The City of Lost Secrets: A Mara Beltane Mystery (12 page)
I scanned the room when I finished reading the first story about “the incident.” A few more people had trickled up to the third floor, including a middle-aged man dressed in black seated at the table nearest to me, some 20 feet away. He was wearing black sunglasses and seemed to be engrossed in the magazine he was reading.
I switched out the first piece of microfilm for the second, hoping this article would tell me what had happened to Lev and Uri. I was surprised to discover from the first newspaper article that Lev had initially lied to police at the scene and said he was alone. And Uri, who could have easily hidden inside the tomb and allowed Lev to take the fall, emerged to confess his role in the break-in. Their bond must be much deeper than they cared to admit, for a professor and his student to display such acts of complete selflessness. More than anything else-- more than how they managed to gain access to the cave, more than why they felt compelled to break the law to explore the tomb--the fact that they were both ready to sacrifice for each other, endeared them to me all the more. What were these two men to each other? What role did they play in each others’ lives?
I scanned the other film. After a few minutes of searching, the fates of Uri and Lev became clear.
Jerusalem Post
December 10, 2007
FATES DECIDED FOR TALPIOT TOMB INVADERS
Judgment was handed down yesterday in the case of the Talpiot tomb invaders, two local men who staged and executed a successful break-in at the cave on the outskirts of Jerusalem that a recent documentary claims is the lost resting place of Jesus Christ.
Dr. Uri Nevon, professor and biblical scholar at Hebrew University, was suspended from his teaching duties. It is unknown whether he will ever return. Lev Geller, a shopkeeper’s son in Old City, was expelled from Hebrew University, where he had been a freshman business major.
Despite public speculation that Dr. Nevon and Mr. Geller had help gaining access to the tomb, the police insist the men acted alone.
“These two men are smart,” said Jerusalem police station chief Benjamin Schwarz. “They didn’t need help doing what they did. This is an open-and-shut case.”
* * *
Packing up my things to leave the library, I thought about visiting Uri, since I was within easy walking distance of his office. But then I decided against it. I didn’t know his schedule, and even if he wasn’t in the middle of a lecture, an unannounced visit would be inconsiderate. Plus, the day we were at Lev’s shop, we agreed that being seen together would be risky. It was clear Uri and I were being tailed, and no doubt Lev was too. Best to let Uri contact me.
I returned the two pieces of microfilm to the secretary at the Help Desk, thanked her for her help, and exited the library.
I took a sherut back into town, to a taxi stand in the Jewish Quarter mere paces from the Western Wall. From here I walked a few blocks on the narrow Tiferet Yisrael Street, back to the café where Uri and I met and discussed Mary Magdalene over falafels.
I ordered a falafel to go from the café. I couldn’t resist the soft pita bread wrapped around deep-fried mashed chick peas smothered in Israeli salad and spicy sauce. I silently thanked Uri for introducing these to me, paid for my lunch and set off walking again.
That’s when I saw him. The man in black from the library. He was leaning against a building a half a block away.
When I first saw him at the library, he was sitting at a table a short distance from me reading a magazine. Had he still been there when I left the library? I retraced my steps in my mind as I walked and concluded that no, the middle-aged man dressed all in black was gone when I left. The table where he’d been sitting was empty.
I wouldn’t have thought anything of this average-looking man had he not been wearing dark sunglasses inside. How odd. And now, as I continued walking on Tiferet Yisrael Street, inching closer to him with every step, it was the sunglasses that gave him away.
Suddenly he ducked behind a building up ahead of me and disappeared. I stopped for a moment, contemplating where he’d gone and what I should do. Was he following me? I shook that thought from my head but thought it best to proceed with caution just in case. A crowded place to blend in and hide in plain sight was in order, so I turned left and made my way to Hurva square. Once there, I found a bench in the shade to eat my lunch.
I finished my falafel and decided to check out the sites of Hurva Square, just as a distant church bell was chiming 2 o’clock.
A maze of narrow, winding streets went off in all directions from the center of Hurva Square, which is the heart of the Jewish Quarter. Locals sat at outdoor cafes, relaxing with friends and family, and a few tourists strolled about. The area is dominated by several ornately decorated synagogues from the 17
century, and I walked around snapping pictures of their stone exteriors.
There was much to see in this small yet historically rich area of the Jewish Quarter, including the Cardo. In the Byzantine era, the Cardo was Jerusalem’s main thoroughfare, but has since been converted to a covered shopping arcade. But I had no time to shop. I had work to do. It was time to go.
I started heading north on foot along Jewish Quarter Road, which ended at an area containing several souks. If I continued north through this marketplace district, I’d eventually cross Via Dolorosa Road, pass through the Muslim Quarter and out one of the gates that led into modern New City.
Despite being surrounded by the bustle of commerce and tourist groups, I felt uneasy after several minutes of walking. I turned around, still unable to shake the feeling of being followed.
That’s when I saw him again. The man in black from the library. He was about fifty feet behind me, walking casually as if window shopping. Perhaps the first two times I saw him was coincidence. But the third time? This had to be intentional. It seemed shady to me. And it meant danger.
I picked up my pace to a speed walk. But glancing back I noticed that the man in black was still right behind me, keeping pace, his intentions unclear. Would he eventually catch up to me when he thought the time was right? And if so, then what? Would he grab me and threaten me and then let me go? Or would he kidnap me, walk me through the streets of Jerusalem to some secret location and hold me hostage? Who was he, and what did he want?
I was jogging now, crossing David Street into a maze of stalls showcasing fruits, vegetables, baked goods, wine, clothing, meats, cheeses, house wares and souvenirs. Maybe I would lose the man in black in here, under these covered markets swarming with vendors and tourists. I weaved in and out of the various aisles, continuing north, not staying in any one aisle for too long, and not pausing at any of the stalls. Eventually, though, my feet ached and my chest heaved under the stress. Beads of sweat were starting to accumulate on my lower back and my head grew too dizzy to continue. I had to stop for a few minutes.
After seeing no sign of the man in black for awhile, I stopped to rest at one of the stalls. The vendor and his customer looked at me curiously as I pretended to admire his wares. How I must have looked to them, red-faced and out of breath, occasionally glancing around urgently and flinching at anyone who came near me.
After a few minutes, the coast was clear. I thought I had lost him.
Just then, however, I saw him over my left shoulder, half-hidden by trinkets and souvenirs that hung from the ceiling of a nearby stall. There was no mistaking his large black sunglasses. He was looking for me, his head swiveling side-to-side, scanning the crowd.
I started walking, slowly at first until I was around the corner and hopefully out of view. Then I started jogging, until I emerged through the exit of the marketplace onto the street outside Alexander Hospice, a place of worship for the Russian Orthodox Church.
I stopped to catch my breath. Looking around to see if I’d given the man in black the slip, I noticed a large crowd of people coming down the street toward me. They were crying and chanting and praying, a frenzy of emotions. There were men of faith dressed in robes, women draped in long swathes of cloth, and tourists quietly and respectfully walking along taking it all in. And there was a man in front leading them all, struggling to hold a large wooden cross on his shoulders. The crowd came closer until eventually it enveloped me on all sides and I was lost in a sea of people. Some of them ignored me, and some were too enraptured to see me and brushed against me as they passed by on their way to who-knows-where.
Just then, as the crowd was moving on, I made the connection. These people were participating in the walk along the Via Dolorosa, or Stations of the Cross, the supposed last steps of Jesus Christ.
Every Friday afternoon Franciscan friars walk the winding, narrow streets along the route to all 14 stations; religious pilgrims and devotees participate to help recreate the events of the story and to help them identify with Christ’s suffering.
I hadn’t the time to reflect on the activity in front of me, however, because the man in black was approaching. If I continued to stand still he would catch up and overtake me in a matter of seconds, and then who knew what would happen? I couldn’t stay here, out in the open, exposed, vulnerable. Where could I go?
Just then I remembered something I’d read in my guide book about the Alexander Hospice, the 19
century church where I currently found myself standing in front of.
When the hospice was founded, it was already known to contain the ruins of a 4
century stone building, a building that just happens to be the most sacred site in all Christendom. It is the place where the Messiah supposedly died, was buried, and was then resurrected. This meant I was within steps of ground zero of the Christian faith, a place where people go to worship and pray and give thanks. It was a place that would be swarming with throngs of people on the outside, but would be respectfully quiet and tranquil on the inside. A place that I thought would be safe.
The crowd was in the last stages of its walk along the Via Dolorosa, and was on its way to this building. And that’s where I had to go, too. If I could only use them as cover…
Instinctively I started to run, as fast as I could, quickly catching up with the crowd of people on their way to the same place I wanted to go. Looking over my shoulder one last time I saw that the man in black was no longer following me. He stood outside the Alexander Hospice, the place where I’d just stood, his hands balled into fists. Perhaps he realized where I was going, and knew that he could not follow. Where I was going, there would be no disturbing the peace.
I approached the courtyard and pushed my way through the crowds, crossing the threshold into the dimly lit interior. A sense of relief came over me, then awe as I took in my surroundings--the ornate alters, the colored glass, the finely chiseled stones.
Then the irony set in. I, a person devoid of all religious faith, had found sanctuary in a building devoted to Jesus Christ: the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
Hey Mara!
How are things? From your last e-mail I’d say things are starting to heat up. How scary that you were followed by some stranger through the streets of Jerusalem!!! Sounds too strange to be true, like a scene from a movie… Not to make light of it, but if you’re kidnapped by some extremist group and held for ransom, don’t say I didn’t warn you… I doubt anyone you know (including me) has enough money to bail you out (ha, ha).
Seriously though, are you okay? I’m glad to hear you’re getting the info you wanted, and have stumbled upon some awesome luck, but I sure hope it’s all worth it. I’m not doubting your abilities as a writer, I’m just, you know…worried.
And this Uri guy? In light of everything, did you really have to go and fall for him? Kind of bad timing, isn’t it, to be nursing a crush? I mean, you’re there to research a story and then get the hell out of dodge, not fall in love with some sexy, international stranger. Although, that does have a nice ring to it… Again, sounds too strange to be true, like some really bad chick flick. Or kinda like the novels you’re supposed to be writing…(joking)
Yeah, so, while you’re traipsing around Jerusalem, chasing down a cool story like some female Dan Brown, I’ve got some pretty exciting stuff of my own going on. Just yesterday, I accidentally ate an expired yogurt that left me with the worst stomach ache ever. And last week one of my third-graders went a little crazy on the merry-go-round at recess and puked all over me. Oh, and then just today, I got a flat tire on my way to work and was stranded on the side of the road for an hour until AAA showed up… And you think your life’s exciting…
All kidding aside, I wish you the best of luck, and I hope you come home soon. You are coming home soon, right? I know you’ve only been gone a couple of weeks, but I’m praying that you’re not contemplating moving to an exotic part of the world and starting a new life with a sexy Israeli professor. Cuz that would be, like, totally irrational…
I miss the hell out of you.
Hugs,
Lisa
I archived Lisa’s e-mail to remind myself to respond later and address her concerns. No, I certainly was not contemplating moving to Jerusalem. I had a pretty nice life back in Pennsylvania, and I wasn’t about ready to throw it all away for some man, no matter how sexy or intelligent he was. I hardly knew Uri. Sure, I was having some conflicted emotions about him. I felt drawn to him, and I’ll admit I was attracted to him physically, but other than that, who knows? I was starting to think I should have kept my feelings about Uri to myself. But I guess that’s what best friends are for--to support your good decisions and challenge your bad ones.
