Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [14]
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