Eagle in the Sky - Smith Wilbur - Страница 33

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sighed, and looked up slowly.  Have you told her?  and Edelman could not

hold his gaze.  I was rather hoping that you would do that.  Yes, the

Brig nodded, it would be best that way.  Can I see her now?  Is she

awake?  She is under light sedation.  No pain, only a small amount of

discomfort, the external wound is insignificant, and we shall not

attempt to remove the metal fragment.  That would entail major

neurosurgery.  He stood up and indicated the door.  Yes, you may see her

now.  I will take you to her.  The corridor outside the row of emergency

theatres was lined along each wall with stretchers, and the Brig

recognized many of his guests laid out upon them.  He stopped briefly to

speak with one or two of them, before following Edelman to the recovery

room at the end of the corridor.

Debra lay on the tall bed below the window.  She was very pale, dry

blood was still clotted in her hair and a thick cotton wool and bandage

dressing covered both her eyes.

Your father is here, Miss Mordecai, Edelman told I her, and she rolled

her head swiftly towards them.

Daddy?  I am here, my child.  The Brig took the hand she held out, and

stooped to kiss her.  Her lips were cold, and she smelled strongly of

disinfectant and anaesthetic.

Mama?  she asked anxiously.

She is out of danger, the Brig assured her, but Hannah Yes.  They told

me, Debra stopped him, her voice choking.  Is Joe all right?

He is strong, the Brig said.  He will be all right David?  she asked.

He is here.

Eagerly she struggled up on to one elbow, her face lighting with

expectation, the heavily bound eyes turned blindly seeking.

David, she called, where are you?  Damn this bandage.  Don't worry,

David, it's just to rest my eyes.

No, the Brig restrained her with a hand on her arm.  He is outside,

waiting, and she slumped with disappointment.

Ask him to come to me, please, she whispered.

Yes, said the Brig, in a while, but first there is something we must

talk about, something I have to tell you.

She must have guessed what it was, she must have been warned by the tone

of his voice for she went very still.  That peculiar stillness of hers,

like a frightened animal of the veld.

He was a soldier, with a soldier's blunt ways, and although he tried to

soften it, yet even his tone was roughened with his own sorrow, so that

it came out brutally.  Her hand in his was the only indication that she

had heard him, it spasmed convulsively like a wounded thing and then lay

still, a small tense hand in the circle of his big bony fist.

She asked no questions and when he had done they sat quietly together

for a long time.  He spoke first.

I will send David to you now, he said, and her response was swift and

vehement.

No.  She gripped his hand hard.  No, I can't meet him now.  I have to

think about this first.

The Brig went back to the waiting-room and David stood up expectantly,

the pure lines of his face seemingly carved from pale polished marble,

and the dark blue of his eyes in deep contrast.

The Brig forestalled him harshly.  No visitors.  He took David's arm.

You will not be allowed to see her until tomorrow.

Is something wrong?  What is it?  David tried to pull away, but the Brig

held him and steered him towards the door.

Nothing is wrong.  She will be all right, but she must have no

excitement now.  You'll be able to see her tomorrow.

They buried Hannah that evening in the family plot on the Mountain of

Olives.  It was a small funeral party attended by the three men and a

mere handful of relatives, many of whom had others to mourn from the

previous day's slaughter.

There was an official car waiting to take the Brig to a meeting of the

high command, where retaliatory measures would certainly be discussed,

another revolution in the relentless wheel of violence that rolled

across the troubled land.

Joe and David climbed into the Mercedes and sat silently, David making

no effort to start the engine.  Joe lit cigarettes for them, and they

both felt drained of purpose and direction.

What are you going to do now?  David asked him.  We had two weeks, Joe

answered him.  We were going down to Ashkelon, his voice trailed off.  I

don't know.  There isn't anything to do now, is there?  Shall we go and

have a drink somewhere?  Joe shook his head.  I don't feel like

drinking, he said.  I think I'll go back to base.  They are flying night

interceptions tonight.

Yes, David agreed quickly, I'll come with you.  He could not see Debra

until tomorrow, and the house on Malik Street would be lonely and cold.

Suddenly he longed for the peace of the night heavens.

The moon was a brightly curved Saracen blade against the soft darkness

of the sky, and the stars were fat and silver and gemlike in their

clarity.

They flew high above the earth, remote from its grief and sorrow,

wrapped in the isolation of flight and lost in the ritual and

concentration of night interception.

The target was a Mirage of their own squadron, and they picked it up on

the scanner far out over the Negev.

Joe locked on to it and called the track and range while David searched

for and at last spotted the moving star of the target's jet blast,

burning redly against the velvety blackness of the night.

He took them in on a clean interception creeping up under the target's

belly and then pulling steeply up past its wing-tip, the way a barracuda

goes for the lure from below and explodes out through the surface of the

sea.

They shot past so close that the target Mirage broke wildly away to

port, unaware of their presence until that moment.

Joe slept that night, exhausted with grief, but David lay in the bunk

beneath him and listened to him.  In the dawn he rose and showered and

left Joe still asleep.  He drove into Jerusalem and reached the hospital

just as the sun came up and lit the hills with its rays of soft gold and

pearly pink.

The night sister at the desk was brusque and preoccupied.  You shouldn't

be here until visiting hours this afternoon, but David smiled at her

with all the charm he could muster.

I just wanted to know if she is doing well.  I have to rejoin my

squadron this morning.  The sister was not immune either to his smile or

the airforce uniform, and she went to consult her lists.

You must be mistaken, she said at last.  'The only Mordecai we have is

Mrs. Ruth Mordecai.  That's her mother, David told her, and the sister

flipped the sheet on her clipboard.

No wonder I couldn't find it, she muttered irritably.  She was

discharged last night Discharged?  David stared at her

uncomprehendingly.

Yes, she went home last night.  I remember her now.

Her father came to fetch her just as I came on duty.

Pretty girl with eye bandages - Yes, David nodded.  Thank you.  Thank

you very much, and he ran down the steps to the Mercedes, his feet light

with relief, freed at last from the gnawing doubt and dread.

Debra had gone home.  Debra was safe and well.

The Brig opened the door to him, and let him into the silent house.  He

was still in his uniform, and it was wilted and rumpled.  The Brig's

face was fine-drawn, the lines crudely chiselled around his mouth, and

his eyes were swollen and bloodshot from worry and sorrow and lack of

sleep.

Where is Debra?  David demanded eagerly, and the Brig sighed and stood

aside for him to enter.

Where is she?  David repeated, and the Brig led him to his study and

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