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
it came out brutally. Her hand in his was the only indication that she
had heard him, it spasmed convulsively like a wounded thing and then lay
still, a small tense hand in the circle of his big bony fist.
She asked no questions and when he had done they sat quietly together
for a long time. He spoke first.
I will send David to you now, he said, and her response was swift and
vehement.
No. She gripped his hand hard. No, I can't meet him now. I have to
think about this first.
The Brig went back to the waiting-room and David stood up expectantly,
the pure lines of his face seemingly carved from pale polished marble,
and the dark blue of his eyes in deep contrast.
The Brig forestalled him harshly. No visitors. He took David's arm.
You will not be allowed to see her until tomorrow.
Is something wrong? What is it? David tried to pull away, but the Brig
held him and steered him towards the door.
Nothing is wrong. She will be all right, but she must have no
excitement now. You'll be able to see her tomorrow.
They buried Hannah that evening in the family plot on the Mountain of
Olives. It was a small funeral party attended by the three men and a
mere handful of relatives, many of whom had others to mourn from the
previous day's slaughter.
There was an official car waiting to take the Brig to a meeting of the
high command, where retaliatory measures would certainly be discussed,
another revolution in the relentless wheel of violence that rolled
across the troubled land.
Joe and David climbed into the Mercedes and sat silently, David making
no effort to start the engine. Joe lit cigarettes for them, and they
both felt drained of purpose and direction.
What are you going to do now? David asked him. We had two weeks, Joe
answered him. We were going down to Ashkelon, his voice trailed off. I
don't know. There isn't anything to do now, is there? Shall we go and
have a drink somewhere? Joe shook his head. I don't feel like
drinking, he said. I think I'll go back to base. They are flying night
interceptions tonight.
Yes, David agreed quickly, I'll come with you. He could not see Debra
until tomorrow, and the house on Malik Street would be lonely and cold.
Suddenly he longed for the peace of the night heavens.
The moon was a brightly curved Saracen blade against the soft darkness
of the sky, and the stars were fat and silver and gemlike in their
clarity.
They flew high above the earth, remote from its grief and sorrow,
wrapped in the isolation of flight and lost in the ritual and
concentration of night interception.
The target was a Mirage of their own squadron, and they picked it up on
the scanner far out over the Negev.
Joe locked on to it and called the track and range while David searched
for and at last spotted the moving star of the target's jet blast,
burning redly against the velvety blackness of the night.
He took them in on a clean interception creeping up under the target's
belly and then pulling steeply up past its wing-tip, the way a barracuda
goes for the lure from below and explodes out through the surface of the
sea.
They shot past so close that the target Mirage broke wildly away to
port, unaware of their presence until that moment.
Joe slept that night, exhausted with grief, but David lay in the bunk
beneath him and listened to him. In the dawn he rose and showered and
left Joe still asleep. He drove into Jerusalem and reached the hospital
just as the sun came up and lit the hills with its rays of soft gold and
pearly pink.