War and Remembrance by Herman Wouk

drove off. Mounting the gangplank, Jastrow spread his arms under the blue cloak. “Well, my dear! I have returned, you see.”
    “Thank God for that.”
    “Yes. Now let’s have a talk with Rabinovitz.”
    “Sure you don’t want your nap first?”
    “I’m not sleepy.”
    The Palestinian, in his greasy coveralls, opened the cabin door to their knock. The little room smelled strongly of sweat, grease, and cigarette ashes. Jastrow blinked at the pinups of naked women. “Please sit down,” Rabinovitz said. “I’ll have to get rid of those pretty ladies. I don’t notice them, but everybody else does. So. I’m very glad you’re back. You have guts. Was it an interesting lunch?”
    “Rather.” Jastrow sat stiffly in the desk chair, Natalie on a stool beside him. “To begin with, your Turkish captain betrayed you. He told the coast guard that you would try a clandestine departure. That’s why you were caught. So Werner says.”
    Rabinovitz nodded, his face sour. “I thought as much. We can’t charter another vessel, so I have to forget it — for the time being.”
    “The Turk also reported our arrival aboard last week. The harbor master decided to notify the OVRA in Rome, and clear up this matter of fugitive Americans, before letting you go. Hence the week’s delay.”
    “Well. So it all fits together.” Rabinovitz was clenching and unclenching clasped fingers in his lap. “What about our leaving tomorrow?”
    “Yes, he says you will. Now, about that.” Jastrow’s tone sharpened. “Was this vessel formerly called the
Izmir?”
    “It’s the
Izmir.
“
    “Were you recently checked for seaworthiness?”
    “A port inspector came to verify our certificate, yes.”
    “Werner says he appended a page of comment. You’re overcrowded and overloaded. The added tanks topside have dangerously decreased your stability. In a panic, if the passengers all rush to one side, this vessel may actually capsize. Is that correct?”
    “They’re a disciplined group,” Rabinovitz said very tiredly. “They won’t panic.”
    “Your food, water, and sanitary facilities are acutely substandard,” Jastrow went on. “Of course, Natalie and I have already observed that. Medical facilities are poor. The engine is thirty-five years old. Its log shows several recent breakdowns. You’re certified only for coastal waters, not for the open sea.”
    Rabinovitz’s tone turned acid. “Did you mention that we Jews have to accept such risks so as to escape German persecution?”
    “Almost in those words. He didn’t like it. But he said that if Palestine had been under a German mandate, most of Europe’s Jews would have been sent there long since in seaworthy vessels. Your use of a floating death trap like this is due to Allied, not German, policy. England’s closed Palestine off so as to win over the Arabs — a silly gesture, since they’re heart and soul for Hitler. America has shut its gates. So your organization, which he knows all about, must try to smuggle refugees into Palestine, in derelicts like the
Izmir.
“
    “Yes, the Nazis are ardent Zionists,” said Rabinovitz. “We know that.”
    Jastrow took an envelope from an inside breast pocket. “Now, here are the Italian police regulations for American internees. They’re being sent to Siena to await exchange. As it happens, my home is in Siena. My staff is still living there.”
    Rabinovitz glanced through the mimeographed sheets, his eyes sad and dull.
    “Those regulations could be faked,” Natalie exclaimed.
    “They’re real.” Rabinovitz handed the sheets to her. “So, does that settle it? Are you two getting off and going to Siena?”
    “I told Werner,” Jastrow replied, “that it’s up to Natalie. If she sails with you, I’ll sail. If she elects to return to Siena, I’ll do that.”
    “I see. Very nice.” With a brief shift of his eyes to Natalie, who sat pale and still, Rabinovitz asked, “What did Dr. Beck say to that?”
    “Well, as a