[Title here] by Resurrection (epub)

Author:Resurrection (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-14T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THREE

Gray dawn comes in slits round the one window in the bedroom. Tiffany has been dreaming of flying, a precise pilot's dream of taking off in an old F39C and climbing in wide spirals over the eastern Mediterranean. In the dream she radioed a flight plan back to some unnamed base, then headed for Tel Aviv to keep a dinner date with Mark, on guard at the embassy there (as he indeed was when she first met him), as casually as if she were taking the bus back in the real world, but long before her scanner showed the familiar Israeli coast line, the hostiles appeared, screaming out of the sun at seven o'clock, to fight a dream-battle over open sea. She wakes, drenched in sweat, knowing that she shot them down, knowing that she couldn't possibly have shot them down. She breathes slowly, deeply, concentrates on the throbbing of her bad leg, the ache in the formerly bad hand, watches the room surface from the sea of night, each object dripping darkness as it rises into silver — a lump of clothes on the floor here, a behemoth of a dresser there, the movement of the cat washing himself on the wooden chair, a glint of light in the mirror. For a long time she tries to ignore the pain in the bad leg.

Running was a stupid idea, and why did she run, anyway? For a mercifully long time she cannot remember. When that memory breaks through, when she sees with the inner eye Nick sitting in a bright red booth and the rabbi leaning earnestly across a red table, when she hears with the inner ear fragments of their talk, she is wide-awake beyond all hope of sleep. An infinite set of letters. Poor little snahey-wakey. Beside her Mark snores, gurgles, and flops over onto his stomach with a sigh. Snakes dunt have to blink. They got an extra eyelid or something. She sits up, using both hands to swing the bad leg over the side of the bed. The dawn is brightening, and the lump of clothes on the floor reveals itself as hers. She scoops it up and hobbles into the bathroom. Moving around eases the ache in her leg, eases the pain of shoving forbidden memories away from her mind, too, so much so that she decides to walk down to the store and buy a surprise for Mark. At eight o'clock, which it almost is, the neighborhood catch-all will open, and by nine, the line for everything but actual food will stretch halfway round the block, too long a wait for her to manage. When she opens the door, fog greets her. She grabs the Forty-Niner jacket, shoves the spent news cartridge into one pocket, her string bag into the other, and slips out fast before Meebles can escape to the dangerous outside world. Without a shred of evidence, everyone in San Francisco is convinced that the Brazilians eat dogs and cats when they can catch them.

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