That's not going to save you, dear boy, David hardly glanced at the
knight, and he hit the rook with a white bishop. Mate in five, he
predicted, as he dropped the castle into the box, and then, too late, he
realized that Joe's theatrical expression of anguish had slowly faded
into a beatific grin. Joseph Mordecai used any deception to bait his
traps, and David looked with alarm at the innocuous-seeming knight,
suddenly seeing the devious plotting in which the castle was merely
bait.
Oh, you bastard, David moaned. You sneaky bastard Check! Joe gloated
as he put the knight into a forked attack, and David had to leave his
queen exposed to the horseman.
Check, said Joe again with an ecstatic little sigh as he lifted the
white queen off the board, and again the harassed king took the only
escape route open to him.
And mate, sighed Joe again as his own queen left the back file to join
the attack. Not in five, as you predicted, but in three. There was a
loud outburst of congratulation and applause from the onlookers and Joe
cocked an eye at David.
Again? he asked, and David shook his head.
Take on one of these other patsies, he said. I'm going to sulk for an
hour. 'He vacated his seat and it was filled by another eager victim as
Joe reset the board. David crossed to the coffee machine, moving
awkwardly in the grip of his G-suit, and drew a mug of the thick black
liquid, stirred in four spoons of sugar and found another seat in a
quieter corner of the crew-room beside a slim curly-beaded young
kibbutznik, with whom David had become friendly. He was reading a thick
novel. Shalom, Robert. How you been? Robert grunted without looking
up from his book, and David sipped the sweet hot coffee. Beside him,
Robert moved restlessly in his seat and coughed softly, David was lost
in his own thoughts, for the first time in months thinking of home,
wondering about Mitzi and Barney Venter, wondering if the yellowtail
were running hot in False Bay this season, and remembering how the
proteas looked upon the mountains of the Helderberg.
Again Robert stirred in his chair and cleared his throat. David glanced
at him, realized that he was in the grip of a deep emotion as he read,
his lips quivering, and his eyes too bright.
What are you reading? David was amused, and he leaned forward to read
the title. The picture on the dust jacket of the book was instantly
familiar. It was a deeply felt desert landscape of fierce colours and
great space.
Two distant figures, man and woman, walked hand in hand through the
desert and the effect was mystic and haunting. David realized that only
one person could have painted that, Ella Kadesh.
Robert lowered the book. This is uncanny, his voice was muffled with
emotion. I tell you, Davey, it's beautiful. It must be one of the most
beautiful books ever written.
With a strange feeling of pre-knowledge, with a sense of complete
certainty, of what it would be, David took the book out of his hands and
turned it to read the title, A Place of Our Own.
