Elene said: “Oh, God.”
Then she hit him again.
She hit him a third time.
He fell down.
She hit him again.
Then she dropped the gear stick and knelt beside Vandam.
“Well done,” he said weakly.
“Can you stand up?”
He put a hand on her shoulder and struggled to his feet. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said.
“Let me see.”
“In a minute. Help me with this.” Using his good arm, he took hold of Wolff’s leg and pulled him toward the car. Elene grabbed the unconscious man’s arm and heaved. When Wolff was lying beside the car, Vandam lifted Wolff’s limp arm and placed the hand on the running board, palm down. Then he lifted his foot and stamped on the elbow. Wolff’s arm snapped. Elene turned white. Vandam said: “That’s to make sure he’s no trouble when he comes round.”
He leaned into the back of the car and,put a hand on Billy’s chest. “Alive,” he said. “Thank God.”
Billy’s eyes opened.
“It’s all over,” Vandam said.
Billy closed his eyes.
Vandam got into the front seat of the car. “Where’s the gear stick?” he said.
“It broke off. That’s what I hit him with.”
Vandam turned the key. The car jerked. “Good—it’s still in gear,” he said. He pressed the clutch and turned the key again. The engine fired. He eased out the clutch and the car moved forward. He switched off. “We’re mobile,” he said “What a piece of luck.”
“What will we do with Wolff?”
“Put him in the boot.”
Vandam took another look at Billy. He was conscious now, his eyes wide open. “How are you, son?” said Vandam.
“I’m sorry,” Billy said, “but I couldn’t help feeling sick.”
Vandam looked at Elene. “You’ll have to drive,” he said. There were tears in his eyes.
29
THERE WAS THE SUDDEN, TERRIFYING ROAR OF NEARBY AIRCRAFT. ROMMEL glanced up and saw the British bombers approaching low from behind the nearest line of hills: the troops called them “Party Rally” bombers because they flew in the perfect formation of display aircraft at the prewar Nuremberg parades. “Take cover!” Rommel yelled. He ran to a slit trench and dived in.
The noise was so loud it was like silence. Rommel lay with his eyes closed. He had a pain in his stomach. They had sent him a doctor from Germany, but Rommel knew that the only medicine he needed was victory. He had lost a lot of weight: his uniform hung loosely on him now, and his shirt collars seemed too large. His hair was receding rapidly and turning white in places.
Today was September 1, and everything had gone terribly wrong. What had seemed to be the weak point in the Allied defense line was looking more and more like an ambush. The minefields were heavy where they should have been light, the ground beneath had been quicksand where hard going was expected, and the Alam Halfa Ridge, which should have been taken easily, was being mightily defended. Rommel’s strategy was wrong; his intelligence had been wrong; his spy had been wrong.
The bombers passed overhead. Rommel got out of the trench. His aides and officers emerged from cover and gathered around him again. He raised his field glasses and looked out over the desert. Scores of vehicles stood still in the sand, many of them blazing furiously. If the enemy would only charge, Rommel thought, we could fight him. But the Allies sat tight, well dug in, picking off the panzer tanks like fish in a barrel.
It was no good. His forward units were fifteen miles from Alexandria, but they were stuck. Fifteen miles, he thought. Another fifteen miles, and Egypt would have been mine. He looked at the officers around him. As always, their expressions reflected his own: he saw in their faces what they saw in his.
It was defeat.
He knew it was a nightmare, but he could not wake up.
The cell was six feet long by four feet wide, and half of it was taken up by a bed. Beneath the bed was a chamber pot. The walls were of smooth gray stone. A small lightbulb hung from the ceiling by a cord. In one end of the cell was a door. In the other end was a small square window, set just above eye level: through it he could see the bright blue sky.
In his dream he thought: I’ll wake up soon, then it will be all right. I’ll wake up, and there will be a beautiful woman lying beside me on a silk sheet, and I will touch her breasts—and as he thought this he was filled with strong lust—and she will wake up and kiss me, and we will drink champagne ... But he could not quite dream that, and the dream of the prison cell came back. Somewhere nearby a bass drum was beating steadily. Soldiers were marching to the rhythm outside. The beat was terrifying, terrifying, boom-boom, boom-boom, tramp-tramp, the drum and the soldiers and the close gray walls of the cell and that distant, tantalizing square of blue sky and he was so frightened, so horrified, that he forced his eyes open and he woke up.
He looked around him, not understanding. He was awake, wide awake, no question about it, the dream was over; yet he was still in a prison cell. It was six feet long by four feet wide, and half of it was taken up by a bed. He raised himself from the bed and looked underneath it. There was a chamber pot.
He stood upright. Then, quietly and calmly, he began to bang his head against the wall.
Jerusalem, 24 September 42
My dear Elene,
Today I went to the Western Wall, which is also called the Wailing Wall. I stood before it with many other Jews, and I prayed. I wrote a kvitlach and put it into a crack in the wall. May God grant my petition.
This is the most beautiful place in the world, Jerusalem. Of course I do not live well. I sleep on a mattress on the floor in a little room with five other men. Sometimes I get a little work, sweeping up in a workshop where one of my roommates, a young man, carries wood for the carpenters. I am very poor, like always, but now I am poor in Jerusalem, which is better than rich in Egypt.
I crossed the desert in a British Army truck. They asked me what I would have done if they had not picked me up, and when I said I would have walked, I believe they thought me mad. But this is the sanest thing I ever did.
I must tell you that I am dying. My illness is quite incurable, even if I could afford doctors, and I have only weeks left, perhaps a couple of months. Don’t be sad. I have never been happier in my life.
I should tell you what I wrote in my kvitlach. I asked God to grant happiness to my daughter Elene. I believe he will.
The smoked ham was sliced as thin as paper and rolled into dainty cylinders. The bread rolls were home-baked, fresh that morning. There was a glass jar of potato salad made with real mayonnaise and crisp chopped onion. There were a bottle of wine, another bottle of soda and a bag of oranges. And a packet of cigarettes, his brand.
Elene began to pack the food into the picnic basket.
She had just closed the lid when she heard the knock at the door. She took off her apron before going to open it.
Vandam stepped inside, closed the door behind him and kissed her. He put his arms around her and held her painfully tightly. He always did this, and it always hurt, but she never complained, for they had almost lost each other, and now when they were together they were just so grateful.
They went into the kitchen. Vandam hefted the picnic basket and said: “Lord, what have you got in here, the Crown Jewels?”
“What’s the news?” Elene asked.
He knew she meant news of the war in the desert. He said: “Axis forces in full retreat, and I quote.” She thought how relaxed he was these days. He even talked differently. A little gray was appearing in his hair, and he laughed a lot.
“I think you’re one of those men who gets more good-looking as he gets older,” she said.
“Wait till my teeth drop out.”
They went out. The sky was curiously black, and Elene said “Oh!” in surprise as she stepped into the street.
“End of the world today,” Vandam said.
“I’ve never seen it like this before,” Elene said.
They got on the motorcycle and headed for Billy’s school. The sky became even darker. The first rain fell as they were passing Shep heard’s Hotel. Elene saw an Egyptian drape a handkerchief over his fez. The raindrops were enormous; each one soaked right through her dress to the skin. Vandam turned the bike around and parked in front of the hotel. As they dismounted the clouds burst.
, They stood under the hotel canopy and watched the storm. The sheer quantity of water was incredible. Within minutes the gutters overflowed and the pavements were awash. Opposite the hotel the shopkeepers waded through the flood to put up shutters. The cars simply had to stop where they were.
“There’s no main drainage in this town,” Vandam remarked. “The water has nowhere to go but the Nile. Look at it.” The street had turned into a river.
“What about the bike?” Elene said.
“Damn thing will float away,” said Vandam. “I’ll have to bring it under here.” He hesitated, then dashed out onto the pavement, seized the bike by its handlebars and pushed it through the water to the steps of the hotel. When he regained the shelter of the canopy his clothes were thoroughly soaked and his hair was plastered around his head like a mop coming out of a bucket. Elene laughed at him.
The rain went on a long time. Elene said: “What about Billy?”
“They’ll have to keep the kids at school until the rain stops.”
Eventually they went into the hotel for a drink. Vandam ordered sherry: he had sworn off gin, and claimed he did not miss it.
At last the storm ended, and they went out again; but they had to wait a little longer for the flood to recede. Finally there was only an inch or so of water, and the sun came out. The motorists began to try to start their cars. The bike was not too wet, and it fired first time.
The sun came out and the roads began to steam as they drove to the school. Billy was waiting outside. “What a storm!” he said excitedly. He climbed onto the bike, sitting between Elene and Vandam.
They drove out into the desert. Holding on tightly, her eyes half closed, Elene did not see the miracle until Vandam stopped the bike. The three of them got off and looked around, speechless.
The desert was carpeted with flowers.
“It’s the rain, obviously,” said Vandam. “But ...”
Millions of flying insects had also appeared from nowhere, and now butterflies and bees dashed frantically from bloom to bloom, reaping the sudden harvest.
Billy said: “The seeds must have been in the sand, waiting.”
“That’s it,” Vandam said. “The seeds have been there for years, just waiting for this.”
The flowers were all tiny, like miniatures, but very brightly colored. Billy walked a few paces from the road and bent down to examine one. Vandam put his arms around Elene and kissed her. It started as a peck on the cheek, but turned into a long, loving embrace.
Eventually she broke away from him, laughing. “You’ll embarrass Billy,” she said.
“He’s going to have to get used to it,” Vandam said.
Elene stopped laughing. “Is he?” she said. “Is he, really?”
Vandam smiled, and kissed her again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ken Follett is the international bestselling
author of suspense thrillers and the nonfiction
On Wings of Eagles. He lives in England.
Visit Ken Follett’s official Web site at
www.ken-follett.com
.