Freefall (15 page)

I walk the length of the coach. I have a choice of any seat. I don't have to take the stained one because it's the only free place to sit. Don't have to pretend that the girl sitting next to me chewing her gum and flapping her thighs is not driving me crazy. This has never happened to me before.

In the next coach there's a guy with a computer talking on his cell phone. He has a TV badge swinging from his neck. He looks busy and uninterested in me. I walk to the end, hoping to find someone to sit with.

Empty.

I peek through the doors to the other coach. There's a load of soldiers in there, lounging on the seats, talking on their cells, and passing around food. They're laughing and joking and look like they're having a great time. I don't go in because I don't belong—not yet. But I'm glad to have them close by—just in case.

Slipping into a seat, I slide over to the window. Put my pack on the empty spot beside me and rest my forehead on the glass. The traffic, like a steady flock of migrating birds, is going south. Traffic going north is about one car every fifteen minutes. I feel like a rebel, and all I'm doing is sitting in one spot. Inside I'm restless, though. Lily hasn't called me back. She might still be in a bomb shelter somewhere. How am I going to find her if her cell phone won't receive calls?

I still haven't eaten and have a sour taste in my mouth. It's fear. I don't know if I have the kind of gumption that Lily has. But then, I'm not sure I'll ever really know how I respond to stress or fear until I'm in the thick of it. How do the soldiers do it? I wonder, peeking through the window into their coach. Most of them have dozed off and are slouched in an untroubled slumber.

They've been trained not to think about it.

I resolve not to think about it. The train speeds through Binyamina and doesn't even slow down at the station. The platform is empty.

I check out the soldiers again. There's one girl. She's sitting by the window talking on her cell phone. I take a second look at her, trying to imagine myself in her spot.

I think of Lily in her uniform that was too tight and crawling up all the wrong places. I think of me swimming in mine, and all of us complaining about our blistered feet. It's not just that the uniforms didn't fit us—but we didn't fit the uniforms.

And then my mind flashes back to the day before: sitting on the bus beside the guy in black jeans. A jolt goes through me. If I had a bag, I'd throw it over my head. What about when I would be surrounded, the only girl or one of the only girls in a combat unit overrun by guys?

My stomach lurches.

I take another peek into the other coach. The soldier, her hair tied back in a ponytail, is sharing a bag of chips with one of the guys. She looks calm, comfortable, and unthreatened.

It's the uniform.

Like Superman with his cape, Batman with his ears, and Wonder Woman with her breast busters, the uniforms say “Don't tangle with me; I'm on a mission.” Yes, that must be it.

I jump at the rousing chorus of “We Are Family” coming from my backpack. I hope it's Hila. Caller ID warns me that it's Dad.

“Hey, Dad. Where are you?”

“Never mind where I am, where are you?”

I look out the window of the train. Sun rays shimmer on the water. Now there are no cars on the street. Peering out the other window, I see the steep rise of a mountain jutting the skyline. “Around Haifa,” I say.

The line crackles, but Dad's voice is clear when it comes through. “Listen, Aggie, you get off that train right now and come back home. I don't know what gave you the foolish idea to go up north but it's too dangerous.”

“But, Dad. Grandma said—”

“Grandma? You're listening to Grandma?” He groans and mutters something under his breath. “Things have changed since your grandma's time. In her time she thought all you needed were determination and dedication and you could change the world single-handedly. Things are different now, and it's not the right time to act impulsively. I want you off that train at the next stop, do you understand?”

The conductor stops by my seat. “Ticket?”

I hand it to him. He punches it and hands it back.

“I need to get off this train,” I explain to him. “Where's the next stop?”

“There isn't one.”

I cup my hand over the phone's speaker. “No stops?”

“Well, we're stopping in Nahariya but then that's it. No more trains going either way until things settle down up there.”

“So I'm stuck.”

He shrugs. “That's about right.”

“Dad?”

“This is no joke, Aggie. I want you off that train.”

I could try to explain it to him. Tell him to stop bossing me around. Tell him he's wrong about Grandma and that he shouldn't dismiss her like that. She may be old, but some things never go out of style, like determination and dedication.

Dad's still lecturing me through the phone line.

“But there are no …”

He won't listen to reason. Won't accept that there is no way to go back. I'm tired of him thinking that I'm incapable of knowing what's right for me. Now is the time, I think, to stand up to him. Remind him that I am eighteen. If that's old enough to be drafted, then it sure must be old enough to decide for myself.

“I'll see if I can get an army car to pick you up,” he says.

“What? Hello? Dad?” I grit my teeth and make static noises. “Dad? Can you hear me? The reception's gone. Can't hear you. The train doesn't stop until Nahariya. I'll call you when I get there. Don't worry. I know how to take care of myself.”

And then I end the call and shove the phone deep into my bag. Scooping my knees to my chest, I hug them close. Life just keeps getting more complicated, and like the train speeding through the deserted stations in a rush to reach its final destination, I'm not sure what either of us expects to find there.

My telephone beeps in a message. I dig it out, glance at the caller ID, and put it back.

It's Shira. She wants to know where I am. I've forgotten to call and tell her I'm headed up north. Will she understand?

She'll be annoyed that I've gone off without telling her. I groan. One more gibe about the weight thing and I'll scream.

“Girls in combat units,” said Ron, last time I saw him.

“Sexy but scary.”

“I don't think that's why we do it,” I answered.

“Watch it, Ron,” said Ben. “She's already getting feminist on you.”

“I'm not going for combat because I'm a feminist. If you feel a need to carry around my bag with all the equipment in it, hey, go ahead!”

“Backing off ,” said Ben. “We're backing off .”

They didn't ask me why I wanted combat, but I had my answer ready. “Why not?” I mean, if somebody's got to do it, why not me? I think of Lily and her bathroom full of rocket debris. How can I pretend that what happens to her doesn't concern me? That's what I should have told Dad.

I punch in Shira's number. We've been friends for too long for her not to understand.

“Aggie, guess what?” she shouts. Without waiting for me to guess, she sings, “I got it! I got in! I got into the entertainment troop. Isn't that amazing?”

“Amazing!” I answer. “I'm thrilled for you.”

“It's a dream come true. I can't remember a time when I didn't see myself in uniform, on stage, lights above, belting out ‘Jerusalem of Gold.'”

“I don't think they sing that anymore.”

She giggles. “I've been listening to too many of my dad's old records.”

This time there's real static over the line.

“Where are you?” she asks.

I explain about Lily, about my dad not understanding, about needing to be a part of what's going on around me. “How do I know if I can hack it if I've never tried?”

I imagine Shira's smile as she clicks her tongue. “Aggie, none of us who know you have any doubt that you'll be amazing, but I know that nothing will convince you until you prove it to yourself. Just take care, okay? Promise you'll call me as soon as you get back?”

“Promise.”

The train slows down through Akko. Pressing my face to the window, I watch the restless waves tossing up whitecaps. The palm trees along the coast shiver like they wouldn't mind taking cover or moving to a calmer climate.

By the time the train pulls into Nahariya, I'm still not sure if I'm relieved at having arrived or terrified that I'm really here. The doors swing open. I trail behind the soldiers until the end of the platform. An army transit is waiting for them. They're quieter than when they were sitting on the train. They throw their stuff in, climb on, and take off toward the border.

The TV man is gone, too. In fact, looking around, I see there's no one here at all.

The wind rustles through the trees. The street signs quiver. The traffic lights turn from red to green before switching to yellow. The little green man flashes that it's fine to cross. But there is no one standing on the corner and no cars to heed the traffic codes. No one but me.

Standing alone with nothing and no one to protect me.

Chapter Fifteen

I need to head for cover. The
community bomb shelter must be near the center of town, I think. I pass a kiosk with an open 24 hours sign on the door. It's closed. My stomach grumbles. Anyway, I'm too jumpy inside for a greasy pita filled with oily falafel balls and the spicy sauce that Shira has taught me to eat without gasping for air.

Usually Gaaton Boulevard is teeming with traffic. Today I could stroll down the middle of the street with my eyes shut. Tourist town of the north, Nahariya has boutique shops, coffee shops, cafés, and seaside resorts—only now there isn't a tourist in sight. The streets echo my footsteps. And the air, which on a good day is a mix of overpowering aromas from the bakery, the other falafel stand, and exhaust fumes from the bus depot, is now clean enough to catch a whiff of the sea breeze that blows through the center of town.

What if a rocket is fired right now? What'll I do? Dive behind a car, crawl under a park bench, huddle at an entrance to a building?

I speed up. Mom will never forgive me if anything happens.

I hold the straps of my backpack as I rush on, looking for someone, anyone, to help me. It's so quiet. The kind of quiet that hovers at the base of your neck. A tingling in my toes spreads up through my legs, settling in the pit of my stomach, which is pumping panic.

Nothing in my life has prepared me for fear like this. I catch myself thinking of Grandma. Nothing much ever fazes her. She's been a soldier in a different war and at a different time, but doesn't fear feel the same wherever you are?

I duck into the doorway of the pharmacy to catch my breath. There's an ad in the window for condoms.
Never
be caught without protection
.

I look out and hurry on.

At the next block a strange sound catches my attention. I turn the corner and I follow the drone, bang, and thump. I peer around nervously. But it's just a small toy tractor on someone's porch. It races along until it reaches a wall, flips over, turns itself right side up, and races back. I chase after it, looking for who's holding the remote.

But it's on autopilot. Like me, I think. I watch it almost enviously. The way it reaches a wall, flips over, and goes on. No scrapes, no bruises. I hope I'm as indestructible.

After a quick search I locate the remote control and turn it off . At least when the kid returns, he'll find the batteries still working. This street is a residential one. The gardens are well manicured. The houses are quaint and compact. I venture just a bit farther down the block, peeking into the houses, where tables are set but with no one there to eat the food.

It's creepy. I've seen pictures of Pompeii, and even without the lava, this place feels like it's been frozen by an invisible rush of molten fear.

This isn't the right way. I retrace my steps. I am about to rush on when something stops me in my tracks. I strain my ears. It's a cry, like a baby's pitiful whine. Tiptoeing up the path, I see that a door stands ajar.

“Hello?”

The cry grows stronger.

“Anyone here?”

I hover at the entrance, unsure what to do. I can't just walk into someone's house. But there's a baby crying!

Sunlight slips in through the blinds of the window. Like a stage set, the rays illuminate the table where a plastic bowl remains untouched. The spoon is on the floor. A milk bottle is on the counter. A baby bottle! That clinches it. I walk in, grab the bottle, and start searching for the baby.

The crying has gotten softer and turns to a whimper.

I run into a bedroom. Empty.

It takes me a few seconds to locate the source. A baby kitten has crawled onto the highest shelf of the bookcase. He's shivering with fear.

I laugh out loud. Not an abandoned baby, a kitten.

Only then do I realize how loudly my heart has been thumping in my chest. It's just a cat.

“Hey, kitty, kitty. Come on down.”

I'm contemplating how to climb up and get it when the front door bursts open. “What are you doing in here?”

I shriek and spin around, terrified by the silhouette of the figure in the doorway. “I heard crying.”

He sees the bottle in my hand. “You left your baby here?”

“No. Not mine. Not a baby. I mean—a cat.”

He strides in. “You shouldn't be here.”

“I—”

“Why aren't you in a bomb shelter? The all-clear signal hasn't sounded.”

“I'm not from here. I'm looking for a friend.” I hold the bottle tighter. “Lily?”

He groans. I watch him, waiting for what he'll do next. But he's a soldier and not the owner of the house who's caught me breaking and entering.

“You're one of those girls collecting the strays?” He shakes his head. “You're supposed to wait until the all-clear signal sounds before you go out on your rescue mission.”