Eagle in the Sky - Smith Wilbur (бесплатные версии книг .txt) 📗

feet were huge, her fingers clustered with rings and semi-precious

stones and her toenails through the open sandals were painted a glaring

crimson, as if to flaunt their size.  She stood as tall as David but the

tent-like dress that billowed about her was covered with great explosive

designs that enhanced her bulk until she seemed to make up two of him.

She wore a wig of tiered curls, flaming red in colour and dangling gold

earrings.

It seemed she must have applied her eye make-up with a spade, and her

rouge with a spray gun.  She removed the thin black cheroot from her

mouth and kissed Debra before she turned to study David.  Her voice was

gravelly, hoarse with cheroot smoke and brandy.

I had not expected you to be so beautiful she said, and Debra quailed at

the expression in David's eyes.  I do not like beauty.  It is so often

deceptive, or inconsequential.  It usually hides something deadly, like

the glittering beauty of the cobra, or like the pretty wrapper of a

candy bar, it contains cloying sweetness and a soft centre.  She shook

the stiffly lacquered curls of her wig, and fixed David with her shrewd

little eyes.  No, I prefer ugliness to beauty.

David smiled at her with all his charms upon display.  Yes, he agreed,

having met you, and seen some of your work, I can understand that.

She let out a cackle of raucous laughter, and clapped the cheroot back

in her mouth.  Well now, at the very least we are not dealing with a

chocolate soldier.  She placed a huge masculine arm about David's

shoulders and led him to meet the company.

They were a mixed dozen, all intellectuals, artists, writers, teachers,

journalists, and David was content to sit beside Debra in the mild

sunshine and enjoy the beer and the amusing conversation.  However, Ella

would not let him relax for long and when they sat down to the

gargantuan alfresco meal of cold fish and poultry, she attacked him

again.

Your martial airs and affectations, your pomp and finery.  A plague on

it I say, a pox on your patriotism, and courage, on your fearlessness

and your orders of chivalry.  It is all sham and pretence, an excuse for

you to stink up the earth with piles of carrion.

I wonder if you will feel the same when a platoon of Syrian infantry

break in here to rape you, David challenged her.

My boy, I find it so difficult to get laid these days that I should pray

for such a heaven-sent opportunity.  She let out a mighty hoot of

laughter and her wig slipped forward at an abandoned angle.  Nothing was

safe from her, and she pushed the wig back into place and streamed

straight into the attack again.

Your male bombast, your selfish arrogance.  To you this woman- and she

indicated Debra with a turkey leg, to you she is merely a receptacle for

your seething careless sperm.  It matters not to you that she is a

promise for the future, that within her are the seeds of a great writing

talent.  No, to you she is a rubbing block, a convenient means to a

Debra interrupted her.  That definitely is enough, I will not allow a

public debate on my bedroom, and Ella turned towards her with the battle

lust lighting her eyes.

Your gift is not yours to use as you wish.  You hold it in trust for all

mankind, and you have a duty to them.

That duty is to exercise your gift, to allow it to grow and blossom and

give forth fruit.  She used the turkey leg like a judge's gavel, banging

the edge of her plate with it, to silence Debra's protests.

Have you written a word since you took young Mars to your heart?  What

of the novel we discussed on this very terrace a year ago?  Have your

animal passions swamped all else?  Has the screeching of your ovaries

Stop it, Ella!  Debra was angry now, her cheeks flushed and her brown

eyes snapping.

Yes!  Yes!  Ella tossed the bone aside and sucked her fingers noisily.

Ashamed you should be, angry with yourself - Damn you, Debra flared at

her.

Damn me if you will, but you are damned yourself if you do not write!

Write, woman, write!  She sat back and the wicker chair protested at the

movement of her vast body.  All right, now we will all go for a swim.

David had not seen me in a bikini yet, much he will care for that skinny

little wench when he does!  They drove back to Jerusalem in the night,

flushed with the sun, and although the Mercedes seats had not been

designed for lovers, Debra managed to sit close up against him.

She's right, you know, David broke a long contented silence.  You must

write, Debs.  'Oh, I will, she answered lightly.

When?  he persisted, and to distract him she snuggled a little closer.

One of these days, she whispered as she made her dark head comfortable

on his shoulder.  One of these days, he mimicked her.  Don't bug me,

Morgan.  She was already half-asleep.

Stop being evasive.  He stroked her hair with his free hand.  And don't

go to sleep while I'm talking to you.

David, my darling, we have a lifetime, and more, she murmured.  You have

made me immortal.  You and I shall live for a thousand years, and there

will be time for everything.  Perhaps the dark gods heard her boast, and

they chuckled sardonically and nudged each other.

On Saturday Joe and Hannah came to the house on Malik Street, and after

lunch they decided on a tourist excursion for David and the four of them

climbed Mount Zion across the valley.  They entered the labyrinth of

corridors that led to David's tomb, covered with splendid embroidered

cloth and silver crowns and Torah covers.  From there it was a few steps

to the room of Christ's last supper in the same building, so closely

interwoven were the traditions of Judaism and Christianity in this

citadel.

Afterwards they entered the old city through the Zion gate and followed

the wall around to the centre of Judaism, the tall cliff of massive

stone blocks, bevelled in the fashion of Herodian times, which was all

that remained of the fabulous second temple of Herod, destroyed two

thousand years before by the Romans.

They were searched at the gate and then joined the stream of worshippers

flocking down towards the wall.

At the barrier they stood for a long time in silence.

David felt again the stirring of a deep race memory, a hollow feeling of

the soul which longed to be filled.

The men prayed facing the wall, many of them in the long black coats of

the Orthodox Jew with the ringlets dangling against their cheeks as they

rocked and swayed in religious ecstasy.  Within the enclosure of the

right hand side, the women seemed more reserved in their devotions.

Joe spoke at last, a little embarrassed and in a gruff tone.  I think

I'll just go say a shma.  Yes, Hannah agreed.  Are you coming with me,

Debra?

A moment.  Debra turned to David, and took something from her handbag.

I made it for you for the wedding, she said.  But wear it now.  It was a

yamulka, an embroidered prayer cap of black satin.

Go with Joe, she said.  He will show you what to do.  The girls moved

off to the women's enclosure and David placed the cap upon his head and

followed Joe down to the wall.

A shamash came to them, an old man with a long silver beard, and he

helped David bind upon his right arm a tiny leather box containing a

portion of the Torah.

So you shall lay these words upon your heart and your soul, and you

shall bind them upon your right arm Then he spread a tollit across

David's shoulders, a tasselled shawl of woven wool, and he led him to