Leon Uris Read Online Free PDF Page B

quickly. “I think you had better apologize to Mr. Mandria. He and his taxi drivers and his dock hands take all sorts of risks. Without the help of the Greek people our work would be nearly impossible.”
    Mandria slumped into a chair deeply wounded. “Yes, Mr. Ben Canaan, we admire you. We feel that if you can throw the British out of Palestine then maybe we can do the same on Cyprus someday.”
    “My apologies, Mr. Mandria,” Ari said. “I must be over-tense.” He recited the words completely without meaning.
    A shrill sound of sirens outside brought the conversation to a stop. Mandria opened the french doors to the balcony and walked outside with David. Ari Ben Canaan stood behind them. They saw an armored car with machine guns leading a convoy of lorries up the street from the docks. There were twenty-five lorries, in all, surrounded by machine guns mounted on jeeps.
    The lorries were packed with refugees from the illegal ship, Door of Hope , which had tried to run the British blockade from Italy to Palestine. The Door of Hope had been rammed by a British destroyer, towed to Haifa, and the refugees transferred immediately to Cyprus.
    The sirens shrieked louder as the convoy swept close to the balcony of Mandria’s home. The lorries passed one by one. The three men could see the jam of tattered, ragged misery. They were beaten people—at the end of the line—dazed, withered, exhausted. The sirens shrieked and the convoy turned at the Land Gate of the old wall and onto the road to Salamis, in the direction of the British detention camps at Caraolos. The convoy faded from sight but the shrieks of the sirens lingered on and on.
    David Ben Ami’s hands were tight fists and his teeth were clenched in a face livid with helpless rage. Mandria wept openly. Only Ari Ben Canaan showed no emotion. They walked in from the balcony.
    “I know you two have much to talk over,” Mandria said between sobs. “I hope you find your room comfortable, Mr. Ben Canaan. We will have your uniform, papers, and a taxi by morning. Good night.”
    The instant David and Ari were alone they threw their arms about each other. The big man picked the little man up and set him down as though he were a child. They looked each other over and congratulated each other on looking well and went into another bear hug.
    “Jordana!” David said anxiously. “Did you see her before you left? Did she give you a message?”
    Ari scratched his jaw teasingly. “Now let me see ...”
    “Please, Ari ... it has been months since I have received a letter ...”
    Ari sighed and withdrew an envelope which David snatched from his hands. “I put it in a rubber pouch. The only thing I could think of tonight when I was swimming in was that you would break my neck if I got your damned letter wet.”
    David was not listening. He squinted in the half light and slowly read the words of a woman who missed and longed for her lover. He folded the letter tenderly and carefully placed it in his breast pocket to be read again and again, for it might be months before she could send another. “How is she?” David asked.
    “I don’t see what my sister sees in you. Jordana? Jordana is Jordana. She is wild and beautiful and she loves you very much.”
    “My parents ... my brothers ... how is our Palmach gang ... what ...”
    “Wait a minute, wait a minute. I’ll be here for a while—one question at a time.”
    David pulled out the letter and read it again, and the two men were silent. They stared out of the french doors at the ancient wall across the road. “How are things at home?” David whispered.
    “Things at home? The same as always. Bombings, shootings. Exactly as it has been every day since we were children. It never changes. Every year we come to a crisis which is sure to wipe us out—then we go on to another crisis worse than the last. Home is home,” Ari said, “only this time there is going to be a war.” He put his arm on the shoulder of his smaller