Eagle in the Sky

got a big knife here, I'm going to hold you down and cut She quailed in

the grass, listening to the awful obscenities that poured from his

mouth. Then suddenly she realized that she was safe here. She was

covered by the night and the thick grass, and he had lost her. He was

trying to panic her, make her run again and betray her position. She

concentrated all her attention on remaining absolutely still and silent.

Akker's threats and sadistic droolings ended in silence again. He

listened for her with the patience of the hunter, and the long minutes

dragged by.

The ache in her bladder was like a red-hot iron, and she wanted to sob

out loud. Something loathsome crawled out of the wet grass over her

arm. Her skin prickled with fresh horror at the feel of multiple insect

feet on her skin, but she steeled herself not to move.

The thing, scorpion or spider, crawled across her neck and she knew her

nerves would crack within seconds.

Suddenly Akkers spoke again. All right! he said, I'm going back to

fetch a flashlight. . We'll see how far you get then. I'll be back

soon, don't think you'll beat old Akkers. He's forgotten more tricks

than you'll ever learn.

He moved away heavily, noisily, and she wanted to strike the insect from

her cheek and run again, but some instinct warned her. She waited five

minutes, and then ten. The insect moved up into her hair.

Akkers spoke again out of the darkness near her. All right, you clever

bitch. We'll get you yet, and she heard him move away. This time she

knew he had gone.

She brushed the insect from her hair, shuddering with horror. Then she

stood up and moved quietly into the forest. Her fingers were stiff and

cold on the fastenings of her slacks, but she loosened them and squatted

to relieve the burning ache in her lower belly.

She stood up again and felt the child move within her body. The feel of

it evoked all her maternal instincts of protection. She must find a

safe place for her child. She thought of the hide by the pools.

How to reach them? For she was now completely lost.

Then she remembered David telling her about the wind, the rain wind out

of the west, now reduced to an occasional light air, and she waited for

the next breath of it on her cheek. It gave her direction. She turned

her back to the next gust and set off steadily through the forest with

hands held out ahead to prevent herself running into one of the trunks.

If only she could reach the pools, she could follow the bank to the

hide.

As the cyclonic winds at the centre of the storm turned upon their axis,

so they swung, changing direction constantly and Debra followed them

faithfully, beginning a wide aimless circle through the forest.

Akkers raged through the brightly lit homestead of Jabulani, jerking

open drawers and kicking in locked cupboard doors.

He found the gun cabinet in David's office, and ransacked the desk

drawers for keys. He found none, and giggled and swore with

frustration.

He crossed the room to the built-in cupboard unit.

There was a sealed-cell electric lantern on the shelf with a dozen

packets of shotgun shells. He took down the lantern eagerly and thumbed

the switch. The beam was bright white, even in the overhead lights, and

he sucked his teeth and chuckled happily.

Once more he ran into the kitchen, pausing to select a long

stainless-steel carving knife from the cutlery drawer before hurrying

across the yard to the gate and along the path.

In the lantern beam, Debra's footprints showed clearly in the soft earth

with his own overlaying them. He followed them to where she had

blundered off the path, and found the mark of her body where she had

lain.

Clever bitch, he chuckled again and followed her tracks through the

forest. She had laid an easy trail to follow, dragging a passage

through the rain-heavy grass and wiping the droplets from the stems. To

the hunter's eye it was a clearly blazed trail.

Every few minutes he paused to throw the beam of the lantern ahead of

him amongst the trees. He was thrilling now to the hunter's lust, the

primeval force which was the mainspring of his existence. His earlier

set-back made the chase sweeter for him.

He went on carefully, following the wandering trail, the aimless

footprints turning haphazardly in a wide circle.

He stopped again and panned the lantern beam across the rain-laden grass

tops, and he saw something move at the extreme range of the lamp,

something pale and round.

He held it in the lantern beam, and saw the woman's pale strained face

as she moved forward slowly and hesitantly. She went like a

sleep-walker, with arms extended ahead of her, and with shuffling

uncertain gait.

She was coming directly towards him, oblivious of the light which held

her captive in its beam. Once she paused to hug her swollen belly and

sob with weariness and fear.

The legs of her trousers were sodden with rain water and her flimsy

shoes were already torn, and as she hobbled closer he saw that her arms

and her lips were blue and shivering with the cold.

Akkers stood quietly watching her coming towards him, like a chicken

drawn to the swaying cobra, Her long dark hair hung in damp ropes down

her shoulders, and dangled in her face. Her thin blouse was wet also

with drops fallen from the trees, and it was plastered over the

thrusting mound of her belly.

He let her come closer, enjoying the fierce thrill of having her in his

power. Drawing out the final consummation of his vengeance, hoarding

each moment of it like a miser.

When she was five paces from him he played the beam full in her face,

and he giggled.

She screamed, her whole face convulsing, and she whirled like a wild

animal and ran blindly. Twenty flying paces before she ran headlong

into the stem of a morula, tree.

She fell back, collapsing to her knees and sobbed aloud, clutching at

her bruised cheek.

Then she scrambled to her feet and stood shivering, turning her head and

cocking it for the next sound.

Silently he moved around her, drawing close and he giggled again, close

behind her.

She screamed again and ran blindly, panic-stricken, witless with terror

until an ant-bear hole caught her foot and flung her down heavily to the

ground, and she lay there sobbing.

Akkers moved leisurely and silently after her, he was enjoying himself

for the first time in two years. Like a cat he did not want to end it,

he wanted it to last a long time.

He stooped over her and whispered a filthy word, and instantly she

rolled to her feet and was up and running again, wildly, sightlessly,

through the trees. He followed her, and in his crazed mind she became a

symbol Of all the thousand animals he had hunted and killed.

David ran barefooted in the soft earth of the road. He ran without

feeling his bruised and torn skin, without feeling the pounding of his

heart nor the protest of his lungs.

As the road rounded the shoulder of the hill and dipped towards the

homestead he stopped abruptly, and stared panting at the lurid glow of

the arc lights that flood lit the grounds and garden of Jabulani. It

made no sense that the floodlights should be burnin& and David felt a

fresh flood of alarm. He sprinted on down the hill.

He ran through the empty, ransacked rooms shouting her name, but the

echoes mocked him.

When he reached the front veranda he saw something moving in the

darkness, beyond the broken screen door.

Zulu! He ran forward. Here, boy! Here, boy! Where is she? The dog

staggered up the steps towards him, his tail wagged a perfunctory

greeting, but he was obviously hurt. A heavy blow along the side of his

head had broken the jaw, or dislocated it, so that it hung lopsided and

grotesque. He was still stunned, and David knelt beside him.

Where is she, Zulu? Where is she? The dog seemed to make an effort to

gather its scattered wits. Where is she, boy? She's not in the house.

Where is she? Find her, boy, find her. He led the labrador out into

the yard, and he followed gamely as David circled the house. At the

back door Zulu picked up the scent on the fresh damp earth. He started

resolutely towards the gate, and David saw the footprints in the

floodlights, Debra's and the big masculine prints which ran after them.

As Zulu crossed the yard, David turned back into his office. The

lantern was missing from its shelf, but there was a five-cell flashlight

near the back. He shoved it into his pocket and grabbed a handful of

shotgun shells.

Then he went quickly to the gun cabinet and unlocked it. He snatched

the Purdey shotgun from the rack and loaded it as he ran.

Zulu was staggering along the path beyond the gates, and David hurried

after him.

Johann Akkers was no longer a human being, he had become an animal. The

spectacle of the running quarry had roused the predator's single-minded

passion to chase and drag down and kill, yet it was seasoned with a

feline delight in torment. He was playing with his wounded dragging

prey, running it when he could have ended it, drawing it out, postponing

the climax, the final consuming thrill of the kill.

The moment came at last, some deep atavistic sense of the ritual of the

hunt, for all sport killing has its correct ceremony, and Akkers knew it

must end now.

He came up behind the running figure and reached out to take a twist of

the thick dark hair in the crippled claw of his hand, wrapping it with a

quick movement about his wrist and jerking back her head, laying open

the long pale throat for the knife.

She turned upon him with a strength and ferocity he had not anticipated.

Her body was hard and strong and supple, and now that she could place

him she drove at him with the wild terror of a hunted thing.

He was unprepared, her attack took him off-balance, and he went over

backwards with her on top of him, and he dropped the knife and the

lantern into the grass to protect his eyes, for she was tearing at them

with long sharp nails. He felt them rip into his nose and cheek, and

she screeched like a cat, for she was also an animal in this moment.

He freed the stiff claw from the tangle of her hair, and he drew it

back, holding her off with his right hand and he struck her.

It was like a wooden club, stiff and hard and without feeling. A single

blow with it had stunned the labrador and broken his jaw. It hit her

across the temple, a sound like an axe swung at a tree trunk.

It knocked all the fight out of her, and he came up on his knees,

holding her with his good hand and with the other he clubbed her

mercilessly, beat her head back and across with a steady rhythm. In the

light of the fallen lantern, the black blood spurted from her nose, and

the blows cracked against her skull, steady and unrelenting. Long after

she was still and senseless he continued to beat her. Then at last he

let her drop, and he stood up. He went to the lantern and played the

beam in the grass. The knife glinted up at him.

There is an ancient ceremony with which a hunt should end. The

culminating ceremony of the gralloch, when the triumphant huntsman slits

open the paunch of his game, and thrusts his hand into the opening to

draw out the still-warm viscera.

Johan Akkers picked the knife out of the grass and set down the lantern

so the beam fell upon Debra's supine figure.

He went to her and, with his foot, rolled her onto her back. The dark

black mine of sodden hair smothered her face.

He knelt beside her and hooked one iron-hard finger into the front of

her blouse. With a single jerk he ripped it cleanly open, and her big

round belly bulged into the lantern light. it was white and full and

ripe with the dark pit of the navel in its centre.

Akkers giggled and wiped the rain and sweat from his face with his arm.

Then he changed his grip on the knife, reversing it so the blade would

go shallow, opening the paunch neatly from crotch to rib cage without

cutting into the intestines, a stroke as skilful as a surgeon's that he

had performed ten thousand times before.

Movement in the shadows at the edge of the light caused him to glance

up. He saw the black dog rush silently at him, saw its eyes glow in the

lantern light.

He threw up his arm to guard his throat and the furry body crashed into

him. They rolled together, with Zulu mouthing him, unable to take a

grip with his injured jaws.

Akkers changed his grip on the hilt of the carving knife and stabbed up

into the dog's rib cage, finding the faithful heart with his first

thrust. Zulu yelped once, and collapsed. Akkers pushed his glossy

black body aside, pulling out the knife and he crawled back to where

Debra lay.

The distraction that Zulu had provided gave David a chance to come up.

David ran to Akkers, and the man looked up with the muddy green eyes

glaring in the lantern light. He growled at David with the long blade

in his hand dulled by the dog's blood. He started to come to his feet,

ducking his head in exactly the same aggressive gesture as the bull

baboon.

David thrust the barrels of the shotgun into his face and he pulled both

triggers. The shot hit solidly, without spreadin& tearing into him in

the bright yellow flash and thunder of the muzzle blast, and it took

away the whole of Akkers head above the mouth, blowing it to

nothingness. He dropped into the grass with his legs kicking

convulsively, and David hurled the shotgun aside and ran to Debra.

He knelt over her and he whispered, My darling, oh my darling. Forgive

me, please forgive me. I should never have left you. Gently he picked

her up and holding her to his chest, he carried her up to the homestead.

Debra's child was born in the dawn. It was a girl, tiny and wizened and

too early for her term. If there had been skilled medical attention

available she might have lived, for she fought valiantly. But David was

clumsy and ignorant of the succour she needed. He was cut off by the

raging river and the telephone was still dead, and Debra was still

unconscious.

When it was over he wrapped the tiny little blue body in a clean sheet

and laid it tenderly in the cradle that had been prepared for her. He

felt overwhelmed by a sense of guilt at having failed the two persons

who needed him.

At three o'clock that afternoon, Conrad Berg forced a passage of the

Luzane stream with the water boiling above the level of the big wheels

of his truck, and three hours later they had Debra in a private ward of

the Nelspruit hospital. Two days later she became conscious once more,

but her face was grotesquely swollen and purple with bruises.

Near the crest of the kopje that stood above the homestead of Jabulani

there was a natural terrace, a platform which overlooked the whole

estate. It was a remote and peaceful place and they buried the child

there. Out of the rock of the kopje David built a tomb for her with his

own hands.

It was best that Debra had never felt the child in her arms, or at her

breast. That she had never heard her cry or smelled the puppy smell of

her.

Her mourning was therefore not crippling and corrosive, and she and

David visited the grave regularly. One Sunday morning as they sat upon

the stone bench beside it, Debra talked for the first time about another

baby.

You took so long with the first one, Morgan, she complained. I hope

you've mastered the technique. They walked down the hill again, put the

rods and a picnic basket into the Land-Rover and drove down to the

pools.

The Mozambique bream came on the bite for an hour just before noon and

they fought over the fat yellow wood grubs that David was baiting. Debra

hung five, all around three pounds in weight, and David had a dozen of

the big blue fish before it went quiet and they propped the rods and

opened the cold box.

They lay together on the rug beneath the outspread branches of the fever

trees, and drank white wine cold from the icebox.

The African spring was giving way to full summer, filling the bush with

bustle and secret activity. The weaver birds were busy upon their

basket nests, tying them to the bending tips of the reeds, fluttering

brilliant yellow wings as they worked with black heads bobbing.

On the far bank of the pool a tiny bejewelled kingfisher sat his perch

on a dead branch above the still water, plunging suddenly, a speck of

flashing blue to shatter the surface and emerge with a silver sliver

wriggling in his outsize beak. Hosts of yellow and bronze and white

butterflies lined the water's edge below where they lay, and the bees

flew like golden motes of light to their hive in the cliff, high above

the quiet pools.

The water drew all life to it, and a little after noonday David touched

Debra's arm.

The nyala are here - he whispered.

They came through the grove on the far side of the pool. Timid and

easily spooked, they approached a few cautious steps at a time before

pausing to stare about them with huge dark eyes, questing muzzles and

widespread ears; striped and dainty and beautiful they blended with the

shadows of the grove.

The does are all belly now, David told her. They'll be dropping their

lambs within the next few weeks.

Everything is fruitful. He half-turned towards her and she sensed it

and moved to meet him. When the nyala had drank and gone, and a

white-headed fish eagle circled high above them on dark chestnut wings,

chanting its weird and haunting cry, they made love in the shade beside

the quiet water.

David studied her face as he loved her. She lay beneath him with her

eyes closed, and her dark hair spread in a shiny black sheet upon the

rug. The bruise on her temple had faded to soft yellow and palest blue,

for it was two months since she had left hospital. The white fleck of

the grenade scar stood out clearly against the pale bruising. The

colour rose in Debra's cheeks, and the light dew of perspiration bloomed

across her forehead and upper lip and she made little cooing sounds, and

then whimpered softly like a suckling puppy.

David watched her, his whole being engorged and heavy with the weight of

his love. From above them an errant beam of sunlight broke through the

canopy of leaves and fell full upon her upturned face, lighting it with

a warm golden radiance so that it seemed to be the face of a madonna

from some medieval church window.

It was too much for David and his love broke like a wave, and she felt

it and cried out. Her eyes flew wide, and he looked down into their

gold-flecked depths. The pupils were huge black pools but as the

sunlight struck full into them they shrank rapidly to black pinpoints.

Even in the extremity of his love, David was startled by the phenomenon,

and long afterwards when they lay quietly together she asked, What is

it, David? Is something wrong? 'No, my darling. What could possible

be wrong? I feel it, Davey. You send out the strongest signals I am

sure I could pick them up from half-way around the world. He laughed,

and drew away from her almost guiltily.

He had imagined it perhaps, a trick of the light, and he tried to

dismiss it from his mind.

In the cool of the evening he packed up the rods and the rag and they

strolled back to where he had parked and they took the firebreak road

home, for David wanted to check the southern fence line. They had

driven for twenty minutes in silence before Debra touched his arm.

When you are ready to tell me about whatever is bugging you, I'm ready

to listen, and he began talking again to distract both her and himself,

but a little too glibly.

In the night he rose and went to the bathroom. When he returned he

stood for many seconds beside their bed looking down at her dark

sleeping shape. He would have left it then, but at that moment a lion

began roaring down near the pools. The sound carried clearly through

the still night across the two miles that separated them.

it was the excuse that David needed. He took the five cell flashlight

from his bedside table and shone it into Debra's face. it was serene

and lovely, and he felt the urge to stoop and kiss her, but instead he

called.

Debra! Wake up, darling! and she stirred and opened her eyes. He

shone the beam of the flashlight full into them and again, unmistakably,

the wide black circles of the pupils contracted.

What is it, David? she murmured sleepily, and his voice was husky as he

replied.

There is a lion holding a concert down near the pools.

Thought you might want to listen. She moved her head, averting her face

slightly, almost as though the powerful beam of the flashlight was

causing discomfort, but her voice was pleased.

Oh yes. I love that big growly sound. Where do you suppose this one is

from? David switched out the flashlight and slipped back into bed

beside her.

Probably coming up from the south. I bet he has dug a hole under the

fence you could drive a truck through. He tried to speak naturally as

they reached for each other beneath the bedclothes and lay close and

warm, listening to the far-away roaring until it faded with distance as

the lion moved back towards the reserve. They made love then, but

afterwards David could not sleep and he lay with Debra in his arms until

the dawn.

Still it was a week before David could bring himself to write the

letter: Dear Dr. Edelman, We agreed that I should write to you if any

change occurred in the condition of Debra's eyes, or her health.

Recently Debra was involved in unfortunate circumstances, in which she

was struck repeated heavy blows about the head and was rendered

unconscious for a period of two and half days.

She was hospitalized for suspected fracture of the skull, and

concussion, but was discharged after ten days.

This occurred about two months ago. However, I have since noticed that

her eyes have become sensitive to light. As you are well aware, this

was not previously the case, and she has showed no reaction whatsoever

until this time. She has also complained of severe headaches.

I have repeatedly tested my observations with sunlight and artificial

light, and there can be no doubt that under the stimulus of a strong

light source, the pupils of her eyes contract instantly and to the same

degree as one would expect in a normal eye.

It now seems possible that your original diagnosis might have to be

revised, but, and I would emphasize this most strongly, I feel that we

should approach this very carefully. I do not wish to awaken any false

or ill-founded hope.

For your advice in this matter I would be most grateful, and I wait to

hear from you.

Cordially yours, David Morgan.

David sealed and addressed the letter, but when he returned from the

shopping flight to Nelspruit the following week, the envelope was still

buttoned in the top pocket of his leather jacket.

The days settled into their calmly contented routine.

Debra completed the first draft of her new novel, and received a request

from Bobby Dugan to carry out a lecture tour of five major cities in the

United States. A Place of Our Own had just completed its thirty-second

week on the New York Times bestseller list, and her agent informed her

that she was hotter than a pistol.

David said that as far as he was concerned she was probably a lot hotter

than that. Debra told him he was a lecher, and she was not certain what

a nice girl like herself was doing shacked up with him. Then she wrote

to her agent, and refused the lecture tour.

Who needs people? David agreed with her, knowing that she had made the

decision for him. He knew also that Debra as a lovely, blind, best

selling authoress would have been a sensation, and a tour would have

launched her into the superstar category.

This made his own procrastination even more corrosive. He tried to

re-think and rationalize his delay in posting the letter to Dr. Edelman.

He told himself that the light-sensitivity did not mean that Debra could

ever regain her vision; that she was happy now, had adjusted and found

her place and that it would be cruel to disrupt all this and offer her

false hope and probably brutal surgery.

In all his theorizing tried to make Debra's need take priority, but it

was deception and he knew it. It was special pleading, by David Morgan,

for David Morgan for if Debra ever regained her sight, the delicately

hal anced structure of his own happiness would collapse in ruin.

One morning he drove the Land-Rover alone to the farthest limits of

Jabulani and parked in a hidden place amongst camel Thorn trees. He

switched off the engine and, still sitting in the driving-seat, he

adjusted the driving-mirror and stared at his own face. For nearly an

hour he studied that ravage expanse of inhuman flesh, trying to find

some redeeming feature in it, apart from the eyes, and at the end he

knew that no sighted woman would ever be able to live close to that,

would ever be able to smile at it, kiss and touch it, to reach up and

caress it in the critical moments of love.

He drove home slowly, and Debra was waiting for him on the shady cool

stoop and she laughed and ran down the steps into the sunlight when she

heard the Land-Rover. She wore faded denims and a bright pink blouse,

and when he came to her she lifted her face and groped blindly but

joyously with her lips for his.

Debra had arranged a barbecue for that evening, and although they sat

close about the open fire under the trees and listened to the night

sounds, the night was cool. Debra wore a cashmere sweater over her

shoulders, and David had thrown on his flying jacket.

The letter lay against his heart, and it seemed to burn into his flesh.

He unbuttoned the leather flap and took it out. While Debra chatted

happily beside him, spreading her hands to the crackling leaping flames,

David examined the envelope turning it slowly over and over in his

hands.

Then suddenly, as though it were. a live scorpion, he threw it from him

and watched it blacken and curl and crumple to ash in the flames of the

fire.

It was not so easily done, however, and that night as he lay awake, the

words of the letter marched in solemn procession through his brain,

meticulously preserved and perfectly remembered. They gave him no

respite, and though his eyes were gravelly and his head ached with

fatigue, he could not sleep.

During the days that followed he was silent and edgy.

Debra sensed it, despite all his efforts to conceal it and she was

seriously alarmed, believing that he was angry with her. She was

anxiously loving, distracted from all else but the need to find and cure

the cause of David's ills.

Her concern only served to make David's guilt deeper.

Almost in an act of desperation they drove one evening down to the

String of Pearls, and leaving the Land Rover they walked hand in hand to

the water's edge.

They found a fallen log screened by reeds and sat quietly together. For

once neither of them had anything to say to each other.

As the big red sun sank to the tree-tops and the gloom thickened amongst

the trees of the grove, the nyala herd came stepping lightly and

fearfully through the shadows.

David nudged Debra, and she turned her head into a listening attitude

and moved a little closer to him as he whispered.

They are really spooky this evening, they look as though they are

standing on springs and I can see their muscles trembling from here. The

old bulls seem to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, they are

listening so hard their ears have stretched to twice their usual length,

I swear. There must be a leopard lurking along the edge of the reed

bed, he broke off, and exclaimed softly, oh, so that's it?" "What is it,

David?" Debra tugged at his arm insistently, her curiosity spurring her.

A new fawn! David's delight was in his voice. One of the does has

lambed. Oh God, Debra! His legs are still wobbly and he is the palest

creamy beige- He described the fawn to her as it followed the mother

unsteadily into the open. Debra was listening with such intensity, that

it was clear the act of birth and the state of maternity had touched

some deep chord within her.

Perhaps she was remembering her own dead infant. Her grip on his arm

tightened, and her blind eyes seemed to glow in the gathering dusk, and

suddenly she spoke.

Her voice low, but achingly clear, filled with all the longing and

sadness which she had suppressed.

I wish I could see it, she said. Oh God! God Let me see. Please, let

me see! and suddenly she was weeping, great racking sobs that shook her

whole body.

Across the pool the nyala herd took fright, and dashed away among the

trees. David took Debra and held her fiercely to his chest, cradling

her head, so her tears were wet and cold through the fabric of his

shirt, and he felt the icy winds of despair blow across his soul.

He re-wrote the letter that night by the light of a gas lamp while Debra

sat across the room knitting a jersey she had promised him for the

winter and believing that he was busy with the estate accounts. David

found that he could repeat the words of the ari nal letter perfectly and

it took him only a few minutes to complete and seal it.

Are you working on the book tomorrow morning? he asked casually, and

when she told him she was, he went on. I have to nip into Nelspruit for

an hour or two.

David flew high as though to divorce himself from the earth. He could

not really believe he was going to do it. He could not believe that he

was capable of such sacrifice. He wondered whether it was really

possible to love somebody so deeply that he would chance destroying that

love for the good of the other, and he knew that it was, and as he flew

on southwards he found that he could face it at last.

Of all persons, Debra needed her vision, for without it the great wings

of her talent were clipped. Unless she could see it, she could not

describe it. She had been granted the gift of the writer, and then half

of it had been taken from her. He understood her cry, Oh God!

God! Let me see. Please, let me see, and he found himself wishing it

for her also. Beside her need his seemed trivial and petty, and

silently he prayed.

Please God, let her see again He landed the Navajo at the airstrip and

called the taxi and had it drive him directly to the Post Office, and

wait while he posted the letter and collected the incoming mail from the

box.

Where now? the driver asked as he came out of the building, and he was

about to tell him to drive back to the airfield when he had inspiration.

Take me down to the bottle store, please, he told the driver and he

bought a case of Veuve Clicquot champagne.

He flew homewards with a soaring lightness of the spirit. The wheel was

spinning and the ball clicking, nothing he could do now would dictate

its fall. He was free of doubt, free of guilt, whatever the outcome, he

knew he could meet it.

Debra sensed it almost immediately, and she laughed aloud with relief,

and hugged him about the neck.

But what happened? she kept demanding. For weeks you were miserable. I

was worrying myself sick, and then you go off for an hour or two and you

come back humming like a dynamo. What on earth is going on, Morgan? I

have just found out how much I love you, he told her, returning her hug.

Plenty? she demanded. Plenty! he agreed. That's my baby! she

applauded him.

The Veuve Clicquot came in useful. in the batch of mail that David

brought back with him from Nelspruit was a letter from Bobby Dugan. He

was very high on the first chapters of the new novel that Debra had

airmailed to him, and so were the publishers; he had managed to hit them

for an advance of $100,000 .

You're rich! David laughed, looking up from the letter.

The only reason you married me, agreed Debra. Fortune hunter! but she

was laughing with excitement, and David was proud and happy for her.

They like it, David. Debra was serious then. They really like it. I

was so worried. "The money was meaningless, except as a measure of the

book's value. Big money is the sincerest type of praise.

They would have to be feeble-minded not to like it, David told her, and

then went on. It just so happens that I have a case of French champagne

with me, shall I put a bottle or ten on the ice?

Morgan, man of vision, Debra said. At times like this, I know why I

love you. The weeks that followed were as good then as they had ever

been. David's appreciation was sharper, edged by the storm shadows on

the horizon, the time of plenty made more poignant by the possibility of

the drought years coming. He tried to draw it out beyond its natural

time. It was five weeks more before he flew to Nelspruit again, and

then only because Debra was anxious to learn of any further news from

her publishers and agent, and to pick up her typing.

I would like to have my hair set, and although I know we don't really

need them, David, my darling, we should keep in touch with people, like

once a month, don't you think? Has it been that long? David asked

innocently, although each day had been carefully weighed and tallied,

the actuality savoured and the memory stored for the lean times ahead.

David left Debra at the beauty salon, and as he went out he could hear

her pleading with the girl not to put it up into those tight little

curls and plaster it with lacquer and even in the anxiety of the moment,

David grinned for he had always thought of the hairstyle she was

describing as Modem Cape Dutch or Randburg Renaissance.

The postbox was crammed full and David sorted quickly through the junk

mail and picked out the letters from Debra's American agent, and two

envelopes with Israeli stamps. Of these one was addressed in a doctor's

prescription scrawl, and David was surprised that it had found its

destination. The writing on the second envelope was unmistakable, it

marched in martial ranks, each letter in step with the next, and the

high strokes were like the weapons of a company of pike men, spiky and

abrupt.

David found a bench in the park under the purple jacaranda trees, and he

opened Edelman's letter first.

It was in Hebrew, which made deciphering even more difficult.

Dear David, Your letter came as a surprise, and I have since studied the

X-ray plates once more. They seem unequivocal, and upon an

interpretation of them I would not hesitate to confirm my original

prognosis Despite himself, David felt the small stirrings of relief.

However, if I have learned anything in twenty-five years of practice, it

is humility. I can only accept that your observations of

light-sensitivity are correct.

Having done so, then I must also accept that there is at least partial

function of the optic nerves. This presupposes that the nerve was not

completely divided, and it seems reasonable to believe now that it was

only partially severed, and that now, possibly due to the head blows

that Debra received, it has regained some function.

The crucial question is just how great that recovery is, and again I

must warn you that it may be as minimal as it is at the present time,

when it amounts to nothing more than light sensitivity without any

increase to the amount of vision. It may, however, be greater, and it

is within the realms of possibility that with treatment some portion of

sight may be regained.

I do not expect, however, that this will ever amount to more than a

vague definition of light or shape, and a decision would have to be made

as to whether any possible benefit might not be outweighed by the

undesirability of surgery within such a vulnerable area.

I would, of course, be all too willing to examine Debra myself. However,

it will probably be incan venient for you to journey to Jerusalem, and I

have therefore taken the liberty of writing to a colleague of mine in

Cape Town who is one of the leading world authorities on optical trauma.

He is Dr. Ruben Friedman and I enclose a copy of my letter to him.

You will see that I have also despatched to him Debra's original X-ray

plates and a clinical history of her case.

I would recommend most strongly that you take the first opportunity of

presenting Debra to Dr. Friedman, and that you place in him your

complete confidence. I might add that the optical unit of Groote Schuur

Hospital is rightly world-renowned and fully equipped to provide any

treatment necessary

, they do not restrict their activities to heart transplants!

I have taken the liberty of showing your letter to General Mordecai, and

of discussing the case with him David folded the letter the carefully.

Why the hell did he have to bring the Brig into it, talk about a war

horse in a rose garden, and he opened the Brig's letter.

Dear David, Dr. Edelman has spoken with me. I have telephoned Friedman

in Cape Town, and he has agreed to see Debra.

For some years I have been postponing a lecture tour to South Africa

which the S. A. Zionist Council has been urging upon me. I have today

written to them and asked them to make the arrangements.

This will give us the excuse to bring Debra to Cape Town. Tell her I

have insufficient time to visit you on your farm but insist upon seeing

her.

I will give you my dates later, and expect to see you then It was in

typical style, brusque and commanding, presupposing aquiescence. It was

out of David's hands now.

There was no turning back, but there was still the chance that it would

not work. He found himself hoping for that, and his own selfishness

sickened him a little.

He turned over the letter and on the reverse he drafted a dummy letter

from the Brig setting out his plans for the forthcoming tour. This was

for Debra, and he found faint amusement in aping the Brig's style, so

that he might read it aloud to Debra convincingly.

Debra was ecstatic when he read it to her and he experienced a twinge of

conscience at his deceit.

It will be wonderful seeing him again, I wonder if Mother will be coming

out with him -? He didn't say, but I doubt it. 'David sorted the

American mail into chronological order from the post marks, and read

them to her. The first two were editorial comment on Burning Bright and

were set aside for detailed reply, but the third letter was another with

hard news.

United Artists wanted to film A Place of our Owen and were talking

impressively heavy figures for the twelve-month option against an

outright purchase of the property and a small percentage of the profits.

However, if Debra would go to California and write the screenplay, Bobby

Dugan felt sure he could roll it all into a quartermillion-dollar

package. He wanted her to weigh the fact that even established

novelists were seldom asked to write their own screenplays- this was an

offer not to be lightly spurned, and he urged Debra to accept.

Who needs people? Debra laughed it away quickly, too quickly, and David

caught the wistful expression before she turned her head away and asked

brighty, Have you got any of that champagne left, Morgan? I think we

can celebrate, don't you?

The way you're going, Morgan, I'd best lay in a store of the stuff, he

replied, and went to the gas refrigerator.

It foamed to the rim of the glass as he poured the wine, and before it

subsided and he had carried the glass to her, he had made his decision.

Let's take his advice seriously, and think about you going to Hollywood,

he said, and put the glass in her hand.

What's to think about? she asked. This is where we belong. 'No, let's

wait a while before replying What do you mean? She lowered the glass

without tasting the wine.

We will wait until, let's say, until after we have seen the Brig in Cape

Town. Why? She looked puzzled. Why should it be different then?

No reason. It's just that it is an important decision the choice of

time is arbitrary, however. Beseder! she agreed readily, and raised

the glass to toast him. I love you. I love you, he said, and as he

drank he was glad that she had so many roads to choose from.

The Brig's arrangements allowed them three more weeks before the

rendezvous in Cape Town, and David drew upon each hour to the full,

anticipating his chances of expulsion from their private Eden.

They were happy days and it seemed that nature had conspired to give

them of her best. The goodrains fell steadily, always beginning in the

afternoon after a incoming of tall clouds and heavy air filled with

static and the feel of thunder. In the sunset the lightning played and

flickered across the gilt cloud banks, turned by the angry sun to the

colour of burnished bronze and virgins blushes. Then in the darkness as

they lay entwined, the thunder struck like a hammer blow and the

lightning etched the window beyond the bed to a square of blinding white

light, and the rain came teeming down with the sound of wild fire and

running hooves. With David beside her, Debra was unafraid.

In the morning it was bright and cool, the trees washed sparkling clean

so that the leaves glinted in the early sun and the earth was dark with

water and spangled with standing pools.

The rains brought life and excitement to the wild things, and each day

held its small discoveries -unexpected visitations, and strange

occurrences.

The fish eagles moved their two chicks from the great shaggy nest in the

mhobahoba at the head of the pools and taught them to perch out on the

bare limb that supported it. They sat there day after day, seeming to

gather their courage. The parent birds were frenetic in their

ministrations, grooming their offspring for the great moment of flight.

Then one morning, as he and Debra ate breakfast on the stoop, David

heard the swollen chorus of their chanting cries, harsh with triumph,

and he took Debra's hand and they went down the steps into the open.

David looked up and saw the four dark shapes spread on wide wings

against the clear blue of the sky, and his spirit soared with them in

their moment of achievement.

They flew upwards in great sweeping circles, until they dwindled to

specks and vanished, gone to their autumn grounds upon the Zambezi

River, two thousand miles to the north.

There was, however, one incident during those last days that saddened

and subdued them both. One morning, they walked four miles northwards

beyond the line of hills to a narrow wedge-shaped plain on which stood a

group of towering leadwood trees.

A pair of martial eagles had chosen the tallest leadwood as their mating

ground. The female was a beautiful young bird but the male was past his

prime. They had begun constructing their nest on a high fork, but the

work was interrupted by the intrusion of a lone male eagle, a big young

bird, fierce and proud and acquisitive.

David had noticed him lurking about the borders of the territory,

carefully avoiding overlying the airspace claimed by the breeding pair,

choosing a perch on the hills overlooking the plain and gathering his

confidence for the confrontation he was so clearly planning. The

impending conflict had its particular fascination for David and his

sympathy was with the older bird as he made his warlike show, screeching

defiance from his perch upon the high branches of the leadwood or

weaving his patrols along his borders, turning on his great wings always

within the limits of that which he claimed as his own.

David had decided to walk up to the plain that day, in order to choose a

site for the photographic blind he planned to erect overlooking the nest

site, and also in curiosity as to the outcome of this primeval clash

between the two males.

It seemed more than chance that he had chosen the day when the crisis

was reached.

David and Debra came up through the gap in the hills and paused to sit

on an outcrop of rock overlooking the plain, while they regained their

breath. The battlefield was spread below them.

The old bird was at the nest, a dark hunched shape with white breast and

head set low on the powerful shoulders. David looked for the invader,

sweeping the crests of the hills with his binoculars, but there was no

sign of him. He dropped the binoculars to his chest and he and Debra

talked quietly for a while.

Then suddenly David's attention was attracted by the behaviour of the

old eagle. He launched suddenly into flight, striking upwards on his

great black pinions, and there was an urgency in the way he bored for

height.

His climb brought him close over their heads, so that David could

clearly see the cruel curve of the beak and the ermine black splashes

that decorated the imperial snow of his breast.

He opened the yellow beak and shrieked a harsh challenge, and David

turned quickly in the old fighter pilot's sweep of sky and cloud. He

saw the cunning of it immediately. The younger bird had chosen his

moment and his attack vector with skill beyond his years. He was

towering in the sun, high and clear, a flagrant trespasser, daring the

old eagle to come up at him and David felt his skin crawl in sympathy as

he watched the defender climb slowly on flogging wings.

Quickly, and a little breathlessly, he described it to Debra and she

reached for his hand, her sympathy with the old bird also.

Tell me! 'she commanded.

The young bird sailed calmly in waiting circles, cocking his head to

watch his adversary's approach.

There he goes! David's voice was taut, as the attacker went wing over

and began his stoop.

I can hear him, Debra whispered, and the sound of his wings carried

clearly to them, rustling like a bush fire in dry grass as he dived on

the old bird.

Break left! Go! Go! Go! David found he was calling to the old eagle

as though he were flying wingman for him, and he gripped Debra's hand

until she winced. The old eagle seemed almost to hear him, for he

closed his WIngs and flicked out of the path of the strike, tumbling for

a single turn so that the attacker hissed by him with talons reaching

uselessly through air, his speed plummeting him down into the basin of

the plain.

The old bird caught and broke out of his roll with wings half-cocked,

and streaked down after the other. In one veteran stroke of skill he

had wrested the advantage.

Get him! screamed David. Get him when he turns!

Now!

The young bird was streaking towards the tree-toops and swift death, he

flared his wings to break his fall, turning desperately to avoid the

lethal stoop of his enemy. In that moment he was vulnerable and the old

eagle reached forward with his terrible spiked talons and without

slackening the searing speed of his dive he hit the other bird in the

critical moment of his turn.

The thud of the impact carried clearly to the watchers on the hill and

there was a puff of feathers like the burst of explosives, black from

the wings and white from the breast.

Locked together by the old bird's honed killing claws, they tumbled,

wing over tangled wing, feathers streaming from their straining bodies

and then drifting away like thistledown on the light breeze.

Still joined in mortal combat, they struck the top branches of one of

the leadwood trees, and fell through them to come to rest at last in a

high fork as an untidy bundle of ruffled feathers and trailing wings.

Leading Debra over the rough ground David hurried down the hill and

through the coarse stands of arrow grass to the tree.

Can you see them? Debra asked anxiously, as David focused his

binoculars on the struggling pair.

They are trapped, David told her. The old fellow has his claws buried

to the hilt in the other's back. He will never be able to free them and

they have fallen across the fork, one on either side of the tree. The

screams of rage and agony rang from the hills about them, and the female

eagle sailed anxiously above the leadwood. She added her querulous

screeching to the sound of conflict.

The young bird is dying. David studied him through the lens, watching

the carmine drops ooze from the gaping yellow beak to fall and glisten

upon the snowy breast, like a dying king's rubies.

And the old bird- Debra listened to the clamour with face upturned, her

eyes dark with c oncem.

He will never get those claws loose, they lock automatically as soon as

pressure is applied and he will not be able to lift himself. He will

die also. Can't you do something?

Debra was tugging at his arm. Can't you help him? Gently he tried to

explain to her that the birds were locked together seventy feet above

the earth. The hole of the leadwood was smooth and without branches for

the first fifty feet of its height. It would take days of effort to

reach the birds, and by then it would be too late.

Even if one could reach them, darling, they are two wild creatures,

fierce and dangerous, those beaks and talons could tear the eyes out of

your head or rip you to the bone, nature does not like interference in

her designs. Isn't there anything we can do? she pleaded.

Yes, he answered quietly. Ve can come back in the morning to see if he

has been able to free himself. But we will bring a gun with us, in case

he has not. in the dawn they came together to the leadwood tree.

The young bird was dead, hanging limp and graceless, but the old bird

was still alive, linked by his claws to the carcass of the other, weak

and dying but, with the furious yellow flames still burning in his eyes.

He heard their voices and twisted the shaggy old head and opened his

beak in a last defiant cry.

David loaded the shotgun, snapping the barrels closed and staring up at

the old eagle. Not you alone, old friend, he thought, and he lifted the

gun to his shoulder and hit him with two charges of buckshot. They left

him hanging in tatters with trailing wings and the quick patter of blood

slowing to a dark steady drip. David felt as though he had destroyed a

part of himself in that blast of gunfire, and the shadow of it was cast

over the bright days that followed.

These few days sped past too swiftly for David, and when they were

almost gone he and Debra spent the last of them wandering together

across Jabulani, visiting each of their special places and seeking out

the various herds or individual animals almost as if they were taking

farewell of old friends. In the evening they came to the place amongst

the fever trees beside the pools, and they sat there until the sun had

fallen below the earth in a splendour of purples and muted pinks. Then

the mosquitoes began whining about their heads, and they strolled back

hand in hand and came to the homestead in the dark.

They packed their bags that night and left them on the stoop, ready for

an early start. Then they drank champagne beside the barbecue fire. The

wine lifted their mood and they laughed together in their little island

of firelight in the vast ocean of the African night - but for David

there were echoes from the laughter, and he was aware of a sense of

finality, of an ending of something and a new beginning.

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 chaance 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 look 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 mustache, as the

Brig smiled a strangely embarrassed but gentle smile.

You'll do, he said.

The reception was in the banquet-room 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 horned-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 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 Xrays 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 V 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 take? 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 vice

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

southeaster 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.

ECG, David guessed, and Ruby chuckled and shook his head.

No, it's a little invention of my own. I'm quite proud of it, but in

reality it's only a variation on the oldfashioned lie-detector. Question

time again? Debra asked.

No. We are going to flash lights at you, and see just what sort of

subconscious reaction you have to them. 'We know that already, 'Debra

told him, and they both heard the edge in her voice now.

Perhaps. It's just an established routine we work to. Ruby soothed

her, and then to David. Stand back here, please. The lights are pretty

fierce, and you don't want to be looking into them. David moved back

and Ruby adjusted the machine. A roll of graph paper began running

slowly under a moving stylus which settled almost immediately into a

steady rhythmic pattern. On a separate glass screen a moving green dot

of light began to repeat the same rhythm, leaving a fading trail across

the screen like the tail of a comet. It reminded David of the

interceptor radar screen on the instrument panel of a Mirage jet. Ruby

switched out the top lights, plunging the room into utter darkness,

except for the pulsing green dot on the screen.

Are we ready now, Debra? Look straight ahead, please. Eyes open.

Soundlessly a brilliant burst of blue light filled the room, and

distinctly David saw the green dot on the screen jump out of its

established pattern, and for a beat or two it went haywire, then settled

again into the old rhythm. Debra had seen the light flash, even though

she was unaware of it; the pulse of light had registered on her brain

and the machine had recorded her instinctive reaction.

The play with light went on for another twenty minutes while Ruby

adjusted the intensity of the light source and varied the transmissions.

At last he was satisfied, and turned the top lights up.

Well? Debra demanded brightly. Do I pass? 'There's nothing more I

want from you, Ruby told her. You did just great, and everything is the

way we want it. 'Can I go now? David can take you to lunch, but this

afternoon I want you at the radiologist's. My receptionist arranged it

for 2:30, I believe, but you had best check with her. Neatly Ruby

countered any attempt of David's to get him alone.

I shall let you know as soon as I have the X-ray results. Here, I'll

write down the radiologist's address. Ruby scribbled on his

prescription pad and handed it to David. See me alone tomorrow io a. m.

David nodded and took Debra's arm.

He stared at Ruby a moment trying to draw some reaction from him, but he

merely shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes in a music-hall

comedian's gesture of uncertainty.

The Brig joined them for lunch in their suite at the Mount Nelson, for

David still could not endure the discomfort of the public rooms. The

Brig drew upon some hidden spring of charm, as though sensing that his

help was needed, and he had both of them laughing naturally with stories

of Debra's childhood and the family's early days after leaving America.

David was grateful to him, for the time passed so quickly that he had to

hurry Debra to her appointment.

I am going to use two different techniques on you, my dear- David

wondered what it was about her that made all males over forty refer to

Debra as though she were twelve years old. First of all we will do five

of what we call police mug shots, front, back, sides and top - The

radiologist was a red-faced, grey-haired man with big hands and heavy

shoulders like a professional wrestler. We aren't even going to make

you take your clothes off - he chuckled, but David thought he detected a

faint note of regret. Then after that, we are going to be terribly

clever and take a continuous moving shot of the inside of your head.

It's called tomography.

We are going to clamp your head to keep it still and the camera is going

to describe a circle around you, focused on the spot where all the

trouble is. We are going to find out everything that's going on in that

pretty head of yours, I hope it doesn't shock you too much, doctor,

Debra told him, and he looked stunned for a moment, then let out a

delighted guffaw, and later David heard him repeating it to the sister

with gusto.

It was a long tedious business, and afterwards when they drove back to

the hotel, Debra leaned close to him and said, Let's go home, David.

Soon as we can? 'Soon as we can, he agreed.

David did not want it that way, but the Brig insisted on accompanying

David on his visit to Ruby Friedman the following morning. For one of

the very few times in his life David had lied to Debra, telling her he

was meeting with the Morgan Trust accountants, and he had left her in a

lime-green bikini lying beside the hotel swimming pool, brown and slim

and lovely in the sunlight.

Ruby Friedman was brusque and businesslike. He seated them opposite his

desk and came swiftly to the core of the business.

Gentlemen, he said. We have a problem, a hell of a problem. I am going

to show you the X-ray plates first to illustrate what I have to tell you

- Ruby swivelled his chair to the scanner and switched on the book-light

to bring the prints into high relief. On this side are the plates that

Edelman sent me from Jerusalem. You can see the grenade fragment. It

was stark and hard edged, a small triangular shard of steel lying in the

cloudy bone structure. And here you can see the track through, the

optic chiasma, the disruption and shattering of the bone is quite

evident. Edelman's original diagnosis, based on these plates, and on

the complete inability to define light or shape, seems to be confirmed.

The optic nerve is severed, and that's the end of it. Quickly he

unclipped the plates, and fitted others to the scanner. All right.

Now here are the second set of plates, taken yesterday.

Immediately notice how the grenade fragment has been consolidated and

encysted. The stark outline was softened by the new growth of bone

around it. That is good, and expected. But here in the channel of the

chiasma we find the growth of some sort that leaves itself open to a

number of interpretations. It could be scarring, the growth of bone

chips, or some other type of growth either benign or malignant. Ruby

arranged another set of plates upon the scanner. Finally, this is the

plate exposed by the technique of tomography, to establish the contours

of this excrescence. It seems to conform to the shape of the bony

channel of the chiasma, except here, Ruby touched a small half-round

notch which was cut into the upper edge of the growth, - this little

spot runs through the main axis of the skull, but is bent upwards in the

shape of an inverted U. It is just possible that this may be the most

significant discovery of our whole examination. Ruby switched off the

light of the scanner.

I don't understand any of this, the Brig's voice was sharp. He did not

like being bludgeoned by another man's special knowledge.

No, of course. Ruby was smooth. I am merely setting the background for

the explanations that will follow. He turned back to the desk, and his

manner changed. He was no longer lecturing, but leading with authority.

Now as to my own conclusions. There can be absolutely no doubt that

certain function of the optic nerve remains. It is still conveying

impulses to the brain. At least a part of it is still intact. The

question arises as to just how much that is, and to what extent that

function can be improved. it is possible that the grenade fragment cut

through part of the nerve, severing five strands of a six-strand rope,

or four or three. We do not know the extent, but what we do know is

that damage of that nature is irreversible. What Debra may be left with

is what she has now, almost nothing. Ruby paused and was silent. The

two men opposite him watched his face intently, leaning forward in their

seats.

That is the dark side, if it is true, then Debra is for all practical

purposes blind and will remain that way.

However, there is another side to the question. It is possible that the

optic nerve has suffered little damage, or none at all, please God Then

why is she blind? David asked angrily. He felt baited, driven by

words, goaded like the bull from so long ago. You can't have it both

ways. Ruby looked at him, and for the first time saw beyond that blank

mask of scarred flesh and realized the pain he was inflicting, saw the

hurt in the dark eyes, blue as rifle steel.

Forgive me, David. I have been carried away by the intriguing facts of

this case, seeing it from my own academic point of view rather than

yours, I'm afraid. I will come to it now without further hedging. He

leaned back in his chair and went on speaking. You recall the notch in

the outline of the chiasma. Well, I believe that is the nerve itself,

twisted out of position, kinked and pinched like a garden hose by bone

fragments and the pressure of the metal fragment so that it is no longer

capable of carrying impulses to the brain. 'The blows on her temple -?

'David asked.

Yes. Those blows may have been just sufficient to alter the position of

the bone fragments, or of the nerve itself, so as to enable the passage

of a minimal amount of impulse to the brain, like the garden hose,

movement could allow a little water to pass through but still hold back

any significant flow, but once the twist is straightened the full volume

of flow would be regained. They were all silent then, each of them

considering the enormity of what they had heard.

The eyes, the Brig said at last. They are healthy? Perfectly, Ruby

nodded.

How could you find out, I mean, what steps would you take next? David

asked quietly.

There is only one way. We would have to go to the site of the trauma.

Operate? David asked again.

Yes.

Open Debra's skull? The horror of it showed only in his eyes.

Yes, Ruby nodded.

Her head, David's own flesh quailed in memory of the ruthless knife. He

saw the lovely face mutilated and the pain in those blind eyes. Her

face - His voice shook now. No, I won't let you cut her. I won't let

you ruin her, like they have me David! The Brig's voice cracked like

breaking ice, and David sank back in his chair.

I understand how you feel, Ruby spoke gently, his voice in contrast to

the Brig's. But we will go in from behind the hairline, there will be

no disfigurement. The scar will be covered by her hair when it grows

out, and the incision will not be very large anyway - I won't have her

suffer more. David was trying to control his voice, but the catch and

break were still in it. She has suffered enough, can't you see that, We

are talking about giving her back her sight the Brig broke in again. His

voice was hard and cold. A little pain is a small price to pay for

that.

There will be very little pain, David. Less than an appendectomy. Again

they were silent, the two older men watching the younger in the agony of

his decision.

What are the chances? David looked for help, wanting the decision made

for him, wanting it taken out of his hands.

That is impossible to say. Ruby shook his head.

Oh God, how can I judge if I don't know the odds? David cried out.

All right. Let me put it this way, there is a possibility, not

probability, that she may regain a useful part of her sight. Ruby chose

his words with care. And there is a remote possibility that she may

regain full vision or almost full vision. That is the best that can

happen. David agreed. But what is the worst? The worst that can

happen is there will be no change.

She will have undergone a deal of discomfort and pain to no avail. David

jumped out of his chair and crossed to the windows.

He stared out at the great sweep of bay where the tankers lay moored and

the far hills of the Tygerberg rose smoky blue to the brilliant sky.

You know what the choice must be, David. The Brig was ruthless,

allowing him no quarter, driving him on to meet his fate.

All right, David surrendered at last, and turned back to face them. But

on one condition. One on which I insist. Debra must not be told that

there is a chance of her regaining her sight, Ruby Friedman shook his

head. She must be told The Brig's mustache bristled fiercely. Why not?

Why don't you want her to know?

You know why. David answered without looking at him.

How will you get her there, if you don't explain it to her? Ruby asked.

She has been having headaches, we'll tell her there is a growth, that

you've discovered a growth, that it has to be removed. That's true,

isn't it? No. Ruby shook his head.

I couldn't tell her that. I can't deceive her. Then I will tell her,

said David, his voice firm and steady now. And I will tell her when we

discover the result after the operation. Good or bad. I will be the

one who tells her, is that understood? Do we agree on that? And after

a moment the two others nodded and murmured their agreement to the terms

David had set.

David had the hotel chef prepare a picnic basket, and the service bar

provided a cool bag with two bottles of champagne.

David craved for the feeling of height and space, but he needed also to

be able to concentrate all his attention on Debra, so he reluctantly

rejected the impulse to fly with her, and instead they took the cableway

up the precipitous cliffs of Table Mountain, and from the top station

they found a path along the plateau and followed it, hand in hand, to a

lonely place upon the cliff's edge where they could sit together high

above the city and the measureless spread of ocean.

The sounds of the city came up two thousand feet to them, tiny and

disjointed, on freak gusts of the wind or bouncing from the soaring

canyons of grey rock, the horn of an automobile, the clang of a

locomotive shunting in the train yards, the cry of a muezzin calling the

faithful of Islam to pray, and the distant shrilling of children

released from the classroom, yet all these faint echoes of humanity

seemed to enhance their aloneness and the breeze out of the south east

was sweet and clean after the filthy city air.

They drank the wine together, sitting close while David gathered his

resolve. He was about to speak when Debra forestalled him.

It's good to be alive and in love, my darling, she said. We are very

lucky, you and I. Do you know that, David? He made a sound in his

throat that could have been

agreement, and his courage failed him.

If you could, would you change anything? he asked at last, and she

laughed.

Oh, sure. One is never absolutely content until and unless one is dead.

I'd change many small things, but not the one big thing. You and""What

would you change? I would like to write better than I do, for one

thing. They were silent again, sipping the wine.

Sun is going down fast now, he told her.

Tell me, she demanded, and he tried to find words for the colours, that

flickered over the cloud banks and the way the ocean shimmered and

dazzled with the last rays of gold and blood, and he knew he could never

tell it to her. He stopped in the middle of a sentence.

I saw Ruby Friedman today, he said abruptly, unable to find a gentler

approach, and she went still beside him in that special way of hers,

frozen like a timid wild thing at the scent of some fearful predator.

It's bad! she said at last. Why do you say that! he demanded quickly.

Because you brought me here to tell me, and because you are afraid. No,

David denied it.

Yes. I can feel it now, very clearly. You are afraid for me. It's not

true, David tried to reassure her. I'm a little worried that's all.

Tell me, she said.

There is a small growth. It's not dangerous, yet.

But they feel something should be done about it, I He stumbled through

the explanation he had so carefully prepared, and when he ended she was

silent for a moment.

It is necessary, absolutely necessary? she asked.

Yes, he told her, and she nodded, trusting him completely, then she

smiled and squeezed his arm.

Don't fret yourself, David, my darling. It will be all right. You'll

see, they can't touch us. We live in a private place where they can't

touch us. Now it was she who was striving to comfort him.

Of course it will be all right. He hugged her to him roughly, slopping

a little wine over the rim of his glass. When? she asked.

Tomorrow you will go in, and they'll do it the following morning. So

soon? 'I thought it best to have it over with. 'Yes. You are right.

She sipped her wine, withdrawn, fearful, despite her brave show. They

are going to cut my head open? 'Yes, he said, and she shuddered against

him. There is no risk, he said.

No. I'm sure there isn't, she agreed quickly.

He woke in the night with the instant knowledge that he was alone, that

she was not curled warm and sleeping beside him.

Quickly he slipped from the bed and crossed to the bathroom. It was

empty and he padded to the sitting room of the suite and switched on the

lights.

She heard the click of the switch and turned her head away, but not

before he had seen the tears glowing on her cheeks like soft grey

pearls. He went to her quickly.

Darling, he said.

I couldn't sleep, she said.

That's all right. He knelt before the couch on which she sat, but he

did not touch her.

I had a dream, she said. There was a pool of clear water and you were

swimming in it, looking up at me and calling to me. I saw your dear

face clearly, beautiful and laughing- David realized with a jolt in his

guts that she had seen him in her dream as he had been, she had seen the

beautiful dream-David, not the monstrous ravaged thing he was now. Then

suddenly you began to sink, down, down, through the water, your face

fading and receding, Her voice caught and broke, and she was silent for

a moment. It was a terrible dream, I cried out and tried to follow you,

but I could not move and then you were gone down into the depths. The

water turned dark and I woke with only the blackness in my head. Nothing

but swirling mists of blackness. 'it was only a dream, he said.

David, she whispered. Tomorrow, if anything happens tomorrow Nothing

will happen, he almost snarled the denial, but she put out a hand to his

face, finding his lips and touching them lightly to silence them.

Whatever happens, she said, remember how it was when we were happy.

Remember that I loved you.

The hospital of Gioote Schuur sits on the lower slopes of Devil's Peak,

a tall conical peak divided from the massif of Table Mountain by a deep

saddle. Its summit is of grey rock and below it lie the dark pine

forests and open grassy slopes of the great estate that Cecil John

Rhodes left to the nation. Herds of deer and indigenous antelope feed

quietly in the open places and the southeast wind feathers the crest

with a flying pennant of cloud.

The hospital is a massive complex of brilliant white buildings,

substantial and solid-looking blocks, all roofed in burnt red tiles.

Ruby Friedman had used all his pull to secure a private ward for Debra,

and the sister in charge of the floor was expecting her. They took her

from David and led her away, leaving him feeling bereft and lonely, but

when he returned to visit her that evening she was sitting up in the bed

in the soft cashmere bedjacket that David had given her and surrounded

by banks of flowers which he had ordered.

They smell wonderful, she thanked him. It's like being in a garden. She

wore a turban around her head and, with the serene golden eyes seeming

focused on a distant vision, it gave her an exotic and mysterious air.

They have shaved your head. David felt a slide of dismay, he had not

expected that she must also sacrifice that lustrous mane of black silk.

It was the ultimate indignity, and she seemed to feel it also, for she

did not answer him and instead told him brightly how well they were

treating her, and what pains they were taking for her comfort. You'd

think I was some sort of queen, she laughed.

The Brig was with David, gruff and reserved and patently out of place in

these surroundings. His presence cast restraint upon them and it was a

relief when Ruby Friedman arrived. Bustling and charmin& he

complimented Debra on the preparations she had undergone.

Sister says that you are just fine, all nicely shaved and ready. Sorry,

but you aren't allowed anything to eat or drink except the sleeping pill

I've prescribed. 'When do I go to theatre? We've got you down bright

and early. Eight o'clock tomorrow. I am tremendously pleased that

Billy Cooper is the surgeon, we were very lucky to get him, but he owes

me a favour or two. I will be assisting him, of course, and he'll have

one of the best surgical teams in the world backing him up. Ruby, you

know how some women have their husbands with them when they are

confined- lyes. 'Ruby looked uncertain, taken aback by the question.

, well, couldn't David be there with me tomorrow?

Couldn't we be together, for both our sakes, while it happens? With all

due respects, my dear, but you are not having a baby. Couldn't you

arrange for him to be there? Debra pleaded, with eloquent eyes and an

expression to break the hardest heart. I'm sorry, Ruby shook his head.

It's completely impossible, then he brightened. But I tell you what.

I could get him into the students room. It will be the next best thing

in fact he would have a better view of the proceedings than if he were

in theatre. We have closed-circuit television relayed to the students

room and David could watch from there. Oh, please! Debra accepted

immediately. I'd like to know be was close, and that we were in

contact. We don't like being parted from each other, do we, my darling?

She smiled at where she thought he was, but he had moved aside and the

smile missed him. It was a gesture that wrenched something within him.

You will be there, David, won't you? she asked, and though the idea of

watching the knife at work was repellent to him, he forced himself to

reply lightly.

I'll be there, and he almost added, always, but he cut off the word.

This early in the morning there were only two others in the small

lecture-room with its double semi-circular rows of padded chairs about

the small television screen, a plump woman student with a pretty face

and shaggydog hairstyle and a tall young man with a pale complexion and

bad teeth. They both wore their stethoscopes dangling with calculated

nonchalance from the pockets of their white linen jackets. After the

first startled glance they ignored David, and they spoke together in

knowing medical jargon. The Coops doing an exploratory through the

parietal. 'That's the one I want to watch - The girl affected blue

Gauloises cigarettes, rank and stinking in the confined room. David's

eyes felt raw and gravelly for he slept little during the night, and the

smoke irritated them. He kept looking at his watch, and imagining what

was happening to Debra during these last minutes, the undignified

purging and cleansing of her body, the robin& and the needles of

sedation and antisepsis.

The slow drag of minutes ended at last when the screen began to glow and

hum, the image shimmered and strobed then settled down into a high view

of the theatre. The set was in colour, and the green theatre gowns of

the figures moving around the operating-table blended with the subdued

theatre green walls. Height had foreshortened the robed members of the

operating team and the muttered and disjointed conversation between the

surgeon and his anaesthetist was picked up by the microphones.

Are we ready there yet, Mike? David felt the sick sensation in the pit

of his stomach, and he wished he had eaten breakfast. It might have

filled the hollow place below his ribs.

Right, the surgeon's voice sharpened as he turned towards the

microphone. Are we on telly? l Yes, doctor, the theatre sister

answered him, and there was a note of resignation in the surgeon's

voice, as he spoke for his unseen audience.

Very well, then. The patient is a twenty-six-year-old female. The

symptoms are total loss of sight in both eyes, and the cause is

suspected damage or constriction of the optic nerve in or near the optic

chiasma. This is a surgical investigation of the site. The surgeon is

Dr. William Cooper, assisted by Dr. Reuben Friedman. As he spoke, the

camera moved in on the table and with a start of surprise David realized

that he had been looking at Debra without knowing it. Her face and the

lower part of her head were obscurred by the sterile drapes that covered

all but the shaven round ball of her skull. It was inhuman-looking,

egglike, painted with Savlon antiseptic that glistened in the bright,

overhead lights.

Scalpel please, sister. David leaned forward tensely in his seat, and

his hands tightened on the armrests, so the knuckles turned white, as

Cooper made the first incision drawing the blade across the smooth skin.

The flesh opened and immediately the tiny blood vessels began to dribble

and spurt. Hands moved in the screen of the television, clad in rubber

so that they were yellow and impersonal, but quick and sure.

An oval flap of skin and flesh was dissected free and was drawn back,

exposing the gleaming bone beneath, and again David's flesh crawled as

though with living things, as the surgeon took up a drill that resembled

exactly a carpenter's brace and bit. His voice continued its impersonal

commentary, as he began to drill through the skull, cranking away at the

handle as the gleaming steel bit swiftly through the bone. He pierced

the skull with four round drill holes, each set at the corners of a

square. Peri-osteal elevator, please, sister. Again David's stomach

clenched as the surgeon slid the gleaming steel introducer into one of

the drill holes and manoeuvred it gently until its tip reappeared

through the next hole in line. Using the introducer, a length of sharp

steel wire saw was threaded through the two holes and lay along the

inside of the skull. Cooper sawed this back and forth and it cut

cleanly through the bone. Four times he repeated the procedure, cutting

out the sides of the square, and when he at last lifted out the detached

piece of bone he had opened a trapdoor into Debra's skull.

As he worked David's gorge had risen until it pressed in his throat, and

he had felt the cold glistening sheen of nauseous sweat across his

forehead, but now as the camera's eye peered through the opening he felt

his wonder surmount his horror, for he could see the pale amorphous mass

of matter, enclosed in its tough covering membrane of the dura mater

that was Debra's brain.

Deftly Cooper incised a flap in the dura.

We have exposed now the frontal lobe, and it will be necessary to

displace this to explore the base of the skull. Working swiftly, but

with obvious care and skill, Cooper used a stainless steel retractor,

shaped like a shoe horn, to slide under the mass of brain and to lift it

aside. Debra's brain, staring at it, David seemed to be looking into

the core of her being, it was vulnerable and exposed, everything that

made her what she was. What part of that soft pale mass contained her

writer's genius, he wondered, from which of its many soft folds and

coils sprang the fruitful fountain of her imagination, where was her

love for him buried, what soft and secret place triggered her laughter

and where was the vale of her tears? Its fathomless mystery held him

intent as he watched the retractor probe deeper and deeper through the

opening, and slowly the camera moved in to peer into the gaping depths

of Debra's skull.

Cooper opened the far end of the dura mater and commented on his

progress.

We have here the anterior ridge of the sphenoid sinus, note this as our

point of access to the chiasma David was aware of the changed tone of

the surgeon's voice, the charging of tension as the disembodied hands

moved slowly and expertly towards their goal.

Now this is interesting, can we see this on the screen, please? Yes!

There is very clearly a bone deformation here, The voice was pleased,

and the two students beside David exclaimed and leaned closer. David

could see soft wet tissue and hard bright surfaces deep in the bottom of

the wound, and the necks of steel instruments crowding into it, like

metallic bees into the stamen of a pink and yellow bloom. Cooper

scratched through to the metal of the grenade fragment.

Now here we have the foreign body, can we have a look at those X-ray

plates again, sister The image cut quickly to the X-ray scanner, and

again the students exclaimed. The girl puffed busily on her stinking

Gauloise.

Thank you.

The image cut back to the operating field, and now David saw the dark

speck of the grenade fragment lodged in the white bone.

We will go for this, I think. Do you agree, Dr. Friedman? 'Yes, I

think you should take it.

Delicately the long slender steel insects worried the dark fragment, and

at last with a grunt of satisfaction it came free of its niche, and

Cooper drew it out carefully.

David heard the metallic ping as it was dropped into a waiting dish.

Good! Good! Cooper gave himself a little encouragement as he plugged

the hole left by the fragment with beeswax to prevent haemorrhage. Now

we will trace out the optic nerves.

They were two white worms, David saw them clearly, converging on their

separate trails to meet and blend at the opening of the bony canal into

which they disappeared.

We have got extraneous bone-growth here, clearly associated with the

foreign body we have just removed.

It seems to have blocked off the canal and to have squeezed or severed

the nerve. Suggestions, Dr. Friedman? I think we should excise that

growth and try and ascertain just what damage we have to the nerve in

that area. Good. Yes, I agree. Sister, I will use a fine bonenibbler

to get in there.

The swift selection and handling of the bright steel instruments again,

and then Cooper was working on the white bone growth which grew in the

shape of coral from a tropical sea. He nibbled at it with the keen

steel, and carefully removed each piece from the field as it came away.

What we have here is a bone splinter that was driven by the steel

fragment into the canal. It is a large piece, and it must have been

under considerable pressure, and it has consolidated itself here He

worked on carefully, and gradually the white worm of the nerve appeared

from beneath the growth.

Now, this is interesting. Cooper's tone altered. Yes, look at this.

Can we get a better view here, please? The camera zoomed in a little

closer, and the focus realigned. The nerve has been forced upwards, and

flattened by pressure. The constriction is quite obvious, it has been

pinched off, but it seems to be intact. Cooper lifted another large

piece of bone aside, and now the nerve lay exposed over its full length.

This is really remarkable. I expect that it is a one in a thousand

chance, or one in a million. There appears to be no damage to the

actual nerve, and yet the steel fragment passed so close to it that it

must have touched it Delicately, Cooper lifted the nerve with the blunt

tip of a probe.

Completely intact, but flattened by pressure. Yet I don't suspect any

degree of atrophy, Dr. Friedman? I think we can confidently expect good

recovery of function. Despite the masked features, the triumphant

attitude of the two men was easily recognized, and watching them, David

felt his own emotions at war.

With a weight upon his spirits he watched Cooper close up, replacing the

portion of Debra's skull that he had removed, and once the flap of scalp

was stitched back into place there was little external evidence of the

extent and depth of their penetration. The image on the screen changed

to another theatre where a small girl was to receive surgery for a

massive hernia, and the fickle interest of the watching students changed

with it.

David stood up and left the room. He rode up in the elevator and waited

in the visitors room on Debra's floor until the elevator doors opened

again and two white uniformed male nurses trundled Debra's stretcher

down the corridor to her room. She was dead] pale, y with dark

bruised-looking eyes and lips, her head swathed in a turban of white

bandages. There was a dull brown smear of blood on the sheets that

covered her and a whiff of anaesthetic hung in the corridor after she

was gone.

Ruby Friedman came then, changed from the theatre garb into an expensive

light-weight grey mohair suit and a twenty-guinea Dior silk tie. He

looked tanned and healthy, and mightily delighted with his achievement.

You watched? 'he demanded, and when David nodded he went on

exuberantly, It was extraordinary. He chuckled, and rubbed his hands

together with glee.

My God, something like this makes you feel good.

Makes you feel that if you never do another thing in your life, it was

still worthwhile. He was unable to restrain himself any longer and he

threw a playful punch at David's shoulder. Extraordinary, he repeated,

drawing it out into two words with relish, rolling the word around his

tongue.

When will you know? David asked quietly. I know already, I'll stake my

reputation on it! 'She will be able to see as soon as she comes around

from the anaesthetic? David asked.

Good Lord, no! Ruby chuckled. That nerve has been pinched off for

years, it's going to take time to recover. 'How long?

It's like a leg that has gone to sleep when you sit wrongly. When the

blood flows back in, it's still numb and tingling until the circulation

is restored How long? 'David repeated.

Immediately she wakes, that nerve is going to start going crazy, sending

all sorts of wild messages to the brain. She's going to see colours and

shapes as though she is on a drug hinge, and it's going to take time to

settle down, two weeks to a month, I would guess then it will clear, the

nerve will have recovered its full and normal function and she will

begin having real effective vision.

Two weeks, David said, and he felt the relief of a condemned man hearing

of his reprieve.

You will tell her the good news, of course. Ruby gave another buoyant

chuckle, shaped up to punch David again and then controlled himself.

What a wonderful gift you have been able to give her. No, David

answered him. I won't tell her yet, I will find the right time later.

You will have to explain the initial vision she will experience, the

colour and shape hallucinations, they will alarm her. We will just tell

her that it's the normal after-effect of the operation. Let her adjust

to that before telling her.

David, I - Ruby began seriously, but he was cut off by the savage blaze

of blue in the eyes that watched him from the mask of scarred flesh.

I will tell her! The voice shook with such fury, that Ruby took a step

backwards. That was the condition, I will tell her when I judge the

time is ripe.

Out of the darkness a tiny amber light glowed, pale and far off but she

watched it split like a breeding amoeba and become two, and each of

those split and split again until they filled the universe in a great

shimmering field of stars. The light throbbed and pulsed, vibrant and

triumphant, and it changed from amber to brightest purest white like the

sparkle from a paragon diamond, then it turned to the blue of sunlight

on a tropical ocean, to soft forest greens and desert golds, an endless

cavalcade of colours, changing, blending, fading, flaring in splendour

that held her captive.

Then the colours took shape, they spun like mighty Catherine wheels, and

soared and exploded, showered down in rivers of flame that burst again

into fresh cascades of light.

She was appalled by the dimensions of shape and colour that engulfed

her, bewildered by the beauty of it and at last she could bear it no

longer in silence and she cried out.

Instantly there was a hand in hers, a strong hard familiar hand, and his

voice, dearly beloved, reassuring and firm.

David, she cried with relief.

Quietly, my darling. You must rest.

David. David. She heard the sob in her own voice as new torrents of

colour poured over her, insupportable in their richness and variety,

overwhelming in their depth and range.

I'm here, my darling. I'm here. What's happening to me, David? What's

happening? 'You are all right. The operation was a success. You are

just fine.

Colours, she cried. Filling my whole head. I've never known it like

this. It's the result of the operation. It shows that it was a

success. They removed the growth. 'I'm frightened, David. 'No, my

darling. There is nothing to be afraid of Hold me, David. Hold me

safe. And in the circle of his arms the fear abated, and slowly she

learned to ride the oceanic waves and washes of colour, came gradually

to accept and then at last to look upon them with wonder and with

intense pleasure.

It's beautiful, David. I'm not frightened any more, not with you

holding me. It's wonderful. 'Tell me what you see, he said. I

couldn't. It's impossible. I couldn't find the words. 'Try!

he said.

David was alone in the suite, and it was after midnight when the call

that he had placed to New York came through.

This is Robert Dugan, to whom am I speaking? Bobby's voice was crisp

and businesslike. It's David Morgan. 'Who? 'Debra Mordecai's husband.

Well, hello there, David. The agent's voice changed, becoming

expansive. It's sure nice to talk to you. How is Debra? It was

obvious that Dugan's interest in David began and ended with his wife.

That's why I am calling. She's had an operation and she's in hospital

at the moment. 'God! Not serious, is it? She's going to be fine.

She'll be up in a few days and ready for work in a couple of weeks.

'Glad to hear it, David. That's great. Loo ere, I want you to go ahead

and set up that script-writing contract for A Place of Our Own. 'She's

going to do it?

Dugan's pleasure carried six thousand miles with no diminution. She'll

do it now. 'That's wonderful news, David. 'Write her a good contract.

Depend on it, boyo. That little girl of yours is a hot property.

Playing hard to get hasn't done her any harm, I tell you! How long will

the script job last? They'll want her for six months, Dugan guessed.

The producer who will do it is making a movie in Rome right now. He'll

probably want Debra to work with him there. Good, said David. She'll

like Rome. You coming with her, David? No, David answered carefully.

No, she'll be coming on her own. Will she be able to get by on her own?

Dugan sounded worried.

From now on she'll be able to do everything on her own Hope you are

right, Dugan was dubious.

I'm right. David told him abruptly. One other thing.

That lecture tour, is it still on? They are beating the door down.

Like I said, she's hotter than a pistol. 'Set it up for after the

script job. Hey, David boy. This is the business. Now we are really

cooking with gas. We are going to make your little girl into one very

big piece of property. Do that, said David. Make her big. Keep her

busy, you hear. Don't give her time to think. I'll keep her busy. Then

as though he had detected something in David's voice. Is something

bugging you, David? You got some little domestic problem going there,

boy? You want to talk about it?

No, I don't want to talk about it. You just look after her. Look after

her well.

I'll look after her, Dugan's tone had sobered. And David What is it?

I'm sorry. Whatever it is, I'm sorry. That's okay. 'David had to end

the conversation then, immediately. His hand was shaking so that he

knocked the telephone from the table and the plastic cracked through. He

left it lying and went out into the night.

He walked alone through the sleeping city, until just before the morning

he was weary enough to sleep.

The streams of colour settled to steady runs and calmly moving patterns,

no longer the explosive bursts of brightness that had so alarmed her.

After the grey shifting banks of blindness that had filled her head like

dirty cotton wool for those long years, the new brightness and beauty

served to buoy her spirits, and after the main discomfort of her head

surgery had passed in the first few days, she was filled with a wondrous

sense of wellbeing, a formless optimistic expectation, such as she had

not experienced since she was a child anticipating the approach of a

long-awaited holiday.

It was as though in some deep recess of her subconscious she was vaguely

aware of the imminent return of her sight. However, the knowledge

seemed not to have reached her conscious mind. She knew there was a

change, she welcomed her release from the dark and sombre dungeons of

nothingness into the new brightness, but she did not realize that there

was more to come, that after colour and fantasy would follow shape and

reality.

Each day David waited for her to say something that might show that she

had realized that her sight was on the way back, he hoped for and at the

same time dreaded this awareness, but it did not come.

He spent as much of each day with her as hospital routine would allow,

and he hoarded each minute of it, doling out time like a miser paying

coins from a diminishing hoard. Yet Debra's ebullient mood was

infectious, and he could not help but laugh with her and share the warm

excitement as she anticipated her release from the hospital and their

return together to the sanctuary of Jabulani.

There were no doubts in her mind, no shadows across her happiness, and

gradually David began to believe that it would last. That their

happiness was immortal and that their love could survive any pressure

placed upon it. It was so strong and fine when they were together now,

carried along by Debra's bubbling enthusiasm, that surely she could

regain her sight and weather the first shock of seeing him.

Yet he was not sure enough to tell her yet, there was plenty of time.

Two weeks, Ruby Friedman had told him, two weeks before she would be

able to see him and it was vitally important to David that he should

extract every grain of happiness that was left to him in that time.

In the lonely nights he lay with the frantic scurryings of his brain

keeping him from sleep. He remembered that the plastic surgeon had told

him there was more they could do to make him less hideous. He could'go

back and submit to the knife once more, although his body cringed at the

thought. Perhaps they could give Debra something less horrifying to

look at.

The following day he braved the massed stares of hundreds of shoppers to

visit Stuttafords Departmental Store in Adderley Street. The girl in

the wig department, once she had recovered her poise, took him into a

curtainedoff cubicle and entered into the spirit of finding a Wig to

cover the domed cicatrice of his scalp.

David regarded the fine curly head of hair over the frozen ruins of his

face, and for the first time ever he found himself laughing at it,

although the effect of laughter was even more horrifying as the tight

lipless mouth writhed like an animal in a trap.

God! he laughed. Frankenstein in drag! 'and for the sales girl who

had been fighting to control her emotions this was too much. She broke

into hysterical giggles of embarrassment.

He wanted to tell Debra about it, making a joke of it and at the same

time prepare her for her first sight Of his face, but somehow he could

not find the words.

Another day passed with nothing accomplished, except a few last hours of

warmth and happiness shared.

The following day Debra began to show the first signs of restlessness.

When are they going to let me out, darling? I feel absolutely

wonderful. It's ridiculous to lie in bed here. I want to get back to

labulani, there is so much to do. Then she giggled. And they've had me

locked up here ten days now. I'm not used to convent Ille, and to be

completely honest with you, my big lusty lover, I am climbing the wall

We could lock the door, David suggested.

God, I married a genius, Debra cried out delightedly, and then later.

That's the first time it ever happened for me in Technicolor. I think I

could get hooked on that That evening Ruby Friedman and the Brig were

waiting for him when he returned to his suite, and they came swiftly to

the reason for their visit.

You have already left it too long. Debra should have been told days

ago, the Brig told him sternly.

He is right, David. You are being unfair to her. She must have time to

come to terms, latitude for adjustment.

I'll tell her when I get the opportunity, David muttered doggedly.

When will that be? the Brig demanded, the gold tooth glowing angrily in

its hirry nest.

Soon.

David, Ruby was placatory, it could happen at any time now. She has

made strong and vigorous progress, it could happen much sooner than I

expected. I'll do it, said David.

Can't you stop pushing me? I said I'll do it, and I will. just get off

my back, won't you.

Right. The Brig was brisk now. You've got until noon tomorrow. If you

haven't told her by then, I'm going to do it.

You're a hard old bastard, aren't you. David said bitterly, and anger

paled the Brig's lips and they could see the effort he made to force it

down.

I understand your reluctance, he spoke carefully. I sympathize.

However, my first and only concern is for Debra. You are indulging

yourself, David. You are wallowing in self-pity, but I am not going to

allow that to hurt her more. She has had enough. No more delay. Tell

her, and have done.

Yes, David nodded, all the fight gone out of him. I will tell her.

When? the Brig persisted.

Tomorrow, said David. I will tell her tomorrow morning.

It was a bright warm morning, and the garden below his room was gay with

colour. David lingered over breakfast in his suite, and he read all of

the morning papers from end to end, drawing out the moment to its

utmost. He dressed with care afterwards, in a dark suit and a soft

lilac shirt, then, when he was ready to leave, he surveyed his image in

the full-length mirror of the dressing-room.

It's been a long time, and I'm still not at ease with you, he told the

figure in the mirror. Let's pray that somebody loves you more than I

do.

The doorman had a cab ready for him under the portico, and he settled in

the back seat with the leaden feeling in his stomach. The drive seemed

much shorter this morning, and when he paid off the cab and climbed the

steps to the main entrance of Groote Schuur, he glanced at his

wrist-watch. It was a few minutes after eleven o'clock. He was hardly

aware of the curious glances as he crossed the lobby to the elevators.

The Brig was waiting for him in the visitors room on Debra's floor. He

came out into the corridor, tall and grim, and unfamiliar in his

civilian clothes.

What are you doing here? David demanded, it was the ultimate intrusion

and he resented it fiercely. I thought I might be of help.

Good on you! said David sardonically, making no effort to hide his

anger.

The Brig let the anger slide past him, not acknowledging it with either

word or expression as he asked mildly, Would you like me to be with you?

No. David turned away from him as he spoke. I can manage, thank you,

and he set off along the corridor.

David! the Brig called softly, and David hesitated and then turned

back.

What is it? he asked.

For a long moment they stared at each other, then abruptly the Brig

shook his head. No, he said. It's nothin&'and watched the tall young

man with the monstrous head turn and walk swiftly towards Debra's room.

His footsteps echoed hollowly along the empty corridor, like the tread

of a man upon the gallows steps.

The morning was warm with a light breeze off the sea. Debra sat in her

chair by the open window, and the warm air wafted the scent of the pine

forests to her.

Resinous and clean-smelling, it mingled with the faint whiff of the sea

and the kelp beds. She felt quiet and deeply contented, even though

David was late this morning. She had spoken to Ruby Friedman when he

made his rounds earlier, and he had teased her and hinted that she would

be able to leave in a week or so, and the knowledge rounded out her

happiness.

The warmth of the morning was drowsy, and she closed her eyes subduing

the strong rich flow of colour into a lulling cocoon of soft shades

which enfolded her, and she lay on the downy edges of sleep.

David found her like that, sitting in the deep chair with her legs

curled sideways under her and her face side-lit by the reflected

sunlight from the window. The turban of white bandages that swathed her

head were crisp and fresh and her gown was white as a bride's, with

cascades of filmy lace.

He stood before her chair studying her with care, her face was pale, but

the dark bruises below her eyes had cleared and the set of her full lips

was serene and peaceful, With infinite tenderness he leaned forward and

laid his open hand against her cheek. She stiffed drowsily, and opened

eyes that were honey brown and flecked with bright flakes of gold. They

were beautiful, and vague, misty and sightless, then suddenly he saw

them change, the look of them was sharp and aware. Her gaze focused,

and steadied. She was looking at him, and seeing him.

Debra was roused from the warm edge of sleep by the touch upon her

cheek, as light as the fall of an autumn leaf. She opened her eyes to

soft golden clouds, then suddenly like the morning wind slashing away

the sea mist, the clouds rolled open and she looked beyond to the

monster's head that swam towards her, a colossal disembodied head that

seemed must arise from the halls of hell itself, a head so riven with

livid lines and set with the bestial, crudely worked features of one of

the dark hosts, that she flung herself back in her chair, cringing away

from the terror of it, and she lifted her hands to her face and she

screamed.

David turned and ran from the room, slamming the door behind him, his

feet pounded down the passage and the Brig heard him coming and stepped

into the corridor.

David! He reached out a hand to him, to hold him back, but David struck

out at him wildly, a blow that caught him in the chest throwing him back

heavily against the wall. When he regained his balance, and staggered

from the wall clutching his chest, David was gone. His frantic

footsteps clattered up from the well of the stairs.

David! he called, his voice croaking. Wait! But he was gone, his

footsteps fading, and the Brig let him go.

instead he turned and hurried painfully down the corridor to where the

hysterical sobs of his daughter rang from behind the closed door.

She looked up from her cupped hands when she heard the door open, and

wonder dawned through the terror in her eyes. I can see you, she

whispered, I can see. He went to her quickly and took her in the

protective circle of his arms.

It's all right, he told her awkwardly, it's going to be all right. She

clung to him, stifling the last of her sobs.

I had a dream, she murmured, a terrible dream, and she shuddered against

him. Then suddenly she pulled away.

David, she cried, where is David? I must see him. The Brig stiffened,

realizing that she had not recognized reality.

I must see him, she repeated, and he replied heavily, You have already

seen him, my child. For many seconds she did not understand, and then

slowly it came to her.

David? she whispered, her voice catching and breaking. That was David?

The Brig nodded, watching her face for the revulsion and the horror.

oh dear God, Debra's voice was fierce. What have I done? I screamed

when I saw him. What have I done to him? I've driven him away. So you

still want to see him again? the Brig asked.

How can you say that? Debra blazed at him. More than anything on this

earth. You must know that!

even the way he is now?

If you think that would make any difference to me then you don't know me

very well. Her expression changed again, becoming concerned. Find him

for me, she ordered. Quickly, before he has a chance to do something

stupid.

I don't know where he has gone, the Brig answered, his own concern

aroused by the possibility which Debra had hinted at.

There is only one place he would go when he is hurt like this, Debra

told him. He will be in the sky. 'Yes, the Brig agreed readily.

Get down to Air Traffic Control, they'll let you speak to him. The Brig

turned for the door and Debra's voice urged him on.

Find him for me, Daddy. Please find him for me.

The Navajo seemed to come around on to a southerly heading under its own

volition. It was only when the sleek, rounded nose settled on course,

climbing steadily upwards towards the incredibly tall and unsullied blue

of the heavens that David knew where he was going.

Behind him, the solid flat-topped mountain with its glistening wreaths

of clouds fell away. This was the last of the land, and ahead lay only

the great barren wastes of ice and cruel water.

David glanced at his fuel gauges. His vision was sully blurred, but he

saw the needles registering a little over the half-way mark on the

dials.

Three hours flying perhaps, and David felt a chill relief that there was

to be a term to his suffering. He saw clearly then how it would end

down there in the wilderness below the shipping lanes. He would

continue to bore for height, climbing steadily until at last his engines

starved and failed. Then he would push the nose down into a vertical

dive and go in hard and fast, like the final suicide stoop of a maimed

and moribund eagle.

It would be over swiftly, and the metal fuselage would carry him down to

a grave that could not be as lonely as the desolation in which he now

existed.

The radio crackled and hummed into life. He heard Air Traffic snarl his

call sign through the static crackle, and he reached for the switch to

kill the set, when the well-remembered voice stayed his hand.

David, this is the Brig. The words and the tone in which they were

spoken transported him back to another cockpit in another land.

You disobeyed me once before. Don't do it again. David's mouth

tightened into a thin colourless line and again he reached for the

switch. He knew they were watching him on the radar plot, that they

knew his course, and that the Brig had guessed what he intended.

Well, there was nothing they could do about it.

David, the Brig's voice softened, and some sure instinct made him choose

the only words to which David would listen. I have just spoken to

Debra. She wants you desperately. David's hand hovered over the

switch.

Listen to me, David. She needs you, she will always need you. David

blinked, for he felt tears scalding his eyes once more. His

determination wavered. Come back, David. For her sake, come back. out

of the darkness of his soul, a light shone, a small light which grew and

spread until it seemed to fill him with its shimmering brightness.

David, this is the Brig. Again it was the voice of the old warrior,

hard and uncompromising. Return to base immediately. David grinned,

and lifted the microphone to his mouth. He thumbed the transmit button,

and spoke the old acknowledgement in Hebrew.

Beseder! This is Bright Lance leader, homeward bound, and he brought

the Navajo around steeply.

The mountain was blue and low on the horizon, and he let the nose sink

gradually towards it. He knew that it would not be easy, that it would

require all his courage and patience, but he knew that in the end it

would be worth it all. Suddenly he needed desperately to be alone with

Debra, in the peace of Jabulani.