Erich Segal - The Class

Not alone, anyway.

He unzipped a pocket in his toilet kit and stood half-a-dozen small bottles of pills on the shelf above the sink. They ranged in effect, as he’d often joked to himself, from largo e pianissimo (tranquilizers) to allegro e presto (stimulants for when he was tired from a long flight).

Thank God for medical science, he thought, reaching for a jar marked “Meth.” He poured one into his sweaty left palm, closed the cap, and returned the pharmacopoeia to its hiding place.

A playful voice called from the bedroom, “Danny, are you still here, or have I been abandoned on my wedding night?”

“I’ll be right with you, darling,” he replied, hoping his tone had not betrayed any nervousness.

He crushed the tablet in his palm in hopes of speeding its effectiveness, and swallowed it with a glass of water.

Almost instantly his mood lightened. Though his heart beat faster, it was no longer with fear. He put on his robe and started slowly toward the bedroom.

She was waiting for him, her face beaming.

“Oh, Danny,” she said tenderly, “I know we’re going to be so happy together.”

“I know it too, darling,” he replied, and climbed in beside her.

Until that moment, Danny Rossi had never given a performance, either musical or otherwise, that was not impassioned and flawless. That night was no exception.

But it had been very, very close.

Fanny and Jason were now too excited to rely on letters. Their feelings were so intense that they had to express them through the more dynamic medium of the telephone. What started as a weekly ritual soon became almost a daily one. The bills were astronomical.

“It would be cheaper if one of us flew over to be with the other,” he remarked.

“I agree, Jason. But you can’t take your exams here and I can’t take mine there. So if you can control yourself for another few months, we’ll be together so long you’ll get tired of me.”

“I’ll never get tired of you.”

“That’s what they all say,” she joked. “I sometimes wish we were just living together and not having to go through all this ceremony business.”

“Fanny, you’re going to live in Boston. This is still a puritan town. Besides, I want to sign you to a lifetime contract so there’s no possible chance of your getting away.”

“I like the sound of that,” she replied.

The wedding would be in July at her family’s church in Groningen. Since Fanny had planned to visit Eva again that summer, it was decided that she would go in late spring — as soon as she had qualified.

On May 15 she called Jason to say, “Goodbye for three weeks.” Since her “sister” Eva’s kibbutz in the Galilee was a pretty spartan establishment, communication would be all but impossible.

“I think they’ve got about three phones in the whole place,” Fanny remarked. “So I don’t think they’d appreciate our babbling all the time. Do you think you can bear not speaking for twenty-one days?”

“No,” said Jason.

“Then think about meeting me in Israel as soon as your last exam is over. It’s about time you saw the land of your forefathers, anyway.”

“I just may, if I grow desperate enough,” he replied. “Hey — I almost forgot to ask you, how did your orals go?”

“Fine,” she replied modestly.

“Then you’re a real doctor, Congratulations! Why aren’t you excited?”

“Because,” she replied with affection, “I’m about to become something a lot more important — your wife.”

Those words were burned in fire in the memory of Jason Gilbert. For they were the last he ever heard spoken by Fanny van der Post.

Ten days later, he was awakened at 6:00 A.M. by a phone call from Amsterdam. It was her brother, Anton.

“Jason,” he said, his voice quavering, “I’m afraid I’ve some terrible news about Fanny.”

“Has she been in an accident?”

“Yes. Well, not exactly. She’s been killed.”

Jason sat up, his heart pounding frantically.

“How? What happened?”

“I don’t know all the details,” he stammered. “Eva just called and said that there was a terrorist attack. Their kibbutz is very close to the border. Apparently some Arabs crossed over in the night and threw hand grenades into the children’s dormitory. Fanny was seeing to a sick little girl and —” He broke down and sobbed.

At first Jason was numb. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured to himself. “I just can’t believe this is really happening.”

In the twenty-six sheltered years of his life he had never known anything remotely resembling tragedy. And now it had struck him like a bullet in the soul.

“Eva says she was very brave, Jason. She threw herself on one of the grenades to protect the children.”

Jason did not know what to say. Or think. Or do. He sensed that at any time the tears would come. And the rage explode within him. Now he was simply frozen with shock. Then he realized that he had to say something to her brother.

“Anton,” he whispered, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“We are sorry for you, too, Jason,” he replied. “You and Fanny loved each other so much.”

He then added in a voice that was barely audible, “We thought you might like to come to the funeral.”

The funeral. Oh God, the thought of it brought a dull ache. Yet another harsh fact to make him understand that Fanny was really dead. That he would never hear her voice again. Never see her alive.

But he had been asked a question. Did he wish to attend the ceremony in which the body of his beloved would be lowered into the ground and covered with earth?

“Yes, Anton. Yes, of course,” he replied, his voice as weak as a reed in the wind. “When’s the service?”

“Well, it was to be as soon as we could all get there, But, of course, if you’re coming we’ll wait for you.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jason. “Isn’t the funeral in Holland?”

“No,” Anton replied. “The family has had other thoughts. You know we’re quite religious and have very strong ties with the Bible and the Holy Land. Since Fanny died … where she did … we thought she should be buried in the Protestant cemetery in Jerusalem.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe that’s too long a journey for you,” Anton said gently.

“Don’t be silly,” Jason answered quietly. “I’m going to call the airlines as soon as they open and get the first plane out. I’ll call you back and let you know when I’ll be arriving.”

Ever since he had first met Fanny, he had kept his passport near him should the need to see her become unbearable. So all he had to do was pack a suitcase, find a flight, and go.

He had an exam that morning for which he had done weeks of preparation, and since his flight to Israel left Idlewild that evening, he could have taken it.

But nothing mattered anymore. He didn’t give a damn about anything.

He went to a travel agent in the Square, got his ticket, and spent the rest of the day wandering aimlessly around Cambridge. The sun was shining, and students, laughing happily, were heading toward the riverside to picnic.

Their laughter put him in a silent rage. How can they smile and walk the streets as if life is just the same as it was yesterday? How can the goddamn sun dare shine so brightly? The whole damn world should stop and weep.

At four he flew from Boston, transferred to Idlewild, and walked across the parkways to where El Al Airlines had their check-in. His parents met him there.

“Jason,” his mother cried, “this is so horrible.”

“Is there anything we can do?” his father asked.

“I don’t think so,” Jason answered distractedly.