Raquel said: ‘Why don’t you leave Israel, Thomas?’
Bartlett said: ‘Why?’
‘Why? You ask me why? Because someone is trying to kill you – that’s why.’
They were walking up Allenby Street. It was nearly 1 p.m. and the exuberance in the streets was beginning to wane. At this time of day, Bartlett thought, you became more aware of the beggars and the vendors of cheap sunglasses and toy hammers that squeaked when you struck anyone with them. He liked to stop at the bookshops with their windows brazenly filled with books about Israel. The books were glossy and exotic and expensive.
Bartlett said: ‘When do you think I should leave?’
‘Today,’ Raquel said.
‘You seem very anxious to get rid of me.’
‘I don’t want to see you hurt.’
‘I seem to have managed to take care of myself so far’
‘You have managed?’ She appealed to the lunchtime crowds. ‘He says he has managed. I ask you, what have you done?’ Her voice softened a little. ‘Except of course to hold that terrorist.’ Her voice softened a little more. ‘You were very brave then, Thomas.’
Because he didn’t know what to reply Bartlett stopped outside a furnishing shop. He caught sight of his face in a mirror. His face was quite tanned, the effect marred by the skin beginning to peel off his nose.
Raquel said: ‘But really you have just been very lucky. It would be much better if you left.’
‘Not a chance,’ Bartlett said.
‘You are a very foolish man.’
‘Perhaps. But you must be a very foolish girl consorting with me. Who knows – a gunman might have his sights on us right now.’
Instinctively Raquel looked around. On one side of the road was the Great Synagogue, on the other Barclays Bank. She said: ‘I do not think they are trying to kill me.’
‘No,’ Bartlett said. ‘But they could be very bad shots, Perhaps that bullet in the Dead Sea was meant for me.’
They went into a snack bar and ordered pizzas. Bartlett said: ‘It’s difficult to believe that it’s Sunday. I suppose that the answer is to be a Moslem working in the United States or British Embassies in Israel. That way you might get Friday, Saturday and Sunday off.’
‘You are trying to evade the point,’ Raquel said.
‘Which was?’
‘Why don’t you leave here today?’
‘Because I came here to attend a geological conference. Because I intend to be present at that conference. Because I do not like cowardly people trying to intimidate me.’
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Get yourself killed.’
He chewed on his cheese and pastry and anchovies. ‘You seem very anxious to get rid of me. I rather thought you liked having me around.’
‘I do.’ She touched his arm. ‘You know I do. But do I want you dead?’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘No one’s going to kill me.’
‘They’ve been having a damn good try. Are you sure it isn’t your wife?’
He stopped chewing. ‘Why should it be?’
She smiled. ‘No reason. Just an Israeli joke.’
‘She’s not particularly devoted to me. But I don’t think she would go to that extreme.’
‘You don’t talk about her much, do you? Most married men talk about their wives.’
Bartlett’s appetite froze. ‘Have you a lot of experience with married men?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Just you.’
‘Then how do you know that most married men talk about their wives?’ He was appalled at his own jealousy.
‘I have known married men. What girl has not known married men? They have told me about their wives. But that doesn’t mean to say that I have had anything more to do with them.’
‘I suppose not. In any case I haven’t any right to ask. I’m sorry.’ He ordered a large draught beer. ‘But, to answer your question, I don’t talk about my wife because it doesn’t seem right somehow. If things have gone wrong it’s both our faults.’
‘Have you ever slept with another woman?’
Bartlett smiled into the big thick glass with the moisture already misting the outside. ‘That’s more like the girl I met on the plane.’
‘I told you Israeli girls are nosey.’
‘You gave me fair warning.’
‘But still you have not answered my question. You have a very good knack of evading questions you don’t want to answer, Mr Bartlett. Have you slept with another woman since you got married to this wife of yours?’
‘Very nosey and very personal. Honestly, the Arabs don’t stand a chance.’
‘Have you, Thomas?’
‘No,’ he said. He vaguely felt that the admission was a criticism of his character.
‘I didn’t think so.’
‘Was it so obvious, then?’ He remembered some of Helen’s remarks.
‘No it was not.’ She leaned across the table. ‘You are a beautiful lover.’
He looked around the snack bar and said:’ I wish you’d keep your voice down a bit.’
‘And I wish you’d stop acting the part of a stage Englishman.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Can we make love again tonight, Thomas?’
‘Not if I leave the country,’ he said.
‘I would rather that you stay alive and that we do not make love tonight.’ She sipped her Coke. ‘I could always come to London and see you there. Or perhaps we could meet somewhere else. Cyprus, perhaps? A lot of people fly to Cyprus from here for holidays.’ Her enthusiasm gained momentum. ‘Why not Cyprus, Thomas? Why don’t you catch a plane to Cyprus and I will join you there? Kyrenia is a beautiful place. We could swim and sunbathe there and make love at night.’
‘What about the daytime?’
‘In the daytime, too. You would like it there. And there is a lot that would interest you as a geologist, I promise you.’
‘I know,’ Bartlett said. ‘I’ve been there.’
‘Then will you go?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, Raquel. It would seem like cowardice. I don’t know what on earth this is all about but I intend to find out.’
‘Please,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Then you cannot love me.’
‘Don’t be childish.’ He paid the bill. ‘You know I’ve got to stay here. You wouldn’t really respect me if I left you now. Would an Israeli leave in these circumstances?’
She sighed. ‘Perhaps not.’
‘Would your fiancé have left?’
‘How did you know about my fiancé?’
‘I guessed. No girl as beautiful as you can live in a virile country like this without having a fiancé.’
‘He’s dead,’ Raquel said.
‘I guessed as much.’
‘It was over a year ago. The terrorists threw a grenade in Gaza and a splinter struck him.’ She stood up to leave. ‘You don’t despise me now because I have made love so soon after his death?’
Bartlett wished again that she would keep her voice down. ‘A year is a long time,’ he said. ‘Especially in this part of the world. No, I do not despise you.’ He wanted to add that he loved her; but he wasn’t sure that he did.
‘It just happened,’ she said.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Let’s move on – everyone seems rather interested in our conversation here.’
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘In any case we must be getting back to Jerusalem.’
‘There’s something I’d like to do first.’
‘What is that?’
‘I’d like to go on the beach,’ Bartlett said.
‘You want to go on the beach?’ She peered at his face. ‘I tell you it would not be wise. Already your nose is peeling.’
‘It will be all right. First we must buy a pair of trunks and perhaps go back to your apartment. You have some tanning lotion?’
She nodded. ‘But I do not see why you should want to go on the beach. I do not think it would be good for you.’
‘I might be a bit pale,’ Bartlett said. ‘But I think I can stand a bit of sunshine.’
At the apartment Bartlett liberally applied cream to his face. On the beach he kept his shirt on and put more cream on his arms and legs. Around him the bodies were very brown – the men lithe, the girls bouncy.
Raquel was wearing a white one-piece which unwove itself into net around her waist, Her belly was flat and her small breasts firm. Bartlett anticipated their return to the hotel in Jerusalem with pleasure.
‘There don’t appear to be many people swimming,’ he said. ‘They’re all patting those damn balls around instead.’
‘Israel is not a nation of swimmers,’ Raquel said. ‘Too many of its people came from places where there were no opportunities to swim.’
They were at the end of a strip of sand that stretched out to sea from the base of one of the new American hotels to a breakwater where drenched anglers stood among plumes of spray. In front of them an old woman with wrinkled brown skin was doing her exercises; two pale men with wobbling stomachs walking briskly up and down the water’s edge.
‘Tourists,’ Raquel said.
‘Is everyone white and out-of-condition a tourist?’
‘Usually,’ she said. She looked at his pale legs. ‘I cannot make out what we are doing here. It does not seem right somehow.’
Bartlett grinned at her. ‘A spot of mild sadism, British style.’
‘What are you talking about. Thomas?’
‘I noticed Yosevitz following us earlier. If ever there was a man who will fry up in the sun it’s him.’
When they got back to Bartlett’s room in the hotel at Jerusalem the detective whom Bartlett had consulted was waiting there.
‘Shalom,’ he said. ‘Is this the young lady you were telling me about?’
Bartlett said: ‘This is Miss Rabinovitz.’
‘I should like to have a few private words with you, Mr Bartlett.’
Raquel said: ‘I’ll come back in half an hour.’ She spoke emphatically, implying that she saw no reason why she should not be in Bartlett’s room.
Alter she had gone the detective, who looked like a middle-aged Ben-Gurion, said: ‘I see what you mean, Mr Bartlett.’
‘You do?’
‘About Miss Rabinovitz. A man could become jealous over her.’
‘Someone is pretty annoyed about something.’
‘I know, Mr Bartlett. I must apologise about my previous attitude. In fact we are getting quite worried about you. How much longer are you staying in this country?’
‘I’m not sure. Longer than I expected. I have just heard that the conference will not now open until Wednesday.’
‘I really think it would be very wise of you to leave before then. Is this conference so important to you?’
‘Yes it is,’ Bartlett said. ‘That’s funny – you’re the second person who has suggested that I should leave as soon as possible.’
‘Really. May I ask who the first was?’
‘I don’t think it would help you,’ Bartlett said. ‘Anyway, why do you want me to leave so suddenly? The other day you weren’t very concerned about my welfare. Is it perhaps the security of Israel that concerns you more than my future on this earth?’
The detective sat on a chair in front of the dressing-table mirror so that Bartlett found he was looking at both his face and the back of his head. The detective said: ‘During your short stay in Israel there has been one attempt on your life, one incident in which an American was shot dead and an unsuccessful bid by El Fatah terrorists to kidnap you.’
‘You make it sound like an indictment,’ Bartlett said.
‘Not an indictment, Mr Bartlett, a catalogue. We do not want that catalogue to get any longer.’
‘You,’ Bartlett said irritably, ‘are not the only one.’
‘Then would it not be easier for everyone concerned if you left as soon as possible?’
‘It might well be easier,’ Bartlett said. ‘But I am the most interested party and I have no intention of leaving.’
‘It would not be difficult for me to make sure that you leave,’ the detective said. He paused. ‘In fact, Mr Bartlett, we could probably put you on an aircraft today.’
‘Deportation? On what grounds?’ Bartlett’s anger was mounting. ‘Look Mr …’
‘Levinsky.’
‘Look, Mr Levinsky. I have endured a lot since I came to your country. None of it the fault of the Israelis – as far as I know. In fact I am most impressed with your countrymen. But I do not intend to be expelled merely because another attempt on my life could be an embarrassment to you.’
Levinsky rumpled his thick greying hair. ‘I did not expect quite such spirit,’ he said. ‘You know, of course, that we do not have to give any reason for a deportation order.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Bartlett said. ‘I would give plenty of reasons when I landed at London Airport.’
Levinsky smiled. ‘You are as aggressive as an Israeli fighting man.’
‘No,’ Bartlett said. ‘Just obstinate. Your job is to protect me, not to give me my marching orders.’
Levinsky sighed. ‘You are absolutely right, of course, Mr Bartlett, but I’m afraid …’
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. A porter said: ‘Excuse me, sir, there is a telephone call downstairs for Mr Levinsky.’
Bartlett said: ‘Can’t he take it here?’
The porter said: ‘The caller particularly asked that Mr Levinsky take the call downstairs.’
While Levinsky was gone Bartlett sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated developments. In fact he was by no means convinced that there was no Israeli complicity in the violent events of the past few days. He suspected that if he was forced to leave the country someone would be watching him when he picked up the hidden documents.
But why were the contents so important? The answer did not come to Bartlett with startling impact. He realised that he had slowly been approaching the answer for some time with a geologist’s caution and suspicion of facile explanation. But even so it was only half the answer.
Levinsky looked puzzled when he returned.
‘Well?’ Bartlett said.
‘It was just a routine call.’
‘Couldn’t you have taken it up here?’
‘You have a very suspicious nature, Mr Bartlett.’
‘All geologists are the same.’
‘I suppose so. I didn’t realise it before.’
‘Well, are you going to deport me?’
‘That’s a very strong word, Mr Bartlett.’
‘I’m not concerned with any euphemism that you choose to use. Are you going to deport me?’
Levinsky stared at himself in the mirror. ‘I think perhaps it will not be necessary. I did not realise that you were quite so determined to stay. I was merely suggesting that you leave for your own good.’
The new awareness that had joined Bartlett’s sensibilities since his arrival in Israel reasserted itself. ‘You were not suggesting,’ he said. ‘Could your change in attitude have anything to do with that phone call you just received?’
Levinsky turned away from the mirror. ‘Mr Bartlett,’ he said, ‘you are probably an excellent geologist. You would also have made an excellent detective.’
He walked to the door and hesitated there. He still looked puzzled and unsure of himself. It was not, Bartlett knew, a characteristic attitude. He started to speak, then shook his head and walked out into the corridor.
They lay beneath a sheet, tranquil and satisfied after the act of love. Bartlett smoked a cigarette with one hand and held her hand with the other. The room was drowsy with dusk; outside the first stars were establishing themselves in the advancing darkness.
‘What are you thinking?’ she said.
Helen always wanted to know what he was thinking, but with exasperation rather than unbridled curiosity. He had, in fact, been marvelling at his appetite for love. Helen had always derided his waning interest – and made it wane even more.
‘I was just thinking about the sort of visit I envisaged before I set out from London,’ he said. ‘A dullish conference enlivened by a few tourist attractions.’
‘And now you’ve got me,’ she said. ‘I’m your tourist attraction.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think I would forego Masada for you.’
The last luminosity of day was fading. Bartlett stubbed out his cigarette and ran his hand over the sheet, lingering at the small hillocks of her breasts. He was moved with a sense of sharing – their dusk, their stars emerging. And surprised to find himself lying naked beside a beautiful Jewish girl overlooking the foundation stones of religion.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he said.
‘I do not mind.’
He made a robe out of a towel and poured the remains of the whisky he had bought in the aircraft into two tumblers. He lingered at the window and looked at Jerusalem. At the divided. city tenuously unified. Lights burned in the Bible blackness and the outlines of domes, spires and minarets were precise against the last green gleam of day. Never had politics and the contrived enmities of mankind seemed quite so futile.
She said: ‘Could I have my drink, please?’ He handed it to her. ‘You look very noble in profile,’ she said. ‘What were you thinking about then?’
‘I wish I could devise some way by which my thoughts were transferred to you without the effort of speaking.’
‘Again you are evasive. What were you thinking about? Was it about your wife?’
‘No. Just a few hackneyed observations about Jerusalem.’ He drew the curtains and put on the bed lamp. He slipped under the sheet, removed the towel and moved close to her.
‘Thomas.’
‘Yes?’
‘When are you going back to England?’
‘After the conference, I suppose.’ He had been purposely diverting all conversation from the subject.
‘Will we ever see each other again after that?’
‘Of course we will.’ As always he found her directness disconcerting.
‘You do not sound very convincing. What would you do if I came to London?’
‘See you, of course.’ He thought of Helen and of the deceit that would be involved. But was deceit necessary? After all, she had been betraying him for a long time.
‘And would you show me England just as I’ve shown you Israel?’
‘Of course I would.’
She stroked his chest. ‘Dear Thomas – I do not believe you. Why do you not stay here? A little longer anyway. Then perhaps you would like our country so much that you would want to stay and help my people. You could do a lot for us Israelis with your geology.’
He put his hand on her arm. ‘If people would stop trying to kill me and steal my property I might be a little more enthusiastic.’
‘You take it all so calmly,’ she said.
‘It’s easier now,’ he said.
‘Easier? You say it is easier? I ask you – how can it be easier?’
Bartlett raised himself on one elbow so that he could see her face. ‘Because I think I understand a little what it’s all about.’
He watched the expression on her face very carefully. She frowned and put one hand to her lips. ‘You understand what it’s all about?’
‘A little, I think.’
She put down her tumbler of whisky on the bedside table. ‘Well, tell me, Thomas. What is it all about?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ he said. ‘When I’m sure.’
‘You don’t trust me.’
‘I do. I just want to be sure.’ He bent and kissed her and thought how warm and dry her lips were. At first there was no response; then her lips parted slightly. And Bartlett found to his astonishment that he was ready to make love to her again.