by Wilbur Smith
When they took off from the landing-strip in the early morning, David circled twice over the estate, climbing slowly, and the pools glinted like gunmetal amongst the hills as the low sun touched them. The land was lush with the severe unpromising shade of green, so different from that of the lands of the northern hemisphere, and the servants stood in the yard of the homestead, shading their eyes and waving up at them, their shadows lying long and narrow against the ruddy earth.
David came around and steadied on course.
‘Cape Town, here we come,’ he said, and Debra smiled and reached across to lay her hand upon his leg in warm and companionable silence.
They had the suite at the Mount Nelson Hotel, preferring its ancient elegance and spacious palmy gardens to the modern slabs of glass and concrete upon the foreshore and the rocks of Sea Point. They stayed in the suite for the two days, awaiting the Brig’s arrival, for David had grown unaccustomed to humanity in its massed and unlovely multitudes, and found the quick inquisitive glances and murmurs of pity that followed him hard to stomach.
On the second day the Brig arrived. He knocked on the door of the suite and then entered with his aggressive and determined stride. He was lean and hard and brown, as David remembered, and when he and Debra had embraced, he turned to David and his hand was dry and leathery – but it seemed that he looked at David with a new calculation in the fierce warrior eyes.
While Debra bathed and dressed for the evening, he took David to his own suite and poured whisky for him without asking his preference. He gave David the glass and began immediately to discuss the arrangements he had made.
‘Friedman will be at the reception. I will introduce him to Debra and let them talk for a while, then he will be seated next to her at the dinner-table. This will give us the opportunity to persuade Debra to undergo an examination later—’
‘Before we go any further, sir,’ David interrupted, ‘I want your assurance that at no time will it ever be suggested to her that there is a possibility of Debra regaining her sight.’
‘Very well.’
‘I mean, at no time whatsoever. Even if Friedman determines that surgery is necessary, it must be for some other reason than to restore sight—’
‘I don’t think that is possible,’ the Brig snapped angrily. ‘If matters go that far, then Debra must be told. It would not be fair—’
It was David’s turn for anger, although the frozen mask of his features remained immobile, the lipless slit of mouth turned pale and the blue eyes glared.
‘Let me determine what is fair. I know her as you never can, I know what she feels and what she is thinking. If you offer her a chance of sight, you will create for her the same dilemma in which I have been trapped since the possibility first arose. I would spare her that.’
‘I do not understand you,’ the Brig said stiffly. The hostility between them was a tangible essence that seemed to fill the room with the feel of thunder on a summer’s day.
‘Then let me explain,’ David held his eyes, refusing to be brow-beaten by this fierce and thrusting old warrior. ‘Your daughter and I have achieved an extraordinary state of happiness.’
The Brig inclined his head, acknowledging. ‘Yes, I will accept your word for that – but it is an artificial state. It’s a hot-house thing, reared in isolation – it has no relation to the real world. It’s a dream state.’
David felt his anger begin to shake the foundations of his reason. He found it offensive that anybody should speak of Debra and his life in those terms – but at the same time he could see the justification.
‘You may say so, sir. But for Debra and me, it is very real. It is something of tremendous value.’
The Brig was silent now.
‘I will tell you truly that I thought long and hard before I admitted that there was a chance for Debra, and even then I would have hidden it for my own selfish happiness—’
‘You still do not make sense. How can Debra regaining her sight affect you?’
‘Look at me,’ said David softly, and the Brig glared at him ferociously, expecting more, but when nothing further came his expression eased and he did took at David – for the first time truly seeing the terribly ravaged head, the obscene travesty of human shape – and suddenly he thought on it from David’s side, whereas before he had considered it only as a father.
His eyes dropped and he turned to replenish his whisky glass.
‘If I can give her sight, I will do it. Even though it will be an expensive gift for me, she must take it.’ David felt his voice trembling. ‘But I believe that she loves me enough to spurn it, if she were ever given the choice. I do not want her ever to be tortured by that choice.’
The Brig lifted his glass and took a deep swallow, half the contents at a gulp.
‘As you wish,’ he acquiesced, and it may have been the whisky, but his voice sounded husky with an emotion David had never suspected before.
‘Thank you, sir.’ David set down his own glass, still untasted. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I should go and change now.’ He moved to the door.
‘David!’ the Brig called to him and he turned back. The gold tooth gleamed in the dark bristly patch of moustache, as the Brig smiled a strangely embarrassed but gentle smile.
‘You’ll do,’ he said.
The reception was in the banquet-ròom at the Heerengracht Hotel, and as David and Debra rode up together in the elevator, she seemed to sense his dread, for she squeezed his arm.
‘Stay close to me tonight,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll need you,’ and he knew it was said to distract him and he was grateful to her. They would be a freak show, and even though he was sure most of the guests had been prepared, yet he knew it would be an ordeal. He leaned to brush her cheek with his.
Her hair was loose and soft, very dark and glossy – and the sun had gilded her face to gold. She wore a plain green sheath that fell in simple lines to the floor, but left her arms and shoulders bare. They were strong and smooth, with the special lustre of the skin highlighting the smooth flow of her flesh.
She wore little make-up, a light touch on the lips only, and the serene expression of her eyes enhanced the simple grace of her carriage as she moved on his arm, giving David just that courage he needed to face the crowded room.
It was an elegant gathering, women in rich silks and jewellery, the men dark-suited, with the heaviness of body and poise which advertises power and wealth – but the Brig stood out amongst them, even in a civilian suit, lean and hard where they were plump and complacent – like a falcon amongst a flock of pheasants.
He brought Reuben Friedman to them and introduced them casually. He was a short, heavily built man, with a big alert head seeming out of proportion to his body. His hair was cropped short and grizzled to the round skull, but David found himself liking the bright bird eyes and the readiness of his smile. His hand was warm, but dry and firm. Debra was drawn to him also, and smiled when she picked up the timbre of his voice and the essential warmth of his personality.
As they went into dinner, she asked David what he looked like, and laughed with delight when he replied.
‘Like a koala bear,’ and they were talking easily together before the fish course was served. Friedman’s wife, a slim girl with horn-rimmed spectacles, neither beautiful nor plain, but with her husband’s forthright friendly manner, leaned across him to join the conversation and David heard her say, ‘Won’t you come to lunch tomorrow? If you can stand a brood of squalling kids.’
‘We don’t usually—’ Debra replied, but David could hear her wavering, and she turned to him. ‘May we—?’ and he agreed and then they were laughing like old friends, but David was silent and withdrawn, knowing it was all subterfuge and suddenly oppressed by the surging chorus of human voices and the clatter of cutlery. He found himself longing for the night silence of the bushveld, and the solitude which was not solitude with Debra to share it.
When the master of ceremonies rose to introduce the speaker, David found it
an intense relief to know the ordeal was drawing to a close and he could soon hurry away with Debra to hide from the prying, knowing eyes.
The introductory speech was smooth and professional, the jokes raised a chuckle – but it lacked substance, five minutes after you would not remember what had been said.
Then the Brig rose and looked about him with a kind of Olympian scorn, the warrior’s contempt for the soft men, and though these rich and powerful men seemed to quail beneath the stare, yet David sensed that they enjoyed it. They derived some strange vicarious pleasure from this man. He was a figurehead – he gave to them a deep confidence, a point on which their spirits could rally. He was one of them, and yet apart. It seemed that he was a storehouse of the race’s pride and strength.
Even David was surprised by the power that flowed from the lean old warrior, the compelling presence with which he filled the huge room and dominated his audience. He seemed immortal and invincible, and David’s own emotions stirred, his own pulse quickened and he found himself carried along on the flood.
‘– but for all of this there is a price to pay. Part of this price is constant vigil, constant readiness. Each of us is ready at any moment to answer the call to the defence of what is ours – and each of us must be ready to make without question whatever sacrifice is demanded. This can be life itself, or something every bit as dear—’
Suddenly David realized that the Brig had singled him out, and that they were staring at each other across the room. The Brig was sending him a message of strength, of courage – but it was misinterpreted by others in the gathering.
They saw the silent exchange between the two men, and many of them knew that David’s terrible disfigurement and Debra’s blindness were wounds of war. They misunderstood the Brig’s reference to sacrifice, and one of them began to applaud.
Immediately it was taken up, a smattering here and there amongst the tables, but quickly the sound rose – became thunder. People were staring at David and Debra as they clapped, other heads turned towards them. Chairs began to scrape as they were pushed back and men and women came to their feet, their faces smiling and their applause pounding, until it filled the hall with sound and they were all standing.
Debra was not sure what it was all about, until she felt David’s desperate hand in hers and heard his voice.
‘Let’s get out of here – quickly. They are all staring. They are staring at us—’
She could feel his hand shaking and the strength of his distress at being the subject of their ghoulish curiosity.
‘Come, let’s get away.’ And she rose at his urging with her heart crying out in pain for him, and followed him while the thunder of applause burst upon his defenceless head like the blows of an enemy and their eyes wantonly raked his ravaged flesh.
Even when they reached the sanctuary of their own suite, he was still shaking like a man in fever.
‘The bastard,’ he whispered, as he poured whisky in a glass and the neck of the bottle clattered against the crystal rim. ‘The cruel bastard – why did he do that to us?’
‘David.’ She came to him groping for his hand. ‘He didn’t mean it to hurt. I know he meant it well, I think he was trying to say he was proud of you.’
David felt the urge to flee, to find relief from it all within the sanctuary of Jabulani. The temptation to say to her ‘Come’ and lead her there, knowing that she would do so instantly, was so strong that he had to wrestle with it, as though it were a physical adversary.
The whisky tasted rank and smoky. It offered no avenue of escape and he left the glass standing upon the counter of the private bar and turned instead to Debra.
‘Yes,’ she whispered into his mouth. ‘Yes, my darling,’ and there was a woman’s pride, a woman’s joy in being the vessel of his ease. As always she was able to fly with him above the storm, using the wild winds of love to drive them both aloft, until they broke through together into the brightness and peace and safety.
David woke in the night while she lay sleeping. There was a silver moon reflecting from the french windows and he could study her sleeping face, but after a while it was not sufficient for his need and he reached across gently and switched on the bedside lamp.
She stirred in her sleep, coming softly awake with small sighs and tumbling black hair brushed from her eyes with a sleep-clumsy hand, and David felt the first chill of impending loss. He knew he had not moved the bed when he lit the lamp, what had disturbed her he knew beyond doubt was the light itself – and this time not even their loving could distract him.
Reuben Friedman’s dwelling proclaimed his station in the world. It was built above the sea with lawns that ran down to the beach and big dark green melkhout trees surrounding the swimming-pool, with an elaborate cabana and barbecue area. Marion Friedman’s horde of kids were especially thinned out for the occasion, probably farmed out with friends, but she retained her two youngest. These came to peer in awe at David for a few minutes, but at a sharp word from their mother they went off to the pool and became immersed in water and their own games.
The Brig had another speaking engagement, so the four adults were left alone, and after a while they relaxed. Somehow the fact that Reuben was a doctor seemed to set both David and Debra at their ease. Debra remarked on it, when the conversation turned to their injuries and Reuben asked solicitously, ‘You don’t mind talking about it?’
‘No, not with you. Somehow it’s all right to bare yourself in front of a doctor.’
‘Don’t do it, my dear,’ Marion cautioned her. ‘Not in front of Ruby anyway – look at me, six kids, already!’ And they laughed.
Ruby had been out early that morning and taken half a dozen big crayfish out of the crystal water, from a kelp-filled pool in the rocks which he boasted was his private fishing-ground.
He wrapped them in fresh kelp leaves and steamed them over the coals until they turned bright scarlet and the flesh was milk white and succulent as he broke open the carapaces.
‘Now, if that isn’t the finest spring chicken you have ever seen—’ he crowed as he held up the dismembered shellfish, ‘– you all bear witness that it’s got two legs and feathers.’
David admitted that he had never tasted poultry like it and as he washed it down with a dry Cape Riesling he found it was no terrible hardship to reach for another. Both he and Debra were enjoying themselves, so that it came as a jolt when Reuben at last began on the real purpose of their meeting.
He was leaning across Debra to refill her wine glass, when he paused and asked her.
‘How long is it since your eyes were last checked out, my dear?’ and gently he placed his hand under her chin and tilted her face to look into her eyes. David’s nerves snapped taut, and he moved quickly in his chair, watching intently.
‘Not since I left Israel – though they took some X-rays when I was in hospital.’
‘Any headaches?’ Ruby asked, and she nodded. Ruby grunted and released her chin.
‘I suppose they could strike me off, drumming up business, but I do think that you should have periodic checks. Two years is a long time, and you have foreign matter lodged inside your skull.’
‘I hadn’t even thought about it.’ Debra frowned slightly and reached up to touch the scar on her temple. David felt his conscience twinge as he joined actively in the conspiracy.
‘It can’t do any harm, darling. Why not let Ruby give you a going over while we are here? Heaven knows when we will have another opportunity.’
‘Oh, David—’ Debra disparaged the idea. ‘I know you are itching to head for home – and so am I.’
‘Another day or two won’t matter, and now that we have thought about it, it’s going to worry us.’
Debra turned her head in Ruby’s direction. ‘How long will it taker?’
‘A day. I’ll give you an examination in the morning, and then we’ll shoot some X-ray plates in the afternoon.’
‘How soon could you see her?’ David asked, his voice unnatural for he knew
that the appointment had been arranged five weeks previously.
‘Oh, I’m sure we could fit her in right away – tomorrow – even if we have to do a little juggling. Yours is rather a special case.’
David reached across and took Debra’s hand. ‘Okay, darling?’ he asked.
‘Okay, David,’ she agreed readily.
Ruby’s consulting-rooms were in the Medical Centre that towered above the harbour and looked out across Table Bay to where the black south-easter was hacking the tops from the waves in bursts of white, and shrouding the far shores of the bay in banks of cloud as grey as wood smoke.
The rooms were decorated with care and taste: two original landscapes by Pierneef and some good carpets, Samarkand and a gold-washed Abedah – even Ruby’s receptionist looked like a hostess from a Playboy Club, without the bunny ears and tail. It was clear that Dr Friedman enjoyed the good things of life.
The receptionist was expecting them, but still could not control the widening of her eyes and the shocked flight of colour from her cheeks as she looked at David’s face.
‘Dr Friedman is waiting for you, Mr and Mrs Morgan. He wants you both to go through, please.’
Ruby looked different without his prosperous paunch bulging over the waistband of a bathing costume, but his greeting was warm as he took Debra’s arm.
‘Shall we let David stay with us?’ he asked Debra in mock conspiracy.
‘Let’s,’ she answered.
After the usual clinical history, which Ruby pursued relentlessly, he seemed satisfied and they went through into his examination-room. The chair looked to David to be identical to a dentist’s, and Ruby adjusted it for Debra to lie back comfortably while he made a physical examination, directing light through her pupils deep into the body of each eye.
‘Nice healthy eyes,’ he gave his opinion at last, ‘and very pretty also, what do you say, David?’
‘Smashing,’ David agreed, and Ruby sat Debra upright while he attached electrodes to her arm and swung forward a complicated-looking piece of electronic equipment.
