Jerusalem Stone

by Susan Sofayov

  “Yeah, what’s wrong with that? He can afford it.”

  “How much do teachers in Israel make? It must be a whole hell of a lot more than they do in the United States.”

  “You think Avi is a teacher!” He threw his head back exploding with laughter. “That’s funny.”

  I froze in my spot, watching him laugh. Finally, he regained his composure and met my gaze. For a moment, we just looked at each other. “You have no idea who you’re sleeping with, do you?” he asked, breaking the silence between us.

  I stared back, finding no response.

  He grabbed the lawn chair, leaning against the wall and flipped it open. “Sit down.”

  My stomach churned. My chest felt tight. Avi did lie to me. I knew he was too good to be real.

  “Avi is a tenured professor at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. From what I understand, he’s one of the youngest people to ever get tenured. I’m told, and Google confirms, he’s one of the top experts in the field of artificial intelligence in the world.”

  “Computers that can think on their own?” I asked.

  “I guess so. He’s the Einstein, not me. Google it. Have you Googled him yet?”

  “No, why would I do that? And even if I did, Avi Gold isn’t such an unusual name. I bet there are a lot of them.”

  “True, but they won’t get as many hits as he does. Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  We walked through the doorway. He turned my shoulders, so I faced the wall. “Read it.”

  This building is given by

  David Avraham Gold

  In honor of his parents

  Avner Benjamin and Malka Gold

  “His father paid for this entire building?”

  “No.” Orrie shook his head. “Avi paid for this building. When Rabbi Shmuel first came here, the Chabad House was just a small store front. Avi didn’t like it, so he gave the rabbi the money to build this one.”

  Oh, God, he does own the place. “Can we sit down?”

  “Julie, I don’t know why he doesn’t want you to know he has money. But here’s the truth about Avi. If Israel had royalty, you’re dating the crown prince. Go upstairs to the computers and Google your boyfriend.”

  I trudged up the steps, unable to grasp that my sexy high school teacher was rich and important. What more could Google tell me? I picked a computer in the back corner of the room, sat down, and stared at the screen. Did I want to do this? I typed Avi Gold into the search bar.

  Four images popped up across the top of the screen. I read the words. His full name was Dr. David Avraham Gold. He held a PhD from Cal Tech. The first eight pages referenced scholarly papers he published on artificial intelligence. I clicked on page nine and saw a link to what appeared to be a biographical page. I read the first paragraph and felt the air explode from my lungs and my heart collapse.

  “No.” I shook my head. “No freakin’ way.” I closed the link and scrolled farther down the page until I spotted any entry with a title that sounded like a magazine. It wasn’t in English, but the picture spoke the proverbial thousand words. Avi’s arm draped possessively over Bar Raphaeli’s shoulder. “I need to throw up,” I said out loud, rising from the chair. I grabbed my bag and ran down the steps. Orrie stopped me at the door.

  “His great-great-grandmother was Golda Meier,” I said, breathless. My heart pounded, threatening to explode through my ribcage. “His father is Israel’s ambassador to the United Nations, and his mother is a professor of Archaeology at Columbia and a former delegate to UNESCO. And--” I said, practically breathless, pointing to the sky. “--he fucking dates super models!”

  “Yeah, and we tease him all the time because three women’s magazines voted him sexiest-man-in-Israel.”

  “I’m such an idiot. That’s why everyone we meet greets him like a long-lost brother.” I collapsed into the lawn chair and looked at Orrie. “Why is he wasting his time with me?”

  “Seems to me, he’s crazy about you.”

  “I’m sure Bar would not be happy to hear that.”

  “That relationship ended years ago, but I think they’re still friends. He brought her here once. Nice girl, really pretty.”

  I smacked my forehead. “Just shoot me.”

  Orrie gave me a confused look. “What?”

  “Never mind. I’m leaving.” Anger bubbled in my chest. “I don’t understand why he would waste time and lie to me. He can have any girl he wants. I feel so stupid.”

  “I don’t understand. You find out your boyfriend is rich and important, and you’re mad. Every girl I know would be screaming and jumping up and down.”

  There was truth to his words. But I didn’t handle betrayal well. Avi lied, completely, about everything. I’d been lied to before--but I didn’t want to think about that disaster.

  “At least you met him here, in Thailand instead of Israel. The paparazzi would be all over you, trying to find out who he’s dating.”

  “Paparazzi?” This guy didn’t just lie. He fabricated an entire boring life with a dog. “I need to leave. If I hear any more, I’ll either have a stroke or die of humiliation.”

  “You hit the boyfriend lottery.” Orrie leaned back in the chair and crossed his huge arms over his chest. “Really, you shouldn’t be upset.”

  “Of course not, every girl would be thrilled to be totally deceived. Goodnight, Orrie.” I took two steps down the block and turned back. “Hey, Orrie. Who owns the apartment you live in?”

  “Avi. Since he only comes for a few weeks a year, he lets me and David live there for free. We watch the place and pay for electric and water.”

  The street leading back to the hostel turned into a tunnel, the sounds of the neighborhood silenced. The scent of spices that, just hours ago, made my mouth water accosted my nose like the charred smell that remained after a forest fire burned itself out. Only the images playing in my mind’s eye existed. Flashes of us together, sitting on the beach, eating gummy bears, both of us bobbing in the emerald water of Cheow Lan Lake, and finally, the image of the first night we made love, in my tiny bed. Jack, where are you? I need you. I’m so stupid without you. You would have seen through him and warned me.

  A group of backpacking twenty-somethings flocked the hostel check-in desk, creating a racket that spilled into the street. I weaved through the crowd and faintly heard Lek calling “lady, lady.”

  I couldn’t stop. I had no smile to offer, no way to fix his toy, and absolutely no boyfriend who could help.

  I rushed up the steps two at a time, heart pounding with a mixture of anger and despair. Inside the room, I kicked off my shoes, letting them smack against the wall. The pain reached a crescendo as I crawled beneath the sheets and curled into the fetal position. Tears flowed, mourning Jack, screaming at Avi’s deception, and begging to spend ten more days loving the man I met at the beach. I pleaded for time to turn backward, to undo the evening, and to enable me to avoid Orrie--allowing me to remain blissfully ignorant of the truth about Avi.

  My heart shattered, and the only person who could help heal it was dead.

  ***

  My hour-long flight to Koh Samui left on time, at noon. Avi booked us into a hotel near the beach. I knew where to go and what I needed to do.

  The plane landed. I walked into the airport, stopping for a moment to admire the gate area, which merged indoors with outdoors. Only a lofted wooden ceiling protected the large circular area from rain and heat. There were no walls, just a sweeping view of the landing strip.

  I followed the walkway leading to the street, ignoring the shop keepers hawking their wares, and the tuk-tuk drivers offering me rides. Palm trees rustled in the breeze, and the air smelled of flowers. I hailed a taxi and gave the driver the name of the hotel.

  A fence and trees shielded the hotel from the main street. Beyond the front gate was a tropical garden filled with plumeria, jasmine, heliotrope trees, and azaleas. I followed the path that led to the entrance, walked straight to the front desk, and asked th
e young desk clerk for a pen and paper.

  Dear David,

  You lied to me.

  Goodbye. ~ Julie

  I folded it business style; wrote his name, Dr. David Avraham Gold, on the front; and handed it to the desk clerk. “Thank you. He’ll be checking in after eight o’clock tonight. Please make sure he gets it.” I left the pen on the counter and walked outside.

  I stood in front of the hotel with nowhere to go, nowhere to sleep, and no man to love. I walked to the only other place I had an address for, the Chabad House.

  It wasn’t far, but my back started hurting from carrying all my possessions. When I reached the door, I asked the security guard if he could recommend a good hostel. He pointed to the travel agency next door.

  I noticed the sign. The agency was a branch of the same one Shai worked for. Inside, a young woman sat staring at a computer screen. When I got close, I realized she was engrossed in a video game. Eventually, she dropped the mouse and asked me something in Hebrew.

  “I don’t speak Hebrew.”

  “Okay, what can I do for you?”

  “I need a place to sleep.”

  “The island has been really busy this week, a big Thai boxing tournament. Let’s see if there’s anything available.”

  She typed and moved the mouse on her desk for a few minutes. “This isn’t looking good.”

  “Keep looking.” Panic crept into my head. What if she can’t find anything? Sleep on the beach? The floor at Chabad? Then it dawned on me. “Shai, in your Bangkok office made reservations for me at this place.” I pulled out the itinerary Shai gave me and placed it on her desk.

  “Just go there,” she said, copping an attitude.

  “He was supposed to have canceled it, but maybe he didn’t. Can you look it up? My name is Julie Wasserman.”

  She typed in my name. “No, canceled a few days ago. But let me call them and see if they filled the room.”

  An hour later, I sat on the single bed in the hostel Shai originally booked me into--a room for one, just like the day I arrived in Bangkok. I stared at the tacky picture hanging on the beige wall, monkeys climbing a coconut tree. I flopped onto my back, rolled over, and fell asleep.

  ***

  My watch read six-thirty p.m. My stomach felt nauseous. It needed food.

  Koh Samui dodged the rampant development found in Phuket. This island felt more like Gilligan’s Island than Fort Lauderdale during spring break. I meandered along the main street, glancing into the shop windows, but not really seeing anything. A few blocks from the hostel, I stopped at a fruit stand and bought a fruit salad of mango, guava, and watermelon.

  There were no benches along the street, just an occasional table belonging to one of the many restaurants intermixed between massage parlors and souvenir shops. The smell of lemongrass and grilled meat didn’t help my already queasy belly.

  I crossed the street and walked down an alley that led to the beach. Some of the hotels owned restricted beach space, where they set up lounge chairs for their guests during the day. The crowd was sparse, but the scent of coconut oil still infused the salty air. I plopped onto the first empty one. Within seconds, a beach boy approached and asked to see my room key. Unable to produce one, he invited me to leave.

  Waiters at the next hotel bustled around in the sand, setting up tables where guests would dine along the ocean. They plunged iron poles into the ground and draped diaphanous curtains, creating huts over tables set for two. I pulled back the curtain on one and peeked inside. Tea light candles rested on a glass mirror in the center of the white-linen-covered table. A vision of Avi sitting in the linen covered chair, the warm glow of the candles reflecting off his face was obliterated by a pang of jealousy aimed toward the couple who would be enjoying a romantic seaside dinner. I shut the curtains and continued walking barefoot in the soft sand, ignoring a mouthwatering scent wafting from the hotel kitchen.

  Farther along, two waiters argued over some construction problem with the second hut they were in the process of building. Waiter number one stomped off toward the hotel and left waiter number two standing alone with an armful of gauzy curtains. I approached him and asked if I could sit in one of the open lounge chairs near the surf. He gave me a distracted “yes.”

  The beach faced east, so there was no sunset to enjoy, but within a half hour, a full moon lit the coastline. I swallowed a chunk of guava and wondered if this was how it felt to be kissed by one of the Dementors, in the Harry Potter books--overwhelming sadness, cloaking a hollow void where my heart once rested. If someone thumped my belly, like the Tinman’s, it would echo.

  There were no more tears left to cry for Jack or Avi. More than anything, I wanted to go home.

  Tomorrow, I’d use the phone at the Chabad House, call the airline, and change my ticket. Forget worrying about price, I’d pay anything to go home.

  I rested on the lounge chair for another fifteen minutes, blankly watching the waves assault the beach.

  ***

  Of all the hostels, I stayed in during this trip, this one was the smallest and dingiest. When I returned from my lame dinner, the desk clerk informed me that they didn’t have a television or a computer. I slogged up the steps to my room, which consisted of a bed and a dresser--no desk or chair. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. It was only eight o’clock. If I didn’t get off this island, it would be a week from hell. I dug through my backpack for my book and found it at the very bottom--The Source. I forgot Avi took the Drifters and left me this one. I didn’t want to read it, but other than staring at the monkey picture, hanging above the dresser, I had nothing to do.

  Chapter 10

  I read the first page and turned to the next. The novel pulled me in more than I expected. Avi was right. Michener was literary comfort food. I read the words about Israel and realized, throughout my life, the people around me spoke reverently of it and the miracle of its existence. Jack felt the draw and the connection, but I never did, maybe because I never wanted to...

  ***

  Jack tossed T-shirts into his duffel bag. “It's a free trip! All you had to do was fill out some forms. When will you ever get the opportunity to take a free trip to Israel—or anywhere else, for that matter?”

  I shrugged.

  “Where’s your curiosity? Even if we wipe out the religious aspect, think of the history, the art, and the antiquities, and the...Hell, I could go on all day.”

  “Sorry, but you know I’m not into the whole being-Jewish thing. And history is so boring.”

  “Fine, but you’re going to miss ten days of wandering through museums, calculating the market value of the art. And imagine the joy you’d feel walking the streets of Jerusalem, estimating the real estate value of historical buildings.”

  “You’ll have an amazing time without me. Bring home pictures--and develop them.” I smiled. “Besides, some of us poor college students have to work.”

  “You could have told them you needed a later start-date.” He tossed socks and underwear into a bulging blue Pitt duffel bag. “The whole point of Birthright is to connect people like us to Israel. Do you realize it’s our only true safe-haven?”

  I twisted my mouth and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. “Really, we should be hiding under our beds when the Mexicans and Canadians attack.”

  “Don’t play stupid.”

  “Jack, you’re going to have a fantastic time. I’m sure when you get home, I’ll hear about every detail. But I have no desire to see Israel.”

  ***

  I read, chapter after chapter about the birth of the nation Avi called home.

  Pounding on my door pulled my attention from the book and back to the real world. The pounding didn’t let up. I turned the knob, expecting to find a hostel employee standing on the other side. “What do you want?” I asked, swinging the door open.

  “You,” Avi said flatly. “And I don’t know why you’re in there, and I’m out here.”

  Every part of me wanted t
o throw my arms around him, except the part of my brain that controlled logical reasoning.

  “You can’t read?”

  “What did I lie about?”

  “What didn’t you lie about? Nothing you told me was true.”

  “That’s a generic statement. I need specifics.” His eyes bore into my face, challenging me.

  “You told me that you’re a high school teacher.”

  “I’m a teacher. I teach college students. I never said I taught high school. You asked me if I taught ‘younger kids or older kids.’ How should I know you assumed I taught high school?”

  I gazed down at the floor and mentally replayed every conversation we’d had. And damn, I couldn’t recall hearing either of us use the word high school. “Your great-great-grandmother was Golda Meier!”

  “Why would I talk about my great-great-grand-mother who I never met? You didn’t tell me about your great-great-grandmother.” He tilted his head sideways, weariness emanating from his eyes.

  “Yes, David, but my great-great-grandmother wasn’t the freakin’ Prime Minister of Israel!” I shouted.

  “Please don’t call me David. Even my mother doesn’t call me David. Can I come in, so this discussion isn’t broadcast to everyone in this hostel?”

  “No, there’re no chairs in here. Just a bed.”

  His eyes lit. “And the problem with that is?”

  The problem existed because I didn’t trust my ability to keep my hands off him.

  “I’ll sit on the floor.”

  “Come in.” I slammed the door behind him. “You’re rich, your family is famous, and you date super models. You let me believe you’re a school teacher who lives a lonely life with his dog.”