The Mandelbaum Gate
‘Saul Ephraim? — Yes.’
‘He knows of your return and said he would not wire or phone to your husband until you arrive safe, in case of interception by the Arabs.’
‘I’m not married yet.’
‘Your husband that is to become.’ Abdul started to ask many questions about her marriage, and how she could get this marriage that her lover had been to Rome to arrange. She thought, in passing, that he was unusually interested in the affair, but he was not objectionably so; and he explained that as he had once become a Roman Catholic, while a student in Cairo, he was concerned about these things. He said, ‘I am not now a believer. I have no faith. I try to do good a little bit, that’s all.’
She said, ‘I’ve got a lot of faith. It’s all I’ve got. I don’t do good, very much, somehow. I’m not cut out for it.’
He asked again the details of the marriage. She said, ‘I doubt if he’ll get an annulment. It’s very unlikely. I’ll marry him outside the Church.’
‘That’s all right, anyhow.’
‘Maybe. It remains to be seen.’
We go to the cart now. The dawn is coming soon, Monday morning blues. You will climb into the cart and lie still. Keep your head low, low, and never look up till I tell you. Come now.’
The day before the news from Harrogate was brought to the Cartwright’s house that Freddy’s mother had been stabbed to death by a mad old servant, Miss Bennett, Joanna was up very early and was out looking at her wild-flower garden. It was a warm, misty morning. The Cartwrights were usually up early on week-days so that they could get in a few busy hours at their hobbies and favourite occupations before going off to their busy clinic. Like most childless couples they were happiest when organized and at it all day. Monday mornings, without their quite realizing it, were specially early-risen and active, as if to atone for their comparatively lazy Sunday.
It was Monday morning, the day before the men from the consulate came with the news for Freddy. Freddy was very much on their hands now, and both Joanna and Matt Cartwright had decided to carry on as far as possible as if nothing had gone wrong with him. However, at five in the morning, Joanna found him already out in the garden, walking up and down with a hand to his head, and his head bent.
‘Freddy, darling, aren’t you feeling well?’
‘Oh, it’s you, Joanna.’
‘You needn’t have got up so early, Freddy. I wish you’d take breakfast in bed.’
‘I couldn’t sleep, really. I’m afraid that puppet show set me thinking again. Joanna, you know I keep thinking of_’
Joanna knew he would say ‘bloodshed’, which he did. The previous night she had shown her latest puppet acquisition, newly arrived from England; it was a plain old-fashioned Punch and Judy show, but it was electrically operated. They had turned out the big lights and sat in the dim room watching Punch batter Judy and Judy quarrel and squeak, and Punch with his stick batter Judy again. ‘Doesn’t it take one back to one’s childhood?’ Joanna said. ‘Remember, at the seaside, the Punch and Judy boxes — don’t you remember, Freddy?’
‘Oh, my God!’ Freddy called out. ‘Stop it. I can’t stand it. I can’t watch this. Excuse me … just let me, please … I’m going to bed.’
When he had gone, Joanna and Matt turned on the big lights for a few minutes and wondered whether to call the doctor. Then they decided to leave well alone. They turned off the big lights and watched the show again, with less delight, but now with the more rational eyes and comments of puppet connoisseurs.
‘I’m sorry it upset you, Freddy,’ Joanna said when she found him in the garden next morning.
He said, ‘You look very sweet and fresh, Joanna.’ She was wearing her red linen dress, with a white cardigan thrown over her shoulders.
She was afraid he was going to say more about blood and bloodshed; this was so often his fear since his lapse of memory — ‘I feel there’s going to be bloodshed. I wonder if Miss Vaughan…’ Joanna had earlier recalled that once, when he was in his former good health, Freddy had quietly confided in her his irritation with his mother who, apparently, continually provoked her old companion, Benny. Freddy had not been unduly concerned, but he had said, ‘Of course, Benny also takes an odd turn now and then. Religious melancholia, She writes to me that she dreams of murder, bloodshed, and so forth. Oh, these old women.’ And she had debated recently with Matt whether Freddy had not meant that his mother, not Benny, was given to this melancholy bloodshed notion, and had inherited the morbidity from her. But Matt had thought this far-fetched. ‘If he can be got to a psychiatrist, good and well. But I wouldn’t take it upon myself, personally, to diagnose anything off-hand. It will come to a crisis soon, that’s certain. Then we’ll see.’
‘He isn’t really morbid,’ Joanna had said, ‘Not all the time, He’s really adorable, is Freddy.’
There was no question of anyone ever disliking Freddy. In most ways he was pleasant for them to have round the house. And as they had become his closest friends in this part of the world it was natural that they should have him round the house when he needed them. Visits from the consulate seemed to upset Freddy, Joanna wanted Matt to discourage them, but Matt was anxious not to interfere with these men, who were only trying to get Freddy’s memory back.
But Joanna’s mental nerves, which she did not admit to possessing, were being attacked every time Freddy spoke of his premonitions of bloodshed, and he spoke of them on the average of twice a day.
‘I can’t help feeling it,’ he said, that morning. ‘It’s as if I’ve already been told. It’s as if someone had sent me a letter or a message by word of mouth, warning me to prevent this bloodshed that’s impending. I wish I could place—’
‘Freddy dear, I’m going for one of my flower-hunts. It’s just the morning for a find. Matt’s gone riding, so go and make yourself comfortable in the study and we’ll all have breakfast together. Six-thirty sharp.’
She was away across the misty lawn, with her black hair shining and her white cardigan flashing above the skirt of her red dress, Freddy felt untold guilt. There was something forgotten, many things forgotten, but one thing overlooked, cast aside. Sometimes he felt he was drawing near to recalling what it was. Hotter and hotter — as in a game of blind-man’s-buff or … Joe Ramdez had called at the house last Friday while Matt and Joanna were out. He had specifically wanted to speak to Freddy about joining his wretched insurance scheme. ‘I’m under medical attention at the moment,’ Freddy said. ‘I couldn’t think of it.’ They had sat in Matt’s study. The man Ramdez had been shown in deferentially by the Cartwrights’ servant, and Freddy did not feel in a position to excuse himself from the interview. Ramdez had said some disturbing things. ‘Mr Hamilton,’ he had said, ‘you enjoyed your trip very much, I believe?’
‘Oh, very,’ said Freddy, hoping for enlightenment, ‘And the young lady? She was satisfactory?’
‘What young lady?’ Freddy said.
‘Mr Hamilton!’
‘I honestly don’t know who or what you are talking about, Mr Ramdez.’
‘The young lady, Mr Hamilton, from Morocco. Or was it the better qualified lady who is best liked of all, and yet she is a local product of the town of Jericho itself? Whichever, Mr Hamilton, is not important. My house is welcome to all.’ He got up and bent over Freddy to whisper, ‘and to many of your colleagues. They, too, have poor memories on this point, as it should be with any gentleman. But they sign my proposal form and join my Trust.’
‘I’m afraid,’ Freddy said, ‘there must be a mistake, Ramdez. I have no recollection of meeting ladies or of visiting you. I’m sorry, but that’s that.’
‘I leave you the proposal form,’ Ramdez said. ‘In the view of your present ill health it may be that the annual premium comes a fraction steeper. But our doctor, Russeifa, examines clients with leniency always towards the client for insurance, not the company.’
‘I don’t want a form, thank you.’
‘So now I go to see my old friend M
r Hedges at the British Consulate, I am invited to lunch with him. But I keep discretion of your private affairs, naturally, when I converse with him.’
Hedges had been posted elsewhere a few weeks ago. Freddy’s heart smiled again. He had known it was a bluff, And yet… ‘Say what you like to Hedges,’ he said. ‘Anything you care.’
It had been a bluff. And yet there had been moments while Ramdez was talking when Freddy felt himself coming close to forgotten things. He mentioned the visit to Matt and Joanna, casually. ‘He was after that ridiculous insurance policy.’ Warmer and warmer… Joanna said, ‘I hope you got rid of him.’
He held his hand to his head and walked with head bent. He saw the stones beneath his feet and realized he had been following Joanna from the garden, and was climbing the hill with Joanna’s red dress visible here and there through the misty greenery, as she took the winding path upwards. ‘Joanna!’ he called. ‘Joanna!
Come back, my dear.’ She had turned. ‘Oh, Freddy, do, please —He caught up with her. ‘Joanna,’ he said. ‘You know it’s dangerous up there.’ They were already on the hill-path that bordered so dangerously on Israeli territory that it was often said by sensible local people that there would one day be a shooting incident on that spot. And this was the time of year, in the heat, when border tempers flared.
She said, very patiently, ‘I’ve been here before at this hour. One gets marvellous wild flowers coming from the dew. An hour later, they’re withered. But you see, Freddy, if I get them by the root and replant them at once in the shade, and keep them well-watered—’
‘I’m thinking of the danger,’ Freddy said.
She said, quickly, ‘There’s going to be no bloodshed. Now do leave me, I like to have a time to myself before breakfast, you know.’
He returned down the path while she continued to climb. He had almost reached the house when he heard a shot resounding on the hillside above him. He turned, and heard another shot. Then he ran back up the path calling Joanna, and gouging up the sand and stones with his shoes as he ran. She didn’t reply to his call. He couldn’t see her, and he was approaching the flat summit of the hill. She was nowhere. He looked all round. Then he saw by the side of the path a few yards below, a red movement, a crawling. He had run past her and missed her. ‘Freddy get down, lie down,’ she screamed at him as he came towards her. ‘There’s something going on.’ He bent and walked back from the path, and crouched down. ‘Are you all right?’ he said. ‘Yes, but I damn near got hit. There’s something going on down there. I saw something.’
‘That dress of yours is an easy target,’ Freddy said.
‘Shut up.’
‘Joanna dear!’
‘We’ll wait a few more minutes, then if it’s quiet we’ll beat it,’ she said.
‘I saw your dress. I thought it was blood.’
‘I’ve got a bloody cut knee. Does that satisfy you, Freddy?’
He raised himself sufficiently to see part of the valley below. Then he moved closer to the path.
‘Take care,’ Joanna said. ‘I saw some men moving down there just as the first shot whizzed up at me.’
‘I can see three of the border guard down there. They’re looking at a plough or a cart or something,’ Freddy said.
‘Are they Jordanian or Israelis?’
‘I’ve no idea. Does it matter?’
‘Not in the least. Anyway, they were firing up at me, and I was looking down the valley. I heard a sort of noise and then I saw two men coming out of the mist, then it looked as if one of them was dragging the other. Why did they fire at me?’
‘I suppose they heard a suspicious noise, saw your dress and fired.’
‘The second bullet went right over my head, quite close. I felt it.’
The two men, one dragging the other, were not two men, but Abdul and Barbara. They had reached the bottom of their hill and were about to cross the field that led straight to the hill they were to climb, into Israel, when Abdul saw distant shadows moving among some trees bordering the farthest side of the field. He stopped immediately. The stopping of the wheel-creaks must itself have sent suspicion to the alert ears of the guard. Abdul un-harnessed himself from the cart and said to Barbara, ‘Climb out.’ She did so immediately. He took her hand and said, ‘Run.’ She ran, but not fast enough for him. Presently, he was half-dragging her. A shot was fired, resounding on another side of the hill to their left. Another shot, far away from them, followed it. Abdul stopped. They had got half-way up the hill they had descended.
He pushed Barbara off the path, and told her to lie flat. Nothing else occurred, but below them they could hear voices. ‘My sandals,’ Abdul said. They’ve got my stock of sandals.’
‘My legs have got scraped,’ Barbara said, still in a daze. ‘They feel awful.’ She had felt no fear. There had been no time to feel anything.
She limped with him back to the house near the Potter’s Field, passing on their way the monk at his door, feeding his chickens as if no shots had been fired.
When they had cleaned up Barbara’s legs, which were less damaged than were the shredded toes of her shoes where they had been scraped from the dragging, and when Abdul had thrown cold well-water over his head, and they were able to sit down and speak in small gusts to each other or to themselves, it was plain that Abdul’s pride, as well as his sandals, was lost.
Barbara said, ‘I’m going to the British Consulate to give myself up. After all, what crime have I committed? I’m entitled to protection.’
Abdul said only, ‘Quiet! I make a plan in my head.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘The sensible thing for me to do is to go to the Consulate. I’ve had the pilgrimage, and that’s what I came for, after all.’
‘Yes, you had the pilgrimage, Miss. And what about me? What of us?’
‘Must you go back? Can’t you stay here?’
‘Yes, and be a Palestine refugee in a camp, thank you so much, Miss. They look for me here, besides. I am known, and hated also. When the Arab hates he hates well. They say I’m an Israeli spy, as they say of you, Miss.’
‘Oh, Abdul, don’t call me Miss.’
He said, ‘Look, Barbara, if you want to go to the British Consulate, O.K. But they ask you to talk, where have you been, and with whom.’
‘I need not answer. They’ll probably ask me the same in Israel.’
‘In Israel they don’t need answers from you to satisfy the police. In Jordan your embassy needs these answers, or they will be unwilling to help you. The Jordanians make difficulties unless they know where exactly you have been, and who it was with. They will never believe a pilgrimage, a fever. Who goes on a pilgrimage like this? You went like a spy, and they’ll arrest Suzi and take my father’s house at Jericho, and his wives, if you tell the facts. And if you don’t tell the facts there is trouble for you from your own government. Who believes all this hiding for a pilgrimage?’
She said, ‘Yes, I understand. You make trouble for me, I make trouble—’
‘Who believes?’
‘I understand. Abdul, let’s eat something.’
‘You have seen the mice?’
‘What mice?’
‘When we came in there was mice on the table eating this bread. You didn’t see, but I did.’ They had left their bread and cheese from the night before exposed on the table.
Barbara said, ‘Where shall I put it? I’ll throw it all out.’
‘It goes for the chickens.’
She investigated for herself and found a covered tin box in the yard with a few crusts at the bottom. She tipped all the mouse-eaten food into it.
She came back to the kitchen and said, ‘It’s all gone, Abdul. Just in case we should reach the point of starvation and be tempted to eat it.’ He was fully smiling again. He said, ‘I’m going for food. I have good friends. Now I need to use your money also for another plan if I find one. So good-bye also to your traveller’s cheques. Maybe I give you back a few in Israel.’
He already had her
bank-notes in his pocket, where he had put them for safety before starting off with the cart. He had said at the time, ‘We are safe. But in case we have to run we have to throw away all money and cheques, for always a captive with money is killed on the spot to shut him up.’
He said now, counting the cheque money, ‘This is a great lot, many pounds, but Suzi will cash some as I do not deal in cheques with my friends. Suzi will have to cash, as these cheques may be traced. She’ll keep them till we’re out of it safely. Maybe I give you a little bit back, Barbara, if you marry me instead of your husband.’
Oh now I go and sing the plainchant
And bring to prayer the people of Abdul
Who are stealing now his sandals and headier goods in the field
We dance and sing although our servant has gone away
All the time past there was a servant in this house
But he died and the old monk has no man left
But I get from him a chicken to cook
And I will bring those grapes and lovely cheeses
And the coffee from Abdul’s orange groves.
He said, ‘It sounds better in the original language, but it’s not too bad in English. With a guitar it’s very excellent.’
She went upstairs to the camp-bed to sleep it off, and was still sleeping when he returned. And he woke her up, coming into the room with a bundle of clothes over his arm. He sat down in the horse-hair arm-chair and spread out his legs. He said, ‘I got a lift in a very grand car, but I had to crouch not to be seen. I will one day be seen grand.’
She said, ‘What are these clothes? They look like disguises.’ She said, ‘I don’t think I want another disguise, Abdul.’
‘It’s all planned for four o’clock this afternoon. Come and eat a lot of food, and I tell you. This time is safe, because I smell this fact.’
This time the plan worked and they got into Israel safely. It was simpler and yet more terrifying than the attempted trek with the cart.