Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest (24 page)

Zabronski rose, placing on the tabletop more
money than on the tab. "I do," he answered. "You've been most
helpful. Please stay, Father, and enjoy another beer or two. I've
left some extra money for you, when you get this way next time. But
be careful driving back to the monastery. If you get arrested for
drunken driving, I won't know you."

"Thank you, Inspector. I think I'll just sit
here awhile longer and take in the activity. It's rather quiet at
the monastery, you know. Will you find your car thief?"

Zabronski smiled, knowing that the monk knew
he was hunting bigger fish than a common car thief. "Why, of
course. We always do."

***

Two years before, at the age of eleven, Neif
banu Niiri, had undergone the rite of puberty and demonstrated
ability to sustain himself with food and water in the desert. Since
then, his skills in the wilderness had been further honed by
shepherding fourteen sheep and twenty-two goats in remote regions,
returning to the Ta'amireh encampment only when it was time to
sheer or slaughter animals of his flock. There was a consensus
among elders who represented individual families of the tribal
qawn
that none among Neif's contemporaries
possessed sharper eyes. After Father Benoit had disclosed to Telfik
banu al-Fahl that the killer of Neif's cousin, Mumud banu-Nazeem,
would likely visit an archeological site near Ein Arugot, the
tribal chief consulted with Nazeem banu Aziz, father of the slain
youth. Together, they agreed to move Neif's flock from its seasonal
grazing lands to the region southwest of the spring at Ein
Gedi.

Nine days had elapsed since the lad's animals
had begun grazing this new territory. Spring brought with it longer
hours of sunshine and warmer desert winds. The sheep were easy to
watch, for they instinctively flocked together; the goats were a
different story. They tended to stray, particularly during the
April mating season when both the males and females became
aggressive. Chasing down the goats required Neif to scurry about
over the rocky landscape with the agility of the desert antelopes
that had begun migrating south in substantial numbers to avoid a
growing population of humans in the northern desert. The elders
told Neif that in the past year, few humans had visited this remote
wilderness, but that he should be aware of Palestinians hiding from
the Israeli army. Neif's clansmen like to make fun of these city
Arabs, for they didn't know how to find water to drink or capture
snakes and locust to eat. Invariably, they hid for a few days, but
left soon after, thoroughly beaten not by the Israeli army, but by
the inexorable desert.

More taxing than the terrorists these days
were leopards that had come north to prey upon the growing numbers
of antelopes. On his third day in the region, Neif identified scat
of a large cat and noted its footprints in sandy soil, but had
never actually seen one of these large beasts.
Natu
, he uttered, as was his habit, it was fated that
a leopard would eventually kill one or more of his animals.
Inshallah
, only the will of Allah could
prevent it.

The sound of a car traveling at considerable
speed south along the road paralleling the Dead Sea broke the easy
reverie in Neif's pastoral routine. The vehicle eventually came
into view from the hilltop on which he was perched. It then
disappeared behind a rocky outcrop and suspiciously didn't continue
on the tarmac road farther south. Since Neif's flock was clustered
in a shallow wadi, he felt comfortable leaving it to investigate.
To do so, it was necessary to traverse a gorge then climb a rolling
hillock where he observed a metallic-colored Volkswagen and a man
gathering gear from the trunk. From the heavy knapsack the man
hoisted to his shoulders, Neif concluded he intended to stay at
least several nights.

Instinct told him to follow the newcomer but
remain out of sight. He worried that some of his flock might wander
into the path of this stranger, revealing his presence, but that,
too, was fated.
Natu.

Tim Matternly's route led along a wadi
snaking down from the western hills of Walab in the direction of
the Dead Sea. During rare rains, that are known by local nomads to
run in absolute torrents for very short periods of time, most water
evaporates before it reaches the lowest place on the planet, a
kilometer and a half below the level of the Mediterranean Sea and
the Gulf of Elat. His map and compass directed him to a star he had
marked in as the "best guess" location of Ein Arugot. If he could
confirm that it was the spring in the Greek scroll, he was
confident about locating the yeshiva nearby. A dependable supply of
sweet water was the key. And the only source of such water
mentioned on various maps, other than the infrequent flash floods
upon which the Nabatean inhabitants of the region had depended, was
at Ein Gedi, an oasis surviving into modern times with sufficient
water to fill a sizable wading pool. According to Tim's
calculations, Ein Arugot had to be in the mountains to the
southwest, near small feeder springs.

It took more than five hours to trek over the
inhospitable terrain to a series of mountain peaks, not huge by
most standards, but rising some nine-hundred meters above the Dead
Sea and large enough to create runoff during the infrequent rains.
At the base of one such mountain, he offloaded his backpack and set
up a campsite where he intended to remain until his water ran out.
Tired from the long journey, he treated himself to a meal of dried
fruits, biscuits, and tea brewed over a portable butane stove.
Under a tarp, supported on four collapsible aluminum legs, he sat
on his sleeping bag, drawing inspiration from the surrounding
hills. For Tim, this kind of imaginative journey into the past had
always been the most enjoyable part of an archeological expedition.
In this untraveled corner of the planet, he freed his imagination
to conceive of an era when his forefathers searched with fearful
passion for a god to serve, and then, when they identified a
suitable deity, were disappointed by their inabilities to meet His
lofty demands.

Tim's second task was to familiarize himself
with the nearby topography, organizing a plan to systematically
search the area until sundown, then to begin again the next day
with the morning's first light. After climbing a rocky hillside, he
was alarmed to see a pair of black goats grazing amid spring grass.
Their presence indicated a shepherd nearby who, Tim feared, was
probably armed. Under the circumstances, it was necessary to guard
his equipment and steer clear of any conflict.

As the sun began to fall in the western sky,
he took notes on the topographical features of the landscape,
allowing his imagination to drift back to an ancient time and
reconstruct yeshiva life in the wilderness. Fear of attracting the
shepherd forced him to abandon the idea of a small fire. As
darkness closed in, he was possessed by a premonition that he was
not alone. Was it the curious shepherd protecting his flock, or
hostile natives preparing to challenge an uninvited visitor? One
ghost after another tormented him as he settled into his modest
camp for the night.

On a ledge above him, no more than twenty
meters away, a large creature was silhouetted in the failing rays
of sunlight. The first thought to capture Tim's thinking was that
of the lions of Judah, powerful man-eating carnivores often
mentioned with terror in the Old Testament. But this creature
possessed no heavy skull or bushy mane. Only the sleek throat and
lean, muscular body of a somewhat smaller cat. In the failing
light, its pelt appeared black as a panther. For protection, Tim
had brought nothing better than a collapsible shovel and, of lesser
value, a utility knife. With his eyes fixed on the beast, his hands
rummaged through side pockets of his backpack for the knife,
planning to plunge its small blade into the cat's eyes, that is if
his own were not scratched out first. During this standoff, the
creature surrendered the element of surprise by issuing a throaty
growl that echoed in the surrounding rocks. Tim thought to snarl
back, but instead found himself uttering the Lord's Prayer, at
first softly, then almost bellowing out the last verses. The
animal's ears perked, as if trying to evaluate strange sounds from
its prey.

Minutes dragged by, initiating in Tim a new
fear. Whatever meager defense he might muster would disappear with
the failing light. He knew that leopards usually attacked in the
darkness, stealthily darting from an unknown direction. In the last
light of the sun, a cooling breeze ebbed, leaving in its wake an
enveloping stillness.

While listening for sounds, he imagined the
large cat circling his campsite. From time to time, he thought he
heard sounds of its paws overturning small stones. On two
occasions, he aimed his flashlight where he heard something move,
and once thought he saw the reflection of the big cat's eyes. Below
his breath, he uttered a steady stream of petitions that made no
logical sense.

A quarter hour past midnight, the pervading
stillness was punctuated by a gentle noise that sounded like the
bleating of sheep. Was it possible that some of the shepherd's
flock had wandered nearby? Tim was pondering that possibility when
a shrill squeal suddenly shattered the desert peace. Though it was
unlike anything he had heard before, he immediately recognized it
as the death wail of a small animal in the jaws of a hungry
leopard. The hapless creature howled for its life for nearly a
minute, then fell silent. To his relief, the big cat had elected to
satisfy its hunger with a more traditional prey. Unable to calm his
nerves, Tim kept repeating to himself that there would be no more
killing that night. But he wasn't sure.

At sunrise, he rose from his sleeping bag with a
blessing on his lips for having survived a sleepless night. His
relief lulled him into a false sense of security, for he failed to
notice Neif banu Niiri observing him from the opposite hillside.
Nor did he notice the sun reflecting from a mirror the young
shepherd employed to signal clansmen along their desert telegraph.
He was equally unaware of how Neif's tribesmen relayed his message
to the camp of Sheik Telfik banu al-Fahl.

The Bedouin chief immediately convened a
conference with the tribal elders, positioning Nazeem banu Aziz,
father of the slain youth at Qumran, in the honored position to his
right. At his knees was an American 30 caliber carbine found near
the ventilation port of the cave at Qumran. The meeting soon
produced a plan based on tribal tradition. Blood had been spilt at
Qumran, upsetting the delicate balance of justice that governed
Bedouin life. The opportunity had arrived to right this wrong.

There was no point in waiting for the next
full day of light. By moving during the mid-day they would be in
the area of Ein Arugot by nightfall, then, as the sun rose the
following morning, in a position to approach the stranger's
camp.

A few minutes past noon, Telfik banu al-Fahl
was the last to join four tribesmen in a Land Rover. Soon after,
his SUV was headed south along the Dead Sea on the same road Tim
had used the previous day. They traveled with assurance that, when
in radio range, Neif banu Niiri would call them on his new handheld
walkie-talkie, indicating where to leave the tarmac. As it turned
out, the young shepherd was waiting beside the road, not far from
where Tim had parked his Volkswagen. They could have made camp
nearby, but elected to move immediately into the mountains. Five
kinsmen followed Neif banu-Niiri until the sun began to drop below
the horizon and it was time to assemble tents for the evening.

Crouched around a small fire and roasting the
rear shank of a lamb that had been brought in the SUV and
slaughtered for the evening meal, Telfik sat himself beside the
father of the slain boy, settling his pack at his feet. They spoke
about new children to replace heavy losses of youngsters who, in
the harsh desert environment, failed to reach maturity. When Nazeem
banu Aziz mentioned his own son, Telfik removed from his pack the
Uzi Father Benoit had given him.

"This was used by your son's killer at Qumran
and given to me by a friend. It is yours, for the honor of your
family. But you must promise to use it only once. After that, bury
it somewhere for six years. The government must never learn that I
gave it to you."

Nazeem banu Aziz held the Uzi close to his
stomach, his fingers clasped firmly around the metal stock. "This
is a fine gift, cousin. I am appreciative."

"You know how to operate it? It's not like an
AK-47," said Telfik.

Nazeem nodded affirmatively, concealing from
his cousin that he had never held such a weapon before.

"Here, let me show you," Telfik answered,
perceiving the man's pride. "When the time comes you must know what
to do."

As the rising sun turned the Hills of Moab from
black to red early the following morning, Neif banu-Niiri led his
elders toward Tim's campsite. By the time they arrived, Tim was
exploring high ground, trying to understand how a yeshiva might
collect and store sufficient water for its students to survive.
Telfik banu al-Fahl knew he would not move far from the water
bottles he had left at his campsite. There was no reason to rush.
Bedouin surrounded the camp, carefully selecting observation
positions out of sight. When Tim eventually returned, he ate a
small breakfast of dried figs and a granola bar, washed down with
more tea. Telfik and Nazeem crawled to a promontory above the tent
from where Telfik could best see the features of Tim's face,
comparing them with the snapshot provided by Father Benoit. In the
photo, Tim was clean-shaven, but now wore the thick beard of a
Semite, making positive identification difficult. His presence
where Father Benoit had predicted was strong proof that he was the
same man as in the photograph. Still, Telfik had his doubts, which
he withheld from Nazeem in order to give the bereaving father his
moment of vengeance. But before giving him permission to bring the
scales of justice into balance, the sheik decided to creep closer
for a better look.