The Gates of Zion (52 page)

“You ignorant scum,” said the captain angrily. “I ought to blow your heads off and leave you for the buzzards. Hanging is too good for you.” Four more English soldiers filed in past him. “Handcuff them.

Tightly,” he demanded. “Get against the wall!” he shouted.

Shaul padded quickly to Ellie’s side and licked her tears, nosing her on the cheek. She wrapped her arms around him, still too shaky to stand. “You—” she sobbed— “good dog.”

The tall, lean captain bent low over where she lay. “Are you all right, Miss Warne?” he asked gently.

“I think so. Just scared.” She tried to smile.

He handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose. “So was I, a bit.” He took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, covering her torn clothing. He helped her stand and led her back out to the darkness of the street. “Keep your guns to their heads,” he instructed his men. “And if they give you any trouble, leave their brains for the Mufti to clean up.”

“How did you find me?” Ellie asked, leaning against the building.

“We have been watching for you. When the animal came out barking like a mad dog, I figured something was up. You are not more than fifty yards from the gate. We heard the gunfire, then saw the light.”

Ellie nodded. “Thank you.”

“Where are the others, miss?”

“Yacov’s grandfather became very ill. They stayed behind.”

“Rabbi Lebowitz?” Concern etched his voice.

“Yes. Heart attack, I guess. I came out to get an ambulance.”

“Dear God.” Luke clicked his tongue. “He is a grand old man; that was very brave of you.”

“There has to be something we can do.” She felt as though she might cry again.

Somehow the kind captain must have sensed her emotion. Again he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. “Come on.” He put his arm around her shoulders and led her toward Zion Gate. “We must get you home. I’ll see what can be done about the rabbi.”

“Wait a minute.” Ellie hesitated. “My camera is around here some place.”

She and Luke scanned the cobblestones, finally retrieving the smashed camera.

Luke handed it to her, its film dangling from the cracked case. “It seems a bit the worse for wear.”

“This is the second camera I’ve lost. You know, pretty soon these guys are going to make me mad.”

***

It was cold. Steam from David’s breath clouded the edges of the car windows. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he pulled up his sleeve and scrutinized his watch. It was nearly nine o’clock. He smiled ruefully, feeling foolish for having waited like a lovesick adolescent for two and a half hours. They weren’t coming. They had made other plans. Maybe somebody had left a note for him at the desk of the hotel. He hadn’t checked, after all.

He gathered the packages and stepped out into the chilled night air.

Tucking the packages into his coat, he climbed over the stone fence and into the narrow stone-paved side yard that led to the back of the house. He laid the packages on the back doorstep, then made his way to the front of the house.

Unzipping a pocket in his flight jacket, David pulled out a small notebook and pencil.
Els
, he scrawled.
Sorry I missed you.

Packages are around back. Merry Christmas. David.
He slipped the note between the door and the doorjamb and then, feeling the weight of lonely disappointment, climbed back into the car.

David sat for five minutes longer, hoping they would arrive. He imagined Ellie throwing her arms around him in delight that he had waited and explaining apologetically why they were late. Then they would all go to the King David and have dinner after all.

It was Christmas Eve, and his excitement had been shot down in flames. He glanced at his watch again, started the car with a roar, and squealed away, leaving a strip of rubber on the pavement in front of the house. Slamming his hand on the steering wheel, David headed back to the Atlantic Hotel, certain this was all his fault. Certainly there had been a note or a phone call. He would check at the desk, then find Ellie. Better late than never.

The car screeched to a halt in front of the Atlantic. David bounded from the car and through the revolving door into the nearly deserted lobby. He strode to the desk and rang the bell impatiently.

“Yes, sir?” asked a sullen desk clerk.

“David Meyer. Any messages for me?”

The clerk eyed him for a moment. “Room number?”

“Room 349.”

The clerk shuffled to the mail rack, scanning the numbers on the boxes myopically. David had already seen that the box to his room was empty.

“No messages.”

“Maybe a phone call?”

The clerk shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

“Well, check!” David snapped.

The clerk grudgingly shuffled through a slim stack of scribbled phone messages. He slapped them down on the desk and smiled patronizingly. “No messages,” he said with satisfaction.

David frowned at the man. “Okay. Thanks anyway.” He turned away, feeling more alone than he had ever felt. Stepping out onto the crowded street, he stared through the window of the Atara Café.
By
now the guys will be good and drunk, and every one of them will
ask about my hot date with Ellie.

He looked down at the sidewalk, trying to muster the bravado he would need to fend off their questions. His rumbling stomach reminded him that he had not eaten since a light breakfast in Tel Aviv this morning. He rubbed his hand through his hair with a sigh, then climbed back into the car, unable to face his friends at the Atara.

If Michael is right, and the one thing I have going for me is my
ego, my ego just crashed and burned
.

Ellie had simply not wanted to see him, he reasoned. When her uncle had told her he was coming, she had demanded that they move the celebration somewhere else.

He drove toward the massive citadel of the King David Hotel, determined to at least have a good meal, half hoping that Ellie would be there so he could saunter coolly by her table and tell her how sorry he was that he had forgotten the invitation.

The red-coated valet opened the car door as he pulled up in front of the main building.

David dropped the keys into his hand. “Are they still serving dinner in there?”

“Until ten o’clock, sir.”

“Thanks.” David tipped him without looking at the denomination of the bill.

“Thank you, sir!” exclaimed the astonished valet. “And a very Merry Christmas to you!”

***

Blood from Moshe’s wound marked an easy trail down the cobbled alleyways of Bethlehem. Howard glanced back, watching as a swinging lantern dipped low to the cobblestones. Hassan and Kadar were moving slowly; he and Moshe had some advantage in that.

Moshe’s steps faltered and he leaned heavily against Howard. “Go without me,” Moshe breathed. “Leave me the gun and go.”

“You’re bleeding heavily, my friend.” Howard propped him against the wall of a building and pulled the headband from his keffiyeh.

Moshe stifled a cry as Howard bound the wound tightly. “Just a little farther, Moshe. We’ll see if the little mule is still there.” Then he whispered, “Please, God.”

Moshe wrapped his good arm around Howard’s shoulders and they started out again, staggering down the alley like two drunken buddies out for the night. Blood still dripped from Moshe’s fingertips; his arm hung uselessly at his side. He stumbled again, weak from the loss of blood.

“We’re going to make it, Moshe,” Howard prompted. “Come on, boy.”

Moshe attempted a smile. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I haven’t always been fifty years old, you know. This isn’t half as bad as Verdun in the first war. There it was all hand-to-hand.”

Howard tried to keep a steady stream of quiet conversation going, asking questions of Moshe in hopes that he could retain consciousness.

At last they rounded a corner and bumped directly into the rump of the little donkey. “Thank God!” Howard lifted Moshe onto her back and untied the rope. Behind them, Howard heard the voice of Hassan as he discovered the trail of Moshe’s blood that led down the alley.

“Hold on!” Howard whispered to Moshe, clicking the little beast into a trot down the slippery incline that led to the main thoroughfare.

The bells now tolled through silent and empty streets. A few pilgrims slept around fires in the souks, but none noticed as Howard jogged past them, the donkey’s hooves clip-clopping against the stones. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the figures of Hassan and Kadar run to the center of the street and look in both directions.

Quickly Howard guided the donkey into the shadows and briefly closed his eyes in weariness. Moshe leaned forward, lying down on the donkey’s neck.

Hassan motioned to Kadar, who ran in the direction opposite them while Hassan strode purposefully toward them. Hassan paused briefly at every fire and in every shadow to search the faces of those who slept peacefully.

With a sweaty palm, Howard gripped the handle of the revolver. He looked up at the edifice in whose shadow he stood. Tall spires rose into the night skies. Hugging the rough stone of the church building, he softly urged the donkey to follow him. “Moshe,” he whispered, “are you still with me, boy?”

“Uh,” Moshe groaned.

Suddenly Howard bumped into a man—an ancient Arab, smiling toothlessly from beneath his checkered keffiyeh. He lifted his chin and stared at Howard; then he looked past them at the proudly approaching figure of Hassan.

“Come,” he demanded. “You are under my protection.” He turned on his heel and scuffed slowly ahead of Howard and Moshe, rounding the corner to the back of the church. “Come,” he said to Howard again, who was simply too startled to resist. The old man led the way to a small alcove in the side of the building and, with a click, turned the latch. “Enter.” He stood aside.

“The donkey―,” Howard protested.

“I will hold her. Go.” Howard pulled Moshe from the donkey’s back as Hassan’s running footsteps neared the corner of the building. He dragged the now-unconscious Moshe through the small, nearly hidden door before the old man pulled it shut behind him. The room they had entered was pitch-black, and the smell was dank and musty.

Howard squatted on the floor, cradling Moshe’s head in his lap. He listened as Hassan’s footsteps approached nearer and nearer, echoing in the sleeping streets. He could scarcely breathe, and as Moshe moaned, Howard covered his friend’s mouth with his hand.

The footsteps stopped at the door, and the latch rattled violently as Hassan tried to force the lock. He cursed loudly in Arabic, then ran on down the street, the sound of his footsteps diminishing in the distance.

Exhausted, Howard closed his eyes, feeling weariness overtake him.

His head nodded low, his chin touching his chest as he fell asleep almost instantly.

***

Ellie climbed stiffly from Luke’s armored car. He waited for Shaul to jump out behind her, then shut the door.

“I think, miss,” Luke said, “perhaps it would be wise if I checked the house for you, since your uncle is away and you are alone.”

“Really, I’m okay. I wish you would let me go with you to Hadassah to get the ambulance.”

“I should think you have seen enough front-line action for tonight.”

He took her key and climbed the steps two at a time. He took David’s note from the door and handed it to her as she huddled against the stair railing.

Ellie scanned the note and smiled. “David. Dear David,” she said softly.

“Important, miss?” asked Luke, throwing the door wide and stepping aside for her.

“Yes,” she answered. “I had forgotten that it was Christmas.”

“And so it is. And may God bless you.” He tipped his hat.

Shaul ran into the house ahead of her and she followed. “He already has,” she returned. “Merry Christmas, Captain.”

“The same to you.” Luke climbed into the armored car and roared off toward Mount Scopus and Hadassah Hospital.

Ellie shut the door, careful to bolt all the locks. She switched on every light she passed on her way to the back porch. She had had enough of shadows for one night. Shaul plopped down in the kitchen in front of the stove and gazed up at her with forlorn eyes as she put the kettle on, unbolted the back door, and gathered in the gifts that David had left, then bolted the door again. She put them on the table, smiling as she wondered how he had spent his night. In spite of her weariness she found herself remembering Christmas Eve the year before, walking along the boardwalk with waves crashing against the shore.

Pulling up a chair, she sat in front of the packages and, chin in hand, read the labels, laughing out loud when she read the one to Shaul.

The dog raised his head in response to his name. She pitched the roll of salami to him. He caught it in his mouth with very little effort and chewed at it as Ellie tore the white envelope from her package and read the note that David had written to her.

Merry Christmas, my darling Els,

As I write this, my feet are firmly on the ground. I can only say that
over the last few weeks, I have come to see how very right you were
about my life. I have lived only for myself, only loved for my own
benefit, never seeing who you really are.

Maybe these words come too late and you have closed the door to
me. I hope not. We have shared so much, and I have found a new
love for you as I have come to understand and respect the woman
you have become. I am also finding a purpose in my life, although I
still have a long way to go.

Regardless of what the future holds, I am certain of one thing: I
will always love you.

David

Ellie read the letter again and again until her eyes blurred with exhaustion. Gently she laid his letter on the table before her.

She was still so very angry at him, yet if she were truly honest, she knew she loved him. For the first time she bowed her head and prayed for him and for herself, that an answer would be clear in her heart. She had been torn for so long between him and Moshe. Now she knew that perhaps Moshe was falling in love with someone else in spite of himself, and she did not want to make any decisions based on the fact that she might have to be alone.