by Wilbur Smith
‘There was nearly open war, David. It was a crazy thing that you and Joe did.’
David nodded. ‘I was mad. I wasn’t thinking straight – after Debra—’
Ellen interrupted quickly. ‘Yes, I know. Share another beer?’
David nodded distractedly. ‘How is she, Ella?’ It was the question he had wanted to ask all along.
‘She is just fine, Davey. She has begun the new book, and if anything it’s better than the first. I think she will become a very important writer—’
‘Her eyes? Is there any improvement?’
Ella shook her head. ‘She had come to terms with that now. It doesn’t seem to. bother her any longer, just as you will come to accept what has happened—’
David was not listening. ‘Ella, in all that time, when I was in hospital, every day I hoped – I knew it was useless, but I hoped to hear from her. A card, a word—’
‘She didn’t know, Davey.’
‘Didn’t know?’ David demanded and leaned across the table to grip Ella’s wrist. ‘What do you mean?’
‘After Joe – was killed, Debra’s father was very angry. He believed that you were responsible.’
David nodded, the blank mask of his face concealing his guilt.
‘Well, he told Debra that you had left Israel, and gone back to your home. We were all sworn to silence – and that’s what Debra believes now.’
David released Ella’s wrist, picked up his beer glass and sipped at the head of froth.
‘You still haven’t answered my question, David. What are you going to do now?’
‘I don’t know, Ella. I guess I’ll have to think about that.’
Aharsh warm wind came off the hills and ruffled the surfaces of the lake, darkening it to black and flecking it with white crests. The fishing boats along the curve of the shore tugged restlessly at their mooring ropes, and the fishing nets upon their drying racks billowed like bridal veils.
The wind caught Debra’s hair and shook it out in a loose cloud. It pressed the silk dress she wore against her body, emphasizing the heavy roundness of her breasts and the length of her legs.
She stood on the battlements of the crusader castle, leaning both hands lightly on the head of her cane, and she stared out across the water, almost as though she could see beyond it.
Ella sat near her, on a fallen block of masonry out of the wind, but she pinned her hat down with one hand as she spoke, watching Debra’s face intently to judge her reactions.
‘At the time it seemed the kindest thing to do. I agreed to keep the truth from you, because I did not want you to torture yourself—’
Debra spoke sharply. ‘Don’t ever do that again.’
Ella made a moue of resignation and went on. ‘I had no way of knowing how bad he was, they would not let me see him, and so I suppose I was a coward and let it drift.’
Debra shook her head angrily, but she remained silent. Ella wondered again that sightless eyes could contain so much expression, for Debra’s emotions blazed clearly in the honey-coloured sparks as she turned her head towards Ella.
‘It was not the time to distract you. Don’t you see, my dear? You were adjusting so nicely – working so well on your book. I did not see that we could gain anything by telling you. I decided to co-operate with your father – and see how things turned out later.’
‘Then why are you telling me all this now?’ Debra demanded. ‘What has happened to change your mind – what has happened to David?’
‘Yesterday at noon David was discharged from Hadassah Hospital.’
‘Hospital?’ Debra was puzzled. ‘You don’t mean he has been in hospital all this time, Ella? Nine months – it’s impossible!’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘He must have been terribly hurt,’ Debra’s anger had changed to concern. ‘How is he, Ella? What happened? Is he healed now?’
Ella was silent a moment, and Debra took a pace towards her. ‘Well?’ she asked.
‘David’s plane flamed out and he was very badly burned about the head. He has recovered completely now. His burns have healed – but—’
Ella hesitated again, and Debra groped for her hand and found it. ‘Go on, Ella! But—’
‘David is no longer the most beautiful man I have ever seen.’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘He is no longer swift and vital and – any woman who sees him now will find it difficult to be near him, let alone love him.’
Debra was listening intently, her expression rapt and her eyes soft-focused.
‘He is very conscious of the way he looks now. He is searching for some place to hide, I think. He talks of wanting to fly as though it is some form of escape. He knows he is alone now, cut off from the world by the mask he wears—’
Debra’s eyes had misted, and Ella made her gravelly voice gentler and she went on.
‘But there is someone who will never see that mask.’ Ella drew the girl closer to her. ‘Somebody who remembers only the way he was before.’ Debra’s grip tightened on Ella’s hand, and she began to smile – it was an expression that seemed to radiate from deep within her.
‘He needs you now, Debra,’ Ella said softly. That is all there is left for him. Will you change your decision now?’
‘Fetch him to me, Ella,’ Debra’s voice shook. ‘Fetch him to me as soon as you can.’
David climbed the long line of stairs towards Ella’s studio. It was a day of bright sunlight and he wore open sandals and light silk slacks of a bronze colour and a short-sleeved shirt with a wide V-neck. His arms were pale from lack of sun, the dark hair of his chest contrasting strongly against the soft cream – and upon his head he wore a wide-brimmed white straw hat to guard the cicatrice from the sun and to soften his face with shadow.
He paused, and he could feel the break of sweat under the shirt and the pumping of his lungs. He despised the weakness of his body and the quivering of his legs as he came out on the terrace. It was deserted, and he crossed to the shuttered doors and went into the gloom.
Ella Kadesh sitting on a Samarkand carpet in the centre of the paved floor was an astonishing sight. For she was dressed in a brief bikini costume adorned with pink roses that almost disappeared under the rolls of ponderous flesh that hung over it from belly and breast. She was in the yoga position of Padmasana, the sitting lotus, and her massive legs were twisted and entwined like mating pythons. Her hands were held before her palm to palm and her eyes were closed in meditation; upon her head her ginger wig was set four square like that of a judge.
David leaned in the doorway and before he could recover his breath he began to laugh. It began as a wheezy little chuckle, and then suddenly he was really laughing, from deep down – great gusts of it that shook his helpless body, and flogged his lungs. It was not mirth but a catharsis of the last dregs of suffering, it was the moment of accepting life again, a taking up once more of the challenge of living.
Ella must have recognized it as such, for she did not move, squatting like some cheerful Buddha on the brilliant carpet, and she opened one little eye. The effect was even more startlingly comic, and David reeled away from the door, and fell into one of the chairs.
‘Your soul is a desert, David Morgan,’ said Ella. ‘You have no recognition of beauty, all loveliness would wither on the dung heap which—’ But the rest of it was lost as she also began to giggle and the yoga pose broke down, melting like a jelly on a hot day, and she traded him hoot for hoot and bellow for bellow of laughter.
‘I’m stuck,’ she gasped at last. ‘Help me, Davey, you oaf—’ And he staggered to her, knelt and struggled to help her unlock her interwoven legs. They came apart with little creaking and popping sounds and Ella collapsed face down on the carpet groaning and giggling at the same time.
‘Get out of here,’ she moaned. ‘Leave me to die in peace. Go and find your woman, she is down on the jetty.’
She watched him go quickly, and then she dragged herself up and went to the door. T
he laughter dried up and she whispered aloud, ‘My two poor little crippled kittens – I wonder if I have done the right thing.’ The shadows of doubt crossed her face, and then faded. ‘Well, it’s too damn late for worry now, Kadesh, you interfering old bag, you should have thought about that before.’
A gaudily coloured towel and beach jacket were spread upon the jetty and a transistor radio, with its volume turned high, blared out a heavy rock tune. Far out in the bay Debra was swimming alone, a steady powerful overarm crawl. Her brown arms flashed wetly in the sun at each stroke and the water churned to froth at the beat of her legs.
She stopped to tread water. Her bathing cap was plain white, and he could see that she was listening for the sound of the radio for she began to swim again, heading directly in towards the jetty.
She came out of the water, pulling off the cap and shaking out her hair. Her body was dark, sun-browned and bejewelled with drops, the muscles looked firm and hard and her tread was confident and sure as she came up the stone steps and picked up her towel.
As she dried herself David stood near and watched her avidly, seeming to devour her with his eyes, trying to make up in that first minute for all those many months. He had pictured her so clearly, and yet there was much he had forgotten. Her hair was softer, cloudier than he remembered. He had forgotten the plasticity and lustre of her skin, it was darker also than it had been before – almost the colour of her eyes – she must have spent many hours each day in the sun. Suddenly and unaffectedly she threw her towel down and adjusted the top of her brief costume, pulling open the thin fabric and cupping one fat breast in her hand to settle it more comfortably, David felt his need for her so strongly that it seemed he could not contain it all within the physical bounds of his chest. He moved slightly and the gravel crunched softly under his shoes.
Instantly the lovely head turned towards him and froze in the attitude of listening. The eyes were wide open, intelligent and expressive, they seemed to look slightly to one side of him – and David had a powerful impulse to turn and glance behind him, following their steady gaze.
‘David?’ she asked softly. ‘Is that you, David?’
He tried to answer her, but his voice failed him and his reply was a small choking sound. She ran to him, swiftly and long-legged as a roused foal, with her arms reaching out and her face lighting with joy.
He caught her up, and she clung to him fiercely, almost angrily – as though she had been too long denied.
‘I’ve missed you, David.’ Her voice was fierce also. ‘Oh, God, you’ll never know how I have missed you,’ and she pressed her mouth to the stark gash in his mask of flesh.
This was the first human being who had treated him without reserve – without pity or revulsion – in all those months, and David felt his heart swell harder and his embrace was as fierce as hers.
She broke at last, leaning back to press her hips unashamedly against his, exulting in the hard thrustingness of his arousal, proud to have evoked it – and quickly, questioningly she ran her hands over his face, feeling the new contours and the unexpected planes and angles.
She felt him begin to pull away, but she stopped him and continued her examination.
‘My fingers tell me that you are still beautiful—’
‘You have lying fingers,’ he whispered, but she ignored his words, and pushed forward teasingly with her hips.
‘And I’m getting another very powerful message from further south.’ She gave a breathless little laugh. ‘Come with me, please, sir.’
Holding his hand, she ran lightly up the steps, dragging him after her. He was amazed at the agility and confidence with which she negotiated the climb. She drew him into the cottage and as he looked about him, quickly taking it all in, she closed and bolted the door. Immediately the room was cool and dim and intimate.
On the bed her body was still damp and cold from the lake, but her lips were hot as she strained against him urgently. The two beautiful young bodies meshed hungrily, almost as if they were attempting to find sanctuary within each other, desperately flesh sought haven within flesh, within each other’s encircling arms and legs they searched for and found surcease from the loneliness and the darkness.
The physical act of love, no matter how often repeated, was insufficient for their needs; even in the intervals between they clung desperately to each other; sleeping pressed together, they groped drowsily but anxiously for each other if the movements of sleep separated them for even an instant. They talked holding hands, she reaching up to touch his face at intervals, he staring into her golden eyes. Even when she prepared their simple meals, he stood close beside or behind her so that she could sway against him and feel him there. It was as though they lived in momentary dread of being once more separated.
It was two days before they left the sanctuary of the cottage and walked together along the lake shore or swam from the jetty and lay in the warm sun. But even when Ella looked down at them from the terrace and waved, David asked, ‘Shall we go up to her?’
‘No,’ Debra answered quickly. ‘Not yet. I’m not ready to share you with anybody else yet. Just a little while more, please, David.’
And it was another three days before they climbed the path to the studio. Ella had laid on one of her gargantuan lunches, but she had invited no other guests and they were grateful to her for that.
‘I thought I’d have to send down a party of stretcher-bearers to carry you up, Davey,’ Ella greeted him, with a lecherous chuckle.
‘Don’t be crude, Ella,’ Debra told her primly, flushing to a dark rose brown, and Ella let fly with one of her explosive bursts of mirth that was so contagious they must follow it.
They sat beneath the palm trees and drank wine from the earthenware jugs, and ate hugely, laughing and talking without restraint, David and Debra so involved with each other that they were not aware of Ella’s shrewdly veiled appraisal.
The change in Debra was dramatic, all the coolness and reserve were gone now, the armour in which she had clad her emotions was stripped away. She was vital and eager and blooming with love.
She sat close beside David, laughing with delight at his sallies, and leaning to touch and caress him, as though to reassure herself of his presence.
Ella glanced again at David, trying to smile naturally at him, but guiltily aware of the sneaking sensation of repulsion she still felt – repulsion and aching pity – when she looked at that monstrous head. She knew that if she saw it every day for twenty years, it would still disturb her.
Debra laughed again at something David had said and turned her face to him, offering her mouth with a touching innocence.
‘What a terrible thing to say,’ she laughed. ‘I think a gesture of contrition is called for,’ and responded eagerly as the great ravaged head bent to her and the thin slit of a mouth touched hers.
It was disquieting to see the lovely dark face against that mask of ruined flesh, and yet it was also strangely moving.
‘It was the right thing. For once I did the right thing,’ Ella decided, watching them, and feeling a vague envy. These two were bound together completely, made strong by their separate afflictions. Before it had been a mutual itching of the flesh, a chance spark struck from two minds meeting, but now it was something that transcended that.
Ella recalled regretfully a long line of lovers stretching back to the shadowy edges of her memory, receding images which seemed unreal now. If only there had been something to bind her to one of those, if only she had been left with something more valuable than half – remembered words and faded memories of brief mountings and furtive couplings. She sighed, and they looked at her questioningly.
‘A sad sound, Ella, darling,’ Debra said. ‘We are selfish, please forgive us.’
‘Not sad, my children,’ Ella denied hotly, scattering the old phantoms of her memory. ‘I am happy for you. You have something very wonderful – strong and bright and wonderful. Protect it as you would your life.’
She took up her
wine glass. ‘I give you a toast. I give you David and Debra – and a love made invincible by suffering.’ And they were serious for a moment while they drank the toast together in golden yellow wine, sitting in golden yellow sunlight, then the mood resumed and they were gay once more.
Once the first desperate demands of their bodies had been met, once they had drawn as close together as physical limits would allow, then they began a coupling of the spirit. They had never really spoken before, even when they had shared the house on Malik Street they had used only the superficial word symbols.
Now they began learning really to talk. Some nights they did not sleep but spent the fleeting hours of darkness in exploring each other’s minds and bodies, and they delighted to realize that this exploration would never be completed – for the areas of their minds were boundless.
During the day the blind girl taught David to see. He found that he had never truly used his eyes before, and now that he must see for both of them he had to learn to make the fullest use of his sight. He must learn to describe colour and shape and movement accurately and incisively, for Debra’s demands were insatiable.
In turn, David, whose own confidence had been shattered by his disfigurement, taught confidence to the girl. She learned to trust him implicitly as he grew to anticipate her needs. She learned to step out boldly beside him, knowing that he would guide or caution her with a light touch or a world. Her world had shrunk to the small area about the cottage and the jetty within which she could find her way surely. Now with David beside her, her frontiers fell back and she was free to move wherever she chose.
Yet they ventured out together only cautiously at first, wandering along the lakeside together or climbing the hills towards Nazareth, and each day they swam in the green lake waters and each night they made love in the curtained alcove.
David grew hard and lean and sun-tanned again, and it seemed they were complete for when Ella asked, ‘Debra, when are you going to make a start on the new book?’ she laughed and answered lightly: