Gerald Seymour - Kingfisher

Taking in the scene round them, looking with half-detached interest at the passengers who would share the plane with them, watching their stress and their push and their bloody-mindedness as they struggled to get nearer to the counter, another stage nearer the aircraft. There was a wry smile on Isaac's face as he whispered in David's ear, 'Wouldn't be shoving so hard, not if they knew where they were going.'

For a reply there was just a hushed, 'Shut up, you fool,' that telegraphed to Isaac that David was frightened and fighting to keep his control. Surprising really, thought Isaac; wouldn't have expected that of David – nerves, yes, but not fear. Would have expected him to button it down, shrug off the pressure. Last night that's how he'd thought he'd feel himself now, frightened; but he wasn't. A little tense, fingers stiff, voice hoarse, tight in the guts, but nothing else, almost distant from the whole thing. Not that he was worrying about David; he'd be all right once they had started, once they were in operation.

Isaac wondered how it would be there, what Israel would be like. Just a place that people talked about, dreamed about, but he'd never met anyone Who'd been there, nor anyone who had achieved the exit visa. The way they spoke on the foreign radio you'd imagine anyone who applied could get the visa, just filling in a form, and packing up and going. As if they didn't know how many were refused, how they weeded out the ones they wanted to stay, and how if they turned you down the pressures and persecutions built on your shoulders. Didnt know in the West what it was like, the reality of Soviet Jewry. And why was it important, this place Israel?

Different things to different people; obvious that, Isaac. Well, for the old ones, for them there was the faith, just a chance to stand at the wall in Jerusalem, stand there and pray to their God. For others it was a place where a man could work and earn his money and live his life and have no fear of the Party commissar and the Party spy. But for you, Isaac? A sort of freedom, that was what he was seeking, a freedom of choice, not that he wanted a society of anarchists, just the freedom to join the system if he wanted to – an end to compulsion. So he didn't really know. He'd have to find out, wouldn't he?

'Get the tickets.' David close to him, hissing the instruction, his face set, controlling his mouth muscles. 'The tickets – come on!'

'Where's Rebecca?' Isaac said as he pulled them from the inside pocket of his lightweight jacket.

'Coming from the far side, from the telephone. Give the girl the tickets.'

Isaac could hear behind him the strident voice with its American accent cutting across the other tongues. Not that he could understand the words – after all, he had studied science at school, not languages – and beyond and just surviving the drowning emphasis of the American was a further babble, European – could be Spanish or French or Italian- but he could not gauge which.

The girl at the counter said, 'Where's your baggage?'

It was something they hadn't thought about; so little time, and so much to think of, but they hadn't considered the need for baggage. Who goes on a plane with no baggage? With a 14-day excursion ticket? They'd gone home for the identity passes, and not thought of clearing a wardrobe, of scattering clothes in a case. People were pushing behind them, the American voice brimming with complaint, while in front the girl was waiting for an explanation.

'Our friend took it,' said Isaac with David still lost and unable to conjure up an explanation,

"When he went earlier in the week.' First thing that came to his head, first thing he could think of saying.

'For three of you? Hope he paid the excess.' She ripped off the top sheet of the tickets, one by one, and gave them the boarding cards. Small and sparse scraps of thickened paper, flight number scrawled on them. 'Gate four you want. Through the departure door, then the security, and you wait in the lounge till they call you.'

Ts the flight on time?' David asked.

But her attention was gone from him, given now to the next passenger in line. She shrugged, and said she didn't know.

The American couple took their places at the counter. Red trousers – well, red with a white check in them and a faded cream jacket. The woman in mauve, her hair a delicate blued tint that caught Isaac's eye by its unfamiliarity. Why do they wear these clothes? Straight out of the cartoons in Krokodil.

Just security now and nothing for them to find. Clean. Not a germ among them. Scrubbed and shining and polished, that was the way to go through security. David was talking to Rebecca, arm around her shoulders, heads near to touching and she was showing him a piece of paper. Must have worked, must be where the guns were.

There's time for coffee. At least ten minutes till we need to go through.' David led and they followed over to the bar- not that any of them were thirsty, but the process of ordering and paying and waiting for the coffees to be brought to the table, and then drinking, all that would use up time, time which they had no use for, which had to be exhausted. Should have told the parents, Isaac thought, should have said something to them, they should know what has happened, and why it has happened, before the time that the police arrive. He excused himself and rose from the table and went to the small shop where there were magazines and newspapers, postcards and cigarettes and souvenirs of Kiev. He asked for some note- paper and an envelope, but the man insisted on selling him a whole pad of notepaper and two dozen envelopes because that was the way they were packaged. There was no option, so he paid for them all and took them back to the table.

'I think we should write something to our people. It will be long over by the time that it reaches them.' There was agreement, and for five minutes no talk at the table, as they wrote out their farewells and justifications.

"Esteemed and respected father and mother and dear sisters, By the time that you read this you will have heard of our actions. You must forgive us the danger and hurt that they may cause you. We have taken this course because of what we saw as the persecution of our people in this land. If we had stayed the police would have taken us and for what we have done there is only one sentence, and there would have been no possibility of mercy. Our air tickets have been purchased with money from Isaac's mother, who paid for the three of us without knowing for what reason her money was wanted. From the family savings please send her 174 roubles. Rebecca will request her family to do the same. We hope to be in Israel very soon. We hope that it will be possible for you to join us there.

There is much to say and little time. All so difficult to explain. We started because we believed in our actions, but we did not know where they would leave us – we still do not know.

Be brave,

Your loving son, who will not forget you, David.'

Rebecca took the three envelopes to the post-counter for the stamps while David and Isaac stayed at the table waiting for her. When she came back the three of them walked towards the departure doors leaving the near-filled pad and twenty-one envelopes beside the coffee cups that had remained untouched while they wrote.

Abrupdy Rebeoca tugged at David's arm, pulled him closer to her as they crossed the concourse. 'What will they do to them, when we have gone?' He didn't look at her, fastening his eyes on the doorway to the front. 'I don't know.' A lie, and he could not meet her. 'Will they be punished for what we have done?' 'We cannot think of that now.' 'They have punished others…'

'What they will do to them will be as nothing to what will happen to us if we stay.' 'Do you care what happens to them, David?' 'I care more for what happens to my parents than you will concern yourself with the fate of Yevsei Allon. Think on that."