The figure standing above her so frightened Yael, she wished she could faint again; that the darkness of unconsciousness would envelop her. She did not though. The light cut through the canopy of leaves with the last piercing fierceness of a July sunset, silhouetting the man.
Seeing her eyelids flicker, he bent down so that his face was close to hers, and she felt his breath on her cheek. It smelt of tobacco fumes and something sharper, which she did not recognise at first, but afterwards realised was alcohol.
“Anna,” he called, turning his head away.
Yael opened her eyes a crack and caught a glimpse of his turned face. A strong jaw and prominent nose made his face seem determined. When he turned back, she squeezed her eyes closed again. He obviously noted this, for he laughed, a low, ironic chuckle.
“Anna,” he called again, “the forest spirit has awoken.”
He stood up and turned away. She heard the catch of a match, its sudden flaring and then a moment later caught the scent of tobacco. He moved away, but was replaced immediately by a young woman with short dark hair. Anna squatted down beside Yael and took one of her wrists in her hand, expertly placing fingers on her pulse, feeling for a minute, before laying it back on the earth carefully. She opened Yael’s eye with a firm, expert touch. For a few seconds she examined her, then grinned, holding her eyelid open so that Yael was forced to look directly at her.
“Hello,” she said. Her grin was a little lop-sided, but it was frank and open and Yael could not help but smile back.
“There,” Anna called over her shoulder to the retreating male figure, “she’s smiling! I told you she wasn’t a dybbuk.”
“We’ll see,” the voice drifted back.
Anna helped Yael to sit up. It was only when she was upright, her back rested against the trunk of a thick old birch, that she realised she was not where she last recalled being.
“Where are we?” she said. Her voice was thin, almost inaudible.
“Where are we?” Anna repeated. She had a metal canteen; she unscrewed the lid and passed it to Yael. “God only knows. The middle of the forest. A hole in the woods. Ask Maksim.”
Yael took the canteen and brought it to her lips. Her hand was unsteady. She shook so much Anna reached out and steadied it.
“You’re weak,” Anna said. “When was the last time you ate?”
Yael shrugged. She was disorientated. The liquid was cool on her tongue, but she had trouble swallowing and choked when she tried to reply.
“It’s okay,” Anna said, “you don’t need to speak. I’ll get you something to eat in a bit. Some soup. Something light, you need to be careful. It can be too much, you know, eating a lot when you’ve been without. There was this guy we found last year, hadn’t eaten much in weeks before he joined us. Stuffed himself. Couldn’t stop. Stole food from the store while the others were sleeping. It killed him. His body couldn’t take it.”
Anna spoke quickly, the words tumbling out in a curious accent. She used the American word ‘guy’, which made her sound as though she had watched too many films. Perhaps seeing her effect on Yael, she laughed.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, sitting back on her heels, “I always talk too much. Maksim says I’m his first line of defence, if the Germans come, he’ll pick me up under his arm and machine-gun them with words!”
She laughed again, openly, heartily, and Yael found she could not restrain her own smile, despite feeling wretched. As Anna stood up, Yael glanced past her to the camp spread out in the trees. At its heart a small fire burned, and around it a large group of people stood or squatted. Blankets and sheets of canvas were tied between branches forming rudimentary shelters. Some of the people were armed, an array of weapons: a woman had a pistol tucked in her belt, as also, Yael now noticed, did Anna, two men had rifles slung in the crooks of their arms, and a machine gun of the type the Germans used stood on a tripod at the edge of the camp. These were not just young men and women though, there were old women and men shuffling around and children squatting by the fire, poking sticks into the flames. Yael was astounded.
“Who are these people?” she croaked.
“Who, these?” Anna said, turning to survey the figures as though she had not really thought about them before. “They’re family! Our big family! I’ll be right back.”
Anna walked across to the fire; Yael felt she had not meant her words literally, though looking around it could indeed have been a large tribe. A ragged family come out to camp in the woods. Jewish gypsies. It reminded her of a Sukkoth celebration from her childhood, when they had pitched a tent in the field of her aunt’s home. The whole family had lived in the tents for the week. It had been clear autumn weather, cold and damp in the morning, but clearing to bright dry days. The children made fires and played, and in the evenings listened to the bible stories, though none of the family were particularly religious. Yael loved to crouch by the bonfire in the evenings, as the first stars pierced the inky sky, and gaze deep into the flames, imagining she was an Israelite escaped from Egypt, from slavery.
The man who had been stood over her, Maksim, was standing at the edge of the camp, in conversation. Anna crossed over to him and he bent his head to listen to her, then nodded and glanced across at Yael. Yael felt her cheeks flush as his eyes rested on her for a couple of seconds. But then he turned away, and Anna left him to his discussion with the young partisan wearing a black cap on the back of his head.
Anna brought her soup. A young boy had wandered away from the family group and edged closer to her, his eyes wide.
“Aunt,” he whispered, “is she dead?”
“Does she look dead?” Anna shot back across her shoulder. The young boy regarded Yael, chewing his nails. He did not seem sure. He came no closer, but squatted down to watch as Anna spooned the soup carefully into Yael’s mouth.
“We didn’t know if you would make it,” Anna explained as she offered the thin broth, which was little more than water flavoured with vegetables. “We had been on a raid, a small town twenty odd kilometres north of here. We found you as we were coming back. The boys thought you should be left, but Max was having none of it. ‘We can’t feed any more,’ they said. ‘She dies then she won’t be eating,’ Max figures, ‘she lives, you never know, she could help us.’” Anna grinned. “Where you from?”
“From?” Yael coughed, as she struggled to sip the soup slowly from Anna’s spoon. “I was from Selo.”
“Selo? They killed the Jews there years ago.”
Yael did not know how to respond. The spoon had paused some centimetres from her mouth as Anna waited for a response. Yael felt exhausted. She longed for Aleksei. For the quiet certainty of the life they had lived in the confines of that little home.
“I’ve been hiding,” she managed.
“You’ve been with a partisan group? You’ve been in the woods for two years? Who have you been with?”
Yael shook her head. “No, I’ve been sheltered. The Germans came. I had to run.”
Anna nodded. The faint outlines of her story seemed to suffice. Anna spooned the last of the soup into her mouth.
“Do you think you can walk? We can move you in closer to the fire.”
An elderly woman had detached herself from the huddled group around the small fire. She came over and took the shoulder of the boy, who was squatted amongst the leaves. Pulling the boy up, she turned to go, but then stopped, her eyes caught by Yael’s.
“Ei, ei ei!” she cried quietly.
She released the child’s shoulder and stepped closer to Yael. Her face was wrinkled, the skin dark, dirty and creased like old leather. Her eyes sparkled though. She bent down, pushing her face closer to Yael. Yael drew back from her, a little afraid. The woman’s hand reached out and touched her face. Her breath hissed like a burst pipe.
“Ei, so,” she muttered.
“What is it?” Anna asked the elderly woman, respectfully. “What do you see?”
“She’s trógedik my dear,” the woman hissed. Then stepping back and straightening up, her eyes not leaving Yael’s, “She’s with child.”