Eagle in the Sky - Smith Wilbur - Страница 12

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his speech and movements that was so clearly a put on and finding

pleasure in the big slow smile that took so long to reach its full

bloom.  David had to harden his resolve.

They were an hour early for the plane they were meeting and they found a

table in the restaurant overlooking the runways.  David ordered an

earthenware jug of Sangria, and Debra sat next to Joe and put her hand

on his arm while she chatted, a gesture that tempered David's new-found

liking for him.

A private flight landed as the waiter brought the Sangria, and Joe

looked up.

One of the new executive Gulfstreams.  They tell me she is a little

beauty.  And he went on to list the aircraft's specifications in

technical language that Debra seemed to follow intelligently.

You know anything about aircraft?  David challenged him.  Some, admitted

Joe, but Debra took the question.

Joe is in the airforce, she said proudly, and David stared at them.

So is Debs, 'Joe laughed, and David switched his attention to her.

She's a lieutenant in signals.  .  'Only the reserve, Debra demurred,

but Joe is a flier.

A fighter pilot.  A flier, David repeated stupidly.  He should have

known from Joe's clear and steady gaze that was the peculiar mark of the

fighter pilot.  He should have known by the way he handled the Mustang

If he was an Israeli flier, then he would have flown a formidable number

of operations.  Hell, every time they took off, they were operational.

He felt a vast tide of respect rising within him.

What squadron are you on, Phantoms?  Phantoms!  Joe curled his lip.

That isn't flying.

That's operating a computer.  No, we really fly.  You ever heard of a

Mirage?  David blinked, and then nodded.  Yeah, said David, I've heard

of them.  'Well, I fly a Mirage.  David began to laugh, shaking his

head.

What's wrong?  Joe demanded, his smile fading.  What's funny about that?

I do too, said David.  I fly a Mirage.  It was no use trying to get hot

against this buck, he decided.  I've got over a thousand hours on

Mirages.  And it as Joe's turn to stare, then suddenly they were both

talking at once - Debra's head turning quickly from one to the other.

David ordered another jug of Sangria, but Joe would not let him pay.  He

repeated for the fiftieth time, Well, that beats all, and punched

David's shoulder.  How about that, Debs?  Half-way through the second

jug, David interrupted the talk which had been exclusively on aviation.

Who are we meeting, anyway?  We've driven across half of Spain and I

don't even know who the guy is.  'This guy is a girl, Joe laughed, and

Debra filled in.

Hannah, and she grinned at Joe, his fiancee.  She is a nursing sister at

Hadassah Hospital, and she could only get away for a week.  'Your

fiancee?  David whispered.

They are getting married in June.  Debra turned to Joe.  It's taken him

two years to make up his mind.

Joe chuckled with embarrassment, and Debra squeezed his arm.

Your fiancee?  asked David again.

Why do you keep saying that?  Debra demanded.

David pointed at Joe, and then at Debra.

What, he started, I mean, who, what the hell?  Debra realized suddenly

and gasped.  She covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes sparkling.

You mean - you thought -?  Oh, no, she giggled.  She pointed at Joe and

then at herself.  Is that what you thought?  David nodded.

He is my brother, Debra hooted.  Joe is my brother, you idiot!  Joseph

Israel Mordecai and Debra Ruth Mordecai, brother and sister Hannah was a

rangy girl with bright copper hair and freckles like gold sovereigns.

She was only an inch or two shorter than Joe but he lifted her as she

came through the customs gate, swung her off her feet and then engulfed

her in an enormous embrace.

It seemed completely natural that the four of them should stay together.

By a miracle of packing they got all their luggage and themselves into

the Mustang with Hannah perched on Joe's lap in the rear.

We've got a week, said Debra.  A whole week!  What are we going to do

with it?

They agreed that Torremolinos was out.  It was far south, and since

Michener had written The Drifters, it had become a hangout for all the

bums and freaks.

I was talking to someone on the plane.  There is a place called Colera

up the coast.  Near the border.  They reached it in the middle of the

next morning and it was still so early in the season that they had no

trouble finding pleasant rooms at a small hotel off the winding main

street.  The girls shared, but David insisted on a room of his own.  He

had certain plans for Debra that made privacy desirable.

Debra's bikini was blue and brief, hardly sufficient to restrain a bosom

that was more exuberant than David had guessed.  Her skin was satiny and

tanned to a deep mahogany, although a strip of startling white peeped

over the back of her costume when she stooped to pick up her towel.  She

was long in the waist, and leg, and a strong swimmer, pacing David

steadily through the cool blue water when they set out for a rocky islet

half a mile off shore.

They had the tiny island to themselves and they found a pitch of flat

smooth rock out of the wind and full in the sun.  They lay side by side

with their fingers entwined and the salt water had sleeked Debra's hair

to her shoulders, like the coat of an otter.

They lay in the sun and they talked away the afternoon.  There was so

much they had to learn about each other.

Her father had been one of the youngest colonels in the American

Airforce during World War II, but afterwards he had gone on to Israel.

He had been there ever since, and was now a Major-General.  They lived

in a house in an old part of Jerusalem which was five hundred years old,

but was a lot of fun.

She was a senior lecturer in English at the Hebrew University in

Jerusalem and, this shyly as though.  it were a rather special secret,

she wanted to write.  A small volume of her poetry had already been

published.

That impressed David, and he came up on one elbow and looked at her with

new respect, and a twinge of envy, for someone who saw the way ahead

clearly.

She lay with her eyes closed against the sun, and droplets of water

sparkling like gems on her thick dark eyelashes.  She wasn't beautiful,

he decided carefully, but very handsome and very, very sexy.  He was

going to have her, of course.  There was no doubt in David's mind about

this, but there seemed little urgency in it now.  He was enjoying

listening to her talk, she had a quaint way of expressing herself, once

she was in full flight, and her accent was strangely neutral, although

there were faint echoes of her American background now he knew to look

for them.  She told him that the poetry was merely a beginning.  She was

going to write a novel about being young and living in Israel.  She had

the outline worked out, and it seemed like a pretty interesting story to

David.  Then she started to talk about her land and the people who lived

in it.  David felt something move within him as he listened, a

nostalgia, a deep race memory.  Again his envy stirred.  She was so

certain of where she was from and where she was going - she knew where

she belonged, and what her destiny was, and this made her strong. Beside

her he felt suddenly insignificant and without purpose.

 sunlight and looked up at him.

h?  He shook his head but did not answer her smile, and she became

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