Read Mitla Pass for Free Online Page B

she shouted.
    “Baby, you’re going to wake up the kids. I’ve—I’ve been trying to get this arranged for months. If I pass on this one, I’ll never get another chance.”
    “You’re out of your God-damned mind!”
    “Honey, the kids. I’ve got to get a night’s sleep.”
    “Look at you, you bastard. You’re in heaven, aren’t you?”
    “Val.”
    “Real bullets and everything this time. Old Marine blood all stirred up?”
    “Shut up!” He was breathing hard now, teeth clenched. “I didn’t come here to observe life from a sidewalk cafe on Dizengoff Street!”
    “And I didn’t come here to sit around and wait for you to be returned in a coffin. You’re spoiling for it. I mean, really spoiling for it. You’re not going to quit till you get your stupid head shot off!”
    “Why is it! Why is it so difficult, so fucking impossible, for you to understand! Just once. Understand!”
    “What is it you’re after, boy? Tell me so I’ll know what to tell the children.”
    He leaned over the bed, his hands like claws, tight, trembling. His voice became choked. “I want to feel it! I want to be scared shitless! I want to be exhausted! Feel it!”
    “With your leg lying twenty yards away! You want to feel that too!” She stood in the bed and flung the pillow off. “How about us? Too bad you won’t be around to watch us mourn. You don’t have to do this!”
    “No, I don’t,” he replied with menacing softness. “I can pack up tomorrow and hightail it back to Sherman Oaks and spend the rest of my life writing Doris Day comedies, or bowwow pictures at Disney. Hey, let’s hire old Gideon Zadok, he’s one of the best whores in town. Just wind him up and out comes dribble, dribble, dribble. Old Gideon won’t give you any trouble. He’s a pissant. Heard he wanted to be a real writer once. Can you imagine that? Shit, couldn’t give up his monogrammed underwear. Not old Gideon.”
    “Isn’t it about time for your zinger, that I wrecked your second novel because I wouldn’t let you go live in the brothels of San Francisco?”
    “No, no, no, honey, don’t blame yourself. It’s the tuition in those private schools that costs too much. Grover’s got to see a psychiatrist. The Caddy has already got a thousand miles on it.”
    Val went to her knees, buried her face in her hands, and rocked back and forth, back and forth. She emitted a long, terrible sigh, lay down, turned her back to him, and drew the sheet over her. “Fuck off,” she said.
    “Baby,” he cried, “please tell me you know what I’m trying to do. Please tell me.”
    She was calm now, deadly calm. “You’re a war lover, Gideon. Even your jeep was making joyous sounds tonight when you pulled in.”
    Gideon was shattered. He fell back against the wall and hung his head. It was the damned truth. The thought of going on a raid had sent him into exaltation. How do you explain? How do you justify?
    He knelt by the bed, reached out tentatively, and touched the rounded part of her hip. She was icy. “It’s part of me, baby, I can’t help myself. All right, I’m intoxicated by it. I’ve got to go for it, baby. I’ve got to reach for it. Don’t make me go back ... there ... without going for it.”
    He waited but she did not stir. He came to his feet, rocky. “I’ll go to the hotel,” he said.
    She reached behind her and pulled the sheet down for him to climb in. In a moment, he curled up tightly against her.
    “Baby ... baby ...”
    Val turned around, took his head, and held it on her breast.
    “Try to sleep, Gideon. You’ll need your strength.”
    “Take it off.”
    “You crazy fool. You’re too much, Zadok. You horny Jew.”
    “This is what gives me strength,” he said.
    There was something incredible about the lovemaking, when it came on wings of such fury.

VAL
    HERZLIA, ISRAEL
    October 10, 1956
    T HERE HAD BEEN MANY other times I’d waited for Gideon with my heart in my mouth. I always knew he’d find his way home. Not