“You know,” Reuben said, staring at the rocky island covered in pine trees, a few scattered rooftops showing, “I think I went there on vacation with my family when I was a kid. I thought it was way out in the middle of nowhere. I never thought I’d be so happy to see it again. I am so sick of this boat and so sick of this ocean. And so sick of—”
“Don’t say it,” Levi interrupted. “I’ll admit I can be difficult to live with, and I’ll admit, too, that you are the first woman I’ve lived with for more than a month but—”
“You asshole,” she shouted. “Don’t you dare call what we’ve been through living together. You damn well better get your head clear; our Ken and Barbie days are over. We’d better get real serious real quick or we are going to spend the rest of our lives looking back fondly on this little sea voyage as we make license plates or break rocks or whatever it is they do in federal prisons.”
“I know all that. But, Debra… before it all changes, I want to tell you how much I respect you for what you are doing. I admit that you give a first impression like a Jewish-American princess, and I’ve seen my share of that form of royalty, but you know that I know what you did.”
Levi saw the dark cloud cross Reuben’s face, although he didn’t know whether it was the precursor to anger or tears. He quickly corrected himself.
“I mean, what you had to do before you left Israel. I was just trying to tell you that deep down, you are one of the toughest Jews I’ve ever come across, and I’ve seen some pretty tough Jews in Eretz Yisrael.”
She just nodded at him, perhaps in thanks.
“Time for some real navigation,” Levi said, trying to hide any hint of nervousness from his voice. He guided the boat down a wide bay between pine-covered islands, surrounded by other sailboats, fishing boats, lobster boats and scattered ferries. The GPS directed them toward their destination.
The boat rounded the lighthouse at the western end of the oddly-named Eggemoggin Reach. Levi steered down the center of the long, narrow channel, heading for the middle of the Deer Isle Bridge, with the town of Brooklin a few miles beyond.
“Okay,” Levi said. “We will be there in an hour. Remember, we are a lovely couple on vacation on our lovely sailboat. Use your best American when you talk to people. I’ll get us there. But once we get there, you are in charge. I assume, although you sure have not told me, that you’ve got this all planned out for after we arrive. You know what we are going to do, right? I expect that you have it all arranged for people to meet us and hide us and take care of us, right?
So, isn’t it about time you let me know the plans?”
Levi looked at Reuben expectantly. She shook her head.
“To be perfectly honest with you, I don’t have a clue what we are going to do. I’ll be goddamned happy to be home in America. Maybe I’ll call my mother and tell her I’m alive. Maybe I’ll forget about being the warrior queen of Israel and find some nice doctor to marry and move to Long Island and have a couple of kids. Maybe I’ll take you to McDonald’s. Maybe we’ll just, as you say, blend, maybe forever, maybe nice and quiet and blending will be what I do from now on. I’m so tired of excitement. All I know is that I want to get off this boat in the United States of America.”
Levi was silent, staring at the coast, at the huge summer cottages on the shore they sailed past, eyes on the sails, trimming them in and out as needed. After ten or so minutes of silence, while he struggled to come to terms with the realization that she had no secret plans for what they would do next, he looked into Debra Reuben’s eyes.
“Go ahead and rest, Debra. Eat your McDonald’s. But do not forget who we are. Do not forget what we left behind us. Do not forget a million dead Jews behind us. And, Debra, you want to blend? You want no excitement? Do not forget what is sitting inside that water tank, what you have been living with and I’ve been sleeping on. We can make more excitement than this country has ever seen, Debra. We have serious decisions to make, responsibilities. Debra, your family is here. I have no family.”
Levi paused, eyes closed.
“My family was there. You may be able to forget. I want to remember.”
In all their weeks alone together, Levi never mentioned having family in Israel. Reuben felt terrible to realize that she hadn’t ever thought to ask. He was right, she knew. She had responsibilities—to herself, to a million dead Jews, to the Land of Israel, to history. It was her responsibility, she knew, because history had, for some bizarre reason, given it to her. She also knew that she already had a place in history—a place called Damascus.
“You’re right. We have responsibilities,” she said. “And I agree. We blend, that’s our first job. Inconspicuous. Don’t stand out. Let’s enter America. And once we get there, we’ll figure out what happens next.”
The GPS indicated less than a mile to the harbor at Brooklin. Levi spotted a dozen sailboats swinging at moorings ahead and to the left. He dropped the sails, rolled them neatly over the boom and started the engine to motor into the harbor.
Inconspicuous, he thought. Don’t stand out.
The modern fiberglass sailboat puttered into Brooklin Harbor and anchored in the middle of the fleet of classic, white-painted wooden boats moored in front of a dock with a large sign declaring, Brooklin, Maine, home of WoodenBoat Magazine.
CHAPTER 19
Ben Shapiro listened to WBUR, one of Boston’s two National Public Radio stations, as he drove to his office wondering for the hundredth time why he bothered to pay for the upgraded sound system in his car when all he ever listened to was either news or talk stations. Mention of Boston on the national news broadcast caught his attention.
“President Quaid said he regrets having to take this action against American citizens in the Boston area,” the announcer reported. “Nonetheless, he said at last night’s midnight news conference that he refused to stand idly by while a virtual insurrection took place in New England that resulted in the deaths of ten American military personnel, and two additional federal officers last night.
“Those taken into custody in last night’s roundup included approximately seventeen hundred American citizens who harbored refugees from the two ships in Boston harbor, and an additional thirty-two hundred persons who fled the ships. Tragically, two federal agents were murdered last night when a man being arrested resisted and opened fire. The man was killed by the FBI. The names of the victims are being withheld.
“President Quaid said there are at least a thousand people from the two ships still at large. He said a manhunt on an unprecedented scale is in effect for those people and anybody harboring them.”
Shapiro was so distracted by this news that he swerved into the adjacent lane, correcting himself quickly.
“The president said he expects arrests to continue for the next few days. The midnight press conference was called with only thirty minutes’notice as word of the roundup spread through the Internet. The president said he expects to make further announcements during the day today.”
Shapiro turned down the volume on the radio and dialed his office. He first left voicemail messages for his partners telling them he’d be tied up at least all morning and didn’t know if he would be at the office at all. They would have to tap-dance him out of a ten o’clock deposition in an age discrimination case, call opposing counsel to reschedule. He wouldn’t be making friends by doing that, but Shapiro sensed where his priorities would be today, and for many following days.