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.
