The Glory (37 page)

“We were in Washington then,” she said. “We missed it all.”

“I was here, all right. My father led the air strike that won the war.”

“Oh, who doesn’t know that? He’s a great hero.”

“Well, he heard Dayan say that your father was more important to the war in Washington than two brigades on the battlefield.”

“I was twelve,” Galia said. “What did I know? I just knew I didn’t like America. I missed my friends.”

“As soon as the war was over,” Dov said, “my father brought us to the Wall. All this here” — he gestured back at the valley
— “was no-man’s-land. Ruins, barbed wire, minefields, booby traps. It’s hard to imagine now.” They walked in silence, intertwined
fingers tightening. After a while he said, “Could you hear the Ezrakh?”

“Barely. Why?”

“Are we supposed to believe all that? Decrees, repentance? A book in heaven where everybody’s deeds are recorded, and a judgment
is written down for next year — who lives, who dies, who by fire, who by water, and so on? I figure it’s all metaphorical,
don’t you? My father’s going in for religion lately.”

“My mother’s getting back to it, too.”

“You know, Galia, I talked to the pilots who knocked down the Syrians in that dogfight. They say that going into battle you’re
too busy to pray, but coming out of it you sure thank God, whether you’re religious or not.”

Once inside the Old City walls, Galia led him by the hand through gloomy narrow alleys and deserted little streets, moving
always downhill. “You’re at home here, aren’t you?” he said.

“Oh, there’s nothing to do in Jerusalem on Shabbat, so we come here, my friends and I. You can explore the Old City forever.
There’s good shopping, too.”

“And the Arabs?”

“Some are nice, others not so nice. Naturally they all wish we’d drop dead.”

They came out on a terrace above a wide plaza, where the floodlit Wall was mobbed by turbulent worshippers. “There’s always
a huge crowd on holidays,” she said.

Dov said, “You know, the Wall used to be in a long dark alley. You couldn’t see it till you got right up to it. That’s how
I first saw it.”

“It already looked like this,” she said, “when we came home.”

Descending a long flight of stone steps to the plaza, they could hear discordant chants rising from half a dozen services
going on at once, clustered around different reading stands and prayer leaders. “This section’s for the men,” she said. “Want
to push in, up to the Wall? Some people make a point to kiss the stones.”

“No thanks.” He was staring over the people’s heads at the Wall. “This makes me think, though.”

“Of what?”

“Abba brought us here right after the war. Me, Daphna, Danny. He told us Jews used to spend their life savings, just to travel
to see the Wall once before they died. Some even came on foot, thousands of miles. Galia, in six years this is the second
time I’ve been here.”

“It’s too easy now,” said Galia. She added with a laugh, “See? We girls have to watch out for that.”

Dov did not react to her teasing at all. “You know something? From the air at reconnaissance altitude, Galia, you’re looking
down, through the clouds, at mountains, valleys, rivers, lakes, farmland, and the sea. Just the earth as it is — brown, green,
gray, and then the big blue stretch of the Mediterranean. There’s no Syria, no Iraq, no Jordan, no Egypt, no Israel. It’s
all of a piece, all the same. No Promised Land. Zionism looks a lot different from up there.” He grunted. “Still, returning
to base, you sure look for that little Promised Land.”

“Come.”

“Where to?”

“You’ll see.” She led him through more alleys, up dark staircases, along stone parapets, and under ancient arches. They climbed
and climbed, and arrived atop a rough windswept stone tower under black sky crowded with stars. Below, lights twinkled on
all sides, as far as they could see. “Now here’s a view of Jerusalem few people know about,” said Galia, leaning against him.
“Three hundred sixty degrees. Chilly, though.”

He put an arm around her. “I’m not cold. I’ve got on my Rosh Hashanah suit.”

“So you have. It feels rough, but nice.”

They were both oddly short of breath. “Who wants to kiss stones?” the Phantom pilot said, and he seized her and went to full
throttle, which had been Galia’s idea, conceivably.

I
sraelis seldom run out of conversation, but after dinner at the Baraks’ the talk was halting, as the four parents avoided
the question in all their minds: namely, what to all the devils was happening with Dov and Galia? Nor did the men want to
involve the wives in war talk. The November election was a safe topic. Barak feared, so he said, that Sharon’s attempt to
form a “Likud” bloc to challenge Labor would give the religious splinter parties leverage to force through more blue laws.
Luria argued that no political price was too high to get rid of Labor’s arteriosclerotic socialism.

“Come on, Benny,” said Barak, “can you picture that crazy Begin as our head of government?”

“This is a crazy country,” said Luria, “and crazier developments have turned out well.”

The opening of the outside door put an end to all this. Galia sailed in dishevelled and radiant, Dov close behind. “We have
two announcements,” she carolled. “First, we’re starved. Second —” her sparkling glance invited Dov to speak.

“We’re engaged,” he said. “Shana tova!”

T
he day after Rosh Hashanah, Noah telephoned his father from Haifa to hint at ominous new naval intelligence. Barak responded,
“Drive down here, let’s not talk on the phone about it,” and Noah soon arrived in coveralls, obviously having broken all speed
limits. They sat down to lunch on what remained of Nakhama’s New Year kreplach soup, and Barak told him about the engagement.

“Engaged? Look, Abba, I like Dov, he’s first class, but she’s only seventeen —”

“Well, she’ll do her sadir service first. That’s another long time of growing up. Right now they’re planning to go skiing
in Switzerland after Yom Kippur, if he can get a three-day leave. It’s Benny’s engagement present to them.”

“A three-day leave?” Noah stopped eating. “Elohim, hasn’t the air force gone on alert?”

“Not unless I haven’t been told, and that’s most unlikely.”

Noah dropped his spoon with a clank. “Okay. I may be stepping out of line to say this, Abba, but I came down here to say it.
In the name of God, the Arabs are about to go to war! Doesn’t the air force know that? Doesn’t the Prime Minister? Doesn’t
the Defense Ministry? Don’t
you
?”

“You’re talking about your naval intelligence reports.”

“Exactly, and it’s war this time, believe me.”

Noah reeled off the preparations for combat that naval intelligence was tracking in the Syrian and Egyptian fleets. Barak
nodded and nodded, regarding his son with a glum mien. “Noah, your admiral and his chief intelligence officer were here for
hours yesterday, arguing with General Zeira. He knows those facts, and a lot more they don’t know. His assessment remains
‘very low probability.’
”

Noah gnawed his lips. “And is Golda Meir actually going to France, as the papers say?”

“She is.”

“To address some stupid socialist convention?”

“No, the Council of Europe.”

“What’s that? Does it have any military power? Is it part of NATO?”

“NATO? No, it’s a forum for talk about political unity and human rights.” Barak pushed back his plate, and looked his son
in the eye. “I’ll trust you with a confidence. I objected forcibly to her leaving Israel now.”

“Good for you, Abba! And what did she say?”

“Well, I’ll tell you, pretty exactly. She said: ‘The world’s greatest soldier is my Minister of Defense, and he has great
generals under him — Dado, Tallik, Bren, Arik, Raful, you know them all. Do those warriors need an old lady nursemaiding them
and second-guessing them?’ ”

Noah broke in mulishly, “Maybe they do —”

“Listen! She went on, ‘It’s an important honor for Israel that I address that council. Cancelling would play right into Arab
hands. Their game is to paralyze us, to keep Israel from functioning like a normal country. Anyway, I’ll be back the next
day, and at worst I can return in five hours.’ ” Barak shrugged. “That’s what she said.”

“B’seder, Abba. So that’s that. I guess I had my nerve coming here. But I’ll tell you this. When it starts — and it’s going
to, very soon — the navy will be stripped for action, with warmed-up engines.”

“That’s fine for the navy, Noah. It’s not the same as alarming our people and the superpowers by mobilizing the reserves,
and giving the Arabs just the excuse they may seek to attack.”

“Be straight with me, Abba. Do
you
think the reserves should be mobilized?”

They stared hard at each other. “Noah, I’ve been disgracefully wrong on that question before. I’m not the chief of military
intelligence.”

After an awkward moment, Noah spoke with a complete change of tone. “Have I ever told you about the French girl I met in Cherbourg?”

“Yes. Julie something, father in the fish business?”

“Good memory. Julie Levinson. She’s here, and she’s got herself a job in the French Embassy. Keen girl.”

Barak smiled. “Chasing you down, is she?”

Not returning the smile, Noah said a shade stiffly, “Julie’s here for real. She knows all about Daphna, and she’s not chasing
me. Lovely girl, though. Sweet, stable, intelligent.”

“Well, with all these engagements going on, what about Daphna?”

“I’m going now to her studio, as she calls it.”

“Will you come home for Yom Kippur?”

“Not in our state of alert, not unless our admiral relaxes a lot.”

“Well, if not, have an easy fast.”

“You too, Abba.”

N
oah had to ring several times before Daphna in a smeary smock opened the door of her dingy cellar room in Jaffa. “Oh, it’s
only you,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag. “Come in. It’s a frightful mess.”

“What does that mean,
‘only you’
?”

“Oh, just that I’m expecting a guy from the Mekhess. Tax problem. What are you doing here?”

For answer he took her in his arms. “Oo-ah,” she said between kisses, “how ardent! You’re almost as grimy as I am, so — No,
no! Hey, hands off! Easy, motek!” She broke free. “Why aren’t you in Haifa?”

“I had to see my father in Jerusalem. I’m on my way back, but I wanted to talk to you, hamoodah. There’s going to be a war.”

“What? A
war
?” She gestured at a radio murmuring American rock-and-roll. “Is there news I missed?”

“Daphna, take my word for it —”

“Noah, did you fall on your head? Things couldn’t be more peaceful. I delivered a menorah this morning to a Canadian client
at the Sheraton. Mobs! This city is bubbling like New York. A war?”

He was glancing around at the worktables piled with tools, clay lumps, unfinished ceramics, stained cloths, and dirty dishes.
“What kind of tax trouble? You really make that kind of money?”

“Oh,
prutot
[pennies]. But they’re after me all the same. God, there’s no place to sit down, is there?”

She cleared a skirt, sweater, and frilly underwear off a cot. He pulled her down beside him and asked, “Are you going home
to Tel Nof base for Yom Kippur?”

“By your life, no! My father’s importing Hassidim to conduct services at the base. He’s getting real strange. I’ll stay right
here, I have work to do.”

“On Yom Kippur?”

“Noah, you know me. Why pretend?”

“Well, come to Haifa, at least. We’ll be in port, for sure —” He was fondling her hand. He stopped and pointed to her wristwatch.
“What’s this?”

“Oh, that. Dzecki gave it to me.”

“A
Rolex
?”

“I tried to refuse it, motek. He insisted, the fool. He was just too sweet about it.”

“Yes, and he can afford it.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, why shouldn’t I have it? Dzecki’s matured a lot, you know. He’s staying on in the army. I admire
him.”

This visit was not going at all as Noah had intended. He had come to snatch a last sweet tumble before the battle, but romance
was clearly not on Daphna’s agenda. Not yet. A change of mood called for, alcohol indicated. “Let’s have a beer, Daph. What
are you working on now?”

“Oh, menorahs, menorahs. What else?” She went and took a bottle from a rusty icebox. “But at last through Dzecki I’ve got
one decent commission, Samson killing a lion, for a hotel lobby. There’s this rich kablan in Haifa, Avram Gulinkoff, he builds
hotels and such. Dzecki and his father have formed a company with him, and —”

“What, with Guli? They’re in business with Guli Gulinkoff? Why, Guli is a gorilla, the biggest crook in Haifa! He’ll eat the
flesh off those Americans’ bones. Then he’ll use their bones for soup. For Guli you’re making a Samson? And what’s this, am
I drinking alone?”

“When the Mekhess gets here I have to be sharp. It’ll be any minute. Drink up, motek.” Daphna paced the little room. “Okay,
Dzecki says Guli is sort of gross, but why a gorilla? Apparently he knows a lot about art. He owns a Degas and a Miró.”

“Did he hang them in his jail cell?”

“Ha, you’re in a sour mood. You
know
the indictment was dropped, and he never spent an hour in jail. Dzecki says the politicians eat out of Guli’s hand. Guli
gets permits, clearances, variances in a day that for other kablans can take a year — What time is it?”

“Daphna, come here. Sit down.”

“Well, the thing is —”

The doorbell rang. With an exasperated shrug, she answered it, and Yoram Sarak came in, carrying two falafels in paper napkins.
The apparition of this hairy iconoclast in dark glasses was a most disagreeable surprise to Noah. “I know I’m early, Daph,
but — By my life, it’s Horatio Hornblower,” exclaimed Sarak. “Daphna didn’t tell me, Admiral, or I’d have brought another
falafel. No problem, you can have mine, I’m getting over a spastic colon. Ma nishma?”

“So you work for the Mekhess now?” Noah said.

“Me? The Mekhess? Are you crazy?”