Hope Valley

by Haviva Ner-David

  “Talya said we’d find you at the beach. We came to get you. To bring you home. A week is long enough, Tikvah. Please come home.”

  Tikvah was glad Alon had come. “Come in the water with me.” She hoped he heard her from the shore. “It’s been too long.”

  Tikvah detected surprise, and then delight, in the way her husband’s body straightened and shifted forward at her invitation.

  “You’re not cold?” His voice, however, was hesitant. “I’ll help you out.” Barefoot, he waded a bit into the surf and motioned for her to come ashore.

  The sun was dropping lower in the sky, and Tikvah was feeling chilled, but she did not want to get out. She wanted Alon to come in, for them to be in the water together. “No, Alon. I’m fine. Come in. Please.”

  Alon stripped to his boxers and threw his T-shirt and khakis back to the sand, next to her walking stick. He swam out to where Tikvah was floating, took her hand, and pulled her further into the waves. They held each other in the water, drifting, riding the waves together. Cane was playing at the water’s edge, running in and out of the surf, trying to decide whether or not to brave the water.

  “We miss you, Tikvah. Please come home.”

  “We?”

  “Cane and I are getting to know each other with you gone. Someone had to take care of her.”

  Tikvah smiled. “I was hoping you would, Alon. Thank you.”

  They were looking up at the azure sky. It was a cloudless day. No signs of a first rain, but the summer’s heat had broken.

  “I’ve had time to think, too,” Alon said. “I’ve been so afraid of losing all that’s dear to me. The house, the business, Talya. But more than anything, you. It clouded my vision. But then, when I lost control and you had the attack, it helped me see how my fear wasn’t preventing the loss. It was just making me suffer more. Making you suffer, too. I’ve even been able to talk to the guy since I realized it was that or lose my daughter. We sat over coffee before I came out here. He makes a good cup, actually.”

  “He has a name,” Tikvah reminded him, gently. “Mahmoud. Or Udi. And he’s her husband now, Alon.”

  Alon raised his eyebrows. “If you consider floating off to Cyprus a real wedding.”

  “They do. And the State does. So, you may as well get used to it. I’m sure they would appreciate if we hosted a more formal affair. At the house. We could invite his family, their friends.”

  “Shwai, shwai,” Alon said.

  Ruby had taught Tikvah that saying. She missed her friend already. “Since when do you speak Arabic?” She looked at her husband quizzically.

  “They teach it in the army. Another way to know your enemy, they say.”

  “Well, I’ve found it’s also a way to know your enemy is not as much of an enemy as you thought . . . So how about it? A garden wedding. We can use the new clubhouse, set up tables on the grass . . .”

  “I am definitely not ready for that, Tikvah. But I admit I was such a fool, thinking he had kidnapped her.”

  “Not such a fool, Alon,” Tikvah said. “I had the same thoughts. Ruby too was suspicious of him, even. We’re in the middle of a second intifada now. We are not crazy for being wary. But we also can’t let fear rule our lives.”

  Alon pulled Tikvah close. “There is real danger out there. Terrorism is just going to get worse now. I hate to say it, but this is not a good time to be mixing with Arabs. And what about their children? No one will accept their child in this political climate.”

  “Well, then they won’t accept me either, because I am also a mixed breed. Like Cane over there.” She looked at Cane, and Alon did, too. The dog was still running in and out of the water. Some Canaans like water, some don’t, she remembered Alon telling her once. Cane was figuring out for herself how deep she wanted to go today.

  “That’s different,” Alon said. “No one has to know about that. It’s all in the past.”

  Alon had said that to her the day they met, that stories from the past were not important. She had not agreed then, and she did not agree now. “But I want them to know, Alon. It’s my history, part of my story. Something was created when my parents, my biological parents, fell in love. And something was broken when they were forced apart so tragically. It was not by accident that I ended up back in Jamal’s house. In our house. But I can’t live there without somehow making amends to Ruby and her family.”

  Alon had a pensive look on his face. “I have something to tell you, Tikvah.” He was holding her now in the water, her head resting on his shoulder. His hair was the color of wet clay—aside from the patches of gray—like that day in the watering hole, and it was the same length it had been then, too; although his hair line was starting to recede slightly. So much had changed, yet so much had also stayed the same.

  She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “Yes, Alon. I want to hear.”

  “It’s my story, too. That’s what I came here to tell you. My father was involved in the battle when the Haganah captured Yakut al-Jalil.”

  “Your father? I thought you knew nothing about him.”

  “That’s not entirely true. I knew something about him, but not much. But when Ruby said the name of the village that day in the cellar, I remembered my mother had mentioned that name, too, the few times she ever talked about why she kicked my father out. I knew there was a village on our land, but I had not realized it was that one. After I dropped you here, I went to the IDF archives to check it out. He was the dog handler during that raid. It was under his watch that the dogs went wild.”

  Tikvah gasped. She remembered reading something about the dogs in that book in the Haifa library. Her mother had mentioned them, too, in her letter. And Jamal, in his diary. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. They went crazy. Apparently, there was food hidden underneath the mosque flooring in a secret cellar. The villagers were storing canned goods, salted meats and fish, in case of a siege. The soldiers thought the dogs were going wild because they smelled weapons. They were searching frantically for weapons but couldn’t find any. They only got angrier and started shooting the men when they refused to say where the weapons were hidden. One by one. And that only made the dogs more crazy.”

  “Yes, that fits the story I heard.”

  “It’s all there, in the archives. Even if the IDF did not publicize it, it’s all in their records. There were bombs falling, too. That was something I never heard anyone say.”

  “Yes. I didn’t tell you, but Jamal had a diary. It was hidden in the cellar. That’s what Ruby and I were looking for that day. Well, we found it. Jamal mentioned the bombs in his diary. And, the dogs. That is why it’s so important to get his diary published. I know Ruby’s brother, my half-brother, is working on that.”

  They floated in silence for a while longer as they absorbed all that had just been said.

  “But somehow I don’t feel that’s enough,” Tikvah finally added. “That day that you found Ruby and me in the cellar, I had invited her to the house to discuss an idea I had. An Arab-Jewish Galilean Arts Cooperative. A place where artists can meet to create and display their art across cultural, religious, and national divides. Maybe we can even create an exhibit together, dealing with our joint trauma. And I want to create a small museum, with the history of Yakut al-Jalil. Photos, stories. Artifacts like the diary, and my mother’s rosary.”

  “The rosary that she gave to Jamal on their last night together? You have it? The one she wrote about in her letter?”

  “Yes. It was with the diary. We can put all of these things there, in the center, on display. It seems nothing like that exists. There are no memorials or testaments to the village, to all that was lost. No one has told the story.”

  “Okay. So . . . ?”

  “I want to do it on our land. Mine and Ruby’s land.”

  Alon’s face dropped. “I see . . .”

  “What, Alon? It’s the least we can do . . .”

  “I want you to come home, Tikvah. But a memorial to the village? Tha
t would never fly over at the moshav. You know that. You saw what they did to that Arab family who wanted to move in. The family felt threatened. They’ve resold the house already, to a Jewish family. We could lose our house all together if we make trouble. Especially now, with Talya and an intifada and all. Promise me you’ll come home. We’ll figure it all out then. I’ll be able to think more clearly once I know you’re home. Please come back with me and Cane.”

  “You and Cane?”

  “Yes. Me and Cane.”

  They both looked around for Cane. She was inching her way into the surf.

  “You never told me what happened in Lebanon.”

  Alon looked away. “I have my reasons . . .”

  Tikvah looked pleadingly at her husband. “Let me in, Alon. I want to know you. All of you. Even the hard stuff, the ugly stuff. Tell me what happened to Roi.”

  Alon shuddered. Neither of them had uttered that name in seventeen years.

  “I couldn’t talk about it.”

  Tikvah squeezed his shoulders, encouragingly. “Can you now? Please, Alon.”

  Alon took a deep breath. “We trained dogs to do the dirty work for us. Like my father did with his dogs. We were sent to destroy a terrorist outpost near Beirut. They were hiding out in caves in the mountains.” He took another breath. “I was against it from the start, but the decision came from higher up. It was a suicide mission. For the dogs, that is. We attached the packs of explosives to them and said our last goodbyes.”

  “Oh, no.” Tikvah shook her head. “You couldn’t do that, Alon. How did you do that?”

  “That was their job. That is what we trained them to do. I couldn’t argue. I knew all along it could come to that. Human lives came before the dogs.” Alon closed his eyes.

  “I don’t believe you believe that, Alon.”

  Alon continued. “I thought putting those explosive packs on him would be the hardest thing I would have to do in my life. But I was wrong.”

  Tikvah put her arms around Alon’s wet trembling shoulders. It took several minutes before he could collect himself enough to speak again. They drifted as she waited. She noticed Cane had finally made her way into the water and was doggy-paddling toward them. Apparently, she not only liked water but knew how to keep herself afloat.

  “I watched Roi moving towards the caves. I had my gun loaded and ready to shoot. As he neared where we knew the outpost was, I did not know what to pray for. I knew I should be praying for the explosives to go off just at the right time and take as many Hezbollah scum with them as possible. But I couldn’t do it. I kept hoping Roi’s explosives would be faulty, that they wouldn’t go off. And they didn’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The whole plan went bust. Some of the dogs didn’t even go where they were meant to go. Others were killed right away by gunfire from the caves. And some, like Roi, made it to the caves. But their explosives did not go off. To this day, no one knows why or whose fault it was. But I do. If I hadn’t prayed for a miracle, those explosives would have detonated, and the mission would have been a success.”

  “Oh, Alon.”

  “I couldn’t go back after that. I knew that when it came down to the moment of truth, I could not sacrifice my dog.”

  “So what happened to Roi?” Tikvah asked, squeezing Alon’s shoulder.

  Alon paused. He took a deep breath and turned to Tikvah. “I killed Roi, Tikvah. I had to. He was suffering.”

  “Suffering?”

  “He was shot in the battle. So was I, as you know. We were shot by the same Hezbollah terrorist. He took us both for dead after he shot us, so he left. I crawled over to Roi, said goodbye, and shot him. I told him it was for the best. I think he understood. His chest was ripped open, but his heart was still beating. I had to stop the suffering. It would have been better had the explosives gone off. That way, at least he would have taken some terrorists with him. But my secret wish thwarted the plan and increased his suffering. I couldn’t protect him, and I can’t protect you. And I could not stand to see him suffer.”

  Tikvah held Alon tighter. “But you did stand by him, Alon. Until the very end.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Alon wrapped his arms around Tikvah. She felt his solid strength enveloping her frail body. He kissed her with blue lips, which made Tikvah realize how cold she was, too. She was shivering. “Now let’s get you inside and get something warm into you.”

  Tikvah smiled up at him. “Is that a proposition?”

  Alon looked startled, but he grinned. “Take it as you wish.” Then he laughed. Tikvah laughed too. When was the last time they had made each other laugh?

  Alon carried Tikvah out of the water, into this new chapter of their shared life. Cane followed close behind them.

  BEFORE DINNER, TIKVAH made her way, slowly, hobbling with her walking stick, up the path to the clubhouse, the one which Alon had been building for the past several months. She was back at Galilean Dream Cabins. At least for a while. Alon had begged her to come home. It was the least she could do after he told her his story. How had he kept that inside for all of those years? Even with all of his hammering, sawing, and running.

  When he had come in to wash up for dinner, he said the clubhouse was finally done. He had been working on it continually since they got home. Except for eating and sleeping, and some passionate nights after it was too dark to work outside. No wine necessary. He even skipped his morning run to finish building the clubhouse today, he said. He really wanted her to see it.

  Tikvah noted the sky as she walked. It was turning gray as the sun started to set, and long dark clouds were spread like woolen blankets across the color-streaked horizon. The sunlight coming through made her feel as if she were walking into a dream.

  When she reached the front door of the clubhouse building, she stood and marveled at Alon’s craftsmanship. He had finished every last detail himself: the carvings on the wooden door, the smoothly polished branch he had installed as a handrail for the steps going up the front porch, the sign that hung by a thick rope. It read:

  HOPE VALLEY

  TWO WOMEN, ONE STORY

  Could it be?

  Tikvah opened the door and went inside. The smell of freshly cut and varnished oak filled her nostrils. Heavy wooden beams ran the length of the ceiling. There was still sawdust on the wooden floors. It was a large, mostly empty space but filled with promise.

  Tikvah looked around her. Lining two of the walls were Ruby’s paintings, the ones she had bequeathed to Tikvah. Alon must have hung them—a thought that made her eyes water and her heart quicken. These paintings, too, were done on large canvases, befitting the expansive landscapes they depicted. As powerful as they had looked to her when she had unwrapped and examined each, one by one, seeing them now, displayed as a whole, and from a distance, took her breath away. They told the story of her friendship with Ruby, from beginning to end.

  There she and Ruby were: two sisters foraging; two sisters walking along the beach; two sisters sitting under the Tree of Hope in the Valley of Hope, reading their father’s diary, with a shimmering golden cross looming large behind them; two sisters kneeling on the ground, petting a beautiful gray Canaan-Shepherd with a white tuft of fur between her ears. But the largest painting, which Alon had hung on a sloping section of the ceiling, was the most striking: two sisters prostrating themselves in prayer at the edge of a forest, with the bluest sapphire sky an eternal testament to their bond. Just as she remembered it.

  The other two walls of the room were empty, as if calling out to be filled. Tikvah remembered what Ruby had written in her note: Side-by-side with your work. Your new work.

  She walked around the large room. She could picture it now. This would be the gallery space. They could hold lectures here, too. Gatherings. Groups of Arab and Jewish artists . . .

  There were two smaller rooms off the main area. Above the threshold of one was a sign that read: VILLAGE MEMORIAL. She looked inside. I
t was empty, except for a small table on which was sitting the envelope with Tikvah’s mother’s letter under a glass casing. Tikvah’s hands shook as she took her mother’s rosary out of her pocket and placed it, too, beneath the glass. She would put Jamal’s diary, the original, there, too, she decided. She was sure Raja would agree, once he put out a printed version. After all, Jamal was her biological father, too. And Raja, her half-brother. Perhaps he could help her find old photographs and other memorabilia from the village. They could even video tape testimonies from the older villagers. Her head was filling with ideas, like it used to with images. Perhaps the two would appear together now, interwoven, giving her painting deeper meaning and purpose than it had ever had before.

  She walked over the threshold of the second room, beneath a sign that read: ART STUDIO. She held her breath.

  Against one wall of this room stood shelves. On the shelves, arranged like a still life, were fresh tubes of paint, jars of new brushes, and bottles of oil and turpentine sparkling in the beams of sunlight shining through the clouds and coming through the window. Beside the shelves was a work table with a new palette and an assortment of paints and brushes resting on its top. Within arm’s reach of the table sat a beautifully crafted chair with Alon’s signature on it. It was facing an easel, upon which lay a canvas, stretched and nailed and ready.

  Tikvah walked toward the easel, as if in a trance. She grabbed the back of the chair and sat, letting herself be held by the sturdy frame, and the cushion which molded itself to her form.

  Then the tears came. She cried for her friend, whose soul had already passed from her body. She cried for her daughter, for Talya and Udi, and what they would have to overcome to stay together. She cried for Alon, and for her mother, for her two fathers—for all they had been through and kept inside. And she cried for herself, for all she had lost and all she had gained. All she had yet to accomplish and to lose.

  The tears kept coming. When they stopped, she lifted her head and closed her eyes. That is when the picture came. Like it used to. She hugged herself. She squeezed some paints onto the palette, and with a shaky but confident hand, chose a brush.