“You’re back!” the boy exclaimed.
Uzi ruffled his hair. “How have you been?”
“I’m coming with you.” Arthur tugged on the large canvas bag hanging across his chest.
“We’ve talked about it,” Uzi replied. “Ruth Morgenstern is in charge.”
“I want to come with you.” Arthur’s tone was stubborn, challenging.
How he hated to refuse this lonely child. Uzi suppressed his irritation at being sidetracked. He had to get on with the task of locating Daniel. “I’m really sorry, but OSE won’t let me take you along.”
Arthur cracked his knuckles, and a twitch traversed his face.
Uzi put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Right now, though, would you do me a favor?”
“Only if I can come with you to Palestine.”
Uzi shook his head. “It’s out of my hands.” He saw the secretary step inside the door and wait for him in the shadow. “I don’t have time right now,” he mumbled, then walked in. “Bonjour,” he called to the secretary.
She said something in French, smiling widely.
There was a movement to his side. Arthur must have reconsidered the favor.
“Please ask her to have a document stamped,” Uzi said in Yiddish.
Arthur asked her, listened to what she said, and reported, “She says that the mayor is not here.”
“When will he be back?”
“Next week, she says.”
“Can she sign instead?”
“She says you know what to do if you want her to sign.”
“Sure I do.” Uzi smiled at the woman, then stepped around her to her desk.
She called out something behind him. He quickly scanned the wheel of hanging stamps to the right of the typewriter, similar to the one in the kibbutz secretariat. He slipped the signed paper out of his pocket with his left hand, grabbed the largest stamp, hit the ink pad, and stamped his paper.
Behind him, the woman yelled.
“Please tell her that I am really sorry. I can’t wait for next week,” Uzi told Arthur over his shoulder. He lifted the second-largest stamp and brought it down hard. Hopefully one of them was the correct one.
She lunged, trying to grab the paper. He raised it above his head and started to retreat to the door; he wouldn’t attempt a martial-arts move that would have left a male opponent flat on the floor. “Pardon,” Uzi told her. “Pardon.”
From behind her, Arthur grabbed her dress. She stopped, pivoted, and swatted at him.
“Let her go. Now!” Uzi ordered. “We do not attack women.” He folded the letter, tucked it in one pocket, and peeled a bill off the wad of cash in his other pocket. He placed his hand on his heart to indicate his gratitude. “Arthur, please tell her that I am really sorry.”
Her face set in anger, the woman yanked the bill from his outstretched hand and, puffing with indignation, walked back to her desk.
At the door, Uzi stopped. “I’m not done here. Arthur, would you please ask her where there’s an orphanage around here? A state orphanage.”
“I’m not going to any orphanage!”
At her desk, the woman was reapplying her lipstick. The money seemed to have placated her.
“Please. It’s not for you. I’m looking for a little boy.”
“Daniel?” Arthur said.
“Yes. Do you know where he is?”
“And what if I do?”
“Please take me there.”
“Not unless I go to Palestine with you. If you don’t take me, I’ll run there myself.”
Uzi looked at the eager, determined face, the scrunched-up features hardened by so many blows. He wasn’t here to start a tug-of-war between Jewish organizations, yet how could he allow this child to be a victim of bureaucracy?
He wrapped his arms around the boy’s thin shoulders and brought Arthur close to his chest. A moment later he felt the wetness
of tears soaking his shirt and knew that this was the first hug this boy had received in years.
Chapter Forty-Six
Sharon
Tel Aviv, Israel
