She pulled the sheet more tightly around her.
'Betrayed the Revolution,' she said. 'They sent him to Volochanka. But he escaped, so they want him dead.'
'They have the easy job,' said Craig, and she shivered. 'Your people want him alive.'
'Because he's his brother. The Americans want him alive because he can perform one miracle.' 'Only one?'
'It's a good one,' he said. 'He can turn sea water to rain water. Cheap. He can make the desert blossom. He's America's present to the underprivileged world.'
'And why do you want him alive?'
'So that I can stay alive too,' said Craig. 'If I've got him, everybody will be my chum.'
'With all that opposition—you think you can do it?'
'It's not much of a chance, but it's the only one I've got.'
He put the light off and got into bed. Before he could turn from her, her arms came round him, her body eased against his. He put up his hands and found that she was naked.
'Miss Loman,' he said, 'you're making a big mistake.' Her mouth found his, her hands tore at his pajama jacket, then she found herself pulled away from him. He
was gentle about it, but his strength was too much for her.
'Please,' she said. 'Please, Craig.'
He got out of bed, switched on the light again, and looked down on her, her bare breasts tight with love, then he lit a cigarette and his hands were shaking.
'Miss Loman,' he said. 'What the hell are you playing at?'
'I don't love you,' she said. 'I never could love you. But I may die tomorrow. That scares me—it scares us both.' She wriggled out of the sheets, her body supple in youth, but the logic she offered was ageless. 'We need each other. Now,' she said. 'It's all there is.' He turned away from her. 'Am I that hard to take?'
'No, Miss Loman, you're not,' he said. 'But my interest in women ended a year ago. They have a machine that does that. All very modern. It gives you electric shocks.'
'Oh, my God,' she said.
'Maybe I'm wasting my time staying alive, Miss Loman.' 'Who did it to you?'
'A man who hated me. In our business, we stir up a lot of hatred. I nearly died. They tell me I was crazy for a while. Then they patched me together—the surgeons and psycho experts—and sent me after the man who did it.'
'Did you kill him?'
'No,' he said. 'He had to live. But he wanted to die. Very much.' He came to her then, and he looked at her body and smiled. His hand reached out, smoothed the hair from her brow.
'I'm sorry, Miss Loman,' he said.
'Couldn't you just hold me?' she said. 'I'm so alone, Craig.'
He put the light off. She heard the rustle of cloth as he removed his pajamas, then he lay on the bed beside her, took her in his arms, kissed her gently. Her hands moved across him, and her fingertips told her of what he had suffered, the knife wound, the two gun shots, the flogging. His body was marked for life, but the strength inside him had overcome everything that had been done, until the last, most appalling pain had left him alone, uncaring, with only one emotion left, the fear of death. Her hands moved down, over the hard belly. Her body rubbed soft and luscious against him.
'I'll make you,' she said. 'I'll make you want me.'
There was a compassion in her hands and lips that went beyond the ruttishness of fear, a gentle understanding that knew nothing of the game without rules he'd played for far too long. Even now, in the very offering of herself, this girl was on the side of friendship, of life.
His mind loved her for it, but his body would not respond. Could not. She touched him, and his flesh remembered the pain and only the pain, but he willed himself not to cry out, or move away. She was offering him compassion: the least he could do was accept it. Suddenly Craig decided that, whatever happened, Miriam Loman wouldn't be killed. Her compassion was too rare, too precious a commodity to be squandered before its time. And with that realization, the memory of the pain receded, and she became not just the embodiment of a virtue but a woman too, and Craig realized, as he needed her at last, that his frigidity had become a kind of necessary selfishness, a protection against the involvements women always demanded, this one not least, and yet how could one repay such compassion except with involvement? His hands grew strong on her, and she rolled back, then pushed up to meet him, brave in her passion.
'There, my darling, you see?' She said, then, 'Yes. Oh, please. Please.'
When they had done, they bathed together, then lay down cool on the rumpled sheets. She smiled at him then, a grin of triumph.
'You didn't believe it was possible, did you?' she said. 'And I made you.'
'You made me.'
'That's something isn't it? After what they did to you? You ought to say, Thank you, Miss Loman.' 'Thank you, Miss Loman.'
'That's a good boy.' She kissed his mouth. 'A
'I don't want you to think I do this sort of thing all that often,' she said. 'I don't.'
'You mean I wasn't much good?'
She made a joke of it, but the anxiety to please was there, would always be there.
'You were perfect,' he said. 'That's how I know you didn't do it often.'
'Just one man,' she said. 'One nice Jewish boy. I adored him. And he went to Israel.'
'Does Marcus know?'
'I hope not,' she said. 'I never told him. He'll never know about you either. You bastard. You drag me here, kidnap me, then let me rape you. And tomorrow you'll probably get me killed.'
'No,' said Craig. 'You won't die, and it wasn't rape— or kidnapping either.'
She said quickly, 'I feel great—but I'm still scared.'
He turned to her then, and his hands were gentle on her, coaxing yet slow, as she had been to him, till the girl cried out aloud, her arms came round him, taking him to her.
CHAPTER 8
They drove through Kirikkale, then on to Kayseri, climbing the foothills of the Taurus Mountains. The road was bad now, the pavement giving out for long stretches, but the Mercedes took all it was given, and came back for more. They passed hamlets of mud and stone, tiny fields wherever there was water, and where there was not— scrubland, goats, and sheep. Gas stations were a rarity, and whenever he passed one Craig filled up the tank, paying in Turkish lire this time.
Once a police car followed them, then shot past them, waving them down. The girl was frightened, but Craig was unhurried, and wound down his window as the two policemen came up to him, thin and hard and dark as gypsies. One of them spoke a little French, and asked them if they were lost. Craig said they were not. They were going to Iskenderun to consider the possibility of making a film there. The policeman was impressed, and gabbled to the other man in Turkish, then asked if Craig had ever met Brigitte Bardot, and Craig said no, but he'd met a man who had. The policeman asked if they were American, and Craig said they were. His partner then took a deep breath and said, 'Hey, Joe. Gimme some whisky and a broad.' Craig applauded then, and scowled at Miriam till she applauded too. The French-speaking policeman then explained that his partner had fought in Korea, Craig handed round Chesterfields and they were free to go.
They drove on sedately to the next bend, then Craig put his foot down. 'My God,' said the girl.
'Take it easy. They were bored and they wanted cigarettes. When trouble comes, it won't be wearing a uniform.'
It came at Volukari, eighty miles farther on. Craig had stopped yet again for gas and the girl had gone into the fly-festooned shack beyond it that said cafe. He sat and waited, looking at the town that seemed to be in
