Eagle in the Sky

by Wilbur Smith

  Instantly there was a hand in hers, a strong hard familiar hand, and his voice, dearly beloved, reassuring and firm.

  ‘David,’ she cried with relief.

  ‘Quietly, my darling. You must rest.’

  ‘David. David.’ She heard the sob in her own voice as new torrents of colour poured over her, insupportable in their richness and variety, overwhelming in their depth and range.

  ‘I’m here, my darling. I’m here.’

  ‘What’s happening to me, David? What’s happening?’

  ‘You are all right. The operation was a success. You are just fine.’

  ‘Colours,’ she cried. ‘Filling my whole head. I’ve never known it like this.’

  ‘It’s the result of the operation. It shows that it was a success. They removed the growth.’

  ‘I’m frightened, David.’

  ‘No, my darling. There is nothing to be afraid of.’

  ‘Hold me, David. Hold me safe.’ And in the circle of his arms the fear abated, and slowly she learned to ride the oceanic waves and washes of colour, came gradually to accept and then at last to look upon them with wonder and with intense pleasure.

  ‘It’s beautiful, David. I’m not frightened any more, not with you holding me. It’s wonderful.’

  ‘Tell me what you see,’ he said.

  ‘I couldn’t. It’s impossible. I couldn’t find the words.’

  ‘Try!’ he said.

  David was alone in the suite, and it was after midnight when the call that he had placed to New York came through.

  ‘This is Robert Dugan, to whom am I speaking?’ Bobby’s voice was crisp and businesslike.

  ‘It’s David Morgan.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Debra Mordecai’s husband.’

  ‘Well, hello there, David.’ The agent’s voice changed, becoming expansive. ‘It’s sure nice to talk to you. How is Debra?’ It was obvious that Dugan’s interest in David began and ended with his wife.

  That’s why I am calling. She’s had an operation and she’s in hospital at the moment.’

  ‘God! Not serious, is it?’

  ‘She’s going to be fine. She’ll be up in a few days and ready for work in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, David. That’s great.’

  ‘Look here, I want you to go ahead and set up that scriptwriting contract for A Place of Our Own.’

  ‘She’s going to do it?’ Dugan’s pleasure carried six thousand miles with no diminution.

  ‘She’ll do it now.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news, David.’

  ‘Write her a good contract.’

  ‘Depend on it, boyo. That little girl of yours is a hot property. Playing hard to get hasn’t done her any harm, I tell you!’

  ‘How long will the script job last?’

  ‘They’ll want her for six months,’ Dugan guessed. ‘The producer who will do it is making a movie in Rome right now. He’ll probably want Debra to work with him there.’

  ‘Good,’ said David. ‘She’ll like Rome.’

  ‘You coming with her, David?’

  ‘No,’ David answered carefully. ‘No, she’ll be coming on her own.’

  ‘Will she be able to get by on her own?’ Dugan sounded worried.

  ‘From now on she’ll be able to do everything on her own.’

  ‘Hope you are right,’ Dugan was dubious.

  ‘I’m right.’ David told him abruptly. ‘One other thing. That lecture tour, is it still on?’

  They are beating the door down. Like I said, she’s hotter than a pistol.’

  ‘Set it up for after the script job.’

  ‘Hey, David boy. This is the business. Now we are really cooking with gas. We are going to make your little girl into one very big piece of property.’

  ‘Do that,’ said David. ‘Make her big. Keep her busy, you hear. Don’t give her time to think.’

  ‘I’ll keep her busy.’ Then as though he had detected something in David’s voice. ‘Is something bugging you, David? You got some little domestic problem going there, boy? You want to talk about it?’

  ‘No, I don’t want to talk about it. You just look after her. Look after her well.’

  ‘I’ll look after her,’ Dugan’s tone had sobered. ‘And David—’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ David had to end the conversation then, immediately. His hand was shaking so that he knocked the telephone from the table and the plastic cracked through. He left it lying and went out into the night. He walked alone through the sleeping city, until just before the morning he was weary enough to sleep.

  The streams of colour settled to steady runs and calmly moving patterns, no longer the explosive bursts of brightness that had so alarmed her. After the grey shifting banks of blindness that had filled her head like dirty cotton wool for those long years, the new brightness and beauty served to buoy her spirits, and after the main discomfort of her head surgery had passed in the first few days, she was filled with a wondrous sense of wellbeing, a formless optimistic expectation, such as she had not experienced since she was a child anticipating the approach of a long-awaited holiday.

  It was as though in some deep recess of her subconscious she was vaguely aware of the imminent return of her sight. However, the knowledge seemed not to have reached her conscious mind. She knew there was a change, she welcomed her release from the dark and sombre dungeons of nothingness into the new brightness, but she did not realize that there was more to come, that after colour and fantasy would follow shape and reality.

  Each day David waited for her to say something that might show that she had realized that her sight was on the way back; he hoped for and at the same time dreaded this awareness – but it did not come.

  He spent as much of each day with her as hospital routine would allow, and he hoarded each minute of it, doling out time like a miser paying coins from a diminishing hoard. Yet Debra’s ebullient mood was infectious, and he could not help but laugh with her and share the warm excitement as she anticipated her release from the hospital and their return together to the sanctuary of Jabulani.

  There were no doubts in her mind, no shadows across her happiness, and gradually David began to believe that it would last. That their happiness was immortal and that their love could survive any pressure placed upon it. It was so strong and fine when they were together now, carried along by Debra’s bubbling enthusiasm, that surely she could regain her sight and weather the first shock of seeing him.

  Yet he was not sure enough to tell her yet, there was plenty of time. Two weeks, Ruby Friedman had told him, two weeks before she would be able to see him and it was vitally important to David that he should extract every grain of happiness that was left to him in that time.

  In the lonely nights he lay with the frantic scurryings of his brain keeping him from sleep. He remembered that the plastic surgeon had told him there was more they could do to make him less hideous. He could go back and submit to the knife once more, although his body cringed at the thought, Perhaps they could give Debra something less horrifying to look at.

  The following day he braved the massed stares of hundreds of shoppers to visit Stuttafords Departmental Store in Adderley Street. The girl in the wig department, once she had recovered her poise, took him into a curtained-off cubicle and entered into the spirit of finding a wig to cover the domed cicatrice of his scalp.

  David regarded the fine curly head of hair over the frozen ruins of his face, and for the first time ever he found himself laughing at it, although the effect of laughter was even more horrifying as the tight lipless mouth writhed like an animal in a trap.

  ‘God!’ he laughed. ‘Frankenstein in drag!’ and for the sales girl who had been fighting to control her emotions this was too much. She broke into hysterical giggles of embarrassment.

  He wanted to tell Debra about it, making a joke of it and at the same time prepare
her for her first sight of his face, but somehow he could not find the words. Another day passed with nothing accomplished, except a few last hours of warmth and happiness shared.

  The following day Debra began to show the first signs of restlessness. ‘When are they going to let me out, darling? I feel absolutely wonderful. It’s ridiculous to lie in bed here. I want to get back to Jabulani – there is so much to do.’ Then she giggled. ‘And they’ve had me locked up here ten days now. I’m not used to convent life, and to be completely honest with you, my big lusty lover, I am climbing the wall—’

  ‘We could lock the door,’ David suggested.

  ‘God, I married a genius,’ Debra cried out delightedly, and then later, ‘That’s the first time it ever happened for me in Technicolor. I think I could get hooked on that.’

  That evening Ruby Friedman and the Brig were waiting for him when he returned to his suite, and they came swiftly to the reason for their visit.

  ‘You have already left it too long. Debra should have been told days ago,’ the Brig told him sternly.

  ‘He is right, David. You are being unfair to her. She must have time to come to terms, latitude for adjustment.’

  ‘I’ll tell her when I get the opportunity,’ David muttered doggedly.

  ‘When will that be?’ the Brig demanded, the gold tooth glowing angrily in its furry nest.

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘David,’ Ruby was placatory, ‘it could happen at any time now. She has made strong and vigorous progress, it could happen much sooner than I expected.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said David. ‘Can’t you stop pushing me? I said I’ll do it – and I will. Just get off my back, won’t you.’

  ‘Right.’ The Brig was brisk now. ‘You’ve got until noon tomorrow. If you haven’t told her by then, I’m going to do it.’

  ‘You’re a hard old bastard, aren’t you,’ David said bitterly, and anger paled the Brig’s lips and they could see the effort he made to force it down.

  ‘I understand your reluctance.’ He spoke carefully. ‘I sympathize. However, my first and only concern is for Debra. You are indulging yourself, David. You are wallowing in self-pity, but I am not going to allow that to hurt her more. She has had enough. No more delay. Tell her, and have done.’

  ‘Yes,’ David nodded, all the fight gone out of him. ‘I will tell her.’

  ‘When?’ the Brig persisted.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said David. ‘I will tell her tomorrow morning.’

  It was a bright warm morning, and the garden below his room was gay with colour. David lingered over breakfast in his suite, and he read all of the morning papers from end to end, drawing out the moment to its utmost. He dressed with care afterwards, in a dark suit and a soft lilac shirt, then, when he was ready to leave, he surveyed his image in the full-length mirror of the dressing-room.

  ‘It’s been a long time – and I’m still not at ease with you,’ he told the figure in the mirror. ‘Let’s pray that somebody loves you more than I do.’

  The doorman had a cab ready for him under the portico, and he settled in the back seat with the leaden feeling in his stomach. The drive seemed much shorter this morning, and when he paid off the cab and climbed the steps to the main entrance of Groote Schuur, he glanced at his wristwatch. It was a few minutes after eleven o’clock. He was hardly aware of the curious glances as he crossed the lobby to the elevators.

  The Brig was waiting for him in the visitors’ room on Debra’s floor. He came out into the corridor, tall and grim, and unfamiliar in his civilian clothes.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ David demanded, it was the ultimate intrusion and he resented it fiercely.

  ‘I thought I might be of help.’

  ‘Good on you!’ said David sardonically, making no effort to hide his anger.

  The Brig let the anger slide past him, not acknowledging it with either word or expression as he asked mildly, ‘Would you like me to be with you?’

  ‘No.’ David turned away from him as he spoke. ‘I can manage, thank you,’ and he set off along the corridor.

  ‘David!’ the Brig called softly, and David hesitated and then turned back.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  For a long moment they stared at each other, then abruptly the Brig shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing,’ and watched the tall young man with the monstrous head turn and walk swiftly towards Debra’s room. His footsteps echoed hollowly along the empty corridor, like the tread of a man upon the gallows steps.

  The morning was warm with a light breeze off the sea. Debra sat in her chair by the open window, and the warm air wafted the scent of the pine forests to her. Resinous and clean-smelling, it mingled with the faint whiff of the sea and the kelp beds. She felt quiet and deeply contented, even though David was late this morning. She had spoken to Ruby Friedman when he made his rounds earlier, and he had teased her and hinted that she would be able to leave in a week or so, and the knowledge rounded out her happiness.

  The warmth of the morning was drowsy, and she closed her eyes subduing the strong rich flow of colour into a lulling cocoon of soft shades which enfolded her, and she lay on the downy edges of sleep.

  David found her like that, sitting in the deep chair with her legs curled sideways under her and her face side-lit by the reflected sunlight from the window. The turban of white bandages that swathed her head were crisp and fresh and her gown was white as a bride’s, with cascades of filmy lace.

  He stood before her chair studying her with care, her face was pale, but the dark bruises below her eyes had cleared and the set of her full lips was serene and peaceful.

  With infinite tenderness he leaned forward and laid his open hand against her cheek. She stirred drowsily, and opened eyes that were honey brown and flecked with bright flakes of gold. They were beautiful, and vague, misty and sightless – then suddenly he saw them change, the look of them was sharp and aware. Her gaze focused, and steadied. She was looking at him – and seeing him.

  Debra was roused from the warm edge of sleep by the touch upon her cheek, as light as the fall of an autumn leaf. She opened her eyes to soft golden clouds, then suddenly like the morning wind slashing away the sea mist, the clouds rolled open and she looked beyond to the monster’s head that swam towards her, a colossal disembodied head that seemed must arise from the halls of hell itself, a head so riven with livid lines and set with the bestial, crudely worked features of one of the dark hosts, that she flung herself back in her chair, cringing away from the terror of it, and she lifted her hands to her face and she screamed.

  David turned and ran from the room, slamming the door behind him, his feet pounded down the passage and the Brig heard him coming and stepped into the corridor.

  ‘David!’ He reached out a hand to him, to hold him back, but David struck out at him wildly, a blow that caught him in the chest throwing him back heavily against the wall. When he regained his balance, and staggered from the wall clutching his chest, David was gone. His frantic footsteps clattered up from the well of the stairs.

  ‘David!’ he called, his voice croaking. ‘Wait!’ But he was gone, his footsteps fading, and the Brig let him go. Instead he turned and hurried painfully down the corridor to where the hysterical sobs of his daughter rang from behind the closed door.

  She looked up from her cupped hands when she heard the door open, and wonder dawned through the terror in her eyes.

  ‘I can see you,’ she whispered, ‘I can see.’

  He went to her quickly and took her in the protective circle of his arms.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he told her awkwardly, ‘it’s going to be all right.’

  She clung to him, stifling the last of her sobs.

  ‘I had a dream,’ she murmured, ‘a terrible dream,’ and she shuddered against him. Then suddenly she pulled away.

  ‘David,’ she cried, ‘where is David? I must see him.’

  The Brig stiffened, realizing that she had not recognized realit
y.

  ‘I must see him,’ she repeated, and he replied heavily, ‘You have already seen him, my child.’

  For many seconds she did not understand, and then slowly it came to her.

  ‘David?’ she whispered, her voice catching and breaking. ‘That was David?’

  The Brig nodded, watching her face for the revulsion and the horror.

  ‘Oh dear God,’ Debra’s voice was fierce. ‘What have I done? I screamed when I saw him. What have I done to him? I’ve driven him away.’

  ‘So you still want to see him again?’ the Brig asked.

  ‘How can you say that?’ Debra blazed at him. ‘More than anything on this earth. You must know that!’

  ‘Even the way he is now?’

  ‘If you think that would make any difference to me – then you don’t know me very well.’ Her expression changed again, becoming concerned. ‘Find him for me,’ she ordered. ‘Quickly, before he has a chance to do something stupid.’

  ‘I don’t know where he has gone,’ the Brig answered, his own concern aroused by the possibility which Debra had hinted at.

  ‘There is only one place he would go when he is hurt like this,’ Debra told him. ‘He will be in the sky.’

  ‘Yes,’ the Brig agreed readily.

  ‘Get down to air traffic control, they’ll let you speak to him.’ The Brig turned for the door and Debra’s voice urged him on.

  ‘Find him for me, Daddy. Please find him for me.’

  The Navajo seemed to come around on to a southerly heading under its own volition. It was only when the sleek, rounded nose settled on course, climbing steadily upwards towards the incredibly tall and unsullied blue of the heavens, that David knew where he was going.

  Behind him, the solid flat-topped mountain with its glistening wreaths of clouds fell away. This was the last of the land, and ahead lay only the great barren wastes of ice and cruel water.

  David glanced at his fuel gauges. His vision was still blurred, but he saw the needles registering a little over the halfway mark on the dials.