his arm, and smell her, the flowery perfume mingled with the natural
musky odour of the sexually aroused female.
The steak is very good, she said. She had a light sweet voice and he
recognized the same breathless quality as his own. He looked at her.
Her eyes were green, and her teeth were a little crooked but white. She
was even older than he had thought, almost forty. She wore her dress
low in front, he could see the crepe effect of the skin between her
breasts. The breasts were big and motherly, and suddenly David wanted
to lay his head against them. They looked so soft and warm and safe.
You should cook it rare, with mushrooms and garlic and red wine, she
said. It's very good that way. 'Is it? he asked hoarsely.
Yes, she nodded, smiling. Who will cook it for you?
Your wife? Your mother? No, said David. I will cook it myself. I
live alone, and she leaned a little closer to him, her breast touching
his arm.
David was dizzy and hot with the brandy. He had bought a bottle of it
at the supermarket, and he had drunk it mixed with ginger ale to mask
the spiritous taste. He had drunk it fast, and now he leaned over the
basin in the bathroom and felt the house rock and sway about him. He
steadied himself, gripping the edge of the basin.
He splashed cold water on to his face and shook off the drops, then he
grinned stupidly at himself in the mirror above the basin. His hair was
damp and hung on to his forehead; he closed one eye and the wavering
image in the mirror hardened and squinted back at him.
Hi there, boy, he muttered and reached for the towel.
He had dripped water down his tunic and this annoyed him. He threw the
towel over the toilet seat and went back into the living-room.
The woman was gone. The leather couch still carried the indentation of
her backside, and the dirty plates were on the olive-wood table. The
air was thick with cigarette smoke and her perfume.
Where are you? he called thickly, swaying slightly in the doorway.
Here, big boy. He went to the bedroom. She lay on the bed, naked,
plump and white with huge soft breasts and swelling belly. He stared at
her.
Come on, Davey. Her clothing was thrown across the dressing-table, and
he saw that her corsets were grey and unwashed. Her hair was yellow
against the soft ivory lacework.
Come to Mama, she whispered hoarsely, opening her limbs languidly in
invitation. She was spread upon the brass bed, upon the lace cover
which had been Debra's and David felt his anger surge within him. Get
up, he said, slurring his words. Come on, baby. Get off that bed, his
voice tightened and she heard the tone and sat up with mild alarm. What
is it, Davey? Get out of here, his voice was rising sharply. Get out,
you bitch. Get out of here! He was shaking now, his face pale and his
eyes savage blue.
Quivering with panic, she climbed hurriedly from the bed, the great
white breasts and buttocks wobbling with ridiculous haste as she stuffed
them into the grey corset.
When she had gone, David went through into the bathroom and vomited into
the toilet bowl. Then he cleaned the house, scouring pans and plates,
polishing the glasses until they shone, emptying the ashtrays, opening
the shutters to blow out the stench of cigarette and perfume, and
finally, going through into the bedroom, he stripped and remade the bed
with fresh sheets and smoothed the lace cover carefully until not a
crease or wrinkle showed.
He put on a clean tunic and his uniform cap, and drove to the Jaffa
gate. He parked the car in the lot outside the gate and walked through
the old city to the reconstructed Sephardic synagogue in the Jewish
quarter.
It was very quiet and peaceful in the high-domed hall and he sat a long
time on the hard wooden bench.
Joe sat opposite David with a worried expression creasing his deep
forehead as he studied the board. Three or four of the other pilots had
hiked their chairs up and were concentrating on the game also. These
chessboard conflicts between David and Joe were usually epics and
attracted a partisan audience.
David had been stalking Joe's rook for half a dozen moves and now he had
it trapped. Two more moves would shatter the kingsize defence, and the
third must force a resignation. David grinned smugly as Joe reached a
decision and moved a knight out.
That's not going to save you, dear boy, David hardly glanced at the
knight, and he hit the rook with a white bishop. Mate in five, he
predicted, as he dropped the castle into the box, and then, too late, he
realized that Joe's theatrical expression of anguish had slowly faded
into a beatific grin. Joseph Mordecai used any deception to bait his
traps, and David looked with alarm at the innocuous-seeming knight,
suddenly seeing the devious plotting in which the castle was merely
bait.
Oh, you bastard, David moaned. You sneaky bastard Check! Joe gloated
as he put the knight into a forked attack, and David had to leave his
queen exposed to the horseman.
Check, said Joe again with an ecstatic little sigh as he lifted the
white queen off the board, and again the harassed king took the only
escape route open to him.
And mate, sighed Joe again as his own queen left the back file to join
the attack. Not in five, as you predicted, but in three. There was a
loud outburst of congratulation and applause from the onlookers and Joe
cocked an eye at David.
Again? he asked, and David shook his head.
Take on one of these other patsies, he said. I'm going to sulk for an
hour. 'He vacated his seat and it was filled by another eager victim as
Joe reset the board. David crossed to the coffee machine, moving
awkwardly in the grip of his G-suit, and drew a mug of the thick black
liquid, stirred in four spoons of sugar and found another seat in a
quieter corner of the crew-room beside a slim curly-beaded young
kibbutznik, with whom David had become friendly. He was reading a thick
novel. Shalom, Robert. How you been? Robert grunted without looking
up from his book, and David sipped the sweet hot coffee. Beside him,
Robert moved restlessly in his seat and coughed softly, David was lost
in his own thoughts, for the first time in months thinking of home,
wondering about Mitzi and Barney Venter, wondering if the yellowtail
were running hot in False Bay this season, and remembering how the
proteas looked upon the mountains of the Helderberg.
Again Robert stirred in his chair and cleared his throat. David glanced
at him, realized that he was in the grip of a deep emotion as he read,
his lips quivering, and his eyes too bright.
What are you reading? David was amused, and he leaned forward to read
the title. The picture on the dust jacket of the book was instantly
familiar. It was a deeply felt desert landscape of fierce colours and
great space.
Two distant figures, man and woman, walked hand in hand through the
desert and the effect was mystic and haunting. David realized that only
one person could have painted that, Ella Kadesh.
Robert lowered the book. This is uncanny, his voice was muffled with
emotion. I tell you, Davey, it's beautiful. It must be one of the most
beautiful books ever written.
With a strange feeling of pre-knowledge, with a sense of complete