love for the good of the other, and he knew that it was, and as he flew
on southwards he found that he could face it at last.
Of all persons, Debra needed her vision, for without it the great wings
of her talent were clipped. Unless she could see it, she could not
describe it. She had been granted the gift of the writer, and then half
of it had been taken from her. He understood her cry, Oh God!
God! Let me see. Please, let me see, and he found himself wishing it
for her also. Beside her need his seemed trivial and petty, and
silently he prayed.
Please God, let her see again He landed the Navajo at the airstrip and
called the taxi and had it drive him directly to the Post Office, and
wait while he posted the letter and collected the incoming mail from the
box.
Where now? the driver asked as he came out of the building, and he was
about to tell him to drive back to the airfield when he had inspiration.
Take me down to the bottle store, please, he told the driver and he
bought a case of Veuve Clicquot champagne.
He flew homewards with a soaring lightness of the spirit. The wheel was
spinning and the ball clicking, nothing he could do now would dictate
its fall. He was free of doubt, free of guilt, whatever the outcome, he
knew he could meet it.
Debra sensed it almost immediately, and she laughed aloud with relief,
and hugged him about the neck.
But what happened? she kept demanding. For weeks you were miserable. I
was worrying myself sick, and then you go off for an hour or two and you
come back humming like a dynamo. What on earth is going on, Morgan? I
have just found out how much I love you, he told her, returning her hug.
Plenty? she demanded. Plenty! he agreed. That's my baby! she
applauded him.
The Veuve Clicquot came in useful. in the batch of mail that David
brought back with him from Nelspruit was a letter from Bobby Dugan. He
was very high on the first chapters of the new novel that Debra had
airmailed to him, and so were the publishers; he had managed to hit them
for an advance of $100,000 .
You're rich! David laughed, looking up from the letter.
The only reason you married me, agreed Debra. Fortune hunter! but she
was laughing with excitement, and David was proud and happy for her.
They like it, David. Debra was serious then. They really like it. I
was so worried. "The money was meaningless, except as a measure of the
book's value. Big money is the sincerest type of praise.
They would have to be feeble-minded not to like it, David told her, and
then went on. It just so happens that I have a case of French champagne
with me, shall I put a bottle or ten on the ice?
Morgan, man of vision, Debra said. At times like this, I know why I
love you. The weeks that followed were as good then as they had ever
been. David's appreciation was sharper, edged by the storm shadows on
the horizon, the time of plenty made more poignant by the possibility of
the drought years coming. He tried to draw it out beyond its natural
time. It was five weeks more before he flew to Nelspruit again, and
then only because Debra was anxious to learn of any further news from
her publishers and agent, and to pick up her typing.
I would like to have my hair set, and although I know we don't really
need them, David, my darling, we should keep in touch with people, like
once a month, don't you think? Has it been that long? David asked
innocently, although each day had been carefully weighed and tallied,
the actuality savoured and the memory stored for the lean times ahead.
David left Debra at the beauty salon, and as he went out he could hear
her pleading with the girl not to put it up into those tight little
curls and plaster it with lacquer and even in the anxiety of the moment,
David grinned for he had always thought of the hairstyle she was
describing as Modem Cape Dutch or Randburg Renaissance.
The postbox was crammed full and David sorted quickly through the junk
mail and picked out the letters from Debra's American agent, and two
envelopes with Israeli stamps. Of these one was addressed in a doctor's
prescription scrawl, and David was surprised that it had found its
destination. The writing on the second envelope was unmistakable, it
marched in martial ranks, each letter in step with the next, and the
high strokes were like the weapons of a company of pike men, spiky and
abrupt.
David found a bench in the park under the purple jacaranda trees, and he
opened Edelman's letter first.
It was in Hebrew, which made deciphering even more difficult.
Dear David, Your letter came as a surprise, and I have since studied the
X-ray plates once more. They seem unequivocal, and upon an
interpretation of them I would not hesitate to confirm my original
prognosis Despite himself, David felt the small stirrings of relief.
However, if I have learned anything in twenty-five years of practice, it
is humility. I can only accept that your observations of
light-sensitivity are correct.
Having done so, then I must also accept that there is at least partial
function of the optic nerves. This presupposes that the nerve was not
completely divided, and it seems reasonable to believe now that it was
only partially severed, and that now, possibly due to the head blows
that Debra received, it has regained some function.
The crucial question is just how great that recovery is, and again I
must warn you that it may be as minimal as it is at the present time,
when it amounts to nothing more than light sensitivity without any
increase to the amount of vision. It may, however, be greater, and it
is within the realms of possibility that with treatment some portion of
sight may be regained.
I do not expect, however, that this will ever amount to more than a
vague definition of light or shape, and a decision would have to be made
as to whether any possible benefit might not be outweighed by the
undesirability of surgery within such a vulnerable area.
I would, of course, be all too willing to examine Debra myself. However,
it will probably be incan venient for you to journey to Jerusalem, and I
have therefore taken the liberty of writing to a colleague of mine in
Cape Town who is one of the leading world authorities on optical trauma.
He is Dr. Ruben Friedman and I enclose a copy of my letter to him.
You will see that I have also despatched to him Debra's original X-ray
plates and a clinical history of her case.
I would recommend most strongly that you take the first opportunity of
presenting Debra to Dr. Friedman, and that you place in him your
complete confidence. I might add that the optical unit of Groote Schuur
Hospital is rightly world-renowned and fully equipped to provide any
treatment necessary
, they do not restrict their activities to heart transplants!
I have taken the liberty of showing your letter to General Mordecai, and
of discussing the case with him David folded the letter the carefully.
Why the hell did he have to bring the Brig into it, talk about a war
horse in a rose garden, and he opened the Brig's letter.
Dear David, Dr. Edelman has spoken with me. I have telephoned Friedman
in Cape Town, and he has agreed to see Debra.
For some years I have been postponing a lecture tour to South Africa
which the S. A. Zionist Council has been urging upon me. I have today