gate in the wall. Beyond was a small ruined castle. The tumbled walls
formed weird shapes and the stone was black with age; over them grew
flamboyant creepers of bougainvillaea and the tall palms clattered their
fronds in the light breeze that came off the lake. Other exotic
flowering shrubs grew upon the green lawns.
Part of the ruins had been restored and renovated into a picturesque and
unusual lakeside home, with a wide patio and a stone jetty against which
a motor-boat was moored. Across the green waters of the lake rose the
dark smooth whale-back of the Golan Heights.
It was a crusader fortress, Debra explained. One of the guard posts for
traffic across the lake and part of the series leading up to the great
castle on the Horns of Hittern that the Moslems destroyed when they
drove the crusaders out of the Holy Land. Ella's grandfather purchased
it during the Allenby administration, but it was a ruin until she did it
up after the war of independence.
The care with which the alterations had been made so as not to spoil the
romantic beauty of the site was a tribute to Ella Kadesh's artistic
vision, which was completely at odds with the woman herself.
She was enormous; not simply fat or tall, but big. Her hands and her
feet were huge, her fingers clustered with rings and semi-precious
stones and her toenails through the open sandals were painted a glaring
crimson, as if to flaunt their size. She stood as tall as David but the
tent-like dress that billowed about her was covered with great explosive
designs that enhanced her bulk until she seemed to make up two of him.
She wore a wig of tiered curls, flaming red in colour and dangling gold
earrings.
It seemed she must have applied her eye make-up with a spade, and her
rouge with a spray gun. She removed the thin black cheroot from her
mouth and kissed Debra before she turned to study David. Her voice was
gravelly, hoarse with cheroot smoke and brandy.
I had not expected you to be so beautiful she said, and Debra quailed at
the expression in David's eyes. I do not like beauty. It is so often
deceptive, or inconsequential. It usually hides something deadly, like
the glittering beauty of the cobra, or like the pretty wrapper of a
candy bar, it contains cloying sweetness and a soft centre. She shook
the stiffly lacquered curls of her wig, and fixed David with her shrewd
little eyes. No, I prefer ugliness to beauty.
David smiled at her with all his charms upon display. Yes, he agreed,
having met you, and seen some of your work, I can understand that.
She let out a cackle of raucous laughter, and clapped the cheroot back
in her mouth. Well now, at the very least we are not dealing with a
chocolate soldier. She placed a huge masculine arm about David's
shoulders and led him to meet the company.
They were a mixed dozen, all intellectuals, artists, writers, teachers,
journalists, and David was content to sit beside Debra in the mild
sunshine and enjoy the beer and the amusing conversation. However, Ella
would not let him relax for long and when they sat down to the
gargantuan alfresco meal of cold fish and poultry, she attacked him
again.
Your martial airs and affectations, your pomp and finery. A plague on
it I say, a pox on your patriotism, and courage, on your fearlessness
and your orders of chivalry. It is all sham and pretence, an excuse for
you to stink up the earth with piles of carrion.
I wonder if you will feel the same when a platoon of Syrian infantry
break in here to rape you, David challenged her.
My boy, I find it so difficult to get laid these days that I should pray
for such a heaven-sent opportunity. She let out a mighty hoot of
laughter and her wig slipped forward at an abandoned angle. Nothing was
safe from her, and she pushed the wig back into place and streamed
straight into the attack again.
Your male bombast, your selfish arrogance. To you this woman- and she
indicated Debra with a turkey leg, to you she is merely a receptacle for
your seething careless sperm. It matters not to you that she is a
promise for the future, that within her are the seeds of a great writing
talent. No, to you she is a rubbing block, a convenient means to a
Debra interrupted her. That definitely is enough, I will not allow a
public debate on my bedroom, and Ella turned towards her with the battle
lust lighting her eyes.
Your gift is not yours to use as you wish. You hold it in trust for all
mankind, and you have a duty to them.
That duty is to exercise your gift, to allow it to grow and blossom and
give forth fruit. She used the turkey leg like a judge's gavel, banging
the edge of her plate with it, to silence Debra's protests.
Have you written a word since you took young Mars to your heart? What
of the novel we discussed on this very terrace a year ago? Have your
animal passions swamped all else? Has the screeching of your ovaries
Stop it, Ella! Debra was angry now, her cheeks flushed and her brown
eyes snapping.
Yes! Yes! Ella tossed the bone aside and sucked her fingers noisily.
Ashamed you should be, angry with yourself - Damn you, Debra flared at
her.
Damn me if you will, but you are damned yourself if you do not write!
Write, woman, write! She sat back and the wicker chair protested at the
movement of her vast body. All right, now we will all go for a swim.
David had not seen me in a bikini yet, much he will care for that skinny
little wench when he does! They drove back to Jerusalem in the night,
flushed with the sun, and although the Mercedes seats had not been
designed for lovers, Debra managed to sit close up against him.
She's right, you know, David broke a long contented silence. You must
write, Debs. 'Oh, I will, she answered lightly.
When? he persisted, and to distract him she snuggled a little closer.
One of these days, she whispered as she made her dark head comfortable
on his shoulder. One of these days, he mimicked her. Don't bug me,
Morgan. She was already half-asleep.
Stop being evasive. He stroked her hair with his free hand. And don't
go to sleep while I'm talking to you.
David, my darling, we have a lifetime, and more, she murmured. You have
made me immortal. You and I shall live for a thousand years, and there
will be time for everything. Perhaps the dark gods heard her boast, and
they chuckled sardonically and nudged each other.
On Saturday Joe and Hannah came to the house on Malik Street, and after
lunch they decided on a tourist excursion for David and the four of them
climbed Mount Zion across the valley. They entered the labyrinth of
corridors that led to David's tomb, covered with splendid embroidered
cloth and silver crowns and Torah covers. From there it was a few steps
to the room of Christ's last supper in the same building, so closely
interwoven were the traditions of Judaism and Christianity in this
citadel.
Afterwards they entered the old city through the Zion gate and followed
the wall around to the centre of Judaism, the tall cliff of massive
stone blocks, bevelled in the fashion of Herodian times, which was all
that remained of the fabulous second temple of Herod, destroyed two
thousand years before by the Romans.
They were searched at the gate and then joined the stream of worshippers
flocking down towards the wall.
At the barrier they stood for a long time in silence.