Authors: Leon Uris
Valerie barely tolerated him and Roxanne generally mirrored her mother. Val had eased Shlomo out of coming to their home, but he had become indispensable to Gideon. Perhaps she was even a bit jealous.
Shlomo indicated that they should get out of earshot, so they walked to the bluffs.
“We’ve been invited to join an operation,” Shlomo said.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Gideon registered a flush of excitement. “Reprisal? Jordan?”
Shlomo shrugged that he didn’t know.
Gideon had pestered, demanded, pleaded for a chance to go out on an action over the border. He knew there was something different about these soldiers, different from any others in the world. Their connection with the ancient biblical warriors intrigued him. The pieces of a six-thousand-year-old puzzle could not be found hidden away in an office drawer. He could only find them by going out and putting the puzzle together with his own hands.
Most of his prodding of the authorities had been done before Val and the girls arrived. They changed the picture. His embarking on such a risky adventure would be brutally unfair to them. But what the hell, writing is unfair. It takes from everyone—the writer, the wife, the children. Everyone’s blood ends up hidden in the pages. Was this beyond reasonable unfairness?
“So, what do you think, Shlomo?”
“Val?”
“Val.”
Shlomo’s black beard and head rolled from side to side: maybe yes, maybe no. “There’s going to be gunfire. People are going to get hurt ... killed ... maimed. You don’t have to smell gunpowder to write about it. Something else pushing you to go out?”
“Maybe.”
“What is it, Gideon?”
“I don’t know. But I do know the only way I’m going to find out. I’m coming.”
“Well keep our asses down low.”
“Your assignment with me doesn’t call for this kind of crap. You don’t have to come.”
Shlomo puffed out his chest. An insult. “Be here at the hotel at five in the morning,” he said. “I’ll take you to the staging area.”
V
ALERIE SAT
cross-legged on the bed, her gown drawn up so that her thighs were bared. The international edition of
Time
was balanced between her legs as she wiped her reading glasses. She had hit the waste-basket with the Jerusalem
Post
and
Herald Trib.
Four points. Gideon’s pages were on the bedstand to read last, for dessert.
Val turned to the
Time
book review. A full page in frothing lionization of a minor talent who couldn’t sell twenty thousand books if they spotted him nineteen thousand.
“Pricks,” she said, tossing the magazine. She picked up Gideon’s pages, teased herself with them. She had looked forward to them voraciously.
Val read half a page, then lay back on the pillows with a thud and rubbed her eyes. My God, I’m finding fault. Nit-picking. I’m not reading what he’s saying, but what I want it to say. I’ve become just like those God-damned critics I loathe. It’s become insatiable. Why? To annoy him? Hell no, to hurt him. My head’s not clear anymore. You just can’t read with a hate bird sitting on your shoulder.
Val, damn you, you’ve got to be more supportive. Read what this guy is reaching for. He’s good. He’s ripping himself open to find meanings. That’s when a writer can really be great, on a voyage of discovery.
What the hell, I came to Israel, didn’t I? Isn’t that being supportive enough? Did you come for Gideon or to save your own ass?
She heard Grover growl and the rubber flap of his dog door snap open and shut. Sounds disturbed her here, adding to the jittery feeling she always had when Gideon was away. Everything in this damned country ran on nerves and anxiety.
Val drew images of him whispering into the phone, calling that woman. Perhaps that woman was waiting for him at the hotel and they’d go at it desperately. If he smelled of a fresh shower, it was no doubt to get rid of her scent. He usually wore his guilt like a neon sign.
Lots of parties in Israel. Big social life. You know what it’s like to feel every pair of eyes in the room glaring at you. That’s the poor wife. Pity. No big deal in Israel, this bed-hopping: sophistication personified.
Natasha Solomon. She’s a bloody charmer all right. So sweet to Penelope and Roxy at the Savyon Club.
“When you come up to Jerusalem, I’d love to take your daughters around.”
And I’d like to bust you one in the mouth, lady!
Come on, Val, read the pages ... no use. She flung them down rudely. Stinks! Oh God, it hurts!
There was that awful night, not long after I had arrived in Israel. Gideon was working late at the hotel. Or so I thought. I decided to drive over and surprise him and maybe talk him into a little romantic stroll on the beach.
When I parked the car in the front of the Accadia, I heard riotous laughter coming from the beach.
“What’s going on down there?” I asked the doorman.
“A reunion of Hungarian survivors, from all over Israel,” he answered.
I was magnetically drawn to the bluffs that ran along the rear of the hotel. The Hungarians were strung all up and down the beach; a crowd of them around a campfire were having a boisterous time. Some of the revelers began to shed their clothing, daring others to do the same. They plunged naked into the water and indulged in horseplay that bordered on the sexy. I felt like a bit of a peeping Tom, but it was so damned joyous down there I almost had the urge to join them. Good Lord, if anyone deserved happiness, they certainly did. Seeing their naked bodies, I shuddered for an instant
...
that was the way they were sent into the gas chambers.
And then it came back to me. The first time someone reached out to embrace me and I saw a number tattooed on her arm, I screamed and turned into Gideon’s arms, weeping. I was shaken for days. So, I thought, have a good time, guys! Thank God for Israel.
I turned and retraced my steps from the bluff and glanced up to Gideon’s window on the fourth floor. A large beach towel was draped over his balcony railing. Strange. Oh well, he must have taken a dip earlier
—
wait, what the hell’s that? A woman darted out of Gideon’s room, took the towel, and wrapped it about herself quickly.
I just stood there, stunned. From my vantage point I could see the door that led from the hotel to the beach. In a few moments the same woman emerged, ran across the beach, flung off the towel and joined the merrymaking in the sea. I looked up. Gideon was now on the balcony, watching
h
er. I learned a short time later her name was Natasha Solomon. Apparently they had begun a not so discreet affair before my arrival
Oh God, Gideon, God! Why! Why! Why! Oh God! She was wild and beautiful, an untamed bird. I almost went insane but I held my tongue. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt but I didn’t face him with it. That was my damned fault
...
but
...
I guess
...
I wanted him, no matter what the price.
Suddenly Gideon’s words captured her and she was at peace. It’s beautiful stuff, she thought. I guess it must be worth the price we have to pay. One page, and another and another. I’ve got to tell him. I really do.
Grover barked and she heard the sound of Gideon’s jeep. Pleasant surprise. There was an impulse to turn off the lights and feign sleep. That’s childish, Val. Tell him what you think of the pages. Maybe he’ll talk about what’s coming up next, maybe we’ll talk halfway through the night, the way we used to.
She pretended to read, but was now taken by his sounds, the door of the jeep slamming shut, his unmistakable gait, the jingling as he fumbled for the correct key, the careful closing of the front door, the click of the refrigerator door opening and closing, a stop at the girls’ room and a final whispered word to Grover.
“Hi, you’re home early,” she said doffing her glasses. Gideon stared at her thighs from the doorway and watched her deliberately jiggle her breasts through the sheer gown. No matter how rotten things were, it could heat up between them in a hurry.
Why don’t I just take it off and welcome him home? she thought. She remained formal, unconcerned at his stare.
“Your friends must all be up in Jerusalem tonight,” she said. Why? I didn’t mean to. It just came out.
Thanks, pal. You didn’t disappoint me, he mused to himself.
“No phone calls?” Val went on.
Translation. No phone calls from
her?
Did you knock off a quickie with
her?
Say it, Val, God dammit. She has a name. Say it! I dare you.
“No phone calls,” he said.
Val pulled down the gown covering her legs, set the pages aside without comment, lay back and drew the sheet over her. “God, I’m tired,” she said.
Wacko! Bull’s-eye! Whatever mellow mood he’d brought home was curdled.
“Let’s knock off,” he said. “I’ve got to get an early start tomorrow.” There was a dreadful beat of silence. “I have to leave at four-thirty.”
Val sat up slowly, afraid of the coming conversation. “Am I permitted to ask why?”
“I’m going out with the boys.”
“The boys?”
“The troops.”
“Good Lord, Gideon, you’ve been on two Negev patrols already this month. How many altogether—five? Seven?”
“Seven or eight, I don’t know.”
“What are you doing? Buying stock in the Lion’s Battalion?”
“Val ... Val ... this isn’t exactly a patrol.”
Val became uneasy, frightened, not wanting to ask the next question. “Exactly what is it, then?” she asked tersely. No answer. “Well, do you care to tell me?”
“I’ve been invited to ... join an action.”
“Have you gone bonkers?” she shouted.
“Baby, you’re going to wake up the kids. I’ve—I’ve been trying to get this arranged for months. If I pass on this one, I’ll never get another chance.”
“You’re out of your God-damned mind!”
“Honey, the kids. I’ve got to get a night’s sleep.”
“Look at you, you bastard. You’re in heaven, aren’t you?”
“Val.”
“Real bullets and everything this time. Old Marine blood all stirred up?”
“Shut up!” He was breathing hard now, teeth clenched. “I didn’t come here to observe life from a sidewalk cafe on Dizengoff Street!”
“And I didn’t come here to sit around and wait for you to be returned in a coffin. You’re spoiling for it. I mean, really spoiling for it. You’re not going to quit till you get your stupid head shot off!”
“Why is it! Why is it so difficult, so fucking impossible, for you to understand! Just once. Understand!”
“What is it you’re after, boy? Tell me so I’ll know what to tell the children.”
He leaned over the bed, his hands like claws, tight, trembling. His voice became choked. “I want to feel it! I want to be scared shitless! I want to be exhausted! Feel it!”
“With your leg lying twenty yards away! You want to feel that too!” She stood in the bed and flung the pillow off. “How about us? Too bad you won’t be around to watch us mourn. You don’t have to do this!”
“No, I don’t,” he replied with menacing softness. “I can pack up tomorrow and hightail it back to Sherman Oaks and spend the rest of my life writing Doris Day comedies, or bowwow pictures at Disney. Hey, let’s hire old Gideon Zadok, he’s one of the best whores in town. Just wind him up and out comes dribble, dribble, dribble. Old Gideon won’t give you any trouble. He’s a pissant. Heard he wanted to be a real writer once. Can you imagine that? Shit, couldn’t give up his monogrammed underwear. Not old Gideon.”
“Isn’t it about time for your zinger, that I wrecked your second novel because I wouldn’t let you go live in the brothels of San Francisco?”
“No, no, no, honey, don’t blame yourself. It’s the tuition in those private schools that costs too much. Grover’s got to see a psychiatrist. The Caddy has already got a thousand miles on it.”
Val went to her knees, buried her face in her hands, and rocked back and forth, back and forth. She emitted a long, terrible sigh, lay down, turned her back to him, and drew the sheet over her. “Fuck off,” she said.
“Baby,” he cried, “please tell me you know what I’m trying to do. Please tell me.”
She was calm now, deadly calm. “You’re a war lover, Gideon. Even your jeep was making joyous sounds tonight when you pulled in.”
Gideon was shattered. He fell back against the wall and hung his head. It was the damned truth. The thought of going on a raid had sent him into exaltation. How do you explain? How do you justify?
He knelt by the bed, reached out tentatively, and touched the rounded part of her hip. She was icy. “It’s part of me, baby, I can’t help myself. All right, I’m intoxicated by it. I’ve got to go for it, baby. I’ve got to reach for it. Don’t make me go back ... there ... without going for it.”
He waited but she did not stir. He came to his feet, rocky. “I’ll go to the hotel,” he said.
She reached behind her and pulled the sheet down for him to climb in. In a moment, he curled up tightly against her.
“Baby ... baby ...”
Val turned around, took his head, and held it on her breast.
“Try to sleep, Gideon. You’ll need your strength.”
“Take it off.”
“You crazy fool. You’re too much, Zadok. You horny Jew.”
“This is what gives me strength,” he said.
There was something incredible about the lovemaking, when it came on wings of such fury.
VAL
HERZLIA, ISRAEL
October 10, 1956
T
HERE HAD BEEN MANY
other times I’d waited for Gideon with my heart in my mouth. I always knew he’d find his way home. Not so, this time. Val, I kept telling myself, it may be thirty-six hours before you get any information. If I could only close my eyes and wake up tomorrow with him standing over me. If I could only talk to someone about it!
All my options to kill time lost their appeal—reading a new book, sewing a couple of dresses for the girls, giving them a heavy dose of school lessons. I didn’t seem to be able to concentrate.
Maybe jump into the car and take a trip up to Jerusalem, or go up to the archaeological dig at Hazor. No, I didn’t even want to take a long walk on the beach. I should be on hand if a telephone message comes through.