Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (123 page)

'Right now, even five minutes is the gift of a lifetime,' Dani
said.

He went into her room and pulled a chair close to the bedside. He sank down on it, hating the heavy medicinal odour
and the way Tamara was laid out so still and straight, with
her head precisely centred on the pillow. His heart stopped
beating and he was afraid she was dead. It was too corpse-like
a pose, the white sheet too smooth and shroudlike. For the
first time he noticed isolated strands of silver here and there in her silky white-blond hair. Her skin was drawn and like
chalk, so curiously translucent that he could make out every
ridge of her facial bones.

She looks old, he thought, a coming attraction of what she
will look like at sixty-five . . . seventy. Still beautiful, but
extremely fragile and bony.

On their honeymoon, she had teased, 'Will you still love me
when I'm old and ugly?' They had both laughed.

A tear formed in one eye, trickled slowly down his cheek.
Yes, yes I will,
he swore in his mind.

He reached under the sheet and took her hand gently, feel
ing pain at its rubbery limpness, but immense relief at its
warmth. She was alive.

'
Tamara.' His voice came out a choked croak, barely more
than a whisper.

She lay motionless, her breathing so soundless that he had
to strain to make certain her lungs were still working.

Wake up, my darling,
he willed her silently.
Come out of it,
please. Without you, life is nothing. Nothing.

'Darling. Darling!' He pressed her fingers, desperately
seeking a response.

Tamara's eyelids quivered and then, ever so slowly, opened.

'Darling, can you hear me?'

She felt so weak, so disoriented. She tried to lift her head,
but moving was too much of an effort, too taxing . . . imposs
ible. She shifted her eyes—even that taking an immense
amount of concentration—trying to catch as much within her field of vision as possible. But everything looked murky, lost in
a grey fog. She could hear . . . voices. No, one voice, distant,
distorted, and disjointed. That was what had reached down,
down into her sleep, that voice and . . . and a touch.

She concentrated deeply, trying to will the fog away, but it
only darkened and shifted, taking on a vague face like the
faces children imagine they can see in puffy clouds.

Her lips parted a crack but barely moved. 'Da . . . ni?' It
was a mere hint of a whisper, the barest exhalation of breath.

'Tamara, yes, darling. It's me.' It sounded muffled, like
words uttered from a face buried deep in a pillow. She sensed
more than heard them. Why didn't he speak up?

'Da . . . ni,' she repeated with supreme effort, slightly
louder this time.

It was so hard to speak. The words and thoughts formed in
her mind, but her lips, would barely move to let them out. It
took such effort to get anything out at all.
Where am I? Why
can't I move? Things aren't usually in this kind of a fog. What's
the matter with me?

'Thank God, Tamara.' His voice seemed a little clearer to
her now. 'Oh, thank God.' She felt him lift her hand, holding
it against . . . yes, against his lips. She attempted a smile, but
her feeble lips merely shifted a fraction of an emotion.

Still, it was a ghost of a smile, and he didn't miss it. He felt
like jumping for joy.

'Don't worry, darling. Everything is fine,' he said, the tears
running down both cheeks now. 'Dr. Saperstein says you're
going to be all right. You're over the worst of it. Thank God!'

She was tired. So very tired. Eyelids so heavy . . .

Another thought wiggled toward her, and this time she snat
ched it before it could get away. She forced her lips to form
the words.

'The . . . baby.'

'The baby's fine, darling! Just fine!' His words tumbled out
in such an exuberant rush that most of them flew past her in a
blur. 'It's what we wanted, darling. A girl.' He squeezed her
fingers again. 'Oh, she's premature, yes, but hanging on.
Tough. A real trouper. Like you.'

She stared at him, annoyed that his features were starting to
shift again, becoming an indistinguishable cloud. She wished
someone would stop the wind from blowing the cloud apart.

'G-girl?' she whispered.

'Yes, a girl!'

'N-not dead?'

'No, darling, no. She's very much alive! As soon as you're
stronger I'll bring her in so you can hold her! Dr. Saperstein
had to . . . Never mind.'

Operate,
he'd almost said,
cut her out of you because your
womb was punctured by a bullet, and your colon too.

'She's gorgeous, darling,' he went on, 'a real angel. Dark-
haired, though.'

'Dark?'

He nodded, grinning with joy, the tears still streaming
down from his eyes. 'She's raven-haired—just a few wisps, of
course.'

Her eyelids could no longer stay open. They were
heavy . . . oh, so heavy, and the fog was turning back into
darkness, and what he had told her slipped away, out of reach.
She tried to remember what it was he'd said, but it all evapor
ated.

But her sleep was now contented, a Mona Lisa smile on her
lips.

Dani felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up. It was Dr.
Saperstein. 'Your five minutes are up.'

Carefully Dani put Tamara's arm back down and tucked it
under the sheet. 'She's going to be all right,' he said softly.
'Isn't she?' He searched the doctor's face for confirmation.

Dr. Saperstein nodded. 'Yes, she's going to be all right.' He
clapped a hand on Dani's back. 'Now, let's go into the other
room. It's time you gave your daughter some attention.' Sud
denly a frightening thought jumped through Dani's head. 'I'm
not dreaming, Doctor, am I?'

Dr. Saperstein laughed. 'I hope not, because if you are, then
we're both dreaming.'

'Do you know what, doctor?'

The doctor shook his head.

'You're beautiful!' Dani clapped his hands on both of Dr.
Saperstein's cheeks, pulled his face close, and planted a noisy
kiss on his lips. 'I love you!' Then he danced out of the room
in a little shuffle-off-to-Buffalo.

Some days, nothing could go wrong.

_{Interlude:1956}

The year 1946 brought about the beginning of a new era
in the Middle East. Both the Arabs and the Jews revolted against the yoke of the British Mandate, and violence and
terrorism burst out from both sides. Because they were unable to control the bloodshed, the British finally asked
the United Nations to help solve the problem.

In 1948, as the British left Palestine, David Ben-Gurion
proudly declared the birth of the independent State of
Israel. The announcement caused the worst outbreak of
violence ever seen in the Middle East. The day after the
birth of Israel, Arab forces, which had opposed the UN's
decision all along, swarmed into Israel and soon captured the Old City of Jerusalem, threatening to drive the Jews to
the sea.

The short but bloody battle that followed the invasion was a miracle of modern history and was to be repeated
time and again. Against overwhelming odds, the Jews drove
the Arab army first from Jerusalem, then Tel Aviv, Haifa,
Jaffa, and Galilee. And, finally, the Negev as well.

By 1949 the State of Israel had opened its arms to offer a
homeland to Jews from all over the world.

—Contrucci and Sullins,
The Mideast Today: Strategies to Cope with the Seeds of
Yesteryear

Chapter 1

It was past two o'clock in the afternoon when the petite MEA
stewardess with the dark swept-up hair and the tiny mole
above her upper lip came up the aisle. A faint cloud of Chanel
Number Five followed behind her.

She stopped at the fourteenth row and leaned across the
two empty seats. 'We'll be landing in about half an hour,' she
said in soft Middle-Eastern-accented English. She flashed a white enamel smile at the black-haired young man with the
honey skin and the hungry mouth who sat beside the window.
'We lost nearly forty-five minutes bypassing the storm front.
Could I get you a drink or a cup of coffee?'

He nodded. 'I'll have a whisky. Neat.'

She smiled, genuinely this time, and went to get it. Approv
ingly, he watched her move. She walked elegantly, on low
heels, her lacquered fingernails touching the seat backs as she
smiled professionally to the left and the right.

When she returned, she handed him the plastic glass and a
little square paper napkin. 'Here you are.' She smiled again.

'Thank you.' He took it from her and held it, not bothering
to fold down the tray table.

She lingered, half-sitting on the armrest of the aisle seat.
'Where in England are you from?' she asked.

He shook his head. 'I'm not English.' He smiled slightly,
showing wolfish incisors. 'I'm Palestinian.'

'Oh.' She looked surprised. 'I would have taken you for
British from your accent.'

'Many people do.'

She eyed the drink she had just brought him. 'I could get
you some juice, if you prefer.'

He laughed shortly and took a sip of the whisky. 'I've spent
the last four years at Harvard University, and the six years
before that in English schools. Until we land I might as well
take advantage of the liquor.' He looked down at the glass. 'It
doesn't look like I'll be seeing much of this for a long time to
come.'