Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [196]
“Closing the door and locking it behind you, you threw the key over the balcony and declared, Ever see turtles fuck? They sit on top of the water in the sun, humping each other with the only movement, the rolling of the waves, and they don’t quit till one dies. Well, you weren’t exactly a turtle, habibi, because every hour or so you would dismount, go out on the balcony, and look across no-man’s-land to the Old City walls, and shake your fist and deliver your sermon from the balcony.
“From there the party went to Jaffa ... for atmosphere, you know. You were determined to find the sleaziest Arab hotel in the Middle East. We came very, very close ... then Tel Aviv, that part of the city where the gangsters hang out, near the beachfront, and then to Herzlia to the Accadia, where you read me twenty-two letters from your father. My, my, my, Nathan is quite a chap.”
Gideon now remembered. He tried to take Natasha to his home, but she had refused to enter, much less make love in Val’s bed. From then on, things became fuzzy in his memory.
“So, here we are on good old Cyprus, the next jewel to fall out of the king’s crown,” Gideon said.
Suddenly the battle for Mitla Pass took over. Shlomo took over. Major Ben Asher and Zechariah and Val and his daughters, now waiting in Rome, took over. And there was the woman across from him, her emerald eyes glowing and singing with love for her wayward cowboy.
They made love again. This time it was sober and hungry and deep. No more little “chicken” contests of who would give up first and have an orgasm, stretching their powers for three, four, five hours before one of them had to quit and explode. No fantasies, no toys, no costumes, no ropes, chains, cuffs, no drugs, no mock wrestling matches, no slaps, no mirrors, no belly dancers in Nicosia’s fleshpots, no more pickups in dark cobblestone alleyways, no more sex in the elevator between the first and fourth floors, no more rolling in the fields off the Jerusalem highway, in sight of the Christian Brothers Monastery, no more flashing exhibitions, no more watching paid performances, no more getting it on in the lavatory of the airplanes, no more fingering each other under the tables in restaurants, no more oils, wigs, backs of taxicabs.
They’d done all that. Now it was just plain, raw, naked, screaming sex.
And they collapsed in each other’s willing arms, weeping from the continued magic of it, all day, late into the evening.
They went down to the harbor and climbed the steps to the parapets of the old fort. She became entranced watching Gideon’s movements; he was like a lion stalking forward, speaking under his breath as his mind whipped the fort and harbor into chapters of a story.
They returned to the Dome Hotel, thought it best to round up their driver and get to the airport at Nicosia, but as they packed they went after each other again and made love and fell asleep, clinging to each other. And darkness came.
Natasha woke up with a start! Gideon was not beside her. She flung off the sheet and leaped from the bed, heart pounding. No! It was all right. He was outside, feet up on the railing looking out to the sea, off again on one of his mystical journeys in that strange world of his own making.
“Hi, cowboy.”
“Hello, sweetheart. Jesus, I’ve got a super first chapter.”
She pulled up a chair alongside him and only then saw how troubled he was.
“What’s going on inside there?” she asked.
Natasha had caught him cold. He couldn’t speak.
“Well, out with it.”
He shook his head for her to leave him alone.
“Shlomo?”
“I suppose ... he didn’t have to go into the Pass ... nobody did.”
“You’ve already said that a hundred times in the past week.”
“So I did. At least ... at least ...”
“What?” she pressed.
“Nothing,” he answered sharply.
“Something’s choking you, Gideon. There’s a lump in there. I knew it the first time we met. I’ve known it every time we’ve made love. I think it’s time you let it go.”
It was quite chilly, but perspiration broke out on his face.
“Gideon, I’ve learned