The Mandelbaum Gate (42 page)

‘No, I
must find a soft one.’

Joe
appeared at the door just as they were entering. He looked extremely
fierce-eyed at this return, although he smiled and nodded at Freddy’s
self-deprecating explanation.

‘I
was just about to depart,’ said Ramdez in the tone of a man very
distracted by other business. He raised his arm in salute to Miss Rickward,
called that he would see her later, went straight to his car and drove off at
speed. From this busy display, even before Freddy got to his room and found
that his zipper-bag had been left unzipped, although not by himself, he had the
sense of their having interrupted Ramdez at some leisurely snooping. There was
nothing for Ramdez to find, anyway. He took his sunglasses from his pocket and
put them on. Suzi then appeared, carrying two large cushions, and collapsed
into his arms, cushions and all, while she told him of her absolute conviction
that her father had ‘unflowered and nearly killed’ poor Miss Rickward in the
course of the previous night. ‘A matter of fact,’ Suzi said, ‘I heard a noise.
I thought it was cats. But it wasn’t cats, it was Miss Ricky.’

They came
soberly to the car and Suzi arranged the cushions for Ricky. ‘You must have had
a hard time on your travels,’ said Suzi.

‘I don’t
usually complain,’ Ricky said, ‘it’s only —’

Then
you must have been tough, all your travels,’ said Suzi, ‘but you’ll be O.K.
now.’

‘Ready?’
said Freddy. ‘Right. We’re off! Let’s try to get back early, and not give Miss
Rickward too much travelling.’

It was late on Tuesday
morning that Freddy and Suzi finally departed for Jerusalem. Barbara was very
conscious now of being left in the house without anyone she knew, although,
when she had said good-bye to Freddy and Suzi, she had been almost relieved at
their departure, for their continual anxious popping in and out of her room
with warnings about this and that had exhausted her. They had given
instructions about what she might say or not say to Latifa and the woman who
was coming to nurse her; while all Barbara really wanted to do was sleep and,
on waking, drink water. Thirst and exhaustion were now the only lingering
discomforts of the disease.

Freddy
had said, ‘I’ll be back at the week-end. As soon as I get back to Israel this
afternoon I’ll see about getting that notice in the paper to put the people
here off the scent. And I’ll get hold of Dr Clegg in Rome and tell him what’s
happened. You’ve nothing to worry about. Only, Barbara, this woman who’s going
to look after you — be very careful what you say to her, won’t you?’

‘Yes,
Suzi has told me. I’m not to talk and not to ask any questions of Miss White.’

‘Miss
White isn’t her real name, of course. But —’

‘Isn’t
it? What a bloody peculiar set-up this all is.’

‘Yes,
but you’re in a bloody peculiar position. Of course, it’s my fault, in a way,
for not insisting on your going to the Embassy. If you want —’

‘No —
oh no. I’m going through with it.’

‘You’re
a good sport, you know.’

‘Well,
one wants to do what one wants to do, that’s all.’ She hadn’t the slightest
notion what she meant by this, but she meant it and it sounded all right. She
was sure that Freddy was relieved by her refusal; for some reason he was
reluctant to contact the Embassy himself.

‘Really
a sport,’ Freddy was saying. ‘Now, I want to tell you about so-called Miss
White. If there’s anything, Barbara, you can get out of her in the meantime — I
mean, what she’s actually up to here — without, of course, appearing to be
inquisitive, I’d be awfully grateful. I can’t really explain, but maybe you
realize there are a few people roaming round this part of the world whom the
F.O. likes to know a little about. Don’t take this too seriously, of course,
but _’

‘My God!’
said Barbara, ‘Don’t tell me there’s a British Gestapo keeping track of us all
when we go abroad.’ She sat up in bed.

‘Barbara
dear!’

She lay
down again. ‘Well, Freddy, it’s bad enough for me to have to hide here in
Jordan, and go about in disguise. But one doesn’t expect that sort of thing
amongst ourselves. Why should I be a government snooper? I detest government
snooping.’

‘Don’t
think any more of it,’ Freddy said. ‘I apologize. I withdraw my request. I beg
your pardon. But I trust you to keep your discretion about my request.’

‘Oh,
Freddy, now you’re taking up an attitude. Don’t take up attitudes, I can’t bear
them. What have you got against Miss White, or whoever she is?’

‘I
couldn’t tell you even if I knew. My dear, you’re quite right in all you say. I
shouldn’t have mentioned this matter at all. It was only that, when there’s a
possibility of the country being damaged in some way —’

‘Which
country? This country?’

‘Of
course not. Ours. What do you think I’ve been talking about?’

‘I
smell an ideology, that’s all.’

Barbara
recalled, he had become very amused, he had just about hugged her with joy, and
at least he had taken both her hands and looked at her with the affection of
one who detested ideologies, too. He said, ‘Yes, that’s the point….’

They
were gone, they were gone, now. Yesterday she had slept most of the five hours
when Freddy and Suzi had taken their drive to keep up the appearance of
touring. But now Freddy was gone for almost a week and Suzi for some days.

Much
earlier that morning, a car had left the house and Suzi had come to Barbara’s
room to announce the departure of her father with his tourist for Jerusalem. A
little later she heard an arrival. Suzi came, with a tray of coffee and
biscuits for two, to sit with Barbara and inform her that Miss White had
returned and was resting.

Now
they were gone. Resting, thought Barbara, and what am I supposed to be doing? She
began to think of Freddy and to speculate upon his sex life, whatever it should
be. For, plainly, Suzi had greatly taken to him.

But it’s
none of my business, she thought. Sex is child’s play. Jesus Christ was very
sophisticated on the subject of sex. And didn’t harp on it. Why is it so
predominant and serious for us? There are more serious things in the world. And
if sex is not child’s play, in any case it is worthless. For she was thinking
of her own recent experiences of sex, which were the only experiences she knew
that were worth thinking about. It was child’s play, unselfconscious and so
full of fun and therefore of peace, that she had not bothered to analyse or
define it. And, she thought, we have invented sex guilt to take our minds off
the real thing. She thought finally of Freddy, and quite saw, partly through
Suzi’s eyes, that he had his attractions, especially here in Jordan.

Suzi,
when she had come to say good-bye, promising to be back before the end of the
week, was very buoyant. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’m a little bit in love with
Freddy.’

Jolly
good for Freddy.

From
being confined with the fever like this, Barbara Vaughan had taken one of her
religious turns and was truly given to the love of God, and all things were
possible. And, she thought, we must all think in these vague terms: with God,
all things are possible; because the only possibilities we ever seem able to envisage
in a precise manner are disastrous events; and we fear both vaguely and
specifically, and I have myself too long laid plans against eventualities.
Against good ones? No, bad ones. It would be interesting, for a change, to
prepare and be ready for possibilities of, I don’t know what, since all things
are possible with God and nothing is inevitable. And then, it is said in the
Scriptures: The race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong…. She
was trying to remember how it went on when into the room walked Ruth Gardnor.
Barbara was sure it was Ruth Gardnor. Then Ruth said, ‘Barbara, goodness, it’s
you!’

“What
are you doing here?’ Barbara said, ‘Now, now!’ said Ruth.

Barbara
thought this strange. She said, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You
don’t ask questions,’ Ruth said. ‘You’re not really ill, are you?’

‘Well,
yes, I’m down with scarlet fever. But I’m past the infectious stage.’

Only
then it occurred to Barbara that Ruth Gardnor was the Miss White she had been
told to expect. Suzi had certainly warned her not to ask questions of Miss
White. ‘Are you the Miss White?’ Barbara said.

Ruth
crossed her legs and puffed her cigarette, leaning back in the soft chair. She
said, ‘Yes, of course. And you’re not the Barbara I expected to find. But I
expect you’re used to that. You’re not really ill, are you?’

‘I’ve
had scarlet fever. To tell you the truth, I’m on the run.’

‘Yes, I
know. I heard in Amman today that you’re being looked for by the local boys.’
She laughed then, and said, ‘I actually told some people connected with the
Jordan Intelligence that I knew you slightly and would look out for you.’ She
was still laughing. ‘How was I to know that the Barbara Vaughan I already knew
was the Barbara I’ve got to look after, here?’

Barbara
felt safe in saying little. It was the most plausible course, until she should
find out what Ruth was up to. Which was exactly what Freddy had been
suggesting. It appeared that Ruth assumed Barbara to be someone importantly on
her side, secretly connected with whatever activity she herself was here for,
and to be faking illness while lying low.

The fact that Ruth was
extremely kind to Barbara throughout the next two weeks was something that
Barbara kept repeating when the Foreign Office man came to question her shortly
after her escape back to Israel through the narrow Mandelbaum Gate.

‘But
you know,’ said Barbara, ‘as soon as she was convinced I really was feeling
rather weak she couldn’t do enough for me. On the personal level she was
terribly sweet.’

The
nice young man was amused, because Barbara had just been telling him about her
fight with Ruth Gardnor. ‘Yes, I do mean a fight,’ she said. ‘Hands, fists,
nails, and feet.’ And she said one of the tendons of her neck still hurt from
the force of the wrench Ruth gave it, holding Barbara’s head in her hands to
try to subdue her, while Barbara scratched and bit some part of Ruth. To the
Foreign Office man, fascinated beyond the call of duty by the details, Barbara
had said, ‘I just couldn’t stand it any longer. She assumed, of course, that I
was part of her organization. I’m sure of that, because after a day or two she
said to me. “Oh, come off it. Suzi’s told me you’re one of us” — or something
to that effect. Then, day after day, I had to pretend to be in sympathy or at
least refrain from speaking my mind. So it came to a fight….’

In the
retrospect of a few weeks it was curiously more vivid than the reality had
been. In her low physical condition at the time Barbara could hardly believe
what was going on, and the two weeks passed like an amorphous cloud of cosmic
matter interrupted at intervals by specific points of occurrence, small explosions
in the spacious night-sky of her boredom. She had no books to read. No one in
the house had a book. Freddy had gone away without producing any papers or
magazines. Yes, someone in the house had a book. It was in Arabic. Ruth Gardnor
told her it was a book of mystical poetry by a Sufi woman mystic of the eighth
century. Ruth could read Arabic and translated, ‘0 Lord, if I worship thee from
fear of hell, burn me in hell, and if I worship you in the hope of heaven,
reject me from heaven, but if I worship thee for thine own sake then do not
withhold thyself from me in thine eternal beauty.’

This
was about Thursday, two days after Freddy and Suzi had left. Barbara listened
out for Suzi’s return. ‘Shall I read you some more?’ Ruth said.

‘No
thanks.’

‘She’s
as good as any of the Christian mystics.’

‘I
know. There’s no need to be defensive. All the mystics are much alike to me.’

‘So
many Catholics won’t listen to any other religious writings. It’s killing. And
the things they swallow themselves….’

This
was nothing new to Barbara; ever since her conversion she had met sophisticated
women who, on the subject of Catholicism, sneered like French village
atheists, and expected to be excused from normal good manners, let alone
intelligence, on this one subject. But she thought it worthy of note that Ruth
did not doubt she was a Catholic. That Barbara was a half-Jew on a clandestine
Christian pilgrimage, Ruth did not for one moment believe. She knew for certain
that she had roused the Jordanian authorities’ suspicions, and by now she had
come to accept that Barbara was genuinely feeling rather weak and by no means
feigning her illness.

Ruth
was fully convinced that Barbara was part of her spy organization. It was
difficult for Barbara, at the time, to piece together exactly what or whom it
served, although later, when the episode became a vivid whole in her mind, it
was plain that the organization was an Arab nationalist one,
communist-affiliated, with headquarters in Cairo.

Now
Ruth would say puzzlings things as she sat and talked to Barbara. Ruth sat
always languidly, with crossed legs and her head leaning back. She had a good,
rather raddled, tanned face, long streaked blonde hair and an effortless look
of glamour. Somewhere in London Barbara had first met her, years ago, at someone’s
house, at someone’s dinner party — when? where? — just after the war, during
the war — no, not during the war or just after, since Barbara did not recall
any uniforms at that party. Maybe, though, it just happened there was no one in
uniform at that party.