tissue drawn tightly over his cheekbones, giving him a vaguely Asiatic
appearance, but the eyes were round and startled, with clumsy lids and
puffed dead-looking flesh beneath.
His nose was a shapeless blob, out of balance with his other coarsened
features and his ears were gnarled excrescences, seemingly fastened
haphazardly to the sides of his head. The whole of it was bland and
bald and boiled-looking.
The gash of a mouth twisted briefly in a horrid rictus, and then
regained its frozen shape. I can't smile, said David.
No, agreed the surgeon. You will have no control of your expressions.
That was the truly horrifying aspect of it. It was not the twisted and
tortured flesh, with the scarring and stitch marks still so evident, it
was the expressionlessness of this mask. The frozen features seemed
long dead, incapable of human warmth or feeling.
Yeah! But you should have seen the other guy! David said softly, and
the surgeon chuckled without mirth.
We'll have those last few stitches behind your ears out tomorrow, I
shall remove what remains of the pedicel from your arm, and then you can
be discharged.
Come back to us when you are ready. David ran his hand gingerly over
the bald patterned skull.
I'm going to save a fortune in haircuts and razor blades, he said, and
the surgeon turned quickly away and walked down the passage, leaving
David to get to know his new head.
The clothes that they had found for him were cheap and ill-fitting,
slacks and open-neck shirt, a light jacket and sandals, and he asked for
some head covering, anything to conceal the weird new shape of his
scalp.
One of the nurses found him a cloth cap, and then told him that a
visitor was waiting for him in the hospital superintendent's department.
He was a major from the military provost marshal's office, a lean
grey-haired min with cold grey eyes and a tight hard mouth. He
introduced himself without offering to shake hands and then opened the
file on the desk in front of him.
I have been instructed by my office to ask for the formal resignation of
your commission in the Israeli Air Force, he started, and David stared
at him. In the long pain-filled, fever-hot nights, the thought of
flying once more had seemed like a prospect of paradise.
I don't understand, he mumbled, and reached for a cigarette, breaking
the first match and then puffing quickly as the second flared. You want
my resignation - and if I refuse? Then we shall have no alternative
other than to convene a court martial and to try you for dereliction of
duty, and refusing in the face of the enemy to obey the lawful orders of
your superior officer. I see, David nodded heavily, and drew on the
cigarette. The smoke stung his eyes. It doesn't seem I have any
choice. I have prepared the necessary documents. Please sign here, and
here, and I shall sign as witness. David bowed over the papers and
signed. The pen scratched loudly in the silent room.
Thank you. The major gathered his papers, and placed them in his
briefcase. He nodded at David and started for the door.
So now I am an outcast, said David softly, and the man stopped. They
stared at each other for a moment, and then the major's expression
altered slightly, and the cold grey eyes became ferocious.
You are responsible for the destruction of two warplanes that are
irreplaceable and whose loss has caused us incalculable harm. You are
responsible for the death of a brother officer, and for bringing your
country to the very brink of open war which would have cost many
thousands more of our young people's lives, and possibly our very
existence. You have embarrassed our international friends, and given
strength to our enemies. He paused and drew a deep breath. The
recommendation of my office was that you should go to trial and that the
prosecution be instructed to ask for the death penalty.
It was only the personal intervention of the Prime Minister and of
Major-General Mordecai that saved you from that. In my view, instead of
bemoaning your fate, you should consider yourself highly fortunate. He
turned away and his footsteps cracked on the stone floor as he strode
from the room.
In the bleak impersonal lobby of the hospital, David was suddenly struck
by a reluctance to walk on out into the spring sunshine through the
glass swing doors. He had heard that long-term prisoners felt this way
when the time came for their release.
Before he reached the doors he turned aside and went down to the
hospital synagogue. In a corner of the quiet square hall he sat for a
long time. The stained-glass windows, set high in the nave, filled the
air with shafts of coloured lights when the sun came through, and a
little of the peace and beauty of that place stayed with him and gave
him courage when at last he walked out into the square and boarded a bus
for Jerusalem.
He found a seat at the rear, and beside a window. The bus pulled away
and ground slowly up the hill towards the city.
He became aware that he was being watched, and he lifted his head to
find that a woman with two young children had taken the seat in front of
him. She was a poorly dressed, harassed-looking woman, prematurely aged
and she held the grubby young infant on her lap and fed it from the
plastic bottle. However, the second child was an angelic little girl of
four or five years. She had huge dark eyes and a head of thick curls.
She stood on the seat facing backwards, with one thumb thrust deeply
into her mouth. She was watching David steadily over the back of the
seat, studying his face with that total absorption and candour of the
child. David felt a sudden warmth of emotion for the child, a longing
for the comfort of human contact, of which he had been deprived all
these months.
He leaned forward in his seat, trying to smile, reaching out a gentle
hand to touch the child's arm.
She removed her thumb from her-, mouth and shrank away from him, turning
to her mother and clinging to her arm, hiding her face in the woman's
blouse.
At the next stop David stepped down from the bus and left the road to
climb the stony hillside.
The day was warm and drowsy, with the bee murmur and the smell of the
blossoms from the peach orchards.
He climbed the terraces and rested at the crest, for he found he was
breathless and shaky. Months in hospital had left him unaccustomed to
walking far, but it was not that alone. The episode with the child had
distressed him terribly.
He looked longingly towards the sky. it was clear and brilliant blue,
with high silver cloud in the north. He wished he could ascend beyond
those clouds. He knew he would find peace up there.
A taxi dropped him off at the top of Malik Street. The front door was
unlocked, swinging open before he could fit his key in the lock.
Puzzled and alqrrned he stepped into the living-room.
It was as he had left it so many months before, but somebody had cleaned
and swept, and there were fresh flowers in a vase upon the olive-wood
table, a huge bouquet of gaily coloured dahlias, yellow and scarlet.
David smelled food, hot and spicy and tantalizing after the bland
hospital fare.
Hello, he called. Who is there? Welcome home! there was a familiar
bellow from behind the closed bathroom door. I didn't expect you so
soon, and you've caught me with my skirts up and pants down. There was
a scuffling sound and then the toilet flushed thunderously and the door