Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [15]
“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
THERE 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.
I found myself having tea with a couple of the neighbors. Nice girls, South Africans. Part of their families stayed behind in Johannesburg to operate the family businesses. Earnings were sent to Israel where the other part of the family had immigrated and started up new enterprises. Lifetime Zionists with clear-cut goals.
Where was Gideon now?
“Little more tea, Dara?”
“Thanks, Val. Little jumpy today?”
I didn’t totally trust Dara Myerson. She was too gorgeous. They all flirted with Gideon.
I almost lost it. I dropped the kettle and grabbed the sink for support.
“Val, you look the color of paste.”
They helped me to the bedroom and Selma left to find Dr. Hartmann. Dara said she’d take the girls for the day and see to my meals.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
“Just a little dizzy spell.”
“Are you starting your period? Is it premenstrual tension?” Roxy asked. Roxanne had become very worldly about menstruation. She was a lady-in-waiting, about to start up at any time. She carried a sanitary napkin around with her everyplace, in case the big event should occur.
Dr. Hartmann treated a lot of concentration camp survivors. His medical bag was full