Eagle in the Sky - Smith Wilbur - Страница 38

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He had dripped water down his tunic and this annoyed him.  He threw the

towel over the toilet seat and went back into the living-room.

The woman was gone.  The leather couch still carried the indentation of

her backside, and the dirty plates were on the olive-wood table.  The

air was thick with cigarette smoke and her perfume.

Where are you?  he called thickly, swaying slightly in the doorway.

Here, big boy.  He went to the bedroom.  She lay on the bed, naked,

plump and white with huge soft breasts and swelling belly.  He stared at

her.

Come on, Davey.  Her clothing was thrown across the dressing-table, and

he saw that her corsets were grey and unwashed.  Her hair was yellow

against the soft ivory lacework.

Come to Mama, she whispered hoarsely, opening her limbs languidly in

invitation.  She was spread upon the brass bed, upon the lace cover

which had been Debra's and David felt his anger surge within him.  Get

up, he said, slurring his words.  Come on, baby.  Get off that bed, his

voice tightened and she heard the tone and sat up with mild alarm.  What

is it, Davey?  Get out of here, his voice was rising sharply.  Get out,

you bitch.  Get out of here!  He was shaking now, his face pale and his

eyes savage blue.

Quivering with panic, she climbed hurriedly from the bed, the great

white breasts and buttocks wobbling with ridiculous haste as she stuffed

them into the grey corset.

When she had gone, David went through into the bathroom and vomited into

the toilet bowl.  Then he cleaned the house, scouring pans and plates,

polishing the glasses until they shone, emptying the ashtrays, opening

the shutters to blow out the stench of cigarette and perfume, and

finally, going through into the bedroom, he stripped and remade the bed

with fresh sheets and smoothed the lace cover carefully until not a

crease or wrinkle showed.

He put on a clean tunic and his uniform cap, and drove to the Jaffa

gate.  He parked the car in the lot outside the gate and walked through

the old city to the reconstructed Sephardic synagogue in the Jewish

quarter.

It was very quiet and peaceful in the high-domed hall and he sat a long

time on the hard wooden bench.

Joe sat opposite David with a worried expression creasing his deep

forehead as he studied the board.  Three or four of the other pilots had

hiked their chairs up and were concentrating on the game also.  These

chessboard conflicts between David and Joe were usually epics and

attracted a partisan audience.

David had been stalking Joe's rook for half a dozen moves and now he had

it trapped.  Two more moves would shatter the kingsize defence, and the

third must force a resignation.  David grinned smugly as Joe reached a

decision and moved a knight out.

That's not going to save you, dear boy, David hardly glanced at the

knight, and he hit the rook with a white bishop.  Mate in five, he

predicted, as he dropped the castle into the box, and then, too late, he

realized that Joe's theatrical expression of anguish had slowly faded

into a beatific grin.  Joseph Mordecai used any deception to bait his

traps, and David looked with alarm at the innocuous-seeming knight,

suddenly seeing the devious plotting in which the castle was merely

bait.

Oh, you bastard, David moaned.  You sneaky bastard Check!  Joe gloated

as he put the knight into a forked attack, and David had to leave his

queen exposed to the horseman.

Check, said Joe again with an ecstatic little sigh as he lifted the

white queen off the board, and again the harassed king took the only

escape route open to him.

And mate, sighed Joe again as his own queen left the back file to join

the attack.  Not in five, as you predicted, but in three.  There was a

loud outburst of congratulation and applause from the onlookers and Joe

cocked an eye at David.

Again?  he asked, and David shook his head.

Take on one of these other patsies, he said.  I'm going to sulk for an

hour.  'He vacated his seat and it was filled by another eager victim as

Joe reset the board.  David crossed to the coffee machine, moving

awkwardly in the grip of his G-suit, and drew a mug of the thick black

liquid, stirred in four spoons of sugar and found another seat in a

quieter corner of the crew-room beside a slim curly-beaded young

kibbutznik, with whom David had become friendly.  He was reading a thick

novel.  Shalom, Robert.  How you been?  Robert grunted without looking

up from his book, and David sipped the sweet hot coffee.  Beside him,

Robert moved restlessly in his seat and coughed softly, David was lost

in his own thoughts, for the first time in months thinking of home,

wondering about Mitzi and Barney Venter, wondering if the yellowtail

were running hot in False Bay this season, and remembering how the

proteas looked upon the mountains of the Helderberg.

Again Robert stirred in his chair and cleared his throat.  David glanced

at him, realized that he was in the grip of a deep emotion as he read,

his lips quivering, and his eyes too bright.

What are you reading?  David was amused, and he leaned forward to read

the title.  The picture on the dust jacket of the book was instantly

familiar.  It was a deeply felt desert landscape of fierce colours and

great space.

Two distant figures, man and woman, walked hand in hand through the

desert and the effect was mystic and haunting.  David realized that only

one person could have painted that, Ella Kadesh.

Robert lowered the book.  This is uncanny, his voice was muffled with

emotion.  I tell you, Davey, it's beautiful.  It must be one of the most

beautiful books ever written.

With a strange feeling of pre-knowledge, with a sense of complete

certainty, of what it would be, David took the book out of his hands and

turned it to read the title, A Place of Our Own.

Robert was still talking.  My sister made me read it.

She works for the publisher.  She cried all night when she read it.  it

is very new, only published last week, but it's got to be the biggest

book ever written about this country.

David hardly heard him, he was staring at the writer's name in small

print below the title.

Debra Mordecai.

He ran his fingers lightly over the glossy paper of the jacket, stroking

the name.

I want to read it, he said softly.

I'll let you have it when I'm finished, Robert promised.  I want to read

it now!

No way!  Robert exclaimed with evident alarm, and almost snatched the

book out of David's hands.  You wait your turn, comrade!

David looked up.  Joe was watching him from across the room, and David

glared at him accusingly.  Joe dropped his eyes quickly to the

chessboard again, and David realized that he had known of the

publication.  He started up to go to him, to challenge him, but at the

moment the tannoy echoed through the bunker.

All flights Lance Squadron to red standby, and on the readiness board

the red lamps lit beside the flight designations.  Bright Lance.  Red

Lance.  Fire Lance.  David snatched up his flying helmet and joined the

lumbering rush of G-suited bodies for the electric personnel carrier in

the concrete tunnel outside the crewroom door.  He forced a place for

himself beside Joe.  Why didn't you tell me?  'he demanded.  I was going

to, Davey, I really was.

Yeah, I bet, David snapped sarcastically.  Have you read it?  Joe

nodded, and David went on, What's it about?" "I couldn't begin to tell

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