Wings of Refuge Page 10

  “Is this a trick?” Hannah folded her arms against her body so he couldn’t grab her and haul her to her feet. When he turned to her she saw that he was very angry. But when he spoke, his voice was as deathly quiet as the stones all around her.

  “Listen, Hannah, your days of being a spoiled brat are over. All of us have to work harder than we’ve ever worked before to make a new life for ourselves here. Ein breira, the Israelis say. No choice. My brothers were drafted—no choice. Our fathers have to struggle out there in the heat to grow sunflowers—no choice. But you do have a choice, Hannah. You can go back to school and stay there this time, or you can go back to the house and help my mother scrub clothes and cook fish.”

  Hannah’s heart began to pound like a trapped rabbit’s. “But I don’t want to—”

  “No? Well, guess what? My mother doesn’t want to do all the washing and cooking either, but—no choice.” He stood again, brushing dust off the seat of his shorts. “I’ll go down and tell her that she doesn’t have to fix dinner for you and your father tonight, since you won’t be going back to school.”

  “I hate you, Ben! I hate you!” Hannah curled into a ball and buried her face in her lap. A few moments later, Ben crouched beside her again.

  “What’s really going on, Hannah? Why do you keep running away?” After a moment, her secret sprang to the surface like an enormous ball that she was tired of holding underwater.

  “I feel so stupid,” she wept. “Everyone knows their numbers and letters but me, and if the teacher ever finds out, he’ll put me in the baby class.”

  “Then why won’t you let me help you?” Ben asked.

  She shrugged uselessly, not understanding the reason herself.

  “Well, one of these days your stubbornness is going to trap you into a corner with no way out. You mark my words.”

  Hannah pictured herself chained to a laundry tub like Aunt Shoshanna, and a small crack splintered her wall of pride. “Will you teach me, Ben?” The words stuck in her throat like dry bread.

  “On one condition. You can’t run away from school anymore. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Hannah kept her word for almost six months. Ben and her father tutored her every night until the electric generators were switched off and everyone had to go to bed. She caught on quickly, motivated by the sight of Aunt Shoshanna gutting fish or plucking chickens. Hannah even learned to arm-wrestle with Dara until the textbooks were square in the middle where they belonged.

  Then one day Hannah’s teacher showed the class pictures of the Holocaust. Cattle cars stuffed with people. Gas chambers and crematoriums. Piles of shoes and discarded clothing. Bodies stacked like cordwood in mass graves. Liberated survivors with protruding ribs and hollow eyes.

  “These were families, like yours and mine.” Tears washed down the teacher’s face as he spoke. “They were forced from their homes, tortured, and killed for only one reason—they were Jews. Like us.”

  Hannah didn’t wait until the teacher’s back was turned to run. Nor did she stop when she heard him calling her name. Ben found her among the ruins of her lost city an hour later.

  “You broke your promise!” he shouted. “You said you wouldn’t run away again!”

  She lifted her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  All of Ben’s anger released with a rush of air when he saw her face. “What’s wrong, Hannah? You’re white as a ghost . . . and your hands are shaking! What happened?”

  “Why does everyone hate us? You said our ancestors went to Iraq because people wanted to kill them. And you said the Iraqis hated us, too. But what if they had lied to us, like they lied to the Jews in Europe? What if they had tricked us and put us on trains and taken us to gas chambers and burned us in ovens . . .”

  “Shh . . . Hannah . . .” He laid his hand on her head. “That’s why we got out of Iraq—before something like that did happen.” He exhaled wearily as he sat down on the rock beside her. “I’m sorry you had to find out about the Nazis. But now do you understand why we can’t go back home?”

  “What if it happens here?” she whispered. “What if all those people who hate Jews come here?”

  “The Israeli military will beat them back again,” Ben said angrily, “just like they did the last time!”

  For a terrible moment, Hannah was afraid she might be sick as images of the Holocaust replayed in her mind. “You mean . . . you mean they already came here?”

  Ben groaned. “Don’t tell me you never heard about the War of Independence, either?”

  “Tell me.”

  He plucked a weed from between two rocks and slowly tore it into little pieces, taking his time answering. “As soon as Israel declared its independence in 1948, the Arab nations went to war against us. They refused to recognize the nation of Israel and vowed to push every last Jew into the sea. There weren’t even a million of us against thirty million of them—from six different nations. But we won, Hannah. And we’ll win again if we have to. This is our land, our home, and they’re never going to push us off it again!”

  Something shifted inside Hannah’s heart, the way her body would suddenly shift in the backseat of the car when their driver in Baghdad turned a corner too fast. By learning about the Holocaust, she had also turned a corner—faster than she would have liked, certainly—but now, for the first time, she hadn’t bristled when Ben called Israel their home. Her teacher had explained that Jews were scattered among the nations—other people’s nations. That’s why countries like Germany could pass laws to kill them. But Israel was a Jewish nation. Their homeland.

  “These rocks you’re sitting on prove that this is our land,” Ben said. “There are ruined cities like this one all over the country, and whenever archaeologists dig them up, they find stuff that once belonged to our ancestors. Like when they found the Dead Sea Scrolls down by Qumran a few years ago. Those were Jewish scrolls, buried for two thousand years. They prove that Israel belongs to us.”

  Hannah looked around at the stones of her beloved lost city. They had always seemed more like home to her than the ugly shack she shared with Abba. “Do you think there might be some scrolls buried here, too?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Nobody has dug up these ruins yet. They’re not very important compared to all the others.”

  “Then I’ll dig them up.” She would prove that these ruins were once a Jewish city, this bit of land, Jewish land. As much as Hannah hated this broiling patch of desert in the middle of nowhere, it was still Abba’s land, Abba’s corrugated tin shanty, and no one had the right to take it away from him as they’d taken away his villa in Baghdad.

  “You can’t just start flinging dirt around,” Ben said. “You have to know how to do it properly.”

  “Then I’ll learn how,” she said. And Hannah meant every word.

  CHAPTER 6

  THE NEGEV, ISRAEL—1961

  Hannah stood in the doorway of her tent at the archaeological site as the first jeep pulled into the desert compound. “Hey, Rivka,” she called to her roommate in the tent behind her. “I think the eggheads have finally arrived.”

  “Any good-looking ones?”

  “Too soon to tell, but don’t count on it. After all, they’re engineers and botanists.” She wrinkled her nose, as if describing two species of vipers. Rivka sauntered up behind her.

  “Come on, Hannah. Let’s go welcome them. Remember what Professor Evanari said?”

  “You mean his little speech about how this is an important interdisciplinary project that will have positive long-range effects on Israel’s food supply?”

  “No, I was thinking of the one where he said, ‘Be nice to them.’”

  Hannah watched as two more jeeps pulled in behind the first. “What do you want to bet those sissies don’t even last the summer?” she said. “After all, they’re not accustomed to rugged desert conditions like archaeologists are.” At age twenty, Hannah felt smug, the veteran of one summer season as a dig volunteer, plus one week alre
ady spent on this site located thirty miles south of Beersheba.

  “Well, I’m going over to say hello,” Rivka said, patting her hair into place. “Come on.”

  In spite of her feigned indifference, Hannah was excited about the project. The Desert Runoff Farms Unit was an experimental team of archaeologists, biologists, and engineers who would attempt to rebuild a first-century Nabatean farm in the Judean desert. Based on the archaeologists’ discovery of an ancient system of catchment basins, terraces, and water conduits, the engineers would reconstruct the irrigation system designed by the Nabateans, preparing the way for the botanists to grow grain, fruit, and other crops. It seemed like a miracle to Hannah that the Nabateans could have once harnessed the scant rainfall of the desert—a mere four or five inches a year—and grown enough food to sustain tens of thousands of settlers. The fact that she had been selected from scores of volunteers to be part of the team seemed like another miracle.

  “Hey, they’re not bad-looking,” Rivka said as she and Hannah drew closer to where the scientists were emerging from the vehicles. “And so far, they’re all guys. I like those odds.”

  “They look like a bunch of pale-faced intellectuals to me, without enough common sense to wear a hat. Engineers and botanists! They won’t last a day in this—” Hannah stopped midsentence when the last man climbed from the vehicle. “Oh, my goodness! It’s Ben!” Her cousin looked up when he heard his name, but Hannah was already running toward him, arms outstretched. “Ben! Why on earth didn’t you tell me you were coming?” He pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground.

  “I thought I’d surprise you. I haven’t seen you in ages!” They had both served in different branches of the military, then attended different colleges, with Hannah away for the summer at dig sites.

  “It’s been too long—since your father’s funeral . . .” she said. “But I saw the list of botanists and your name was not on it.” He lifted his duffel bag and showed her the identification tag. “Benjamin Rosen?” she said. “That’s not you!”

  “It is now. I changed my name after Abba died.”

  “Why did you do a stupid thing like that?”

  “I wanted an Ashkenazi name. I was tired of being shoved aside because I’m Sephardic.”

  Hannah remembered the day Ben had explained the difference to her and recalled the bitterness she’d heard in his voice. That was before she’d graduated from school with honors at the age of sixteen; before she’d spent the required two years in the military; before she was accepted into the Institute to study archaeology.

  “Hey, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Ben said suddenly. “Jake! Get over here!” The man who separated himself from the group and strode over to them was no pale-faced intellectual. He stood at least a foot taller than Hannah, with long tanned legs, wide shoulders, and a chest like a brick wall. His biceps seemed about to split the seams of his short-sleeved shirt. He had a face to match his impressive build—the kind they put in magazine advertisements, with dark dreamy eyes and thick arched brows. No doubt he knew the effect he had on women, too. Rivka was staring shamelessly at him, her mouth agape. Hannah would never stoop so low as to be enticed by a man’s flashy good looks.

  “This is my best friend, Jacob,” Ben said. “Jake, meet my cousin Hannah.”

  Jake simply smiled as he shook her hand, then Rivka’s hand after Hannah made the introductions. But then, men like Jake didn’t need to talk. They were much too good-looking to waste the energy, thank you very much. Hannah had met his type in the army. They invariably relied on their physical charms—not words—to pursue their hobby of seducing women. She linked her arm tightly through Ben’s and started walking away, leaving Jacob to her speechless roommate.

  “Come on, Mr. Rosen, I’ll show you to your tent. If we hurry, you can grab the best cot.”

  “So what do you think of Jake?” Ben asked as they strolled across the compound.

  “He’s okay.” Hannah would submit to torture before admitting she was attracted to him. “I hope you didn’t plan on playing matchmaker.”

  “Me? Match my shy, gentlemanly best friend with my stubborn, unrestrained cousin? No way! That would be like throwing a lamb to the wolves!”

  “I think I know a wolf when I see one,” she said, laughing. “And you seemed pretty eager for me to meet him.”

  “That’s because he’s a great guy. We were in the same tank squadron in the army, then we ended up rooming together—although he’s studying engineering and I’m in agriculture. When we heard about this joint project, we decided to sign up together.”

  “And you had no plans for introducing the two of us, of course.”

  “He has a steady girlfriend, Hannah.”

  “I’ll bet he does.”

  “Speaking of girlfriends,” he said, looking wistfully over his shoulder. “Why did you pry me away from your roommate so fast? She seems nice!”

  “You’ll have all summer to get to know her, sweetie.”

  But for the first week, the three groups were involved in separate aspects of the project, leaving little opportunity for socializing. Everyone rose early to avoid the heat, then retired early, as well—usually in a state of exhaustion. Hannah ate dinner with Ben every evening, both of them talking nonstop as they tried to catch up on each other’s lives. His conceited friend rarely spoke, quietly watching Hannah like a predator, biding his time, waiting to pounce.

  Halfway through the second week, Professor Evanari proposed the first cooperative venture. “I need a volunteer,” he told the archaeology students, “to hike up the mountain with one of the engineers and explore the catchment area. They want to follow the ruins of the water channels and see how much rebuilding will need to be done.”

  “I’ll go!” Hannah said, eager for the chance to roam free.

  “Not so fast. The desert can be very dangerous—”

  “I know, Professor. I grew up in the Negev.”

  He looked around at the other students, but no one else volunteered. “All right, Hannah. Come meet your new colleague.”

  The engineer was Jacob, of course. Ben had probably told him she would be the first to volunteer. Jake’s knowing smile infuriated her.

  “Get some food and water from the mess tent, and a couple of backpacks,” Professor Evanari said. “Don’t wander too far, Hannah, and make sure you two stay together. We want you back before dinnertime.”

  The snickering laughter she heard from the other men made her furious. Oh, she would stay aloof to Jacob’s charms, no matter how tempting his full lips might be.

  Hannah set a brisk pace as she led the way up the valley where the orchards and farm plots were being restored. She didn’t know one tree from another, but the tags on the saplings that Ben and his team were planting waved like banners in the breeze: almonds, peaches, figs, apricots, plums.

  “Your engineering team had better produce some water pretty soon,” she said to Jake over her shoulder, “or those poor trees are going to burn to a crisp out here.” She found the remains of a narrow conduit channel and began following it up the steep hill above the plain.

  “Just who are these mysterious Nabateans, anyway?” Jake asked after they had hiked for a while. “And if they were so brilliant, how come you archaeologists are the only ones who have ever heard of them?”

  “Plenty of people have heard of them. They were an Arab tribe that took over this territory from the Edomites around the fourth century B.C. Ever hear of King Herod the Great? His father was an Edomite and his mother was Nabatean.”

  “Who would want to live out in this wasteland?”

  “Besides the Nabateans? I would. I think the desert has a rare beauty all its own.”

  “I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” he said, laughing. “So what else did they do out here besides enjoy the desert’s rare beauty and grow fruit?”

  His cynical attitude irritated Hannah, but she battled to remain coldly aloof. “They monopolized the main trade rout
e from southern Arabia to the Mediterranean, among other things. Their caravans passed through all these settlements on their way to the port of Gaza. They were incense traders.”

  “Incense! Seems like a lot of bother for nothing.” Jake was breathless from the climb.

  Hannah was out of breath, too, but she refused to be the first one to stop and rest. What had appeared to be a smooth brown hill from camp was proving to be a rugged, rock-strewn obstacle course.

  “Oh, it was well worth the trouble,” she said. “The Romans used enormous amounts of incense in their religion. It was sent all over the world, wherever the Romans settled. The Nabateans became quite wealthy from it.”

  “Maybe that’s what they meant when they said the Nabateans turned the desert green. Hold up a minute,” Jake said. “I need to rest.”

  Satisfied that he had grown tired first, Hannah sat down on a rock and took a swig of water. “You sound as though you have your doubts about this project,” she said.

  “Not at all—I hope it works. More than a third of the world’s land is as dry as this. If we can get your cousin’s trees to grow out here, it will be good news for millions of people.”

  They continued hiking for well over an hour, following what Hannah hoped were Nabatean water conduits. Jake stayed close behind her, never once pausing to examine the channels or even to take notes. If he was carefully studying the catchment area, he certainly showed no signs of it. Hannah would never admit it, but she was no longer certain that the runoff channels were man-made. Nor was she certain that she knew the way back to camp, which had disappeared from sight an hour ago. Now that the sun stood directly overhead, she would have to wait until it began to sink to see which direction was west. She would rather die than ask Jake if he’d remembered a compass.

  “How about lunch?” she said, stalling for time. “There’s a patch of shade down in this gully.” She led the way down a steep embankment and pulled her lunch from her backpack—pita bread stuffed with heat-wilted lettuce, warm tomatoes, and melting cheese. The apricots were smashed to a pulp but she ate them anyway. The water in her canteen was blood-warm. Hannah took her time eating, waiting for the sun to move. Neither of them spoke until they were finished.