slabs from the trunks by flying steel, exposing the white wet wood. The
wounded and dazed survivors crawled over a field of broken glass and
shattered crockery. They swore and prayed, and whispered and groaned
and called for succour.
David went down the steps, his feet moving without his bidding; his
muscles were numb, his body senseless and only his finger-tips tingled
with life.
Joe was standing below one of the torn olive trees. He stood like a
colossus, with his thick powerful legs astride, his head thrown back and
his face turned to the sky, but his eyes were tight-closed and his mouth
formed a silent cry of agony, for he held Hannah's body in his arms.
Her bridal veil had fallen from her head, and the bright copper mane of
her hair hung back, almost to the ground. Her legs and one arm hung
loosely also, slack and lifeless. The golden freckles stood out clearly
on the milky-white skin of her face, and the bloody wounds bloomed like
the petals of the poinsettia tree upon the bosom of her wedding-gown.
David averted his eyes. He could not watch Joe in his anguish, and he
walked on slowly across the garden, in terrible dread of what he would
find.
Debra! he tried to raise his voice, but it was a hoarse raven's croak.
His feet slipped in a puddle of thick dark blood, and he stepped over
the unconscious body of a woman who lay, face down, in a floral dress,
with her arms thrown wide. He did not recognize her as Debra's mother.
Debra! He tried to hurry, but his legs would not respond. He saw her
then, at the corner of the wall where he had left her.
Debra! He felt his heart soar. She seemed unhurt, kneeling below one
of the marble Grecian statues, with the flowers in her hair and the
yellow silk of her dress gay and festive.
She knelt, facing the wall, and her head was bowed as though in prayer.
The dark wing of her hair hung forward screening her and she held her
cupped hands to her face.
Debra. He dropped to his knees beside her, and timidly he touched her
shoulder.
Are you all right, my darling? And she lowered her hands slowly, but
still holding them cupped together. A great coldness closed around
David's chest as he saw that her cupped hands were filled with blood.
Rich'red blood, bright as wine in a crystal glass.
David, she whispered, turning her face towards him. Is that you,
darling? David gave a small breathless moan of agony as he saw the
blood-glutted eye sockets, the dark gelatinous mess that congealed in
the thick dark eyelashes and turned the lovely face into a gory mask.
Is that you, David? she asked again, her head cocked at a blind
listening angle.
Oh God, Debra. He stared into her face.
I can't see, David. She groped for him. Oh David I can't see.
And he took her sticky wet hands in his, and he thought that his heart
would break.
The stark modern silhouette of Hadassah Hospital stood upon the skyline
above the village of Em Karem. The speed with which the ambulances
arrived saved many of the victims whose lives were critically balanced,
and the hospital was geared to sudden influxes of war casualties.
The three men, the Brig, Joe and David, kept their vigil together all
that night upon the hard wooden benches of the hospital waiting-room.
When more was learned of the planning behind the attack, a security
agent would come to whisper a report to the Brig.
One of the assassins was a long-term and trusted employee of the
catering firm, and the other two were his cousins who had. been
employed as temporary staff on his recommendation. It was certain that
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