One Fine Day the Rabbi Bought a Cross (13 page)

“So what? It's the back of the house. Who comes here? I'll leave the picks and shovels because I may have to go a little deeper to have room to work. It's just overnight. Believe me, it will be all right.”

“But I have no water to wash with. My housekeeper has no water to cook with—”

“It's only one day.” He smiled broadly. “So give her a day off, and you take a vacation and go to a hotel for the night.”

17

The next day Skinner saw Shimon's truck drive up and park in front of the house. He was about to go down to tell him that he could drive around to the parallel street in back and he would open the fence gate for them, but Shimon and his two Arab workers were already unloading their equipment, and a moment later began carrying it up the path and around the house to the rear, so he did not bother. It was now after ten and he had rather expected them to come the first thing in the morning, and perhaps be done by now, but he knew there was little use in expostulating, that Shimon would have an excuse, and in the ensuing argument, he would be sure to lose. In the Mideast it was necessary to cultivate patience.

As he worked at his desk, he could hear, faintly, occasional orders issued by Shimon to his workers from the back of the house. Finally, around noon, there was a banging at the back door, and when Martha opened it, Skinner heard voices in the kitchen and shouts, presumably to Shimon at the trench. Skinner went down to see what was happening, and when he appeared in the kitchen, there were the two Arabs, who grinned at him and pointed to the sink where the water was pouring out of the faucet.

He went outside and saw that Shimon was in the trench, feeling under first one connection and then under the other to see if there was any leakage. He saw Skinner and said, “So is the water running all right? Pressure look good to you?”

“It looks fine. Now if you'll fill in the trench—”

“Ah, filling in the trench, that presents a problem. See that? I had them dig a little farther so I could work at the connector a little easier. And they uncovered that.”

“What, that rock? So what? What's it got to do with the pipe?”

“It's not just a rock. You can see that it extends in both directions, maybe for quite a distance.”

“So it's a ledge, but the pipe misses it.”

“No, it's not a ledge, either. Maybe you can't see from up there, but if you get down in the trench and take a good look at it, you'll see that it is hewn stone. There's no mistake about it.”

“So what?”

“So that means it's an artifact. Archaeology. Don't you understand?”

“All right, so it's an archaeological artifact. You mean there's maybe some broken old pots down there. Frankly, I'm not interested.”

“There's no telling what might be there. Maybe statues, maybe coins, maybe who knows what.”

“I'm still not interested. I'll pass it up. Just have your men fill in the trench and—”

“It has to be reported. It may not be important to you, but it can be of great importance to the State. It's your duty to report it.”

“And if I don't?”

“Then you're liable to a heavy fine.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Oh, yes.”

“But who's going to know about it? If I don't report it, I mean.”

“I know about it. My two Arab helpers, they know about it. And when they talk about it, pretty soon everybody will know about it.”

“All right. So what happens if I report it?”

“You report it to the Department of Antiquities. They're part of the Ministry of Education and Culture. They send a man down to evaluate it, archaeologically, you understand. If they don't think it's important, they notify you, and they let you fill in the trench. If they consider it important, worth investigating, they send a crew out who start digging—”

“They could be at it for months!”

Shimon shrugged his shoulders expressively.

“Look, I'm sure if I gave your two Arabs, say, five dollars each—”

“And how much would you give me?” asked Shimon coldly. “No, no, Mr. Skinner, it is your duty to the State to report this. It could bring out important information about the past. The chances are they won't even be interested, because this part of Jerusalem they know all about. But you will have done your duty. And then again, it could turn out to be an important find and your name will be mentioned in textbooks.”

Skinner gave him a searching look and then said, “All right, I'll phone them.” He beckoned with his head and Shimon followed him into the house.

It was not easy to reach the Department of Antiquities. For that matter, it was not easy to get the telephone answered by the Ministry of Education and Culture, of which they were a part. Skinner let the phone ring and ring—fifteen times, twenty times. After all, someone must be there. When the connection was finally made and he asked to be connected with the Department of Antiquities, he was told, “Ahuva is not at her desk.”

“Who's Ahuva?”

“The secretary, of course,” came the answer in a scornful tone, as if to say, Don't you even know that?

“So let me talk to someone else.”

“Just a minute.” (He imagined her stretching to look through an annex door.) “I'm sorry. Gedaliah isn't at his desk. He won't be back until late this afternoon.”

“Well, can you take my number and have him call me when he gets in?”

“Of course.”

Shimon counseled, “Look, secretaries, especially in government offices, you can't rely on them. If she wrote it down at all, she'll put it away and forget about it. You call this Gedaliah later in the afternoon.”

Later in the afternoon, around three o'clock, he tried again. When he asked for Ahuva, he was told, “Oh, she's gone home. Her little boy was sick.”

“All right. Let me talk to Gedaliah.”

To his great surprise, he was put through immediately. He gave his name and address and told what had been unearthed and explained the circumstances of the find. Gedaliah was obviously interested. In fact, he said so again and again. As Skinner talked, Gedaliah kept saying, “That's interesting,” much the same way someone else might say “Uh-huh.”

“This trench that you dug, is it visible from the street?”

“Not really,” said Skinner. “It's in the back of the house and there're trees and bushes that conceal it from the road.”

“Ah, good. Now, Mr. Skinner, will you please be careful not to talk about it. Don't tell your friends about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is a country of amateur archaeologists. Any apartment you go into has a collection of potsherds, old coins, and bits of ancient glass that they've found at a construction site or at the beach in Caesarea, or wherever. If word should get out that there is an artifact there, you'll have dozens of people snooping around, digging, spoiling things. And you won't have a quiet moment from then on. So please, keep it quiet. I'll have Asher, who is our inspector for that area, come out and evaluate it. If it is of interest to us, we'll take care of security from then on.”

“When will he come out?”

“Oh, within a few days.”

“A few days? Look, Mr.—er, Gedaliah, I can't have an open trench, maybe five or six feet deep, right at my back door for several days. It's a hazard. Someone could fall in and—”

“You say it's in back of the house, so who could fall in? Look, Mr. Skinner, it's Friday afternoon. The Sabbath will begin soon. And tomorrow is Saturday, the Sabbath, you understand? And Asher, who covers that area, is in
miluim
and won't be back until Sunday—”

“Sure, and then you'll call me, if you remember,” said Skinner bitterly. “And I'll have to get hold of my plumber, who will be busy with a whole bunch of emergency jobs and—”

“Is the plumber there? Let me talk to him.”

Skinner surrendered the phone to Shimon, who talked in Hebrew for a few minutes and then handed the instrument to Skinner once again.

Gedaliah's tone was soothing. “Mr. Skinner, there is no chance that we can get to the site before Monday. But I have arranged with Shimon to call him before we go out so that he can meet us there with his workers. Asher makes his evaluation, and if there is nothing there that interests us, he gives the word and Shimon and his men fill in the trench immediately. If for any reason Shimon can't make it, when Asher makes his inspection, Asher and his assistant will fill it in. Shimon says it's only a half hour's work for two men. He'll leave his shovels there. That's the best I can do.”

“Monday, you say?”

“Monday, possible. We'll do our best.”

“And in the meantime? How about the hazard of an open trench in the meantime?”

“Look, Mr. Skinner,” said Shimon soothingly, “I'll spread a tarpaulin with a couple of boards across it and I'll put a barrier at either end. It will be all right, I guarantee.”

“Well …”

18

The tour guide braced himself against the chrome handrail in front of the bus. He tapped his microphone to make sure it was in working order and said, “Welcome to Jerusalem, the holy city. The Excelsior Hotel where we will be staying and where we will be arriving in a few minutes now is a four-star hotel, noted for its comfort, service, and convenience. As you know, the Jewish Sabbath starts at sunset today, and in Jerusalem, they really keep it. All stores and restaurants in the modern portion of the city will be closed until sunset tomorrow.” He glanced at his watch, and seeing that it was after two, he said, “As a matter of fact, everything is closed down right now. And there are no buses running, either. You can get cabs, however, but they're not too plentiful during the Sabbath, and if you order one, you may have to wait a while. In the Old City, behind the Wall, and in East Jerusalem stores and restaurants are open. That's because these sections are Arab. Fortunately, the Excelsior is within walking distance of the Old City. I suggest, however, that you wait until tomorrow morning before exploring the Old City. There will be a guided walking tour at eleven, and the bus will take you to Jaffa Gate, where it will begin. Dinner tonight in the luxurious hotel dining room will be a typical Sabbath dinner. Ah, here we are.”

The bus swung off the street into the hotel driveway and came to a stop just beyond the door. The driver and tour guide descended and stood by the bus door to help the older passengers alight. From the hotel, half a dozen porters hurried out. Two of them wheeled forward a kind of platform that was as high as the bus, while two others climbed onto the roof of the bus to fold back the tarpaulin and to pass the luggage that was loaded on the roof to those manning the platform, who passed it to others to bring into the lobby of the hotel.

As they alighted, the passengers yawned and stretched, and then with dangling cameras and handbags shuffled into the lobby to stand about and gape at the decor and watch as the floor in front of the elevators gradually filled up with their valises and suitcases. While some stood in little groups, making plans, gossiping about other members of the tour, recalling incidents that had occurred and sites they had visited, some began drifting toward the reception desk, where the tour guide was checking names against a list and distributing room keys. There was none of the anxiety about luggage and room choices that had characterized the beginning of the tour. They were old hands now and knew that when they went up to their rooms their bags would be there on the little folding stands against the wall, or at the foot of the bed.

A few minutes later a cab drew up to the hotel entrance and Professor Abraham Grenish got out. The cabdriver opened his trunk and took out his passenger's bags and deposited them on the sidewalk. Grenish looked around for a porter as he drew his wallet out of his pocket, but they were all involved with the bags from the tour bus.

As he looked about uncertainly, the cabdriver said, “I take for you.” Seizing the two bags, he marched into the hotel and deposited them in front of the desk. It occurred to Grenish that it was something that a cabbie in Boston or New York would be most unlikely to do, so he added a generous tip to the fare, and was in turn rewarded by an expression of obvious gratitude.

To the clerk who offered him a registration form on which he printed his name, his address, and his passport number, he said, “The reservation was made by my travel agent. Is there a letter waiting for me?”

The clerk checked a list and said, “Yes, we have your registration. It's for six nights. Correct?” He glanced at the mail slot behind him, and added, “No letters.”

“I might want to stay a little longer.”

“No trouble. But let us know as soon as possible. Room seven-thirteen. It faces the Wall. Enjoy your stay.” He nodded to a porter and handed him the room key. He waited until Grenish and the porter entered the elevator and it began to rise. Then with a quick glance to see that the other clerks at the desk were occupied, he picked up the telephone and dialed a number. When the connection was made, he said, “He has just checked in. Room seven-thirteen.”

In his room Grenish unzipped his bags and hung up suits and jackets to minimize wrinkling, fished out pajamas and bed slippers and shaving materials, and then rezipped the bags. Shirts and underwear he preferred to draw on from his bags rather than lay them out in the available drawers. He then drew back the curtains on the window and looked out at the Wall and the valley in front of it, in which he could see a number of goats grazing.

He had come from Tel Aviv. It had been a long ride, and he wanted to stretch his legs. Normally he would have headed for the business section of the new part of the city—to look at the store windows, to get a feel of the place, to stop at a bookstore. But he realized that by now all the stores would be closed and the streets deserted. It occurred to him, however, that he could go to the Old City. There, since it was Arab, all shops would be open. Furthermore, it might be a good idea to locate Mideast Trading. Then when El Dhamouri's letter arrived he would be able to go there directly. He might also get a chance to make the acquaintance of El Dhamouri's cousin. From his window the Old City did not seem too far away. He would walk over, wander around, locate the Mideast, perhaps talk with the proprietor, and then look around for a restaurant. Afterward he would either walk back, or if he was tired by that time, he was sure he would be able to get a cab to take him back. The alternative was to hang around the hotel until dinner, which he would have to take in the hotel dining room, since all other restaurants were closed, and after several weeks in the country, he had no hankering for the usual Sabbath meal in an Israeli hotel, the fatty chicken soup, the chopped liver, the roast chicken and gravy.