resent it. Again he tried to interrupt, but she shook his arm in her
huge fist. You would be shackled, you could never leave her, she is
helpless, she would be your charge for all your life, think on it,
David. I want her, he muttered stubbornly.
I had nothing before I met her, and I have nothing now. That will
change. Perhaps she has taught you something and young emotions heal as
swiftly as young flesh.
She wants happiness for you, David. She loves you so much that her gift
to you is freedom. She loves you so much that for your sake she will
deny that love. Oh, God, he groaned.
If only I could see her, if I could touch her and talk to her for a few
minutes. She shook her massive head, and her jowls wobbled dolefully.
She would not agree to that. Why, Ella, tell me why? His voice was
rising again, desperate with his anguish.
She is not strong enough, she knows that if you came near her, she would
waver and bring even greater disaster upon you both. They sat silently
together then and looked out across the lake. High mountains of cloud
rose up beyond the heights of Golan, brilliant white in the winter
sunlight, shaded with blue and bruised grey, and range upon range they
bore down upon the lake. David shivered as an icy little wind came
ferreting across the terrace and sought them out.
He drank the rest of his beer, and then revolved the glass slowly
through his fingers.
Will you give her a message from me, then? 'he asked.
I don't think Please, Ella. just this one message. She nodded.
Tell her that what she wrote in the book is exactly how much I love her.
Tell her that it is big enough to rise above this thing. Tell her that
I want the chance to try. She listened quietly, and David made a
groping gesture with his hands as though to pluck words from the air
that might convince her.
Tell her- he paused, then shook his head. No, that's all. just tell
her I love her, and I want to be with her. All right, David. I'll tell
her. And you will give me her answer? Where can I reach you? He gave
her the number of the telephone in the crew ready room at the base.
You'll ring me soon, Ella? Don't keep me waiting. 'Tomorrow, she
promised. In the morning. 'Before ten o'clock.
It must be before ten He stood up, and then suddenly he leaned forward
and kissed her sagging and raddled cheek.
Thank you, he said. You are not a bad old bag. 'Away with you, you.
and your blarney. You'd have the sirens of the Odyssey themselves come
running to your bidding. She sniffed moistly. Get away with you now,
I think I'm going to cry, and I want to be alone to enjoy it.
She watched him go up across the lawns under the date palms and at the
gate in the wall he paused and looked back. For a second they stared at
each other and then he stepped through the gate.
She heard the engine of the Mercedes whirr and pull away slowly up the
track, then the note of it rose as it hit the highway and went racing
away southwards. Ella rose heavily and crossed the terrace, went down
the steps towards the jetty and its stone boat houses screened from the
house by past of the ancient wall.
Her speedboat rode at its moorin& restless in the wind and the chop of
the lake. She went on down to the farthest and largest of the boat
houses and stood in the open doorway.
The interior had been stripped and repainted with clean white. The
furniture was simple and functional.
The rugs on the stone floor were for warmth, plain woven wool, thick and
rough. The large bed was built into a curtained alcove in the wall
beside the fireplace.
On the opposite wall was a gas stove with a double cooking ring above
which a number of copper cooking pots hung. A door beyond led through
to a bathroom and toilet which Ella had added very recently.
The only decoration was the Ella Kadesh painting from the house on Malik
Street, which hung on the bare white wall, facing the door. It seemed
to lighten and warm the whole room; below it the girl sat at a working
table. She was listening intently to her own voice speaking in Hebrew
from the tape recorder. Her expression was r apt and intent, and she
stared at the blank wall before her.
Then she nodded her head, smiling at what she had just heard. She
switched off the recorder and turned in the swivel chair to the second
recorder and punched the tran sinit button. She held the microphone
close to her lips as she began to translate the Hebrew into English.
Ella stood in the doorway and watched her work. An American publisher
had purchased the English-language rights of A Place of Our Kin. They
had paid Debra an advance of thirty thousand American dollars for the
book, and an additional five thousand for her services as translator.
She had almost completed the task now.
From where she stood, Ella could see the scar on Debra's temple. It was
a glazed pinkish white against the deeply tanned skin of her face, a
dimple like a child's drawing of a seagull in flight; V-shaped and no
bigger than a snowflake, it seemed to enhance her fine looks, almost
like a beauty spot, a tiny blemish that gave a focus point for her
strong regular features.
She had made no attempt to conceal it for her dark hair was drawn back
to the nape of her neck and secured there with a leather thong. She
wore no make-up, and her skin looked clean and glowing, tanned and
smooth.
Despite the bulky fisherman's jersey and woollen slacks her body
appeared firm and slim for she swam each day, even when the snow winds
came down from the north.
Ella left the doorway and moved silently closer to the desk, studying
Debra's eyes as she so often did. One day she would paint that
expression. There was no hint of the damage that lay behind, no hint
that the eyes could not see. Rather their calm level gaze seemed to
penetrate deeper, to see all. They had a serenity that was almost
mystic, a depth and understanding that Ella found strangely disquieting.
Debra pressed the switch of the microphone, ending the recording, and
then she spoke again without turning her head. Is that you, Ella? How
do you do it? Ella demanded with astonishment.
I felt the air move when you walked in, and then I smelt you. I'm big
enough to blow up a storm, but do I smell so bad? Ella protested,
chuckling.
You smell of turpentine, and garlic and beer, Debra sniffed, and laughed
with her.
I've been painting, and I was chopping garlic fox the roast, and I was
drinking beer with a friend. Ella dropped into one of the chairs. How
does it go with the book? 'Nearly finished.
It can go to the typist tomorrow. Do you want some coffee? Debra stood
up and crossed to the gas stove. Ella knew better than to offer her
help, even though she gritted her teeth every time she watched Debra
working with fire and boiling water. The girl was fiercely independent,
utterly determined to live her life without other people's pity or
assistance.
The room was laid out precisely, each item in its place where Debra
could put her hand to it without hesitation.
She could move confidently through her little world, doing her own
housework, preparing her own food and drink, working steadily, and
paying her own way.
Once a week, a driver came up from her publisher's office in Jerusalem