Джеймс Миченер - The Source

Impassively Schwartz watched the destruction of his sign, then said coldly, “I don’t hate anyone. I don’t intend insolence to decent men like Vilspronck. It’s just that I no longer give one good goddamn what you think about Jews. Either of you. For nineteen centuries well-intentioned Jews like me tried to accommodate ourselves to what people like you wanted. And where did it get us? We were attentive to kings and Popes. And what did they do in return? Now we’ve won our own land and we’re going to keep it. And what you or Vilspronck or the Pope or General de Gaulle thinks about it is of no concern to me. Not one little bit.”

Responding automatically Cullinane shot out his right fist and caught Schwartz on the point of the chin. Like an amazed oak that had paid no attention to the first chipping axe blows, the dark-skinned Jew tottered, then fell in a heap.

This was the first time Cullinane had ever knocked a man unconscious and he was appalled: “My God! I’ve killed him!” But to his relief Schwartz easily recovered, rose to one knee and rubbed his jaw.

“I suppose I deserved it,” he said. And as they walked back to the mess hall Cullinane lavished attention on him as if he were a sick child. Earnestly he said, “It does matter what we think…Vilspronck and men like me…because at the time of crisis we might be the ones who will rescue you.”

Schwartz paused to look at the eager Catholic and said, “For Jews it’s always the time of crisis. And no one ever rescues us.” But that night the two men ate together.

Next morning Vered flew in to Lod Airport on her return from Chicago. When she ran down the ramp like a bright little wren come back to resume control of the tree outside the kitchen, Cullinane thought: What an adorable person.

It had been his intention to ride back to Makor with Vered, so that he might propose again, but this was neatly forestalled by Eliav, who pulled her into his car and drove off, leaving Cullinane and Tabari to bother about the luggage. When Cullinane finally overtook them he and Tabari could see in the car ahead the pert figure of Vered speaking rapidly, interrupted now and then by some sharp rejoinder from Eliav, who kept pointing at her with his pipe stem, as if he were a college professor.

“You think this Cohen business will wreck the marriage?” Cullinane asked.

“Something’s wrecking it. And remember the particular job they’re offering him. He certainly couldn’t accept that job on Monday and marry a divorced woman on Tuesday.”

“What do you think of such rigmarole?”

“I take it seriously.”

“How can you?”

“By looking at history. For something like three hundred generations my family has lived in this area. And in that time we’ve seen a lot of people come and go. But the Jews hang on forever. Because they’ve had that tight body of God’s law binding them together. Today our boy Eliav, who was one of the heroes in the creation of this state, is trapped by the very law he helped preserve.”

“If he had any guts he’d get on the first plane to Cyprus and tell the government to go to hell.”

“John!” the Arab cried. “You’re talking like a liberal Catholic. If the Pope tried to hand you a deal like this Cohen-widow business, you’d ignore him and fly to Cyprus. As a Muslim so would I. But can’t you see the difference? Nobody on the outside is forcing Eliav to respect the ancient law. He did it to himself … by establishing Israel. I’m sure he didn’t intend to set up a state where such law would operate…but that’s what he’s done.” The two men relapsed into silence, which Tabari broke by predicting, “Within two weeks, John, you’re going to have a wife. That girl up there’s not going to marry Eliav.”

“You think not?” Cullinane asked hopefully.

“And then the real funny business begins. Out of sentiment you’ll probably want to marry Vered at the tell, with the kibbutzniks and old Yusuf as witnesses …”

“That would be ending the dig with a bang. You in robes giving the bride away!”

“I’d do it, too,” Tabari laughed. “But haven’t you heard? In Israel such weddings are forbidden.”

“What do you mean? I’d get papers from the American Embassy.”

“Completely impossible. The rabbis say that in Israel no Jew can marry a Christian. Never. So when you propose to little Vered, get yourself two airplane tickets to Cyprus, because you’ll never get married here.”

“Outrageous!” Cullinane cried. “When the Catholic Church tries a trick like this in Spain, the New York Times has front-page articles about it. You mean that I…”

“I’m in the same boat,” Tabari protested. “As a Muslim I couldn’t marry Vered, either, though I’d like to. We’d have to fly to Cyprus. Matter of fact I did…when I married my wife. She’s a Christian Arab. And Christians and Muslims aren’t allowed to intermarry either.”

“From the way you talk, half the people in Israel who want to get married fly to Cyprus. I don’t believe the rabbis issued these rules at all. I think the airlines did.”

In the forward car the conversation was brisk, with Vered saying, “You needn’t be so superior. There were many things about America I liked.”

“Did you see any American Jews?” Eliav asked.

“Yes. And some impressed me very much.”

“Suchas?”

“Jews who run hospitals, and endow libraries, great art museums, universities. Of course, I also saw the fat, overdressed dowagers. Plenty of them. But somebody’s been giving us a very bum steer about the American Jew. He can be a most powerful person.”

“Would you want to live there?” Eliav asked.

“No. I want to live here…where I helped build a nation. And I want to live with you. And I want to get it all settled by the end of this week.”

“Teddy Reich’s meeting with the prime minister…”

“I don’t want Teddy Reich to be involved, or anyone else. Ilan, you’re to tell me now. Are we going to get married? When are we going to get married?”

“How can I decide until I hear what Teddy has to say?”

“I’ll help you,” Vered said primly, and she handed him a small slip of paper. “On Tuesday there’s an Air France plane to Cyprus. On Wednesday there’s Cyprus Airlines. On Thursday there’s B.E.A. And on Friday morning there’s El Al.”

“And on Saturday I suppose there’s something else.”

“There will be no Saturday … no Sunday…ever.” She folded her hands and kept her eyes straight ahead. When Eliav pointed at her with his pipe she was not looking.

“Is this an ultimatum?”

“The last plane that we will ever consider flies out of here Friday morning. If we aren’t on it…”

“You’d marry Cullinane? A non-Jew? And leave Israel? I don’t believe it.”

“There’s an easy test. It comes Friday morning.”

In silence Eliav drove toward Akko, then asked bluntly, “If I chucked the cabinet and took a teaching job … England…America…would you marry me?”

“Han,” she said softly, and her folded hands left her lap and clutched his forearm, “on the night Ilana died I should have taken over. When I went forward in Akko to save you, it wasn’t because you were a valuable soldier. You were a man, a splendid man, whom even then I loved.” She began to cry, and whispered, “We should have married sixteen years ago, but then I didn’t understand. Now I do. Make up your mind, Ilan. I’m proposing to you. Marry me now.”

Eliav kept his hands on the steering wheel and his pipe clenched between his teeth. Staring at the minarets of Akko he turned the car eastward along the Damascus road, and the moment when he should have made his decision passed, and in various airports around the world the four planes that would fly that week to Cyprus tested their engines and were swept out by women wearing overalls. It was Monday.