Ashes of the Red Heifer

by Shannon Baker

  “Okay, we’ll talk about it later.”

  She could tell he didn’t want to go to sleep but he couldn’t fight it. Oh, the benefits of modern medicine. She brushed back his curls and gently rubbed his forehead until the worry wrinkles disappeared and his breathing evened out.

  She wanted to gather him up and protect him like she would a small child. His body beaten, face swollen. And for what? This morning she had the end in sight. They’d cure BA23 and save countless human lives, not to mention the entire cattle population. How could it fall apart so quickly? She couldn’t take away Hassan’s pain and she may not be able to do anything about the vaccine, either.

  David stood at the doorway with her coffee cup in his hand. “Annie.”

  She looked at Hassan, his breath coming thankfully even and effortless. She put a finger to her lips and walked toward the doorway in her stocking feet. She accepted the coffee David held.

  She took a sip, padding down the hall to the waiting room. “Poor Hassan. He hurts and he’s confused and scared.”

  David walked beside her. “Scared?”

  She shrugged and crossed the waiting room to a window. “He thinks someone is out to kill him.”

  “I don’t know where he’d get that idea.” Sarcasm tinged David’s voice. “After all, he was targeted by the men on the bus and beaten to a pulp.”

  A fist of worry punched Annie’s gut. “Do you think he’s in danger?”

  David shook his head. “I think the hospital is a safe place.”

  She turned and started for the door. “Maybe we should stay with him.”

  David put his hand out to stop her. “Wait. There’s something I want to say.”

  The serious tone of his voice stopped her. He wrapped his hands lightly around her biceps. The blue in his eyes deepened and he stared into hers. “With everything that’s happened this might not be the time to do this. But then, it’s because of everything that I know for sure this is what I want.”

  Her heart thundered against her ribs. Whatever he was planning to say was going to be big. Maybe he was saying he realized she caused too many problems and was such a loser he didn’t want anything more to do with her.

  David didn’t break eye contact. His grip tightened slightly. “I think you know how I feel about you.”

  How did he feel about her? She had no clue.

  His voice got softer. “I love you, Annie.”

  Wham! Right upside the head. Love. Hassan had just said the same thing and it had washed over her. This confession hit like a tsunami.

  “When I thought I lost you in the bombing I couldn’t imagine going on. This sounds impulsive and it probably seems like it’s coming out of left field. But Annie…”

  He paused.

  Annie was stuck way back at the L word. Suddenly she felt trapped. He said he loved her but what if she believed him and it was a reaction to the bomb and then he decided he didn’t? That kind of pain, on the heels of losing BA 23, was more than she could bear.

  He squeezed tighter and she looked into his eyes, brimming with tears. “Annie, will you marry me?”

  Those words broke her paralysis. She felt a fear that had to be greater than what Hassan felt minutes before. She pulled back. “No,” she said and slid on the heel of her sock, practically running from the room.

  She started down the hall and stopped short. Two armed policemen stood at the nurses’ station outside Hassan’s room. One leaned over the counter speaking to a nurse. The other studied the doorway to Hassan’s room.

  Assuming they wanted to ask questions about what happened on the desert last night, Annie shoved David’s confession into a container in her head and latched the lid. She’d deal with that later. She hurried down the hall toward them.

  The one speaking to the nurse noticed her approach. She put her hand out to shake. “I’m Dr. Grant. I was on the bus last night.”

  He nodded. “I see. Then you know Hassan al Jabari?”

  The other guard kept some distance from her. He divided his attention between her and Hassan’s door.

  “Yes. We were in the barn when the bomb hit.”

  He squinted at her, looking her up and down. “You both were in the barn at the time? Was that unusual to be working so early?”

  She shrugged. “We had a cow calving.”

  He spoke slowly, as if trying to understand. “You say al Jabari was with you? In the barn?”

  She nodded, now impatient. “Did you find out who those gunmen were and what they wanted?”

  He looked confused. “What gunmen?”

  Irritation crept into her voice. “The four men who hijacked the bus yesterday and nearly killed Hassan.”

  He waved his hand in dismissal. “They probably found out who Hassan al Jabari really is.”

  “Who Hassan really is? What are you talking about?”

  He narrowed his eyes in skepticism. “You know nothing of al Jabari’s activities?”

  Paranoid. Insulting. Her temper barely held back. “Of course I know his activities. We work together.”

  “The Silim is behind yesterday’s bombing. Your dear friend, Hassan,” he spit the name as if it tasted sour, “is a known member of the Silim. This is just one more notch to his belt of terror.”

  Annie almost laughed at his melodrama but he was serious. She leaned in, reading the nametag above his shirt pocket. “Listen, Officer Levin. I’ve known Hassan for 15 years. Believe me, he’s no terrorist.”

  The other policeman drew closer and took out a small notebook. His nametag identified him as Kaufman. He clicked a pen and started to write.

  “What do you intend to do to Hassan?” Annie asked, hands on hips.

  Kaufman flipped his notebook closed and turned toward Hassan’s door. Levin started after him. “Place him under arrest as a political prisoner.”

  Arrest? Politcal prisoner? Oh no they weren’t. “I want to see your badges, some kind of documentation you’re real cops.”

  They ignored her and continued toward Hassan’s room. Annie hurried to stand in the doorway, blocking their entry. “You can’t do that. Hassan is innocent. I want to see some kind of warrant or proof.”

  Kaufman put his hands on Annie’s arms and firmly moved her to the side. “He will be treated as any other Muslim terrorist is treated.”

  Annie couldn’t let them take Hassan. She wasn’t even sure they were real cops. She had to stop this. “David! Hurry!”

  David ran out of the waiting room down the hall toward them.

  “They think Hassan is a terrorist,” she hollered to him. Annie lurched toward the cops, catching Levin by the sleeve of his shirt and yanking him out of the door. She grabbed for Kaufman. “You have no right.”

  Strong hands latched onto her wrists, jerking them behind her back. She struggled against the restraint. Levin’s voice was quiet and threatening. “If you do not stop interfering we will arrest you as well.”

  Kaufman continued into Hassan’s room.

  David caught up with them. “What…”

  Kaufman’s voice had a hard edge of anger. “He’s gone!”

  SIX

  Annie burst out the front doors of the hospital and ran to a cab that had just let out a well-dressed elderly woman.

  David tried to keep up. “Where are we going?”

  Annie slid into the back seat and David got in on the other side. She leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “The Dome of the Rock.”

  The driver shook his head. “There is trouble there today, miss. I will not take you there.”

  “Why there?” David sounded alarmed.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of bills and started sorting to see what she had. “How much? I’ll pay extra.”

  The driver, a beak-nosed man with questionable hygiene hesitated. “Two hundred fifty shekels.”

  David broke in. “That’s outrageous.”

  Annie counted what she had. She mumbled to David, “It doesn’t matter. We’ve got to go.”<
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  “You can give me sixty U.S. dollars if you prefer. It is dangerous in the Old City today. Two fifty for risking so much is a bargain,” the driver said.

  “What’s happening?” David asked.

  The drive shrugged. “It is the Jews making trouble.”

  “I need thirty more,” Annie said to David.

  He scowled at her and pulled out his wallet. “Going there now isn’t smart.”

  She exchanged Hassan’s crumbled note from the hospital room for David’s wallet and extracted the money. She slapped the cash into the waiting hand of the driver. “Let’s go.”

  David sat back and stared at the note. “It’s from Hassan?”

  She nodded. The note had been scribbled in Hassan’s nearly illegible hand. It said to meet him at Al Aksa in front of The Dome of the Rock.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “In my boot.”

  “I think you should turn it over to the police.” David’s voice indicated that he knew she wouldn’t.

  Innocent, timid Hassan could barely navigate normal life hassles such as getting phone service or applying for grants. Her heart ached for the fear and confusion he must feel now. “He needs me,” she said, ending the conversation.

  She stared out the window at the strange mix that was Jerusalem. Separated by neighborhoods and sometimes tangled together, the groups were distinct. Secular Jews dressed in what looked like regular American wear, khakis, short sleeve shirts, and sandals. Religious Jews decked out in long black coats, slacks, and hats that looked like something Abe Lincoln might have worn. Some had long side curls, others short beards. Greek Orthodox Priests wore long black robes, huge crosses and bizarre headdresses. Tourists looked as they did everywhere, cameras hanging around their necks, their eyes searching unfamiliar surroundings, trying not to miss anything. Women wore everything from dresses and shorts to long flowing robes. Arabs donned kayiffs of different colors to cover their heads and many had dark, bushy mustaches.

  The annoying music blaring from the radio stopped abruptly. Annie heard the well-modulated voice of a news reporter announce the radio station. News was broadcast hourly everywhere in Jerusalem, seems there was always something going on. With the chance of the station being Arabic, Hebrew or something else, Annie felt lucky this one was in English.

  “…special bulletin. A crowd has gathered at the Temple Mount led by Temple restoration activist Chaim Borstein. In response to yesterday’s bombing of Kibbutz Shalom-Hagolan in the Golan Heights, Borstein is once again demanding the Palestinian Authority turn over the Temple Mount to the Israeli government. Chaim Borstein and his partner Eli Elizoam were responsible for the demonstration late last year involving laying of the cornerstone for the Third Temple that led to rioting in the Old City, resulting in seventeen deaths.”

  “This isn’t a good idea,” David repeated.

  Her stomach felt filled with hard pebbles. It didn’t matter what was happening in the Old City she had no choice but to go to Hassan. “You don’t have to come with me.”

  His mouth turned up in that devastating half smile. “I can’t let you go by yourself.”

  “Sure you can. I’ll be okay.” She sounded way more confident than she felt.

  David took her hand. “I have no doubt you’ll be fine, it’s the others I’m worried about.”

  The driver pulled to a stop. “Fifty shekels,” he said.

  Annie looked around. “This isn’t the Dome of the Rock.”

  “It’s as close as I go. Now, fifty shekels.”

  David opened the door.

  “I already paid you,” Annie said.

  His face took on an incredulous look. “But that was before we heard news of such dangerous conflict.”

  David climbed out and closed his door.

  For Pete’s sake. She’d been drawn into one of those conflicts that arose in this city at every turn. These people would argue that ten pennies didn’t equal a dime just to win the fight. “You said two fifty, I gave you two fifty and you didn’t even take me to the Dome.”

  He became agitated. “I risked my life for you and you are cheating me!”

  Annie opened her door and climbed out. He glared at her and waved his arms “You are robbing me! Expecting me to take you all over the city then holding back on paying me. You are an American. Bah!”

  “Yeah, bah!” She slammed the door. “Shalom,” she said in disgust as the cab roared away from the curb, spitting dirt on her jeans.

  They stood down the street from a guard booth manned by two soldiers. The men held their automatic weapons with both hands and kept their attention riveted to the street. They were definitely ready for trouble. But the street looked quiet, people coming and going, no different from the rest of the city.

  David surveyed the area and his gaze rested on a food stand. He put a hand on Annie’s elbow and urged her down the street. “Let’s eat.”

  Food! Hassan was in trouble and David wanted to eat?

  David hurried toward the stand. “If you look like an ordinary person the guards won’t be that interested. We can stroll right past them.”

  Annie followed him across a street. She felt jittery as a Thoroughbred in the starting gate. “I thought they were demonstrating in the Old City. Looks quiet to me.”

  David directed her to the stand and the spicy smells. “The Temple Mount is still quite a ways from here.”

  David held up three fingers to the man behind the stand. He paid the vendor and took the falafel, handing one to Annie. Annie felt a twinge of hunger and the falafel, a combination of crushed chickpeas, tomatoes and cucumbers in pita bread, fried crispy on the outside, made her mouth water. She accepted the vegetable-filled pita and moved away from the stand, antsy to get on her way. “Thanks.”

  She set a quick pace and they ate while walking. The sun warmed the streets, but the temperature remained pleasant. Annie wrinkled her nose at the smells of traffic, cooking and so many people living close together. Everywhere she went men gaped at her. As a foreign woman, they seemed to think she was fair game for unabashed staring, licking of lips, even comments. She tried to ignore it, but it made her skin prickle. Jerusalem probably wasn’t worse than any other city, but it wasn’t open prairie.

  They came to an intersection with a mosque on one corner and a gas station on another. They hurried past the Garden Tomb, a shaded, rocky garden where many believe Jesus was was entombed before his resurrection.

  David stuffed the last of his falafel into his mouth and gulped it down. “I love this city.”

  Annie took another bite of her pita, letting the crisp cucumbers and tangy tomatoes fill her mouth. “It’s a city. Can’t see why everyone has to fight over it.”

  Annie scowled at a mustached man in a red-checked kayiff, who ran his tongue over his lips in irritating sexual innuendo. She looked around. “Is this the Damascus Gate?”

  They walked down wide steps onto a stone courtyard, noisy with activity. The gate opened onto the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. It was a huge stone structure adorned with turrets along the top.

  People filled the courtyard, some hurriedly passing through, others stopping to inspect the wares of the street vendors lining the courtyard. The plaza narrowed into the gate and passage into the Old City. Usual sounds of conversation and haggling floated on the thin air. Sunlight dappled the offerings of merchants, arranged on blankets spread on the ground or on portable tables. Several merchants put up colorful umbrellas to shield their wares from the sun. Annie saw everything from legumes and vegetables, to clothing, household goods, copper cookware, jewelry, and flowers. The smell of spices, delicious coffee, Middle Eastern food, dust and sweat wafted around them. It reminded Annie of a giant flea market back home.

  Two soldiers watched everything carefully, their guns in plain sight. They listened to a radio alive with an excited commentator. His agitated inflection made Annie nervous, but she couldn’t understand the Hebrew he spoke. It couldn’t be more trouble at the Dom
e, could it? The people in the plaza didn’t act the least bit jumpy.

  The crowds closed around her, body smells more offensive to her than a face full of manure. The constant leers of men made her feel nervous as a cow in a pen full of bulls. “Let’s get moving.”

  They reached the cool of the tunnel and passed to the other side into a large plaza filled with more merchants. The narrow walks of the Muslim Quarter seemed more like corridors in a building than sidewalks. The walls on either side rose up covering the passages in shadow.

  They walked through congested, narrow streets lined with ancient buildings of sandstone bricks.

  “This street is the Via Dolorosa. It supposedly follows the path Jesus took on his way to the crucifixion,” David said.

  A chill shook Annie, surprising her. She attributed it to awe at the age of the cobblestones on the street and the history that had passed by the buildings. Or maybe it was the memory of the place itself seeping into her, of violence these streets had seen over the centuries. And the threat that at any moment, more death and pain could explode without warning.

  A guard sat in a folding chair along a boarded-up gate in a stone wall. Annie and David kept walking, but his presence stuck in Annie’s mind.

  She looked over her shoulder at the guard. “What is he doing there?”

  “Probably guarding the entrance to the tunnels.”

  “What tunnels?”

  “Archaeologists found tunnels running under the Temple Mount. Some are water systems that ran to the Second Temple so they could wash the altar after sacrifices. These tunnels run under the Old City and under the Temple Mount. A few years ago, guards on the Mount heard a noise in a cistern and when they investigated, they found faithful Jews digging, trying to recover vessels from the Second Temple.” He took a breath and his voice hardened. “It ended up in a huge riot. Eighty people died. The Israeli government ordered the tunnels sealed and guarded.”

  Excavations revealing ancient structures along with new construction made the Old City look like a work in progress. Old and new mixed amid occasional palm and cypress trees, hanging baskets of flowers and the ever-present crowds and dust.