King David Hotel

Jerusalem, British Mandate

November 1943

This was the Holy Land, and I had never felt so far from home. From the narrow balcony outside Diana's room, I watched traffic flow along a side street, beyond the impossibly green gardens gracing the grounds of the King David Hotel. An old Arab pulling a donkey hustled it to the side of the road as a British Army staff car sped by, the sound of its insistent horn echoing off the stone buildings. The donkey raised its head, braying as the dust settled and the staff car vanished. The old man put his arms around the donkey's neck and spoke to it, nodding, and scratched the animal behind its ears. The donkey flicked its tail and followed him back into the street, where they both resumed their slow, deliberate gaits.

I wondered what the old man had said. I wondered what I would say when I returned to the room. I doubted it would be anything as persuasive.

"Billy," Diana said from inside, "are you coming in?"

"Yes," I said as I brushed back the thin curtains fluttering in the slight breeze. "I am."

Everything had been just right. We were on leave, traveling with the general, staying at ritzy joints from Cairo to Jerusalem, the kinds of hotels the British built so the Victorians would feel at home while seeing the sights. Hotels with thick walls between the guests and the funny dark-skinned locals. But I hadn't even thought about that. I'd been content to enjoy this time with Diana, until I found out the secret she had kept hidden from me.

Diana sat on the edge of the bed, holding a glass of water pressed to her chest. Her khaki blouse was unbuttoned. Water beaded on the glass and dripped onto her flushed skin. The overhead fan turned lazily, moving the heat in circles. I poured myself a glass of water and drank half of it as I sat in the brocade-covered armchair near the open balcony door. The fabric was hot and itchy but I liked my chances better in it. I might feel a breeze and I might be able to resist the sight of Diana's moist skin and the curving rivulets of sweat as they disappeared beneath the damp folds of her FANY uniform.