The White Hotel (34 page)

“Yes, I
saw
you consoling him!” the young woman said, with a sly sidelong grin.

“I know! Oh, that was terrible! It almost gave us heart failure! We could only pray you were too young to understand, but obviously you weren’t. I’m sorry, Lisa darling. You see, we had no idea you were still on the yacht. Sonia had strict instructions to—”

“I didn’t mean that time: I meant, in the summer-house!” She
smiled teasingly, but her mother was serious, puzzled. “We
never
did anything in the summer-house; or anywhere where we might be seen. It was nearly always on the yacht; if your father was at work and your aunt preferred to stay behind. We were always very careful.”

She coloured as light dawned. “Wait! Oh yes, I remember now! Yes, just once! Oh, that was very foolish of us! Did
you
see us? I didn’t think you were even walking then! Yes, of course I remember! I was painting, wasn’t I, on the beach? My thoughts were straying…. It must have been a dreadful picture! It was a very warm day, wasn’t it? Almost like this. Then your uncle and aunt strolled down, and Magda wanted to lie in the sun, so Franz and I went for a walk in the grounds. Oh yes, heavens!” She smiled, and the flush, on the unburned side of her face, deepened. “We were only kissing, weren’t we?”

Lisa shook her head vigorously, mischievously. “You were only half
naked!
”

“
Was
I? Oh my God! It’s true! I remember! We must have been mad!” She let out a sudden, rich laugh, and Lisa saw the pearly, even teeth she knew so well. “There was a very strong sexual attraction, I have to admit that. Of course I tried to persuade myself I was in love. And, you know, I’d quote Pushkin: ‘When we meet again / In the shade of olive trees / Beneath a sky that’s always blue, / My dearest, we will share love’s kiss…’—that sort of thing, by the ream! It’s always hard for us women to admit it’s mainly sexual desire. You’d probably find it more forgivable if it
had
been an immortal love; but I honestly can’t say it was.”

“No, you’ve got me wrong,” said Lisa. “I’ve nothing to forgive. I just find it
interesting
.” She took her mother’s hand again. “In fact I can understand it. The excitement of travelling in a train to
meet your lover, knowing he was travelling, just as excitedly, towards
you
. I used to think quite a lot about that.”

“Yes!” admitted her mother, smiling sadly.

“Converging lines moving across the map! Sick with desire—hardly able to wait! And the pleasure of its being
forbidden
.”

Her mother inclined her head. “Yes, that too! It was a great sin.”

“Well, even if it was, it’s the future that counts, not the past. I know that sounds banal, but it’s true.”

Her mother stopped, put her head in her hands, and stood shuddering. “The fire! That was awful, awful!” She went on shuddering for a long time. Then she lowered her hands and said, in a shaky voice: “It was the second night, I think. We hadn’t seen each other for three months, and we were engrossed in each other. You must know how it is, when you’re lying in bed with someone, your senses are less acute, everything outside you is shut out. We didn’t hear or smell anything. Then, when we had finished, we smelt smoke and started coughing. We heard a roaring sound outside our door. Franz went to open the door, and outside it was simply an inferno.” She writhed, as if caught by a flame again; herself like a flame.

“Well, it’s over,” said Lisa, taking her mother’s hand. Gradually the woman became calm.

“Anyway,” continued Lisa, “I think wherever there is love, of
any
kind, there is hope of salvation.” She had an image of a bayonet flashing over spread thighs, and corrected herself hastily: “Wherever there is love in the heart.”

“Tenderness.”

“Yes, exactly!”

They strolled further along the shore. The sun was lower in the sky and the day cooler. The raven came skimming back,
and a shiver ran up Lisa’s spine. She stopped. “Is this the Dead Sea?” she asked.

“Oh, no!” said her mother, with a silvery laugh; and explained that it was fed by the Jordan River, and that river, in turn, was fed by the brook Cherith. “So you can see the water is always pure and fresh.” Her daughter nodded, greatly relieved, and the two women walked on.

White was the wind that came off the hills. The sun set on the desert, and its light through a distant dust storm streaked into circles and formed the likeness of a rose.

Their walk along the lake brought them to a small village, and they went into a tavern to have something to eat. The two women felt strange, as there were only men in the tavern—fishermen discussing their day’s catch, over a glass of wine. The men politely ignored the strangers. The landlord, who welcomed them courteously, was very old, quavery, and slow in his reactions. When he shuffled across to refill their glasses, he paused when Lisa’s glass was two-thirds full, and she put her hand over it to indicate that she didn’t want any more. But the landlord resumed his hospitable act, and the wine flowed on to the woman’s hand, and from there streamed steadily on to the table. She did not move her hand away, and the landlord kept on pouring. Lisa thanked him, with a grave face, but as he shuffled away with the empty bottle, the two women shook with silent laughter. Lisa’s mother didn’t know what to do with herself, she clasped her arms over her stomach, twisted in her chair, put her head in her hand to hide the tears that sprang from her eyes, bit her lip, pointed at Lisa’s wet hand and went into another spasm.

There was a telephone booth in the tavern. Lisa was still choking with mirth when she went into it and picked up the phone.
She asked for the number her mother had given her. When her father answered, it was hardly any different from the old days:

“How are you, Father?”

“Quite well. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

“Do you need any money?”

“No, I’m all right.”

“Well, let me know if you need anything. Take care of yourself.”

“Yes. And you.”

But at least she had spoken to him, over the bad line, and some day they might even have a conversation.

By the time Lisa had returned to the camp, a full moon was shining, in a sky of tranquil stars. But there was nothing tranquil about the scene that met her. In the camp grounds, and stretching far out into the desert, there were tents, standing, or in the process of being erected. They stretched away to the horizon on every side. Young officers were directing the huge operation. Lisa caught sight of Richard Lyons, his thin face gleaming with sweat in the moonlight, and the scar livid. He was darting about here and there, his one good arm directing his toiling helpers in their tasks, his baton flickering like a shaman’s stick. He caught sight of Lisa, ordered his sergeant to “carry on,” and came over to her. “Why, it’s the r-rose of Sharon!” he said, smiling. It was the teasing, affectionate nickname he had given her. He explained that more than a dozen train loads had come in today. Each day there were more. The faster extra huts were built, the sooner they were filled and more were needed. But no one could, or would, be
turned away; for they had nowhere else to go. Sticking his baton in his belt, he fished a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, opened it, took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, fished out a box of matches, opened it, struck the match, lit his cigarette, put match box and cigarette packet back in his pocket—all with the one adroit hand. He puffed the cigarette and watched with her the silently frenzied moonlit scene.

“Where Israel’s tents do shine by night!” he quoted.

Many thousands of immigrants were waiting, standing by their pathetic wooden suitcases and holding their bundles of rags tied up in string. They looked, not sad—listless; not thin—skeletal; not angry—patient. Lisa sighed. “Why is it like this, Richard? We were made to be happy and to enjoy life. What’s happened?” He shook his head in bafflement, and breathed out smoke. “
Were
we made to be happy? You’re an incurable optimist, old girl!” He stubbed the cigarette, and took the baton from his belt. “We’re desperately short of nurses,” he said. “Can you help?” He pointed his baton towards the casualty unit. Camp beds had spilled out on to the grounds. White figures were scurrying among them. “Yes, of course!” she said. She hurried towards the unit, breaking into a run; and only then did she realize that all day her pelvis had not hurt, nor her breast.

She smelt the scent of a pine tree. She couldn’t place it…. It troubled her in some mysterious way, yet also made her happy.