The Gates of Zion (21 page)

Ellie stared in wonder at the wide grin on David’s face. “But how did you find him?” she asked again.

“You told me where he was. At the hospital. You don’t remember?”

He turned onto King George Street and headed toward the hotel.

“No, I really don’t.”

David pursed his lips and frowned. “You said a lot of other things to me, too. I guess I’m going to have to remind you.”

Her eyes filled with tears of joy as she thought of Yacov in the hospital and how happy he would be to hear that his shaggy friend was safe. Ellie reached out and put her hand on David’s arm. “You are wonderful. Wonderful.”

“Yeah, now it’s coming back to you.” He smiled at her. “Remember anything else?” He raised his eyebrows in happy expectation.

Ellie felt her heart swell with tenderness for David. He was, as he had always been, so eager to be loved and admired. And it was not difficult for her to do either. “I remember … ,” she began haltingly, “that you were there. Somehow it was your voice I heard in the darkest moment of my life.”

He cleared his throat self-consciously. “Yeah, well, I’d like to be part of your happiest moments, too, y’know?”

Ellie stroked Shaul’s head as she weighed each thought and emotion.

“You have already been that, David. I love you,” she said softly.

“But I don’t know if I am
in
love with you anymore.”

“I can take care of that.” His voice was husky, his words full of memories.

“That’s what scares me. I don’t know if I want to go back. I’ve had time to think about us, and there was so much that wasn’t right. I have been happy here.”

“It’s that Moshe guy, isn’t it?” The joy dropped from David’s voice.

“Partly … maybe. I just don’t know.” She glanced up in time to see that they had passed the massive stone structure of the King David Hotel. “What are you doing?”

“Just driving,” he answered, turning past the Jewish Agency building and back onto Ellie’s street. They passed the Moniger home without stopping, then drove on another five minutes in silence until David passed two men on guard duty near a pile of sandbags. He stopped the car at the edge of what appeared to be a plowed field across from the Monastery of the Cross, set the hand brake, and sat staring straight ahead into the darkness before turning toward her. “I want to tell you something,” he said awkwardly. Then he stopped, as if choosing each word carefully.

She could hear the ticking of his wristwatch. “David, I think we should go.”

“Not yet. Please. Come with me.” He got out of the car and came around to open her door.

She continued to sit, feeling uncomfortable at the air of mystery in David’s voice.

“Please, Ellie,” he pleaded.

She got out reluctantly, and he led her by the hand across the field and to a shed. He unlocked its double doors and swung them wide, then flicked a switch, dimly lighting both the shed and the field.

Inside was a small blue-and-white airplane. “Help me push her out,”

said David, grabbing a wing.

“Why? What are you doing, David?” Ellie allowed the irritation she felt to creep into her voice.

He rolled the plane onto the field while she stood and watched.

“Come on.” He opened the cockpit door for her and smiled at her in the soft light. “I want to show you where I live.”

She climbed in … against her better judgment.

David started the sputtering little engine and taxied a few feet before rattling down the bumpy runway so slowly that Ellie did not believe they would ever get off the ground. Then, in a rush that flipped her stomach, they lifted off and began the slow climb that took them over Mount Scopus and the now-sleeping Hadassah Hospital. David banked the plane and swept over the King David Hotel, then continued to climb until the lights of the city, like tiny stars, winked at them from below. Ellie gazed out the cockpit window at the millions of stars above them.

David grinned at her. “This is where I live. Here I am King David.

How do you like my kingdom?”

When the glow of the instrument panel shone on his face, Ellie realized there was something different about his expression. “It is very beautiful,” she said matter-of-factly. “You know, this is the first time you’ve taken me flying.”

David pointed to a cluster of lights on the black velvet below them.

“Bethlehem. The way the angels must have seen it the night Christ was born. No guns. No anger. Nobody hating anybody else. Peace on earth. At least that’s the way it looks from up here.” He turned to her, tenderness lighting his eyes. “I wanted you to see the world like this tonight because I want to tell you, Ellie—” he paused, as if again groping for the words— “I want you to know I want to spend my life with you.” He gulped, then averted his eyes from her steady gaze.

“You’ve never said that to me before. Thank you.” But privately she wondered if he had said it too late. Did it really matter anymore?

“You can say it up here, where the world is so distant. It all looks so beautiful. But it isn’t. The reality is that down there people are standing in line to wipe each other off the face of the earth.”

She motioned toward the broad glitter of the Milky Way before continuing. “This is beautiful, David, but you can’t live up here.

Sooner or later your little plane has to come down. If this is the only place you feel really alive, then I can’t join you. If you can’t tell me you love me when we are both standing flat-footed on the asphalt, then maybe what you feel for me isn’t real love.”

She turned her head away from him and stared at the tiny lights of an automobile as it crept through the streets of Jerusalem. “I’m sorry,”

she said, feeling suddenly confused and foolish. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. I’ve wrecked your big moment, haven’t I?”

“It’s okay,” he answered quietly. “I had it coming. Things haven’t exactly been normal for you the last few days.”

Ellie wondered if anything would ever be the same for her again.

“It’s just that I never knew before …” Again a rush of sadness choked off her words.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. She could tell he was furious at himself for not waiting until the shock of her ordeal had worn off. “I don’t know what I expected, coming to Palestine like this.”

“Why did you come, David?” she asked as the plane dipped low above the city.

“I came for you,” he said simply.

***

As Ellie climbed beneath the cool sheets that night, she thought about Moshe, hiding from commitment behind his ancient writings, and David, trapped between the Milky Way and the twinkling lights of earth. Maybe she had been trapped, too. The reality of life simply did not measure up to her hopes and illusions. Hot tears ran down her cheeks. She wished that somehow the peaceful lights of the heavens and the winking stars of Jerusalem could meld together as one heaven and earth. “But that’s not going to happen,” she whispered into the darkness.

She thought about Uncle Howard then―so full of peace and joy, so certain of his life. “God,” she said at last, “can You see me?”

Somewhere in the distance, the popping of gunfire raked the stillness of the night. Ellie reached down to stroke Shaul’s big head, then slipped into an uneasy sleep.

14

The Hadassah Plot

Silently Hassan nursed the short brown stub of his Turkish cigarette. He inhaled the harsh smoke and tapped his cheek lightly, watching with satisfaction as smoke rings wafted from his lips and drifted into the lobby in ever-expanding
O
s. It was a trick he had learned from a tall, blond lieutenant when they attended Nazi SS commando school together. Hassan glanced at the face of his German-made watch. It was already 6:15.

Gerhardt was late. Residents of the Semiramis Hotel, in the suburb of Katamon, scurried through the lobby on their way to and from dinner.

From the worn red-velvet chair in the corner, Hassan studied their faces as they stopped at the mahogany desk to check with the diminuitive, bespectacled manager for messages. Some, he guessed, were Arabs who had lived in the second-story flats above the shops of the Jewish commercial district. When the district had burned, they had fled to the safety of Semiramis Hotel with its potted palms and worn red-floral carpets and cheap monthly rates. Here, in the heart of a pleasantly mixed Arab and Jewish neighborhood on the outskirts of the raging fanaticism of the all-Muslim quarters and the burning Zionism of an all-Jewish district, no doubt they felt safe. There was moderation in Katamon. After all, Jews and Arabs lived here side by side.

Hassan smiled to himself at the innocence of these Christian Arabs.

Haj Amin had marked the peaceful neighborhood of Katamon for his own. Soon Gerhardt would come, and the hotel would become the assembly plant for his packages of TNT and the clever letter bombs that tore the hands from anyone unfortunate enough to open one. Then there were the big surprises that Haj Amin and Gerhardt had planned for Jewish Jerusalem. In a neatly furnished suite overlooking the street, every detail would be planned to perfection. Far from being the refuge of the Christian Arab middle class, the hotel had become the headquarters of the Mufti’s terrorist activities.

A large group of men and women burst through the double doors: two old women bundled tightly in shawls, followed by grown sons and daughters and a host of little ones. A tall, stoop-shouldered man in a tweed suit stopped and rang the desk bell, then leaned on the counter as the rest of the group clustered in front of the wrought-iron grate of the elevator. Two young boys haggled over the right to push the elevator button as the two old women talked above their heads.

Hassan had no illusions that the battles about to be fought would be fought for their benefit. No, all would be won for the glory of Haj Amin Husseini, Mufti of Jerusalem and future ruler of the united land of Palestine. Haj Amin was a name these people feared, and they would be the ones who would lose. They were Arabs, yes, but their kind would be gone before the final line was written. In the end it made little difference.

Hassan gasped and turned as he felt an iron grip on the shoulder. The grim face of Gerhardt stared down on him. He wore the same heavy tweed coat he had worn the night they had been seen by the girl and the little boy. A broad-rimmed fedora was pulled low over the cruel steely gaze of his ice blue eyes. “Well, my friend,” he said softly, “are you ready to finish the job you left undone?”

Casually Hassan inhaled the cigarette one last time, then flicked the ash onto the carpet and crushed out the red-hot tip with his fingers.

He dropped the remaining stub in the shirt pocket of his police uniform. “The boy is still at Hadassah―an easy target. I thought perhaps we might have a bite to eat before we finish him.”

“You can eat later,” Gerhardt commanded.

“Why the impatience, my friend?” Hassan rose and faced Gerhardt as he put on his coat.

“It is the impatience of Haj Amin that I should worry about, were I you.” Gerhardt smiled maliciously and turned toward the stairway, leaving Hassan without an appetite.

***

The night was cold and the stars hung like fragments of ice against the sky.

Hassan tugged the collar of his overcoat up around his ears and wished that he had stolen an enclosed vehicle rather than this open jeep.

He passed through the Arab neighborhood of Sheikh Jarrah at the foot of Mount Scopus. As he focused on the blazing lights of Hadassah Hospital atop Scopus, he was certain he’d be able to finish his assignment, then fade into the anonymity of Sheikh Jarrah before the last drop of the boy’s blood had spilled onto the floor.

He shifted into first gear as he rounded the last curve before the climb up Mount Scopus. Commanding the highest ground in the area, the hospital and Hebrew University would certainly be Jewish strongholds in the days ahead. But, Hassan noted with satisfaction, their locations deep inside Arab suburbs would make them easy enough to strangle. He would mention it to the Mufti when he reported the final disposal of the little Jew witness.

He glanced at his watch―nearly seven o’clock. He drove into the parking lot of the hospital and parked in a restricted area reserved for official cars. No one would notice the army jeep there among so many others. He set the brake, then ran his hand quickly along the side of his leg to his boot top and the narrow handle of the dagger hidden there.
All in all, this should not take more than a few
minutes.
He hopped from the jeep and strode purposefully past a British guard, who saluted smartly when Hassan touched the brim of his hat.

It was still early when he passed through the doors of the hospital’s main entrance. Perhaps there was even time for a cup of coffee in the cafeteria to warm his hands after the drive through the chill night air.

***

The crowd in the first-floor hospital cafeteria had thinned considerably.

Hassan sat in the far corner, across from a group of three buxom nurses who gossiped and giggled through their break.

Hassan took a last bite of strudel and slurped down his coffee, cursing Gerhardt for the urgency with which he had sent him to finish off the little Jew.
I would have had time,
he thought glumly,
to eat a
good meal
. The lights in the rooms were only now winking out as shifts of doctors and nurses came and went. He scraped the tasteless cafeteria food to the side of his plate and stacked the silverware and coffee cup on top.

Leaving the sterile room for the now nearly empty lobby, he considered taking the elevator to the fifth floor but thought better of it. Certainly some sharp-eyed nurse would stop him at her station. He pushed a heavy swinging door marked
Stairway
and began the slow climb to the pediatric ward, room 529, where the boy rested. His footsteps echoed loudly in the stairwell.

Once a nurse pushed open a door on the floor above him and skipped past him on her way down. “I hate waiting for that elevator,” she said cheerily.

Hassan nodded and tipped his hat but said nothing in reply.