The Celestial Gate

by Avital Dicker

  “And you’re giving it to me?” Yam whispered in surprise.

  “Just remember, ya ibni, the gate comes to you, not you to it,” said the old man with a mysterious smile.

  Yam took the map and gently smoothed it out, taking care not to tear the fragile paper.

  “This is a map of the city underneath the Old City,” Ali explained. “Under these streets, there is an entire city that was built back in the time of Solomon’s Temple. This city was meant to serve as a hiding place in time of need.”

  “This map is two thousand years old?” Mor asked incredulously. The old man laughed. “Much older, ya ibni. But the map is recopied every time the paper begins to crumble. It has been in my family since the days of the Ottoman Empire, back in the twelfth century or so. Eighty years ago, my grandfather made this copy of the previous map, which was falling apart.”

  Suddenly, Ali turned very serious. “The map has been waiting for thousands of years. I am now giving it to you.”

  The astonished threesome stared at the ancient map of the city underneath the city. Whole streets were depicted down to the smallest details.

  Ali pointed to a few spots marked with an asterisk. “These are the exits,” he explained.

  “Wow,” Anise whispered.

  “Be careful. It is possible some streets and tunnels have collapsed over time.”

  “And this map will take us to the gate?” Anise asked the old man.

  He shook his head. “It is the way to the gate, yes. But, as I said before, the gate chooses you, not the other way around. Also consider that, in recent years, groups of terrorists have dug new tunnels that do not show up here. They, too, are down there.”

  “Terrorists?” a worried Mor murmured.

  “They will not hesitate to kill you. So think well about every step you take,” Ali warned.

  Silence descended over the table. “The truth is that I was planning on meeting God. I have some not so pleasant things to say to Him about what he allows to happen here on Earth. It’s time He took some time away from his other concerns and looked down here,” said Anise finally. All four smiled ruefully.

  The next few hours were spent studying the map.

  Mor marked the paths to the exits, which were scattered all around the Old City.

  Ali said that there were eight gates in the walls around the Old City as well as another few on top of the Temple Mount.

  “My father said that whoever built the gates knew about this gate and intentionally hid it so that nobody would find it,” said Yam. Pointing to a spot on the map, he added. “This is the closest one.”

  “That’s Lions’ Gate, you Tel Aviv dimwit,” Anise mocked him. She still felt weird next to him, and every time his hand accidentally brushed against hers, she felt a jolt, like electricity, coursing through her body.

  “The sultan who built this gate had a recurring dream. Every night, he’d dream about lions coming to tear him to pieces. So he built a wall around the city and carved the lions into the gate so that they’d remind him of the dream and guard the city. And that’s how the gate got its name,” she added, making a point of not looking at Yam.

  “Lions’ Gate leads to the Temple Mount, which is holy to Jews, because that’s where the Temple stood, and the Jews believe that God used the earth from the Temple Mount to create Adam, the first human,” Mor added. “And the Temple Mount is holy also to the Muslims because of the al-Aqsa mosque, and also to the Christians because of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.”

  “Yes. Everybody fights over the mount,” Ali sighed.

  “How ridiculous! The mount doesn’t belong to anybody. Except nature. Grownups try to teach us while they themselves…” Anise had no chance of finishing her thought because, at that instant, they all heard a tremendous explosion. This time, it was close, so close the walls shook.

  They all flattened themselves on the floor. Anise couldn’t stop thinking about her mother. What if she was hurt right now, lying underneath a pile of rubble, scared, calling for help, with no one to hear her? Anise wasn’t going to let herself think of any scenario worse than that.

  The four waited a few minutes until all seemed calm and only then went back to studying the map. “There’s a place called ‘the cave,’” said Ali. “Nobody has ever found it, but, according to lore, it is a prayer space in the underground city built in case people had to hide. If you find it, you will be protected.”

  Anise had had it. She was incapable of hearing as much as one more word about legends, gates, or caves. First thing, before doing anything else, she had to reach her mom and Theo and make sure they were all right.

  Ali tried to persuade them to wait until nightfall, but Anise wouldn’t hear of it. Worry ate away at her like acid and wouldn’t let her rest.

  “We have to leave now!” she insisted.

  Ali asked them to wait just a little while longer. He disappeared into the other room and came back with three floor-length galabiyas and a backpack for each one. “You will need what is inside,” he said without further explanation.

  The three put the galabiyas on over their clothing. Anise gathered her hair and covered it with an old scarf. She thought that, now, she looked exactly like her mom in the old photograph she’d found.

  The boys covered their heads with caps. Carefully, Yam put the map into the pocket of his jeans under his robe. They thanked the old man warmly for his help and then went into the street once again.

  Ali looked at their receding backs through the window. There really hadn’t been any choice. They are the last hope for all of us, he thought, and closed the shutters with a sigh.

  It was only eight o’clock in the morning, but despite the early hour, the narrow streets of the old city were bustling with people.

  Women in long robes used the lull to stock up on every type of food, while men dawdled in clusters on street corners. Mor bought three round, fragrant bagels, that had just come out of the oven from a cart at the side of the street. The seller held out a little packet of dried oregano mixed with sesame seeds and salt, and a large bottle of water.

  “Look!” Yam, chewing the fresh bagel, was pointing at something. Two stone lions stared back at them. “This must be Lions’ Gate.”

  A group of men with kufiyah-covered faces and guns slung over their shoulders passed by, and the three hurried to disappear among the other pedestrians.

  The honk of a car made them all jump to the side. Three armed men were shooting into the air as their car barreled ahead.

  “This way!” Mor pulled his friends into the burial procession of one of the shooting victims. “Nobody here will suspect us of being tourists,” he whispered.

  Anise examined the procession. Just behind the coffin, two men were holding up the bereaved mother, who could barely walk. She wiped the tears welling up in her eyes with the edge of her kufiyah. They crossed the street together with the funeral party headed for the Muslim cemetery, trying to blend in with the mourners. The procession had almost reached the end of the street when, again, there came a series of explosions, and everyone flattened themselves to the asphalt. Fifteen or twenty feet ahead there was now a fresh corpse. Anise recognized the bereaved mother.

  People all around were screaming and starting to run every which way. The tide of people swept Anise away.

  “Yam!” she yelled.

  He struggled to reach her through the crowd and managed to drag her out. Both backed up against a wall, waiting for the last of the panicked hordes to get away.

  “Hey, something happened over there!” Mor was yelling at them from the other side of the street. He was right. Dozens of masked men were coming up the street, spraying bullets in every direction.

  “We’ll meet over there,” said Yam, pointing, and the three, running, caught up with the throng and were quickly swallowed up.

  They didn’t stop runnin
g until they could no longer breathe and the echoes of the shooting were faint enough to make them feel safe for the moment.

  “How’s the leg?” Anise asked Mor once they had stopped. Mor, breathing heavily, nodded. “It’s just a cut.” Mor scanned the alley. It was abandoned, except for a few masked men sitting on low stools.

  “Don’t panic. Just don’t move,” Mor whispered, looking at the gunmen.

  Then, one of the men grabbed his gun. Another group of armed guys was coming their way from the other end of the street. They were trapped.

  Old Ali was standing in a dark corner of a courtyard of one of the buildings. He nodded once and the dark-haired child by his side quickly darted out. Suddenly, Anise heard a faint whistle and saw the head of a child of about eight peeking out from in between two houses. The child signaled her and immediately disappeared back into the courtyard.

  Anise hesitated for a second, but there really was no other way out. She looked at the barrel of the gun pointing at them. They had nothing to lose. She pulled on Mor’s arm. “Follow me,” she whispered, “on three,” and all three of them dove to the right, running. The next spray of bullets missed them by inches.

  The three followed the child who led them past buildings and through courtyards until they came to a large yard surrounded by a spiky metal fence. The child quickly scrambled up and over the fence, but what he did with such ease turned out to be a little more difficult for them. One of the metal spikes caught Anise’s robe. The more she tried to free it, the more the material twisted away from her, and she cursed out loud. Scared, the child looked back at her and motioned for her to be quiet. Giving up, Anise just slipped the robe over her head and jumped over, leaving the fabric as a memento of her presence on the fence.

  The three found themselves on street wider than the narrow Old City alleys. The child disappeared into one of the courtyards.

  “Who is he? Is this a trap?” Mor said suspiciously.

  “Look, he got us out of that alley,” said Yam. “He didn’t have to help. Without him, we’d have been dead back there. Besides, he’s just a little kid, and there’s three of us.”

  Mor had to admit there was something to that. It sounded reasonable. He nodded in agreement, and the three cautiously entered the courtyard.

  The place was filled with junk. The child stood next to a tall pile of scrap metal and was pointing to a rusty washing machine.

  “Maybe he’s trying to sell it to us,” Mor whispered.

  “Very funny,” said Yam, helping the child move the machine aside.

  Underneath it, partly hidden by the earth, they saw a wooden door. The child gave a gap-toothed smile, pulled on the rusty metal handle, and mumbled something in Arabic.

  “He says it’s dangerous being outside and that these stairs will take us out of the Old City,” Anise translated for the boy.

  “I actually thought we were blending in,” a disappointed Yam said.

  “Oh yeah, sure! With your brand new Nikes and blond hair,” Anise grumbled.

  “Look who’s talking,” Yam retorted hotly.

  “Hey, at least I speak Arabic,” Anise answered, clearly annoyed. She turned to thank the little boy, but he was no longer there. How odd, she thought.

  “Hey, you two – stop fighting,” Mor whispered. “Look, this is the way down to the underground city Ali was telling us about.”

  Yam turned on the flashlight attached to his keyring. The light was weak and didn’t let them see much beyond the entrance steps. They peered into the darkness below.

  “We have nothing to lose,” Yam finally said.

  Anise thought about how she’d ignored her mom. It simply couldn’t have been their last time together. She would never forgive herself if it was. She had to get to her, and the underground city was her best shot.

  Yam took the lead in the murk, followed by Anise. Mor, bringing up the rear, closed the door behind him. A bat crossed the tunnel with a loud flap of its wing. Anise choked back a scream. She lost her balance and Yam grabbed her arm to steady her, but she pulled away in anger, again feeling that hot rush through her body.

  “I don’t need any help. I can manage by myself,” she said angrily, grateful to the dark for hiding the blush creeping up her face. She stepped as far away from Yam as she could.

  “Is she always like this?” Yam asked.

  Mor shrugged. What the hell does Yam have that I don’t? he wondered, and why doesn’t she look at me that way? Out loud he said, “She’s like that only with the people she likes.”

  Anise wanted to kill him but made do with thumping him on the back in warning.

  “Ouch!” Mor rubbed the spot she’d hit. “Hey, listen up,” he said. Now they could all hear murmuring in the distance.

  “It sounds like prayers,” said Yam.

  “It’s coming from above,” said Mor.

  They continued in silence for another few minutes. The tunnel slowly widened until they arrived at a two-branched junction. The left-hand path seemed to lead deep into the underground city, while the right-hand one led directly to a spiral staircase that seemed to go up and out. The sounds of prayer were much closer now.

  “Now what?” Yam wanted to know.

  “I’m all for getting out of here. Maybe that exit takes us to Lions’ Gate,” said Mor. The dark tunnel and damp underground air were getting on his nerves.

  Yam didn’t wait for another word; he was totally in favor of taking this opportunity to leave this murky ghost town. He started up the narrow, winding stairs, but just then a rat scurried past the three. Mor drew back in disgust.

  Yam reached the top step, devastated to find a large rock obstructing the opening. “The exit is blocked,” he whispered. He could clearly hear the congregants praying on the other side, almost within touching distance.

  “We’re going to have to go back and head for the next exit through the tunnel,” Yam muttered.

  “Hold on,” said Anise, and pushed ahead to stand next to him on the narrow top step. She examined the large rock, letting her hand roam across its entire surface. “Here,” she murmured some moments later, pointing at a slight crack in the gap between the opening and the rock.

  “And you think we’re going to fit through there?” Yam mocked.

  Anise ignored him. There has to be some way, she thought, letting her fingers continue their search. Suddenly, her palm felt a slight bulge. She tried turning it, but nothing happened. It wouldn’t budge.

  “You’ve watched too many movies about secret passages and princesses,” Yam scoffed.

  “Give her a break,” Mor jumped to Anise’s defense.

  Now, instead of trying to turn it, Anise pulled on the bulge with all her might.

  “Look,” she whispered, hypnotized, seeing the rock starting to slide to one side.

  “And you don’t seem to have watched enough movies,” she answered Yam, a victorious smile on her lips. Moving cautiously, she squeezed herself through the narrow opening between the rock and the wall.

  Anise kneeled. Now she was hidden in a space between a pillar and the floor inside a church. She looked around and, once she was sure nobody could see her, she quickly pulled herself up, Yam and Mor hot on her heels.

  The service was still in progress. One by one, they slipped out from behind the wide marble pillar and blended in with the congregation.

  Anise found a hymnal on a bench and opened it. Then, seeing that the congregants were circling the church close to the walls and heading toward the priest and the altar, the three fell in line.

  “Hey, this is the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. My aunt dragged me here a few times,” Mor muttered.

  They crossed the large structure, looking in wonder at the ceiling decorated with colorful mosaics and the high arches between the massive pillars.

  “Look,” Mor whispered. Anise glanced at two
white marble steps on the right leading to a roped-off entranceway with a sign reading, “No Entrance.”

  “That room is always closed. I remember from the last time I was here,” Mor continued in an undertone. His eyes gleamed with curiosity. “It says ‘No Entrance,’” Anise stated the obvious in an attempt to stop him, but Mor had already ducked under the rope, opened the door, and disappeared on the other side.

  Anise was furious. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of leaving him there, but then looked around to make sure no one was looking in her direction and reluctantly followed him into the room.

  “What the hell were you thinking, you idiot?” she angrily hissed in Mor’s face.

  Yam, who had slipped in behind the two, was now leaning against a marble statue depicting Jesus. It was so large it barely fit into the small room. He eyed Anise with suspicion. He was sorry about their previous exchange and for having teased her, but there was something about this girl that just drove him insane.

  Anise pulled on Mor’s arm. “Come on already,” she urged him impatiently, opening the door to go back into the church’s main hall. Just then, a burst of gunfire broke the peace. She froze. The prayer service stopped abruptly. Yam grabbed the door and closed it behind them quickly.

  “What’s happening here? It’s a church, for crying out loud,” Anise whispered, horrified.

  Through the peephole in the door, Yam could see dozens of masked men filling the aisles. They were firing rapid bursts into the air and aggressively shoving the congregants to the center of the church, all the while shouting, “Allahu Akbar.” Several people were hurt by the next burst of fire. Three young men tried to make a break for the door but were also shot. Bleeding, they fell to the floor and many of the churchgoers screamed in terror.

  Yam quickly scanned the room they were in. Behind the statue he saw another door, but it was locked. Yam kicked it with all his might, and the door gave way with a groan. The three squeezed into the next room, which was even smaller than the one they just left. On one wall hung an old painting of a ship whose stern bore an enormous cross. The shooting outside intensified.