Your male bombast, your selfish arrogance. To you this woman- and she
indicated Debra with a turkey leg, to you she is merely a receptacle for
your seething careless sperm. It matters not to you that she is a
promise for the future, that within her are the seeds of a great writing
talent. No, to you she is a rubbing block, a convenient means to a
Debra interrupted her. That definitely is enough, I will not allow a
public debate on my bedroom, and Ella turned towards her with the battle
lust lighting her eyes.
Your gift is not yours to use as you wish. You hold it in trust for all
mankind, and you have a duty to them.
That duty is to exercise your gift, to allow it to grow and blossom and
give forth fruit. She used the turkey leg like a judge's gavel, banging
the edge of her plate with it, to silence Debra's protests.
Have you written a word since you took young Mars to your heart? What
of the novel we discussed on this very terrace a year ago? Have your
animal passions swamped all else? Has the screeching of your ovaries
Stop it, Ella! Debra was angry now, her cheeks flushed and her brown
eyes snapping.
Yes! Yes! Ella tossed the bone aside and sucked her fingers noisily.
Ashamed you should be, angry with yourself - Damn you, Debra flared at
her.
Damn me if you will, but you are damned yourself if you do not write!
Write, woman, write! She sat back and the wicker chair protested at the
movement of her vast body. All right, now we will all go for a swim.
David had not seen me in a bikini yet, much he will care for that skinny
little wench when he does! They drove back to Jerusalem in the night,
flushed with the sun, and although the Mercedes seats had not been
designed for lovers, Debra managed to sit close up against him.
She's right, you know, David broke a long contented silence. You must
write, Debs. 'Oh, I will, she answered lightly.
When? he persisted, and to distract him she snuggled a little closer.
One of these days, she whispered as she made her dark head comfortable
on his shoulder. One of these days, he mimicked her. Don't bug me,
Morgan. She was already half-asleep.
Stop being evasive. He stroked her hair with his free hand. And don't
go to sleep while I'm talking to you.
David, my darling, we have a lifetime, and more, she murmured. You have
made me immortal. You and I shall live for a thousand years, and there
will be time for everything. Perhaps the dark gods heard her boast, and
they chuckled sardonically and nudged each other.
On Saturday Joe and Hannah came to the house on Malik Street, and after
lunch they decided on a tourist excursion for David and the four of them
climbed Mount Zion across the valley. They entered the labyrinth of
corridors that led to David's tomb, covered with splendid embroidered
cloth and silver crowns and Torah covers. From there it was a few steps
to the room of Christ's last supper in the same building, so closely
interwoven were the traditions of Judaism and Christianity in this
citadel.
Afterwards they entered the old city through the Zion gate and followed
