appreciate our babbling all the time. Do you think you can bear not speaking for twenty-one days?”
“No,” said Jason.
“Then think about meeting me in Israel as soon as your last exam is over. It’s about time you saw the land of your forefathers, anyway.”
“I just may, if I grow desperate enough,” he replied. “Hey — I almost forgot to ask you, how did your orals go?”
“Fine,” she replied modestly.
“Then you’re a real doctor, Congratulations! Why aren’t you excited?”
“Because,” she replied with affection, “I’m about to become something a lot more important — your wife.”
Those words were burned in fire in the memory of Jason Gilbert. For they were the last he ever heard spoken by Fanny van der Post.
Ten days later, he was awakened at 6:00 A.M. by a phone call from Amsterdam. It was her brother, Anton.
“Jason,” he said, his voice quavering, “I’m afraid I’ve some terrible news about Fanny.”
“Has she been in an accident?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly. She’s been killed.”
Jason sat up, his heart pounding frantically.
“How? What happened?”
“I don’t know all the details,” he stammered. “Eva just called and said that there was a terrorist attack. Their kibbutz is very close to the border. Apparently some Arabs crossed over in the night and threw hand grenades into the children’s dormitory. Fanny was seeing to a sick little girl and —” He broke down and sobbed.
At first Jason was numb. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured to himself. “I just can’t believe this is really happening.”
In the twenty-six sheltered years of his life he had never known anything remotely resembling tragedy. And now it had struck him like a bullet in the soul.
“Eva says she was very brave, Jason. She threw herself on one of the grenades to protect the children.”
Jason did not know what to say. Or think. Or do. He sensed that at any time the tears would come. And the rage explode within him. Now he was simply frozen with shock. Then he realized that he had to say something to her brother.
“Anton,” he whispered, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“We are sorry for you, too, Jason,” he replied. “You and Fanny loved each other so much.”
He then added in a voice that was barely audible, “We thought you might like to come to the funeral.”
The funeral. Oh God, the thought of it brought a dull ache. Yet another harsh fact to make him understand that Fanny was really dead. That he would never hear her voice again. Never see her alive.
But he had been asked a question. Did he wish to attend the ceremony in which the body of his beloved would be lowered into the ground and covered with earth?
“Yes, Anton. Yes, of course,” he replied, his voice as weak as a reed in the wind. “When’s the service?”
“Well, it was to be as soon as we could all get there, But, of course, if you’re coming we’ll wait for you.”
“I don’t understand,” said Jason. “Isn’t the funeral in Holland?”
“No,” Anton replied. “The family has had other thoughts. You know we’re quite religious and have very strong ties with the Bible and the Holy Land. Since Fanny died … where she did … we thought she should be buried in the Protestant cemetery in Jerusalem.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe that’s too long a journey for you,” Anton said gently.
“Don’t be silly,” Jason answered quietly. “I’m going to call the airlines as soon as they open and get the first plane out. I’ll call you back and let you know when I’ll be arriving.”
Ever since he had first met Fanny, he had kept his passport near him should the need to see her become unbearable. So all he had to do was pack a suitcase, find a flight, and go.
He had an exam that morning for which he had done weeks of preparation, and since his flight to Israel left Idlewild that evening, he could have taken it.
But nothing mattered anymore. He didn’t give a damn about anything.
He went to a travel agent in the Square, got his ticket, and spent the rest of the day wandering aimlessly around Cambridge. The sun was shining, and students, laughing happily, were heading toward the riverside to picnic.
Their laughter put him in a silent rage. How can they smile and walk the streets as if life is just the same as it was yesterday? How can the goddamn sun dare shine so brightly? The whole damn world should stop and weep.
At four he flew from Boston, transferred to Idlewild, and walked across the parkways to where El Al Airlines had their check-in. His parents met him there.
“Jason,” his mother cried, “this is so horrible.”
“Is there anything we can do?” his father asked.
“I don’t think so,” Jason answered distractedly.
A lithe young man with black curly hair, wearing a half-open shirt and carrying a walkie-talkie, came up to them and in a slightly accented voice asked, “Are you all three passengers?”
“No,” said Jason, “only me.”
“Then I’m afraid those other people have to go,” he said politely. “Only passengers allowed here. For security reasons.”
This upset the elder Gilbert. “Look at this terminal,” he complained, as he reluctantly began to leave. “There are policemen everywhere, and at least a dozen types like that fellow. This must be the most dangerous airline in the world.”
Before Jason could respond, the security agent turned and addressed them. “Excuse me, but I think we are the safest airline in the world because we take the most precautions.”
“Do you always eavesdrop on other people’s conversations?” Jason’s father snapped.
“Only when I’m at work, sir. It’s part of the job.”
Unchastened, Mr. Gilbert turned to his son and said, “Promise me you’ll take an American airline back.”
“Dad, please, I’d be grateful if I could just be left alone.”
“Yes, son,” he said quietly. “Of course.”
They embraced their son and quickly left.
Jason sighed as he watched the two female security officials carefully empty the contents of his little overnight bag — three shirts, some underwear, two ties, a toilet kit — onto the bench and meticulously examine them. One even checked his tubes of toothpaste and shaving cream.
Finally they repacked it, far more neatly than he himself had done.
“Can I go now?” he asked, trying to suppress his impatience.
“Yes, sir,” replied the young woman, “right to that booth. For the body search.”
The flight was long and crowded. Children chased one another up and down the aisles. Old bearded men — and a few young bearded men — paced up and back as well, no doubt meditating on some vital point of the Talmud or a passage in the Prophets.
Inexplicably, Jason got up and walked with them. He wondered at the various faces that he saw among the passengers. Besides the stereotyped patriarchs straight from the pages of the Old Testament, there were tanned and muscular young men. He sensed that many of those open-shirted athletic types were security guards. There were also faces black as any Negro he had ever seen. (He learned later they were Yemenites.)
