‘You weren’t in a holiday camp, you were in Auschwitz,’ exclaims Magda. ‘No one had an easy time of it. You mustn’t compare our experiences. Please, Yitzchak, it will drive you mad.’
‘How can I not, Magda? My brother and I survived because we were cooks. We prepared meals for the SS and what they didn’t eat, we did. I don’t remember ever being hungry.’
‘You feel guilty? For not suffering as much as my sisters did?’
‘I do,’ says Yitzchak, fervently. ‘Very much so.’
Magda reaches for his hand. She understands this feeling. ‘I know how you feel; I was living at home with Mumma and my grandfather for two years while my sisters suffered. Can you imagine how I reacted when I saw them again? I was healthy and they looked like they were dying.’
‘But still .?.?.’
‘But nothing! My sisters won’t let me feel guilty; there is nothing I can do to change what happened in the way it happened. I’m learning to live with it, but this is what I truly believe – you and I survived and that’s all that matters. We all survived. How we did it means absolutely nothing. We’re here now, in our promised land.’
‘Are you saying your sisters would forgive me?’
‘For what? Having a full belly? Do you think we wouldn’t have swapped places with you in a heartbeat, Yitzchak? There is no honour in suffering, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.’ Magda’s eyes flash as she speaks and she knows her words are for herself as much as this tall, kind man. ‘Thank you for telling me your story; it makes no difference to how I feel about you.’
Yitzchak squeezes Magda’s hand. ‘There’s more,’ he says.
‘Go on,’ Magda says, warily.
‘I was married before the war,’ he tells her, looking up into the orange tree.
‘A lot of people were married before the war. Mischka was too.’
‘Cibi’s husband? I didn’t know that. Not only was I married, Magda, but I had two little girls.’ His voice breaks and his face crumbles.
‘Oh, no, I am so sorry,’ Magda whispers.
‘I lost them in Auschwitz.’
Magda draws closer to Yitzchak and gently wipes the tears from his cheeks. His eyes meet hers, and there is pain in them, but there is something else too – something she recognises: hope. No more words are needed as Magda understands the ways in which they can share their pain and grief.
Yitzchak leans across the space between them to tuck the wayward strands of Magda’s hair behind her ears, a smile slowly forming on his mouth. Right here, right now, thinks Magda, is where we found each other.
‘I said to you there was something I needed to tell you and a question I had to ask you.’
‘So, the question,’ grins Magda.
‘Magda Meller, will you marry me?’
Magda looks over his shoulder as the last rays of sunlight disappear. A full moon is already in the sky, shining its pale light on them.
CHAPTER 29
Kfar Ahim
1950
M
agda and Yitzchak are married in Cibi’s front garden, amongst the flowers, and the friends they have made since arriving in Israel. When the glass, wrapped in a fine linen cloth, breaks beneath the couple’s feet, the crowd erupts with cries of, ‘Mazel tov!’
In the early hours of the following morning, Magda waves goodbye to her sisters and takes her leave with her new husband. Cibi and Livi linger in the garden until everyone has left.
‘She looked so happy, didn’t she?’ Livi says.
‘She is happy. She’s in love.’ Cibi is absentmindedly folding napkins.
‘Do you think I’ll find someone?’ asks Livi, wistfully.
Cibi drops the napkins and takes both her sister’s hands in her own.
‘Of course you will, kitten. You may have already met him, you never know.’
‘I’m not in a hurry, Cibi.’ Cibi raises her eyes to the dawn sky.
‘Who’s ever in a hurry these days? Life brings what it brings. Do you remember what Grandfather used to say about ‘time’？’
Now Livi fiddles with the napkins. Her eyes narrow as she casts her mind back to their childhood in Vranov. ‘Something about life being long if you savour every moment?’
‘Exactly. That we shouldn’t look at each day as a series of tasks we have to get through, but to see each twenty-four hours as a gift from God and cherish individual moments.’ Cibi gulps. The words ‘gift from God’ stuck in her throat.
‘You’re still not praying?’ Livi asks, folding napkins. She hates putting Cibi on the spot, but sometimes it happens.