The Tenth Song

by Ragen, Naomi

  “But why? What’s happening?”

  “There is someone up there—one of those charismatic types—irresistible apparently, even to my levelheaded wife. And Kayla has always been impulsive, easy to manipulate, you know that. She is so vulnerable right now. Just the kind of person who gets preyed on by charming opportunists in such situations. In this condition, she could ruin her life in a minute. Please, Seth, if you love her . . . she needs you now more than she has ever needed anyone. She needs to be reminded of all she has to lose.”

  He had papers coming up. He had work to do. He was at the end of a long, hard slog upward. And now, he was being asked to risk losing it all for emotional reasons. He was being asked to be impractical and selfless.

  It went against every bone in his body.

  But even after how she had treated him, he knew he still wanted her, very much. And he wasn’t used to losing the things he wanted. He was angry with himself. He had been given a choice, and he had, for a split second, made the wrong one. He had wavered. And she had seen that. He didn’t know if that split second could ever be undone.

  When he reached the corner, the snow began to blow in earnest, frosting his eyelashes, blinding him. It seemed as if the universe had chosen him as its foe, throwing all it had against him. He turned around, feeling defeated, retracing his steps toward his comfortable room and the warm lamplight shining on his notebooks and study sheets. Then, in a moment of decisive contempt for his own weakness, he swiveled, marching forward across the street and entering the offices of the campus travel agent.

  He woke up in Tel Aviv just as the plane began its short descent, having taken pills his research had found to be the answer to jet lag. The cloudless skies and blue sea filled his heart with irrational spring-break joy. Coldly, he reminded himself that he was not by any means on a legitimate leave from his studies. He had not even had time to notify his professors, something he planned to rectify by e-mail just as soon as he landed and could connect to the Internet. He hoped they would have a touch of romance in their souls. Besides, the third year wasn’t like the first or second year in law school. There was a certain amount of flexibility. At least, this is what he told himself.

  But none of that was important. He now applied the secret formula which had garnered success for him ever since he could remember: He resolutely set his goal. He always took on only one goal at a time. Once he pinpointed what it was he wanted to achieve, he was absolutely focused and relentless. His goal now was to bring his fiancée back home, convincing her to pick up their lives where they had left off. Nothing else mattered.

  “Do you speak English?” he asked as cab drivers accosted him left and right at the exit gate. “Listen, I need to get to this address—” He held out the piece of paper.

  “Two hundred dollars,” one answered in perfect English.

  “What? Forget it.” The others shrugged when they heard this, walking away toward more amenable customers.

  He walked along, collaring a few more drivers, until he realized that all they heard was his American accent and all they saw was his cashmere sweater and North Face jacket. It was way too warm for this climate anyhow, he thought, taking it off and stuffing it into his backpack. Finally, a woman who had overheard stopped him. “Why don’t you just take a bus to the central bus station in Jerusalem, then grab another bus to the Dead Sea? It will cost you a fraction and won’t take much longer,” she said kindly.

  “Thanks very much!” It sounded like a plan.

  He changed some cash at a money changer’s and got directions to the buses. It didn’t take long for the bus to Jerusalem to pull up. He was a little hesitant about leaving his suitcase and backpack in the luggage hold at the side of the bus while he boarded, but overcame it. If it got stolen, it got stolen. He touched his inside pocket, feeling the reassuring bulge of his credit cards and passport.

  He had never been to Israel. Not once. Not that he hadn’t wanted to go, but there never seemed to be the right time. When all his friends were doing their year after high school, he was in summer school getting advanced placement in calculus and working as a lifeguard at a local pool to save for tuition.

  He looked out of the bus window. The landscape seemed almost countrified, with farms and open fields all along the route to Jerusalem. This surprised him. He had imagined a bigger place, taller buildings. After all, Israel had the reputation of being a whiz in high-tech and biotech companies. A world leader even. As a Jew, he had always been secretly proprietary about that, as if somehow he too deserved credit simply for being of the same race.

  Jerusalem piqued his curiosity. So much fuss. So many battles. So many people wanting a piece of her. The ambition of the world in laying claim to her made him wonder what great natural resource she held that would stir such deep and unrelenting drives across the planet and history. That wasn’t immediately apparent when the bus pulled into Jerusalem’s central bus station. The much-touted, worldwide source of coveted real estate looked awfully ordinary: a bus terminal inside a shopping mall, with a food court, bakeries, a record shop, clothing stores. He sat down and ordered a pizza, washing it down with a Coke. The crust was a bit soggy, and the cheese some cheap substitute for mozzarella. Still, he was hungry enough to find it satisfying if not delicious.

  He wandered around, asking directions, until he found his way to the information booth. He pushed the paper with the address inside the glass barrier, but the girl shook her head. “Wait; I check.” She leaned over and spoke to the other person manning the booth, who stared at the address and shrugged. She picked up the phone and had an animated conversation with someone—perhaps her supervisor. “Okay, okay, okay,” she finally said, hanging up. “Look, mister. You take bus to Ein Gedi, or to Dead Sea. That is as close as you go tonight. Tomorrow, you take bus from there to Metzuke Madragot, at six A.M. Only come once a day.”

  “Once a day?” He thought about this. “Okay, what bus will leave me off near a hotel down there?”

  “The bus to Dead Sea. Near all hotels. You stay night?”

  That just might wind up happening, he thought. Hotels were going to be damn expensive. Maybe I should rent a car. It couldn’t be more expensive than a hotel room, he thought. That way, I could also drive us all back to the airport as soon as possible.

  More and more, the idea began to appeal to him. He knew his credit-card company had some kind of deal with Hertz and Avis. He managed to find a phone book near public phones but couldn’t get them to work. He took out his cell phone and managed to negotiate a good deal on a week’s rental. He made his way down to the rental offices by cab.

  It was a Subaru, but a nice color, and fairly new, with adequate trunk space if Kayla and her mother didn’t have too much luggage. They gave him a map, marking off directions carefully in red.

  “But I think you shouldn’t go at night . . .” The girl smiled, shaking her head, looking over the handsome young American in his beautiful preppy clothes, thinking: Brad Pitt. “It’s the desert. Wait until morning. It will be easier.”

  “Thanks for the unsolicited advice,” he said irritably, taking the keys. “Now which way do I turn when I get out of this parking lot? Right or left?”

  “Right,” she answered, insulted.

  “Thanks.” He walked out the door, not looking back.

  “You tried,” her supervisor comforted her.

  “Amerikanim.” She sighed, switching to her native Hebrew. “Imagine, going to that chur in the middle of the night! Anything could happen.”

  “Chalas,” he answered, the Arab equivalent of “forget about it.” “Did you see how he was dressed? He will find it all right. Nothing ever happens to people like that.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Success. It clings to them, like deodorant. They can’t shake it even if they want to.”

  “That makes no sense,” she replied, mystified.

  “It’s the Yankee-Doodle dandy in them. The ‘can do’ in them. They always figure thin
gs out, whether they are on top of a mountain or diving in dangerous waters. They are always the ones who come back with the fabulous stories about near disasters, their pants still pressed, their fingernails still clean.”

  “You are just jealous,” she snorted.

  “And you are in love.” He touched her forehead with his forefinger.

  She blushed, looking through the frosted glass as Seth started the car and pulled into traffic. “Good luck, Brad,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  28

  Kayla awoke earlier than usual, stirred into consciousness by the sound of muffled voices that seemed to come from everywhere. “What?” she said aloud, but the tent was empty, the two other women who had been sharing it with her gone.

  She pulled a rough blanket around her shoulders and stepped out into the soft moonlit night. Shocked, she saw a crowd had gathered. In its center was Rav Natan. She moved closer, jostling for a position that would allow her to hear what was being said. She looked around, realizing it was not only The Talmidim that were there, but also the people from the dig: Judith, Michael, and Efrat. She looked around for Daniel, but couldn’t place him in the crowd. Her mother too was nowhere to be found.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Judith.

  “Haven’t you heard? There’s been a find! Something amazing.”

  “Really? What?”

  “A cave. We need to get there before it’s closed off by the Antiquities Authority, or vandalized.”

  “There are writings, they say. Ancient prophecies,” Michael joined in, his voice shaking with excitement. “We’ll be the first in history to read them!”

  “That’s fantastic! Who found it?” Kayla responded, tingling with a strange excitement mixed with doubt. Could any of this be true?

  “A young Bedouin looking for a goat!”

  “Can you imagine?” Judith laughed. “The same exact story as the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls! Some Bedouin kid in Qumran threw stones into caves trying to chase out his lost goat, then heard a crash and went in to investigate! He found a jar full of ancient scrolls, which he sold to antiquities dealers. Luckily, this time our Bedouin has a father who once worked here, helping in the dairy. He brought the boy and his findings to Rav Natan. The Rav got Professor Milstein involved. The professor has examined some findings. I heard he was stunned.”

  “I heard he’d called it ‘the greatest find of the generation,’ ” Michael interjected, excited.

  “Rav Natan is going now. He’s bringing his whole family. He has invited all of us to join him. They’ve sent camels and donkeys ahead carrying enough food and water for everyone. Even a few tents for shade. But we should all bring our own sleeping bags and extra water. You never know.” Judith was ecstatic. “They are saying it might even be the End of Days manuscript.”

  “What’s that?” Kayla asked, intrigued.

  “The scrolls that are supposed to prophesy how and when the world will end, and what will come after. The writings were hinted at in the Dead Sea Scrolls but have never been found! So far, that is.” The tension among the listeners became almost palpable.

  Could any of this be true? Kayla wondered, her analytical lawyer’s mind clashing with her ever-hopeful, believing heart.

  “It wouldn’t be just a coincidence if the End of Days scrolls turned up now!” a woman’s voice exclaimed just behind her. Kayla turned around. It was Ariella. “It’s God’s will, because the earth and mankind are so fragile and vulnerable. There’s so little time left. There is so much corruption, such injustice, so many lies and wanton murders, the whole earth sunk in immorality, overtaken by new barbarians with no one to stand up to them.”

  Kayla heard the rambling speech, feeling a shiver crawl down her back. She had found Ariella a kind and intelligent woman for the most part; but this kind of talk made her cringe. She couldn’t help wondering, though, if there might just be some kernel of truth in it.

  “You are coming, Kayla, aren’t you?” Judith asked.

  “Yes, you must!” Ariella exclaimed. “You can’t miss this!”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured, looking around for her mother.

  “Your mother is coming. So is Daniel.” It was Ariella’s son, Ben Tzion. He wore a full backpack with huge bottles of water. In the dim light his facial scars seemed to fade.

  “How do you know?” Kayla asked him. “Have you seen my mom?”

  “She and Daniel were both just behind me when I was coming up the path. They’re on their way here.”

  “How far away is the cave?” Kayla asked.

  “About a day and a half journey by foot,” Ben Tzion informed her.

  “By foot? You mean we are all walking through the desert, now, in the middle of the night, and all day tomorrow? That’s a hike for paratroopers, not for families with kids and older people. It’s crazy!”

  “There’s no choice,” Ariella explained. “It’s through the mountains. There’s no road. No vehicle could make it.”

  “You don’t have to go. Nobody has to go,” Efrat reminded them.

  “Of course I’m going to go!” Kayla exclaimed. “But I first need to find Daniel and my mother.”

  “Isn’t that them over there?” Michael pointed toward the road up from the caravans.

  It was. Daniel was holding her mother’s arm. She looked pale in the moonlight. Kayla ran down to meet them. “Have you heard the news, Mom?”

  “Yes. Some miraculous prophecy risen up out of the desert earth . . .” She smiled.

  “That’s what they say.” Kayla nodded, smiling back. “Rav Natan is going with his family. Daniel, are you coming?”

  “Of course,” he said, nodding. “But I think your mother should stay here and rest.”

  “I’m fine.” Abigail shrugged. “Just a little indigestion. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “Are you sure?” Kayla asked, concerned, feeling a sudden new softness for her mother, feeling for the first time in her life that they were equals, on a journey together through a wilderness of wild possibilities. She respected her mother’s journey, and felt validated in her own, touched by her mother’s sudden revelation during the dance circle. For the first time, she had suddenly glimpsed her mother as a fragile, aging human being, not some invincible, all-knowing pillar of authority cast in immutable stone. In her hug, she had felt unconditional love, the kind she had despaired of ever receiving. It was also, simultaneously, an acknowledgment that her mother considered her own perfect life a failure.

  This confluence of ideas had both shocked and thrilled the daughter. For Kayla, who had been throwing herself against the unyielding wall of her parents’ perfection and expectations her entire life, that wall had suddenly collapsed, opening up vistas of freedom that she had never dared glimpse in the past. She was grateful that her mother had allowed her this vision, feeling the stirrings of something new in her heart toward her that was selfless and true. A real connection.

  “Well, we need to get ready then,” Daniel urged. “Take as much water as you can. Some food, head coverings, sleeping bags. It could take a day or two.”

  “Two? As much as that?” Kayla asked, worried.

  “Well, it depends on how fast we walk, Kayla.” He smiled.

  “Mom, do you really feel up to this?”

  “I’ll walk at my own pace. I’m not so over-the-hill that I can’t get over the hills, my dear. Don’t worry so much!” Abigail laughed.

  Daniel took Kayla’s hand and pulled her aside. “It’s not a good idea,” he whispered.

  “Why not? Is she ill?”

  “Well, she isn’t used to the desert heat. I don’t know if she’s been drinking enough.”

  “I’ll make sure she drinks, Daniel. I know her. If we insist she stay behind, she’ll take it personally. And I think she’d go anyway. She seems to need to do this.”

  He took her hand, nodding in understanding. “Then we’ll both watch over her.”

  She reached up and kissed him. ‘Than
ks. Let me get dressed and packed then.”

  She hurried to her tent, packing what she needed, and taking spares for her mother. She layered her clothes, starting out with the lightest layer and covering it with her baggy, faded sweats that she could shed as the sun rose. She filled empty bottles with water, packed some crackers and cans of hummus, then went outside to join the others.

  There in the pale moonlight, looking as dapper as if he’d just stepped out of Harvard’s Old Austin Hall, was Seth.

  At first, she thought it was a mirage.

  “Kayla?” Seth said.

  Mirages didn’t speak. “Seth! What are you doing here?”

  As he moved closer, she saw he was red-eyed, shivering in the freezing desert air. His face was streaked with sweaty grime, his pristine striped Brooks Brothers shirt collar stained by drying perspiration.

  He stared at her, rummaging furiously through the image of the woman before him for something that connected her with the lovely, cool, sophisticated girl he was engaged to marry. “Your hair!” he said, reaching out to finger a few strands of the curly, undisciplined tangle. Was it the lack of light, or was she really almost unrecognizable?

  She stepped back, tossing her head defiantly. “When did you fly in?”

  “About five hours ago.”

  His teeth were chattering from the cold, she saw with sudden sympathy. “Let me get you a blanket. You’re freezing. Come in; sit down!”

  “Come in? You mean, this is where you live, in a tent?”

  “You’re tired. Here, take something to drink?” She gave him an unopened bottle of mineral water. He uncapped it, gulping greedily.

  “I drove for hours. Got lost at least six times . . .”

  “You drove yourself here? That’s crazy!”

  “I didn’t want to waste a second. I had to see you . . .”

  “And you found the place, in the dark.” She shook her head in wonder.

  “You know I’m good with directions. At least, I thought I was. The ride was terrifying.”