Forever Torn

C5: Beginnings (2/3)

A BOY

Dovid had been waiting outside, alternatively sitting on a chair, leaning forward and wringing his hands; then leaping up and pacing up and down the hallway of the small hospital until his tread threatened to wear a groove into the dark polished wood of the hallway.

Several men sat on chairs or along the hard wood bench that lay against the wall; Smeras, his head bowed as he muttered a prayer for his daughter and unborn grandchild and next to him Abraham who had gone through this agony of waiting before with his own wife Ete.

The difference of course was that Ete had always been strong and healthy, delivering her baby with, if not ease, then at least with no more concern or complications than the next woman.

Golde by comparison had never been as strong as her sister or at least not since her late teens when she had endured a journey from Lithuania to the Urals that had affected her worst of all the family that travelled. The youngest of Smeras and Frade's children had suffered the most, catching cold on that trip and almost dying of a fever on the last leg and although she had pulled through, the harsh conditions of life in Ufa had taken its toll on Golde and she had never fully recovered her health.

Dovid's friend Avram was also present, watching as the big man paced the room and knowing exactly what was on the mind of the expectant father.

Avram had privately considered the irony that Dovid, a man so strong in so many ways had fallen so hard for a girl as soft and fragile as Golde.

He had once confided to Avram that there had never really been a woman in his life; Dovid had never known his mother and had never experienced a depth of feeling for his first bride. After all they had only been teenagers then and full of teenage passions and shortly after the marriage he had marched away with the army and visited home only on intermittent occasions.

Dovid Gilevic had only ever known the masculine love of his father and then the close fellowship of his army friends – all gone now except Avram – yet despite his outward stoic demeanor he possessed a capacity for compassion and a hidden well of emotion which it turned out had been waiting only for the right woman to set it free.

Avram recalled an occasion back in the trenches during the height of the fighting; 1915 or thereabouts.

They had been reminiscing about it a few days ago, about how a tiny bird of a tawny hue but with the brightest eyes and a half red breast had settled on the edge of the parapet of their trench at a moment when all was quiet and a hush had descended over the front. The kind of hush that precluded a wave of bombing.

Dovid had ever so quietly – surprisingly so for a man of his size – inched towards the tiny creature with his hands cupped and gently he had began to softly whistle, a sound almost inaudible but as he did so the bright eyes of the little bird had been fixed upon him and then he had scooped it in to his hands so it rested in the hollow created when he had made them into a cup.

Then with care and tenderness he had transferred the bird to a small box from his pack and gently stowed it away at the bottom of the trench into a small alcove he had dug with his hands and with the box kept on a latch big enough to allow air in but too small for the bird to get away, he had left it there all through the bombing.

When the bombardment was over, the little bird was safe in its box and Dovid and Avram had fed it some scraps of bread and then released it. 'Fly away safe little one,' Dovid had softly called after it.

They had no idea what had become of the little bird but from time to time they recalled the memory and it cheered them to think that it had flown high and long until the bombing and the war was behind it.

Two days ago Dovid had told Avram. 'Golde is like the little bird. If I could cup her in my hands and protect her always, then I would but I cannot my friend. Soon she must fly alone and then she will be in God's hands; may he keep her and my little one safe.'

He had finished by looking Avram in the eye, his own dark eyes slightly moist. 'I love her more than I had ever imagined such a thing to be possible.'

Avram's own eyes had moistened slightly and he embraced his friend. 'I know,' he said 'I know.'

Back in the here and now the door had opened and all of the men looked up, a range of emotions plastered over each face.

Ete emerged and went straight over to Dovid whose heart leapt as he saw that his sister in law had a serious expression on her face.

'Golde?' His first words and said in such a tone that Ete immediately felt her heart go out to him and hastened to reassure him

'She is fine, tired, resting ... and you have a son, also well.'

'Then what ...?' Dovid began but Ete cut him off.

'Dovid it was twins, but ... we lost ... another boy, I'm so sorry.' She started to weep.

He struggled to take it all in, his mind reeling and torn between relief, joy and anguish. Heavily he sat down on the bench and in moments he was surrounded by everyone. Each had some words of comfort or congratulations to say but it was all too much.

'Please, give him space.' Avram's words had their intended effect and Dovid was left alone as the others retreated across the room.

After a minute or so of sitting, head in hands, Dovid straightened up and stood. Turning to Ete he asked her if it were possible he could see his wife and child and when she nodded and turned, he followed her in to the birthing chamber.

Dovid Gilevic was 34 years old when he first held his son in his arms – it was a day that he had at one point never thought would come and nowhere in his darkest dreams had he imagined that at the same time his sheer utter joy would be accompanied by grief for the loss of a second son.

God had saved his wife and son as he had prayed for but at a price it seemed but this was God's way and having reconnected deeply with his faith over the last year or so, Dovid accepted that.

'What shall we name him?' a weak but smiling Golde had asked as she looked up at her big strong husband cradling the tiny bundle in his arms.

'Orcik,' Dovid replied returning his wife's smile. 'After my Grandfather.' Then he looked at the baby again 'Would you like that little Orca?'

The baby gurgled and his tiny hands waved in the air, finally finding purchase on one of his father's fingers, gripping it tightly and cooing contentedly. He was a happy looking baby although a little poorly after his recent arrival.

Dovid gently cradled the baby close to his chest and softly spoke into his son's ear. 'Sleep my son, rest and grow stronger and when you and Mama are well and recovered, I'm going to take you both to the Holy Land where we will be warm and free.'

The baby was drifting off to sleep now but his tiny fingers seemed to grip Dovid's finger tighter as if in response.