Free Raquela by Ruth Gruber Page A

But I have classes until seven.” Her mind was in turmoil. Should she cut school? “Will seven give us enough time?”
    â€œI’ll be there. Good-bye…Raquela.”
    She struggled through the afternoon classes. One of the senior doctors from the hospital was teaching anatomy, but she kept seeing Carmi’s face, hearing him whisper in the dark flower-scented garden: If I was wounded…and saw your face …
    Promptly at seven, Carmi appeared in the lounge. Raquela raced down the stairs to greet him. He stood near the grand piano in his British-army uniform, six feet tall, golden, burnished.
    â€œI couldn’t leave without seeing you.” He took her hands in both of his. “Can we go somewhere, where we can be alone?”
    â€œWe can walk right here on Mount Scopus,” she said, her heart still palpitating. “I’ll go up and get a sweater. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
    In their room, Debby lay on her bed, her eyes shut. She opened them a slit, watching Raquela go to the closet and take out a white woolen sweater she had just finished knitting.
    â€œHm, going somewhere?” Debby asked. “Got a date?”
    Raquela moved closer to Debby’s bed.
    â€œDebby”—she leaned toward her red-haired roommate—“is something worrying you?”
    She nodded. “It’s near the end of my probation. And you know how tough Mrs. Cantor is.”
    On the shelf over Debby’s head, Carmi smiled down at both of them.
    â€œDebby, I’d like to ask you something. Are you still seeing Carmi Eisenberg?”
    Debby looked stunned. Without answering, she reached her arm up to the shelf, pulled down a textbook, and opened it.
    Raquela persisted. “Are you still seeing him?”
    â€œSure,” she said. But her voice sounded unsure to Raquela. “Look, you’ve got a date,” Debby said. “And I’d better memorize this junk, or next thing you know I’ll be kicked out. Then what’ll Carmi say?”
    Raquela was confused. Who was telling the truth?
    She descended slowly to the lounge. “Sorry I took so long,” she said.
    Carmi took her arm. “You’re here. That’s what counts.”
    He opened the glass door and led her out of the school. “Let’s walk to the university garden,” he said.
    Raquela walked with her eyes to the ground as they trudged along the narrow dirt ridge that led to the campus of the Hebrew University, some two hundred yards from the nursing school. Mount Scopus seemed to divide two worlds: on one side lay the Old City and new Jerusalem, rising on the hills; on the other, the Judean desert. Looking west, civilization, ancient and new; looking east, the strange untamed wilderness, and beyond the wilderness, Transjordan, Iraq. For six thousand miles eastward, this was the only university; and Hadassah, the only medical center.
    Three Arab boys approached them, whipping their donkeys. The boys waved their hands and smiled at the attractive young couple in uniform, he in army brown, she in white with the little probationer’s cap in the pompadour of her hair. The boys were probably on their way to Issawiya, a little Arab village that lay on the slope of a hill just below the hospital.
    The Arabs of Issawiya were in and out of the hospital constantly, as workers and as patients. Even the three boys grinning appreciatively seemed familiar; Raquela was sure she had seen them often on the hospital grounds.
    As the boys waved good-bye and descended the ridge eastward to Issawiya, their donkeys’ bells seemed to be tolling peace on the biblical mountain, while Carmi was marching off to war.
    Raquela clung to Carmi’s arm, her body taut with excitement. But she was troubled by doubts and guilt.
    Should she even be walking with him?
    Ahead of them, the cupola of the great National Library loomed up; here and there lights shone in the buildings; a few students