Flash Point by James W. Huston Page B

hair get a little longer, a little shaggier than he normally would have to soften his otherwise military look. He felt very athletic in his loose-fitting jeans and running shoes, with a T-shirt and baggy shirt over it.
    “I’m glad you’re here. You have any other bags?”
    “I’m used to traveling in an F-14. One gym bag.”
    “Great. Let’s go.” Crossing over to his right side and walking next to him, she asked, “Did you have any trouble getting time off?”
    Vialli hesitated. “Yes and no.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Time off, no. The Ops O — he’s sort of my boss — thought it was cool I wanted to take leave in port. Trey recommended he approve it. He said I needed the time off. But they think I’m in Naples.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    He had hoped he wouldn’t have to tell her, especially not first thing. “The Skipper wouldn’t have let me come. He’d have told me to wait until we come here on our port call. But I wanted to come now. So I told him I’d be in Naples.”
    She stopped. “You shouldn’t have to lie to him about it.”
    Vialli squinted at her. “You’re one to talk.”
    She lowered her head.
    “Sorry. That was a cheap shot.”
    “I deserved it.”
    “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings . . .”
    “We both probably did something we shouldn’t have done,” she said, smiling conspiratorially. “At least it was for a good cause.”
    “That’s the way I see it. And what are they going to do if they catch me? Cut my hair? Send me to sea?”
    She laughed and they started walking again.
    He shifted his bag to his left hand and held her hand as they walked. “So how do we get to Nahariya?”
    “Train. It runs right up the coast. You’ll like it. It’s very pretty.”
    “Then what?”
    “My father will pick us up at the train station and take us home.”
    Vialli looked at her at the mention of her father. “What does he think about you having a U.S. Navy officer come visit you?”
    She shook her head slightly. “He likes the American part, and the Navy officer part, it’s the goyim part he has trouble with.”
    “The what?”
    “Goyim. Gentiles. Non-Jew, but broader. Um, outsider, I guess. Foreigner, with a touch of unwelcomeness to it.”
    “Is it a big problem? I thought it didn’t matter to you.”
    “It doesn’t matter to me, it matters to him a lot.”
    “Is he one of those Orthodox Jews who wears a funny hat and has curls around his ears?”
    “Tony,” she said in a low tone.
    “What? What did I say?”
    “They aren’t ‘funny’ hats. Orthodox Jews take their dress very seriously. They think the Torah says very specifically what they are to wear, and they comply with it. They think all Jews should. They think the way I’m dressed is disgraceful.”
    “It
is
disgraceful. You should be ashamed of yourself,” he joked. “I wasn’t trying to make fun of them, I was just wondering if your father was one of . . . of . . . those.”
    “No. He is not. He isn’t even very religious.”
    “Then what difference does it make? I’m not very serious about being Catholic either. I take it you’re not very serious about being Jewish.”
    “Of
course
I’m serious about being Jewish, what kind of talk is that?” she asked, slightly offended.
    “I don’t get it. You told me you weren’t very religious.”
    “I’m
not
very religious. Being Jewish means a lot more than being religious.”
    “Like what?”
    She looked up at him with a pained expression that he had never seen before. “Maybe later we can talk about that. It’s complicated. Come this way,” she said pulling him.
    The train station was clean and neat and here too there were soldiers with M-16s or Uzi submachine guns. There was no place in the train station that you could be out of the gaze of one of the soldiers. On the train, they were able to get two seats together. They sat facing forward on the left side of the train. Two soldiers sat in the seat facing them. The