her. Peggy looked aslant at Kathleen and Judith thought she saw Kath give a small, secretive smile
back.

Peggy was looking at her now with the half-smile still on her
face.

‘Hebrew class! Wow. Exciting. We wouldn't want you to miss
that
, right? If you'd rather go to that, I don't mind at
all.'

‘No, no,' said Judith. ‘I want to come to yours, but…' she tailed off as Peggy slung her bag onto her shoulder and started walking out of the door. The tall, sharp line of her back was like an exclamation mark. In the doorway, she paused, the ponytail bobbing by itself for a second, before she turned to look over her shoulder.

‘If you want to come, then come,
Jude
,' she said. ‘Be your own person. I
so
hope you
do.'

Judith watched Peggy leave the room. Kath was still pushing books into her bag. Judith tried to catch her eye, but Kath's blue ones seemed determinedly downcast. ‘They're a posh crowd, Judith,' she said all of a sudden, squaring her shoulders as she yanked up her bag. ‘Maybe it's for the best if you've got other things
on.'

At Sabbath dinner Judith broached the subject of missing Hebrew school for Peggy's party.

‘Absolutely not,' Dora said. ‘Twice in one week, forget it. Don't you know your Batmitzvah is coming up? Rebbe Geshen says you're already behind with your reading. First this swimming and now partying
–
what's got into
you?'

‘I'll do even more next week, I promise,' Judith begged. ‘Please, Dad?' But Jack just shook his head and said, ‘Listen to your mother,
pet.'

‘God help us, what are you thinking, Judit?' Dora said. ‘Are you in love with this
shiksa
goddess? Are you converting? There'll be plenty of parties, young lady, but only one Batmitzvah. So let's hear no more about
it.'

But the argument went on and on, into Saturday until Dora stamped off in frustration to
Shul
and Judith retreated to her bedroom. On Sunday morning, she toyed with the idea of just slipping out. But in an unusual streak of foresight, Dora had called Gertie to come and hang around outside Judith's bedroom.

Gertie was terrible at hovering; her large breasts and round hips made her awkward on the cramped landing. Judith sat in her room hating even the thought of Gertie, her disapproving glasses and her sanctimonious brown stockings.

Eventually, Gertie opened Judith's door herself and said, blinking rapidly, ‘Judit, it's nearly time for school. Shall we go together?' Judith glared at her, but did not have the courage to refuse. Despising herself, she stood up and hoisted her schoolbag onto her shoulder. In just a few minutes, Kathleen would be knocking on Peggy's door dressed in her best clothes, and Judith would be sitting with a sweating Rebbe, trying to make sense of ancient scrolls.

Suddenly, she heard an odd sound from Gertie, like a puzzled cry. Her sister was looking at something on Judith's bed, and quicker than Judith had ever seen her move she crossed the room to snatch it up. It was Peggy's invitation, in all its embossed glory.

‘Give that back,' Judith said fiercely, but Gertie ignored her. She turned around to face Judith, her chest rising heavily, the invitation held out like a pistol in her
hand.

‘What's this?' she asked, in a whisper. ‘Who wrote this to you? Judit, why didn't you tell us about this?'

‘It's nothing,' Judith said warily. ‘It's the invitation to my friend's party. What's the big deal?'

‘But what's this?' Gertie said again, whiter still, one finger pointing to the name on the front.

‘That's my name. Jude. That's what they call me at school.' She saw Gertie step backwards, her brow furrowing in horrified disbelief.

‘You
want
them to call you that? Don't you know what that name means?' She had started sweating, pale beads on her broad forehead shining under the bedroom light. ‘That's the word they called us.
Jude.
Juden.
That's what they called us in the ghettos and the Camps.'

She walked towards Judith, who backed away. ‘How can you let someone call you that?' She shook the invitation in Judith's startled face. ‘How could you?' she said again.

Judith had a flicker of shame; but it was snuffed out the next moment by a quick, cruel pinch of self-pity.
Godly Gertie
, she thought, resentful.
Always some way to make me wrong
.

‘I didn't
let
them call me it,' she said, with affected nonchalance. ‘I called myself that name. I like it. It's cool.'

Before the words were even out of her mouth, Gertie reached out and slapped her
–
a blow that burned like hot bread from the oven. Judith cried out in shock and Gertie covered her mouth with her fist, tears running between her fingers. From behind her hand, she whispered, ‘How can you say such a thing, Judit? You don't understand anything, nothing at all about who we are and what happened to
us.'

Judith's face itched and stung. She couldn't believe Gertie had hit her. Her sister's fingers, round and unpainted, looked so gauche holding the delicate white card. For an instant it faded and transformed into another picture
–
Gertrude, Esther und Daniel Kraus, Wien 1939
–
and hot anger at Gertie, at the endless guilt, rose scalding into her throat.

‘No,
you
don't understand anything,' she screamed, feeling her cheeks turn red. ‘I'm sick of you people always telling me what to do and how to be. I
hate
being Jewish. You just leave me alone.'

As she spoke she felt her legs propel her past Gertie, who called out her name, carrying her pounding heart down the stairs, racing across the hall and through the front door, slamming it hard behind her. The rush of the cold sea wind tasted of exhilaration and pain, like the first surge of oxygen into burning lungs at the end of the
race.

She caught the bus to Peggy's house. As it rattled from Ryhope Road to the smarter part of town, Judith clutched her bag to her chest. She felt dizzy with anticipation, watching the solemn rows of semi-detached houses reel by her as the road swept away from the dockyards.
They'll be so happy to see me. They'll laugh when they know how much trouble I'm in.

The bus stopped at the edge of the town, where the houses had back gardens as well as front ones, and the sky was a smokeless blue. Judith climbed off and watched it roar away, standing on a silent pavement.

Walking up the street to the Smailes' detached house, Judith felt as tall and straight as Peggy herself. She pulled down her skirt and pushed back her hair. A brief worry passed through her mind like a shadow: she hadn't obeyed the party rules
–
she wasn't in the least
glamorous
. But after pinching her cheeks and biting her lips she hoped she might pass if she made a good story of
it.

She opened the front gate cautiously and saw a flicker of movement in one large, curtained window. There were roses in the garden, pink as schoolgirls hanging their heavy heads. Smiling, she jumped up the steps and reached out to knock on the
door.

Then something stopped her. Stepping back, she saw it: at the entrance to the porch someone had stuck a large, yellow sign on the
wall.

Written there, in capital letters, were the words
NO JEWDES ALLOWED
.

At first Judith's eyes could not take it in. The words swam in front of her; her legs wobbled until she had to hold onto the porch pillars to stay upright. Her chest tightened and her throat felt full of stones.

She heard a click and looked up. The front door had opened, and standing in the bright hallway behind it was Kathleen. At her back stood Peggy. The blonde girl was grinning, a fox in bright red lipstick, one hand on Kathleen's shoulder. Kathleen stared at the ground, red under her freckles.

Judith stood up straight, wondering if she was expected to smile or to cry. If she reacted the right way, would it all be all right? Was it a test?
It's all a joke
, she thought desperately,
and they're going to ask me in
. But she saw with brutal clarity the hand on Kathleen's shoulder, its pale pink varnish shining lightly in the gloom of the porch.

The hand tightened, and Kathleen's head jerked upwards to look at her. There was such genuine misery in her face that tears came to Judith's eyes, and with them a sick certainty of abandonment.
Still
, she thought,
she wouldn't go inside. She won't go
.

For a second no one moved. Judith took a deep, hopeful breath. Then Kathleen closed the door, the slow groan of polished oak shutting her outside.

By the time Judith got back to Ryhope Road, the world was a very different place. The first thing she heard when she opened the front door was the sound of weeping. It seemed to come straight from her own heart and she imagined it must be herself crying. Next she thought of Gertie. Then, quick as a snake, the realization struck her. It was Rebecca.
She knows
, Judith thought.
She's crying because of me.

Suddenly, Gertie appeared in the living room doorway. Her face was blotched and red, and she reached out to clutch Judith's
hand.

‘Oh Judit, thank goodness. There's been bad news. Your Uncle Max
–
well, Father will tell
you.'

Judith was trembling as she walked into the sitting room. Rebecca was on the green sofa, rocking and wailing against Jack's awkward shoulder. Dora was on the other side, her hand tight on Rebecca's
arm.

Rebecca's eyes opened as Judith approached; she reached out to pull her granddaughter towards her. Judith instinctively resisted, shame lying like a stench on her
skin.

‘What's happened?' she said, her throat thick and
sore.

Dora answered from Rebecca's side, her voice low as if confiding a secret.

‘Your Uncle Max is hurt, Judit. He was on a bus, and it was attacked. They shot him.' Judith took a moment to comprehend this, to remind herself of other lives she was still connected to. While she was mocking Gertie and running away from home, people who hated Jews were trying to hurt her family.

Dora looked at Jack, who clutched his mother tighter than ever and said, ‘He'll be okay, Mama. Max is a fighter. He has the best care.'

Rebecca shook her head. ‘Oh my boy, my poor boy.' Her voice was hoarse
–
it seemed to tear from her throat as she raised one open hand towards the ceiling. ‘Are we never finished with all of this? The Russians come and then the Germans and now my son gets shot on a bus. When will it stop?'

They put Rebecca to bed and Jack explained things quietly to Judith. Max was in a serious condition in hospital in Tel Aviv. Jack and Alex were going to take the first available flight to Israel they could.

Judith received Jack's injunction to be a good girl with silent thankfulness. When he looked at her and shook his head, she thought for an instant he was going to tell her of his deep disappointment. But instead he only said, ‘It's such a shame, Judith. He was just a farmer, growing and building things. Where's the wrong in that?'

Later, she crept upstairs to Rebecca's room. The house was eerily still. Dora and Gertie were sitting in the kitchen over cold cups of tea. Jack was out at the shop, scouring the books for the price of an airfare. Rebecca's door was ajar, and Judith could see her propped up on her thin pillows. She tapped lightly on the doorframe and saw Rebecca's head rise slightly.

‘Come in,
mommellah
,' she said, her voice so frail it made Judith ache. She knelt down and took Rebecca's hand in hers. ‘I'm so sorry, Bubby,' she said. Rebecca nodded, turning her head towards the window and the white summer sky sailing past them. Judith sat in silence for a minute, feeling Rebecca's gentle pulse. But eventually the weight of unsaid things tipped her mouth open and she found herself blurting, ‘I had a fight with Gertie today.'

Rebecca turned back to look at her with tired eyes. ‘Oh yes, she told me. About the name.' Judith's face went red and she waited for Rebecca's verdict. But instead, Rebecca laid her head back on the pillow and sighed.

‘I'll never forget the day she came to us.' Her eyes turned to the window, looking far away. ‘Just a little girl, even smaller than you
–
and thin too, although you'd never guess it now. She came on the rescue trains, the
Kindertransport
from Austria. Your mother and I went down to Liverpool Street station to meet her. Gertie had a sister with her, and she held that girl's hand so tight I thought she'd never let go. They looked like two peas in a pod and it broke my heart to separate them, but we couldn't take both. Gertie cried all the way home and for weeks afterwards. She didn't speak any English at all, so I had to try in Yiddish. Don't tell your mother, but Gertie is the reason her Yiddish is still so good.' She paused to cough into her
hand.