Jerusalem Stone

by Susan Sofayov

  “Okay, so the non-political side of your family were real estate tycoons. Still doesn’t explain why after being in this country with you for less than twenty-four hours, I ended up in a newspaper.”

  “How do I explain this?” He scratched his head as the waitress set the salads and garlic bread in front of us. “It’s embarrassing, but I guess it’s the result of combining factors. Mainly, allowing my ego to take over my brain and some bad choices.”

  “You, bad choices? I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. I flaked out for about a year.”

  “Go on,” I said before biting into the bread.

  “While doing my doctorate in the United States, I did some side research and developed a new type of probe, which is now used in operating rooms all over the world. When I came back here, I took the job at Hebrew University. At the same time, I started a small business selling the probe on the side. The business grew faster than I ever dreamed. I couldn’t handle it. I’m a researcher and a professor, not a businessman. So, I sold the business to a big company in America.”

  “Medical equipment inventors don’t usually become media stars, so nothing you’ve said so far explains why teenage girls giggle when they see you.” I watched his usually smiling face contort with embarrassment.

  “I sold the company for a lot of money.” He looked down at his salad. “A ridiculous amount of money, which combined with the whole Golda Meir’s great-great-grandson thing, became big news in this country. The fame kind of went to my head. I started spending weekends in Tel Aviv, hanging out with a hard-partying Israeli glitterati. Pictures of me partying with them began showing up in tabloids. Then I started dating Bar, which was front-page news--gorgeous supermodel dating the rich tech guy. Everywhere we went, some paparazzi snapped a picture and sold it to a media outlet. It sucked.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about her.”

  “It didn’t work for either of us, but we’re still friendly. Occasionally, we’ll meet for lunch or coffee. Anyway, it was during that time-period that the sexiest man bullshit started.”

  “Since you're sitting across the table from me, I’ll assume you’re no longer hanging out with the Israeli glamour crowd.”

  He laughed. “Hell no! I work ten to twelve hours a day. I play soccer on Fridays and occasionally go out for a drink with that gang. A couple of times a month, I take my nephew to some cool place like the zoo or a farm. Ofir loves cows. My best friend is a rabbi in Thailand. And, the only person I go out with on a regular basis is Brutus, and that’s only because he’s incapable of walking himself.”

  I smiled and reached for his hand. “Thanks for telling me.”

  He shrugged.

  “Now, it’s time for less talk and more chewing.” I picked up my fork and dug into the ravioli.

  “Thank you, I’m starving.” He chomped down on a piece of bread.

  We lingered over dinner, skipped dessert, and finished the wine. After the restaurant, we wandered along the promenade, checking out the wares being hawked at artisan booths and watching kids squeal on the amusement park rides. Eventually, we stopped at a café for dessert and coffee. He introduced me to an Israeli favorite, watermelon with salty Bulgarian cheese.

  Chapter 24

  We began our second day in Eilat by lingering in bed until late morning. By noon, we were up, dressed, and driving to the aquarium.

  “You’re going to love this place,” he said while paying for the tickets. “It’s the only underwater observatory of a coral reef in the world. Think of it as putting people in a tank, not the fish.”

  The tank was over crowded, not with fish, but with people. And of course, half of them wanted to talk to Avi. I maneuvered myself into a spot against the glass and spent a half hour watching blue tangs, clown fish, and parrot fish. When a giant sea turtle swam by, everyone in the observatory crushed against the glass to watch. Avi was correct. I loved the place.

  I found him against the back wall, talking to a group of teenagers. I clasped his hand and waited patiently. Eventually, he excused himself, and we beat it to the elevator. “Did you get to see any fish?” I asked.

  “Not really. I caught a quick glimpse of the sea turtle.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of talking to people?”

  “Depends on what they want to talk about. I hate when people ask me what it’s like to be rich and famous. But, I don’t mind talking to people like the boys we just left. They’re interested in technology and wanted to learn more. I could talk tech stuff all day.”

  “Shit, that reminds me of Lek,” I said. “Remember him? My little friend at the hostel in Patong Beach? Before I left for Koh Samui, his Game Boy broke. He begged me to bring you to the hostel to fix it. I felt so bad for the kid. But, I didn’t have enough money to buy him a new one.”

  “I couldn’t have fixed it anyway. When you dumped me to take a shower, I did the best I could with it. The device was shot. I’ll call Sam and tell him to buy the kid a new one. Orrie can deliver it.”

  “Wow, that’s really nice of you.”

  He tossed his arm over my shoulder. “What can I say, I’m a nice guy.” An impish grin lit his face. “And, since I’m such a nice guy, you can reward me by extending your stay.”

  “Profiting off the misfortune of a small child in Thailand--sad.” I laughed.

  ***

  The two-lane road from Eilat to Tel Aviv winded up a mountain side. We passed Bedouin tents and watched two kids riding a donkey parallel to the highway. As we approached the town of Arad, we spotted a roadside open-air shop peddling all types of wares. “Look!” I pointed at the parking lot. “Is that one of our camels?”

  “I don’t know. They all look alike to me,” he replied.

  “Can we stop? I want to pet one before I go home.”

  “Fine.” He pulled into the parking lot. We walked over to the camel. Avi and the owner conversed in Hebrew. I picked up enough of the language to know they were discussing money. Finally, Avi pulled out his wallet, handed cash to the man, and turned to me. “Get on.” He swooshed his arms at the sitting camel.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He nodded. “You’re going on a ride.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  “Hell no, you’re on your own.”

  I looked at the owner, like the man in the Old City selling camel rides, he wore traditional robes, a keffiyeh, and leather sandals--excellent marketing strategy. Authentic Arabian Nights wear probably sells more rides than Levis and Nike sneakers. The camel gazed at me. The look in his eyes reminded me of Avi’s words--they spit. I stepped backwards, away from what I assessed to be spitting distance.

  The owner gestured for me to approach from the back side of the camel. He helped me climb the hump and position myself in the saddle.

  “Ahhhh!” I yelled as the camel stood. From the ground, the camel looked tall, but the view from the top of the hump was terrifying. The ground looked far away. “I’m scared,” I said, looking down at Avi.

  A harness looped over the camel’s head and nose, connecting under its chin to a lead the owner tugged to get the camel moving. The camel lumbered forward. After about ten steps, I twisted in my seat. “This is so cool!” I yelled at Avi.

  “If you say so,” he yelled back.

  The owner led us around a worn-down trail. I gathered it was the standard tourist-camel-ride-route, returning to the spot in the parking lot where we started. The camel kneeled onto his front legs and then folded his back legs to reach a camel sitting position. The owner helped me climb off the camel’s back.

  I ran toward Avi. “That was great! I can’t wait to tell Ja--” I stopped. There was no Jack to tell. As I bit my bottom lip, the vice clamped my chest. Avi pulled me into a hug, and I rested my head on his shoulder. “I don’t know if Jack rode a camel while he was here.”

  “I bet he did. And I bet he’d have laughed if he could have seen your face when that beast stood up.”

&
nbsp; “Probably.” I sniffled and acknowledged that the crushing sensation would always be there to remind me of what I did to my brother.

  Chapter 25

  We arrived at the small apartment he owned on Dizengoff Street in the early evening and unloaded. “Hungry?” he asked.

  “A little.” I leaned out the window, staring at the traffic jam four stories below us. “Isn’t it a little late for rush hour?”

  “Rush hour in Tel Aviv never ends.” We walked down Dizengoff Street until we found a quiet restaurant--it was a long walk. “We can hit the beach tomorrow or walk around the old port of Jaffa,” he said, picking at the chicken in his plate.

  “You pick. Both sound great to me.”

  “Then let’s do both. Beach in the morning. We can visit the Shuk HaCarmel in the afternoon, and hit Jaffa in the early evening.”

  “Is it like the shuk in Jerusalem?”

  “The Jerusalem shuk is the best. This one is okay, a bit more touristy.”

  ***

  We walked down Dizengoff Street, hung a left on Gordon Street and continued straight to the beach. We stopped for a few minutes on the Shlomo Lahat Promenade to watch a group of people doing traditional Israeli dances.

  “Looks like fun,” I said while watching the dancers twirl and hop from foot to foot.

  “It is, but we’re not joining in today. If you stayed, you could join an Israeli dance club.”

  “You really are a nooknik,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze.

  “I think I’m losing my skill.” He looked at me, and I tried not to laugh at the serious expression covering his face. “In my prime,” he said. “Around age thirteen, I was the best. In under eighteen hours, you would have been begging me to let you stay, just to shut me up.”

  “Of all your brilliance and skills, that’s the one that you’re the proudest of?”

  “Yep, it’s the only skill I have that can be used to keep you here.”

  “Avi.” I shook my head and pinched his cheek. “Let’s go swimming.”

  There were plenty of tourists on the Thai beaches, but I’d describe those beaches as secluded compared to Gordon Beach. This was not going to be a relaxing day at the beach. The noise overwhelmed me, blaring music, people shouting, vendors hawking ice cream, and the sound of small black balls smacking against wooden paddles.

  After walking up and down the beach a few times, we spotted two empty lounge chairs, tossed our things on them, and paid the beachboy twenty-four shekels.

  “It’s time for you to learn the most important sport in Israel--we’ll maybe not the most important, but definitely the most important beach sport in Israel.” Avi pulled two paddles out of the beach bag and a small ball. He handed me one of the paddles. “Today, you’re getting a crash course in matkot.”

  “It’s a very noisy game.” I pointed to at least twenty other couples also playing the game. “Thwak. Thwak,” I said, trying to mimic the sound of the balls smacking the paddles.

  “Well, we’re going to go make some noise.”

  Matkot turned out to be a cross between ping pong and volleyball. I suck at both games. Avi teased me about my lack of eye-hand coordination, but my running ability kept me from total matkot humiliation.

  After an hour or so I realized that Tel Aviv beaches had an energy that the Thai beaches lacked. I always left Patong Beach feeling like I had just completed an hour and a half yoga class. I left Gordon Beach energized. “Can we walk to the Shuk HaCarmel?” I asked.

  “Sure, it’s not far.”

  “Great, let’s go there and find lunch.”

  ***

  In the early evening, we took a cab to Jaffa and meandered through the narrow stone streets. “This place reminds me of the Old City,” I said, as we passed under an ancient archway.

  “Jaffa maybe the oldest working port in the world,” Avi said.

  We watched the sun set from an outdoor café. The sound of the waves hitting the break wall and the smell of salt in the air added to the atmosphere. “I think I’ve found my third favorite spot in Israel,” I said, gazing at his face.

  “What’s number one and number two?”

  “Two is the Old City.”

  “I would have guessed that to be number one. You seemed so enchanted by the place.” He set his glass on the table and leaned toward me. “So, tell me what is number one?”

  A blush heated my face. I shifted my gaze and swirled the red wine around my glass. “Your bed.”

  I felt his fingers lifting my chin.

  “Look at me,” he said. “Then stay and make it our bed.”

  “If I stayed, I’d hate myself for breaking my pledge to my brother. There’s no forgiveness for me. Pleading for forgiveness on a thousand Yom Kippurs wouldn’t be enough.”

  “You want to put yourself in prison for a crime you didn’t commit. Julie, it was an accident. You didn’t kill your brother.”

  I wished I could believe him.

  ***

  After our two days in Tel Aviv, I realized Avi was correct. The city produced a twenty-four-hour cacophony of horns, bus airbrakes, truck engines and sirens. And I also learned the difference between the people of Jerusalem and the people living in Tel Aviv. The citizens of Jerusalem prayed at dawn, and the people living in Tel-Aviv partied until dawn. The personality of Jerusalem suited me more. I couldn’t wait to get back to Avi’s apartment.

  Chapter 26

  We arrived back at his apartment late Thursday night and flopped right into bed. On Friday morning, I woke before him and slipped into the kitchen to make coffee. I sat outside on the balcony, inhaling the Jerusalem air and watching the city rouse to another sun-drenched morning. I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to imagine the city on a rainy winter day.

  I opened my eyes and sipped my coffee, thinking about time. Over the last few weeks, there had been many moments when I wanted time to stop. But time declared war on me the day Jack died. I’d begged and pleaded with it to stop or reverse, but nothing interfered with time or stopped its progression, leaving me feeling that I was living on an airport moving walkway--always moving forward, until the walkway eventually ended. I gazed backward, trying to see Jack, but time dragged me further away from him. Now, I’d look back at Avi and pray that time would not dull my memories.

  The sliding door behind me opened. Avi’s dreadlocks swished against my neck as his lips found my weak spot behind my ear. “Hey, beautiful. I missed you in bed.” He set his coffee on the small table next to me before plopping into the chair across from me.

  Barefoot and shirtless, he looked like he walked out of a priceless painting, hanging in the Louvre. “Sorry, I woke a while ago and didn’t want to disturb you. Jerusalem is always beautiful, but I’ll miss the mornings the most.”

  He reached over and clasped my hand. “We have a few more places to conquer before dinner at my sister’s house tonight. Aviva told Rivka that you’re a runner. She texted this morning, asking if you wanted to run with her before dinner?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  I’ll text her back and get the time. She can pick you up here.” He smiled and sipped the coffee. “I’m going to miss waking to fresh coffee.”

  “I could make breakfast.”

  “Will you cook naked?”

  I slapped his arm. “No, but if you gush over my wonderful cooking, I’ll meet you in the bedroom, after the dishes are in the dishwasher.”

  “Deal.”

  I cooked. He set the table and outlined our plans for the day. He seemed to be, as my mom would say, “floating on cloud nine.”

  Avi attacked the omelet, Israeli salad, and toast. I picked at mine and pushed it around the plate. “Are you finished?” he asked, while loading his plate into the dishwasher.

  “I guess.”

  He whisked it away from me. “The food was amazing, gourmet, the best, five stars!” He grabbed my hand and pulled me off the stool. “I complimented the food, and put the dishes in the dishwasher.” He scooped me in
to his arms. “Now, back to bed.”

  ***

  A couple hours later, we left the apartment and walked to the Kotel. He said there was one more section of the Old City that I had to see before leaving Jerusalem. But first, he suggested we make a quick stop at the Western Wall.

  We entered the Old City through Jaffa Gate and wandered down the narrow stone streets. When we reached the Tower of David, I stopped, looked up at the top of the minaret. A lump formed in my throat--a sight I would never see again. “Excuse me a minute.” I walked across the narrow street and stroked my hand against the stone wall of the tower constructed by long-forgotten people and named for a man who never stepped inside. “I will never forget you,” I whispered to an unknown listener.

  Avi clasped my hand until we reached the Western Wall security gate. After nine days in Israel, I realized that metal detectors and x-ray machines didn’t bother me anymore, nor did the eighteen-year-old kids walking around the streets in military uniforms with automatic weapons dangling from their shoulders. I felt completely safe during the entire trip, well, except for the brief encounter with the camels on the way to the Dead Sea.

  I checked my pockets for loose change, placed my bag on the x-ray machine conveyer belt, and walked through the metal detector. As I pulled my bag off the belt, I expected to see Avi behind me. Instead, two other people passed through the metal detector before I spotted him, standing with his back to me speaking with the security guard.