certainty, of what it would be, David took the book out of his hands and
turned it to read the title, A Place of Our Own.
Robert was still talking. My sister made me read it.
She works for the publisher. She cried all night when she read it. it
is very new, only published last week, but it's got to be the biggest
book ever written about this country.
David hardly heard him, he was staring at the writer's name in small
print below the title.
Debra Mordecai.
He ran his fingers lightly over the glossy paper of the jacket, stroking
the name.
I want to read it, he said softly.
I'll let you have it when I'm finished, Robert promised. I want to read
it now!
No way! Robert exclaimed with evident alarm, and almost snatched the
book out of David's hands. You wait your turn, comrade!
David looked up. Joe was watching him from across the room, and David
glared at him accusingly. Joe dropped his eyes quickly to the
chessboard again, and David realized that he had known of the
publication. He started up to go to him, to challenge him, but at the
moment the tannoy echoed through the bunker.
All flights Lance Squadron to red standby, and on the readiness board
the red lamps lit beside the flight designations. Bright Lance. Red
Lance. Fire Lance. David snatched up his flying helmet and joined the
lumbering rush of G-suited bodies for the electric personnel carrier in
the concrete tunnel outside the crewroom door. He forced a place for
himself beside Joe. Why didn't you tell me? 'he demanded. I was going
to, Davey, I really was.
Yeah, I bet, David snapped sarcastically. Have you read it? Joe
nodded, and David went on, What's it about?" "I couldn't begin to tell
you. You'd have to read it yourself Don't worry about that, David
muttered grimly, I will, and he jumped down as they reached their hangar
and strode across to his Mirage.
Twenty minutes later they were airborne and Desert Flower sent them
hastening out over the Mediterranean at interception speed to answer a
Mayday call from an El Al Caravelle who reported that she was being
buzzed by an Egyptian MIG 2 1J.
The Egyptian sheered off and raced for the coast and the protection of
his own missile batteries as the Mirages approached.
They let him go and picked up the airliner. They escorted her into the
circuit over Lad before returning to base.
Still in his G-suit and overalls, David stopped off at le Dauphin's
office and got himself a twenty-four-hour pass.
Ten minutes before closing time he ran into one of the bookstores in the
Jaffa Road.
There was a pyramid display of A Place of Our Own on the table in the
centre of the store.
It's a beautiful book, said the salesgirl as she wrapped it.
He opened a Goldstar, and kicked off his shoes before stretching out on
the lace cover of the bed.
He began to read, and paused only once to switch on the overhead lights
and fetch another beer. It was a thick book, and he read slowly,
savouring every word, sometimes going back to re-read a paragraph.
It was their story, his and Debra's, woven into the plot she had
described to him that day on the island off the Costa Brava, and it was
rich with the feeling of the land and its people. He recognized many of
the secondary characters, and he laughed aloud with the pleasure and the
joy of it. Then at the end, he choked on the sadness as the girl of the
story lies dying in Hadassah Hospital, with half her face torn away by a
terrorist's bomb, and she will not let the boy come to her. Wanting to
spare him that, wanting him to remember her as she was.
it was dawn then, and David had not noticed the passage of the night. He
rose from the bed, light-headed from lack of sleep, and filled with a
sense of wonder that Debra had captured so clearly the way it had been
that she had seen so deeply into his soul, had described emotions for
which he had believed there were no words.
He bathed and shaved and dressed in casual clothes and went back to
where the book lay upon the bed. He studied the jacket again, and then
turned to the flyleaf for confirmation. It was there. Jacket design by
Ella Kadesh. So early in the morning he had the road almost to himself
and he drove fast, into the rising morning sun.
At Jericho he turned north along the frontier road, and he remembered
her sitting in the seat beside him with her skirts drawn high around her
long brown legs and her thick dark hair shaking in the wind.
The whisper of the wind against the body of the Mercedes seemed to urge
him, Hurry, hurry. And the urgent drumming of the tyres carried him up
towards the lake.
He parked the Mercedes beside the ancient crusader wall and went through
into the garden on the lake shore.
Ella sat upon the wide patio before her easel. She wore a huge straw
hat the size of a wagon wheel adorned with plastic cherries and ostrich
feathers, her vast overalls covered her like a circus tent and they were
stiff with dried paint in all her typically vivid colours.
Calmly she looked up from her painting with her brush poised.
Hail, young Mars! she greeted him. Well met indeed, and why do you
bring such honour on my humble little home? 'Piss on it, Ella, you know
damn well why I'm here. 'So sweetly phrased, she was shifty, he could
see it in her bright little eyes. Shame on it that such vulgar words
pass such fair lips. Would you like a beer, Davey? 'No, I don't want a
beer. I want to know where she is?
Just who are we discussing? Come on, I read the book. I saw the cover.
You know, damn you, you know. She was silent then, staring at him. Then
slowly the ornate head-dress dipped in acquiescence. Yes, she agreed. I
know. 'Tell me where she is. 'I can't do that, Davey. You and I both
made a promise.
Yes, I know of yours, you see. She watched the bluster go out of him.
The fine young body with the arrogant set of shoulders seemed to sag,
and he stood uncertainly in the sunlight.
How about that beer now, Davey? She heaved herself up from her stool
and crossed the terrace with her stately tread. She came back and gave
him a tall glass with a head of froth and they took a seat together at
the end of the terrace out of the wind, in the mild winter sunlight.
I've been expecting you for a week now, she told him. Ever since the
book was published. I knew it would set you on fire. It's just too
damned explosive, even I wept like a leaky faucet for a couple of days,
she giggled shyly. You'd hardly believe it possible, would you?
That book was us, Debra and me, David told her. She was writing about
us. Yes, Ella agreed, but it does not alter the decision she had made.
A decision which I think is correct, by the way. She described exactly
how I felt, Ella. All the things I felt and still feel, but which I
could never have put into words. It's beautiful and it's true, but
don't you see that it confirms her position.
But I love her, Ella, and she loves me, he cried out violently.
She wants it to stay that way. She doesn't want it to die, she doesn't
want it to sicken. He began to protest, but she gripped his arm in a
surprisingly powerful grip to silence him. She knows that she can never
keep pace with you now. Look at you, David, you are beautiful and vital
and swift, she must drag you back, and in time you must as certainly