their papers were forged.
The Prime Minister and her cabinet had been delayed by an emergency
session, but had been on their way to the wedding when the attack was
made. A fortunate chance had saved them, and she sent her personal
condolences; to the relatives of the victims.
At ten o'clock, Damascus radio gave a report in which El Fatah claimed
responsibility for the attack by members of a suicide squad.
A little before midnight, the chief surgeon came from the main theatre,
still in his theatre greens and boots, with his mask pulled down to his
throat. Ruth Mordecai was out of danger, he told the Brig. They had
removed a bullet that had passed through her lung and lodged under her
shoulder blade. They had saved the lung.
Thank God, murmured the Brig and closed his eyes for a moment, imagining
life without his woman of twenty-five years. Then he looked up. My
daughter?
The surgeon shook his head. They are still working on her in the small
casualty theatre. He hesitated.
Colonel Halmin died in theatre a few minutes ago The toll of the dead
was eleven so far, with four others on the critical list.
In the early morning the undertakers arrived for the bodies with their
long wicker baskets and black limousines. David gave Joe the keys of
the Mercedes, that he might follow by the hearse bearing Hannah's body
and arrange the details of the funeral.
David and the Brig sat side by side, haggard and with sleepless bruised
eyes, drinking coffee from paper cups.
In the late morning the eye surgeon came out to them.
He was a smooth-faced, young-looking man in his forties, the greying of
his hair seeming incongruous against the unlined skin and clear blue
eyes.
General Mordecai?
The Brig rose stiffly. He seemed to have aged ten years during the
night.
I am Doctor Edelman. Will you come with me please?
David rose to follow them, but the doctor paused and looked to the Brig.
I am her fiance, said David.
It might be best if we spoke alone first, General. Edelman was clearly
trying to pass a warning with his eyes, and the Brig nodded. Please,
David. But- David began, and the Brig squeezed his shoulder briefly,
the first gesture of affection that had ever passed between them.
Please, my boy, and David turned back to the hard bench.
In the tiny cubicle of his office Edelman hitched himself on to the
corner of the desk and lit a cigarette. His hands were long and slim as
a girl's, and he used the lighter with a surgeon's neat economical
movements.
You don't want it with a sugar coating, I imagine? He had appraised the
Brig carefully, and went on without waiting for a reply. Neither of
your daughter's eyes are damaged, but be held up a hand to forestall the
rising expression of relief on the Brig's lips, and turned to the
scanner on which hung a set of X-ray plates. He switched on the back
light.
The eyes were untouched, there is almost no damage to her facial
features, however, the damage is here he touched a hard frosty outline
in the smoky grey swirls and patterns of the X-ray plate, - that is a
steel fragment, a tiny steel fragment, almost certainly from a grenade.
It is no larger than the tip of a lead pencil. It entered the skull
through the outer edge of the right temple, severing the large vein
which accounted for the profuse haernorrhage, and it travelled obliquely
behind the eye-balls without touching them or any other vital tissue.
Then, however, it pierced the bony surrounds of the optic chiasma, he
traced the path of the fragment through Debra's head, and it seems to
have cut through the canal and severed the chiasma, before lodging in
the bone sponge beyond. Edelman drew heavily on the cigarette while he
looked for a reaction from the Brig.
There was none.
Do you understand the implications of this, General? he asked, and the
Brig shook his head wearily. The surgeon switched off the light of the
X-ray scanner, and returned to the desk. He pulled a scrap pad towards
the Brig and took a propelling pencil from his top pocket.
Boldly he sketched an optical chart, eyeballs, brain, and optical
nerves, as seen from above.
The optical nerves, one from each eye, run back into this narrow tunnel
of bone where they fuse, and then branch again to opposite lobes of the
brain The Brig nodded, and Edelman slashed the point of his pencil
through the point where the nerves fused.
Understanding began to show on the Brig's strained and tired features.
Blind? he asked, and Edelman nodded. Both eyes? 'I'm afraid so. The
Brig bowed his head and gently massaged his own eyes with thumb and
forefinger. He spoke again without looking at Edelman.
Permanently? he asked.
She has no recognition of shape, or colour, of light or darkness. The
track of the fragment is through the optic chiasma. All indications are
that the nerve is severed.
There is no technique known to medical science which will restore that.
Edelman paused to draw breath, before going on. In a word then, your
daughter is permanently and totally blinded in both eyes. The Brig
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