The Levant Trilogy (63 page)

The day after they were routed, the Beltados
left the hotel and Angela and Harriet, returned to the ease of their old amity,
began to talk of going elsewhere, but it was only talk. Angela was content at
The Cedars and the days went on as before with the after-dinner whisky bottle
and the drowsy retreat to bed. Then one day she said: 'We'll leave tomorrow.
Where shall we go?' She turned to Castlebar: 'Where do you want to go, you
great, domineering brute?'

Castlebar beamed on her: 'Wherever you take me,
my pet.'

'We'll go back to Palestine. We'll make an early
start and drive to Jerusalem. Bill, tell them to wake us at eight a.m.'

Castlebar nodded: 'Right. Troops will parade at
eight a.m.' But when Harriet, having been wakened, went down to breakfast,
there was no sign of Angela and Castlebar. They appeared, as usual, for
luncheon and the party set out at three in the afternoon.

Angela's car was an old Alvis and as she drove,
she complained continually: 'Wretched car. Steering all wrong. On the way here
it nearly had us over a precipice.' Yet it brought them safely up on the
downlands of the frontier and Angela stopped for a rest beside a curious pair
of rocks that rose like horns from the grass.

Castlebar said: 'This was where the great battle
was fought in
1187
when Saladin
defeated the Crusaders and captured the true cross.'

Whether this was true or not, they stood and
admired the innocent rocks because men had fought around them.

They were in Galilee. The new grass that Harriet
had seen on her way through Palestine had now grown tall and the whole
countryside had become a rich meadow choked with flowers. She exclaimed in
wonder at a field of blue lupins and Angela, stopping the car, said they would
walk for a while and see what was to be seen.

Hidden among the lupins were irises of a maroon
shade so deep they looked black. Farther on there were other irises, purple
and pink, and a buff colour veined with brown. The field ended in a downslope
of grass starred like the Damascus Ghuta with red, white and purple anemones,
and in the distance there was a lake of pure lapis blue.

'Do you realize what that is?' Angela said:
'It's the Sea of Galilee.'

Castlebar, who had been trailing after the
women, stopped at the edge of the lupin field and said he needed a drink.

'Yes, my poor lamb needs a drink and I feel I've
driven far enough. That little town down there looks entrancing. It might do us
for the night.'

The town, when they drove down to it, was less
entrancing than it had seemed from the heights. Like everywhere else in the
Levant, it had been blighted by war. The hotels were boarded up. A notice said
'Thermal baths' but another notice said 'Closed'. The whole place, with its
white villas and waterside buildings, had the air of a resort but it was a
rundown resort and most of the inhabitants had gone away. Castlebar was sent to
enquire about accommodation in a shop and came back to say there was a pension
somewhere in the long, lakeside main road. The pension was owned by a very old
Jewish woman who talked with Angela in Arabic, explaining that people usually
came there in summertime but nowadays hardly anyone came. Still, she agreed to
put up the English visitors and she opened rooms where the blinds were drawn,
the bedding folded away and the air smelled of dust. She smiled at them,
friendly and encouraging, and said if they cared to walk round the town, all
would be ready for them on their return.

Angela appealed to Castlebar: 'What do you
think, loved one?'

Castlebar did not think at all but shook his
head and said: 'Won't it do, darling? We don't want to drive all night.'

The old woman asked for their passports and
required Castlebar to sign a register. His fountain-pen was dry and she said,
'Wait, wait,' and brought a small ink bottle. When the bottle was opened, there
was nothing inside but a little black sediment.

Resignedly spreading her hands, she said, 'Never
mind,' and shut the register up.

The English visitors started down the main
street but did not get very far. Coming to a stone quay where an Arab café
owner had put his tables and chairs by the lake edge, Castlebar sat down and
took out his cigarette pack.

The sun was low, the water placid. There was no
noise except the click of the tric-trac counters from inside the café. A slight
breeze blew cool across the lake and Castlebar, drinking arak and smoking his
cigarettes, smiled contentedly and put his hand out to Angela. She slipped her
hand into his, then he smiled at Harriet and she smiled back. She knew he did
not want her to be excluded and she had begun not only to appreciate him but to
feel affection for him. She could understand Angela's love for him. He might
not dazzle the outside world but he was Angela's own man. He devoted himself to
her and to her comfort. He was kind, and not only to Angela. He carried his
kindness over to Harriet so she, an admirer of wit, intelligence and looks in a
man, was beginning to realize that kindness, if you had the luck to find it,
was an even more desirable quality.

They sat for some time with nothing to say then
Castlebar, no doubt prompted by their being in the Holy Land, told the women a
story he had not told before: 'Y-y-you know that in the Far East every Jew is
called Sassoon? Well, it's the Jewish name there. Someone told me that one of
the embassy chaps was coming back from safari on a Good Friday and saw the
embassy flag at half-mast. He said to his bearer: "What d'you think's the
matter, Chang?" And Chang told him: "Two thousand years ago, Sassoon
man kill white man's joss. White man still velly solly."'

Angela gave a shriek of appreciation: 'Oh, Bill,
you are wonderful!' and leaning towards him, she kissed his ear.

How pleasant it would be, Harriet thought, if
Guy were here with them, not talking his head off or looking around for additional
company, but happy to be with her in the way Angela and Castlebar were happy.

As the sun sank lower, a remarkable thing
happened. First, Mount Hermon appeared, its silver crest hanging in mid-air, a
disembodied ghost of a mountain, then the hills round the lake were emblazoned
with colour, turning from an orange-pink to crimson then a crimson-purple so
vivid it scarcely seemed a part of nature.

They had all seen the splendours of the Egyptian
sunsets and Harriet had seen the famed violet light on the Athenian hills, but
none of them had seen before this luscious, syrupy richness of light that
suffused the hills, the town and the waters of the lake. Their faces were
brilliant with it and Angela cried: 'If this is Galilee, we will stay here
forever!'

They sat, amazed, until the colour faded and the
wind blew cold, then they went to a restaurant where a card in the window said:
'Steak sandwiches.' Steak sandwiches, Castlebar said, were just what his inside
had in mind. His inside was also thinking of a privy and while he was away,
Harriet said: 'I can understand why you are so fond of Bill. He's kind. Perhaps
the kindest man I've ever known.'

'Wasn't your Guy supposed to be the epitome of
kindness?'

'Supposed to be, yes.'

Angela laughed, saying quietly: '"If he be
not kind to me, what care I how kind he be?" To tell you the truth, I
thought he was the most selfish man I've ever known. I often wondered why you
didn't box his ears.'

Harriet smiled. She knew if Guy were to hear
Angela's opinion of him, it would merely confirm his belief that she was mad.

'It's not exactly selfishness. It's
...
well, he doesn't stop to think.'

'You should pull him up short:
make
him think. The trouble is that
with his charm, he has had things too easy.'

'That's true; but at the same time he feels
deprived. He feels he should have fought in Spain. He venerates the men who did
go there, especially the ones who died. I don't know why it should have been
more heroic to fight in Spain than, say, the western desert, but apparently it
was.'

'Is that why some of them bolted to the States
when the war started?'

'Probably. They didn't want to be involved in
anything so trivial as a Second World War.'

Angela, laughing, put her hands on Harriet's
shoulder: 'Dear Harriet, I'm so glad you're with us. You really do add to the
gaiety of nations.'

The restaurant was a long room with a row of
tables against each wall. There was a bar at one end with a surprising variety
of bottles. Small though the place was, it appeared to be the centre of life in
Tiberias. Local boys were gathered there, drinking beer and mead. Angela was
able to buy her bottle of whisky and Harriet was served with white Cyprus
wine. The steak sandwiches were very good and Castlebar was able to buy a new
pack of Camels. He and the two women imagined themselves comfortably settled
in for the evening when there was a commotion in the street. Dozens of
Australian soldiers were making an unsteady way down the centre of the road.
The restaurant door crashed open and a bunched crowd of men elbowed each other
into the narrow path between the tables. After staring about, befuddled and
belligerent, they settled down at the few unoccupied tables and the arguments
began.

The men wanted whisky. The young waitress, a
refugee Jewess with little English, tried to tell them there was no whisky but
they pointed to Angela's bottle and the other bottles behind the bar.

The girl appealed to Castlebar: 'What to do?
Officers say no whisky for troops. Troops have beer but troops say: "Give
whisky." What to do?'

Castlebar, feeling himself in a weak position,
grinned uneasily at the angry men but had no suggestion to make. More Australians
were crowding in but there was nowhere for them to sit. They lurched about,
vaguely threatening, before wandering out again. One, as he left, scooped up a
heap of small change from a table by the door. The rightful owner, finding it
gone, began to shout that no change had been given to him. The waitress argued
and wept while more arrivals pushed her this way and that.

Getting no help from her, the Australians took
over the bar and began to serve themselves. They filled tumblers with spirits
and started to sing. The girl brought out an older woman who demanded: 'You
pay, you hear? You drink our drink and now you pay,' while the men, ignoring
her, quarrelled, shouted and sang in hard, throaty voices.

In the midst of this uproar, Angela said: 'Let's
go.' Castlebar hid the half-empty whisky bottle under his coat and they tried
to push out between the tables but the way was blocked by a solitary
Australian who had taken the empty fourth chair, which was beside Harriet. As
she rose, he pushed her back into her seat and said: 'You're not going.'

Finding themselves trapped, Angela and Castlebar
sat down again. The Australian, having looked Harriet over, said: 'Like to
dance?'

'There's not much room for dancing.'

'Y'could be right.' He brought out a wallet and
offered Harriet pictures of his parents. When she had admired them, she asked,
'What are you all doing here?'

'Three-day tour,' he said but could not tell her
where they had been or where they were going. The men, it seemed, had arrived
drunk the night before and having spent the day asleep, were intent on getting
drunk again.

'So you haven't seen much?'

The Australian shook his head and again brought
out his wallet: 'Wan' to see m'old mum and dad?'

'I've seen them. How long will you be here?'

'Don't know. Three-day tour.'

At that moment, a local boy at the next table,
over-stimulated by events, gave a scream and fell to the floor. Shuddering,
snorting, chattering, foaming at the mouth, he lay near Harriet's feet, a
piteous and horrible sight. When she tried to move out of his way, the
Australian pushed her down again.

'Take no notice of him; he's showing off. Wants
to get ya to notice him. 'Ave another look at me old mum and dad.'

'For God's sake,' Angela shouted to Castlebar,
'make them let us out.'

Rising, holding the table before her like a
battering ram, Angela thrust it into the aisle, pushing Harriet and the
Australian in front of her. The Australian tried to force her back, but with
the strength of anger, she gave him a violent blow across the mouth and he
burst into tears. Castlebar, taking Harriet by the hand, pulled her after him
while the Australian wailed: 'Nobody loves poor Aussies. Nobody loves poor
Aussies.'

Somehow or other, the three English reached the
street.

Harriet said: 'They'll be gone tomorrow.'

'So will we,' Angela spoke with furious decision
and Harriet began to feel resentful of Angela's directives. The lakeside town
attracted her and she wanted to stay there a few days. At the pension, finding
her room cleaned and the bed made, she thought of saying to Angela: 'You go. I
will stay. I'm used to making my own decisions and I'm tired of being told
where I shall go and when.' But supposing she did stay, how would she five? If
she could not find work in Damascus, she certainly would not find it here.