Eagle in the Sky - Smith Wilbur - Страница 30

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carrying a burning candle, and the Rabbi chanted a blessing as the women

and the bride circled Joe seven times in a magical circle which in olden

times would serve to ward off evil spirits.  At last bride and groom

stood side by side, facing towards the site of the Temple with the

guests and witnesses pressed closely about them and the ceremony proper

began.

The Rabbi spoke the benediction over a goblet of wine from which bride

and groom both drank.  Then Joe turned to Hannah, her face still veiled,

and he placed the plain gold ring upon her right forefinger.

Behold you are consecrated unto me by this ring, according to the law of

Moses and Israel.  Then Joe broke the glass under his heel and the sharp

crunch was a signal for an outburst of music and song and gaiety.  David

left Joe's side and worked his way through the joyous crowd of guests to

where Debra waited for him.

She wore a gown of yellow and she had fresh flowers in the dark sheen of

her hair.  David smelled their perfume as he hugged her surreptitiously

about the waist and whispered in her ear, You next, my beauty!  and she

whispered back, Yes, please!  Joe took Hannah on his arm, and then went

to the improvised dance floor.  The band began with a light bouncy tune

and all the younger ones flocked to join them, while the elders spread

out at the tables beneath the palm-decked trellis.

Yet amongst all the laughter and the gaiety, the uniforms added a sombre

touch; almost every second man was adorned with the trappings of war,

and at the garden gate and the entrance to the kitchens were uniformed

paratrooper guards each with an Uzzi submachine-gun slung at his

shoulder.  It was easy to pick out the secret service men.  They were

the ones in civilian clothes who moved without smiling, alert and

vigilant, amongst the guests.

David and Debra danced together, and she was so light and warm and

strong in his arms that when the band paused for breath he resented it.

He led her to a quiet corner, and they stood together, discussing the

other guests in the most disrespectful terms until Debra giggled at some

particularly outrageous remark and struck his arm lightly.

You are terrible.  She leaned against him.  I'm dying of thirst, won't

you get me something to drink?

A glass of cold white wine?  he suggested.

Lovely, she said, smiling up into his face.  For a moment they studied

each other, and suddenly David felt something dark welling up from

within him, a terrible despair, a premonition of impending loss.  It was

a physical thing and he could feel the chill of it enclose his chest and

squeeze out all the happiness and the joy.

What is it, David?  Her own expression altered in sympathy with his, and

she tightened her grip on his arm.

Nothing.  Abruptly he pulled away from her, trying to fight off the

feeling.  It's nothing, he repeated, but it was still strong in his

belly and he felt a wave of nausea from it.  I'll get you the wine, he

said and turned away.

He made his way towards the bar, pushing gently through the throng.  The

Brig caught his eye and smiled bleakly across the garden at him.  Joe

was with his father and he called to David, laughing, with one arm

around his bride.  Hannah had her veil pushed up and her freckles were

beginning to emerge from under the makeup, glowing vividly against the

snow-white lace.  David waved at them but went on towards the open-air

bar at the end of the garden, the mood of sadness was still on him and

he didn't want to talk to Joe now.

So he was cut off from Debra at the moment when, with a flourish, a

procession of white-jacketed waiters came in through the iron gate of

the garden.  Each of them carried a huge copper salver from which, even

in the warm sun, rose tendrils of steam, and the odour of meat and fish

and spices filled the garden.  There were gasps and cries of

appreciation from the guests.

A way opened for them towards the high table on the raised terrace which

led to the kitchen doors and the house.

The procession of waiters passed close to David, and suddenly his

attention was drawn from the display of fine food to the face of the

second waiter in line.  He was a man of medium height and ark

complexion, a mahogany face with a thickly drooping mustache.

He was sweating.  That was what had drawn David's attention, his face

was shiny with sweat.  Droplets clung in his mustache and slid down his

cheeks.  The white jacket was sodden at the armpits as he lifted the

gigantic platter on high.

At the moment that he drew level with David their eyes met for an

instant.  David realized that the man was in the grip of some deep

emotion, fear, perhaps, or exhilaration.  Then the waiter seemed to

become aware of David's scrutiny and his eyes slid nervously away.

David felt suspicion begin to chill his arms as the three figures

climbed the stone stairs, and filed behind the table.

The waiter glanced again at David, saw that his gaze was still locked

upon his face, and then he said something out of the corner of his mouth

to one of his companions.  He also glanced at David, and caught his

stare, and his expression was sufficient to send alarm flaring urgently

through David's chest and brain.  Something was happening, something

dangerous and ugly, he was certain of it.  .  Wildly he looked about for

the guards.  There were two of them on the terrace behind the line of

waiters, and one near David beside the gate.

David shoved his way desperately towards him, mindless of the outraged

comments of those in his way.  He was watching the three waiters and so

he saw it begin to happen.

It had obviously been carefully rehearsed, for as the three waiters

placed the salvers upon the table to the laughter and applause of the

guests crowded in the garden below them, so they drew back the sheet's

of plastic on which a tin display of food had been arranged to cover the

deadly load that each copper salver carried.

The brown-faced waiter lifted a machine pistol from under the plastic

sheet, and turned swiftly to fire a traversing burst into the two

paratroopers behind him at point-blank range.  The clattering thunder of

automatic fire was deafening in the walled garden, and the stream of

bullets slashed through the bellies of the two guards like a monstrous

cleaver, almost cutting them in half.

The waiter on David's left was a wizened monkeyfaced man, with bright

black berries for eyes.  He, too, lifted a machine pistol from his

salver, and he crouched over it and fired a burst at the paratrooper by

the gate.

They were going for the guards, taking them out first.

The pistol shook and roared in his fists, and the bullets socked into

human flesh with a rubbery thumping sound.

The guard had cleared his Uzzi, and was trying to aim as a bullet hit

him in the mouth and snapped his head back, his paratrooper beret

spinning high into the air.

The machine-gun flew from his arms as he fell, and it slid across the

tiles towards David.  David dropped flat below the stone steps of the

terrace as the Arab gunners turned their pistols on the wedding crowd,

hosing the courtyard with a triple stream of bullets, and unleashing a

hurricane of screams and shouts and desperate cries to join the roar of

the guns.

Across the yard, a security agent had the pistol out of his shoulder

holster and he dropped into the marksman crouch, holding the pistol with

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