The Lost City

by Carrie E. Gruhn

  Not all the trips away from the village were for discussion. More and more frequently calls came for the doctor to visit Arabians. I welcomed those demanding calls, for it was to me that he turned for assistance then. It was fun going out by his side in the rattling, bumping jeep. I was acquiring a few Arabian words which made it possible for me to talk a little with the women. It was while out on one of those trips that we annexed Ahmed or perhaps he annexed us!

  It seemed ludicrous that neither one of us had seen his small, wiry body curled up in our jeep. After all a jeep is small, and not easy to find a place in for concealment. Improbable as it seemed, Ahmed suddenly appeared in the seat behind us while we were speeding swiftly toward home. I was nearly thrown out and Paul did send the grinning youth sprawling on the floor from which he had evidently arisen. The jeep had good brakes!

  “Where did you come from?” Paul sputtered.

  “Back there.” Unperturbed Ahmed picked himself off the floor and began to make himself comfortable again.

  “No, you don’t! You go back, now!”

  Ahmed never winked an eye, but the grin spread wider across his face as he shook his head decisively.

  “The doctor needs me. I go with him.”

  “But I don’t need you! Your family will think I kidnapped you or something! Now come on, get out of there.”

  “Oh, Paul! He can’t walk all the way back there! We’ve come a long way!” Something about the thin, dirty-faced boy appealed to me. Perhaps it was his engaging grin, or the hungry look in his dark eyes. Whatever it was, I could not let him be thrust out to walk all that distance back, especially when it would so soon be dark.

  “Ahmed cannot go back. There is no family to look for him. I am your family, now.” His words were a curious mixture, some I could understand and others that I could only guess. At least there was no mistaking his intention.

  “Look, Ahmed, maybe you’ve taken a fancy to us—maybe you don’t have any family, but others will be looking for you.” Ahmed’s vigorous headshake stopped Paul. “Maybe they won’t, but we haven’t any place for you.” Once more Paul was stopped; this time by the terrible hurt that vanquished the grin and made the young-old face appear bleak and desolate. I “held my breath” as the lad began slowly to climb out of the jeep. Paul reached out his hand and halted the boy, “Never mind. We can’t take you back tonight. Neither can we let you go back alone. Let’s hope no one will miss you or worry about you. You’ll have to go with us tonight, but remember you can’t stay.”

  Ahmed grinned, then settled back as complacently as if he had never been informed that he was not wanted. There was a quality of mischief about his grin that made me want to laugh with him. Already I guessed, I think, that in giving in that much Paul had eliminated the possibility of getting rid of him at all. We drove on in silence, but stealing a glance at Paul’s face I saw there a mingling of dismay, bewilderment, anger, frustration, and I suddenly gave way to the merriment. Ahmed had inspired it within me from the first glimpse of his eager, trusting, yet cunning smile. A moment later Paul ruefully joined me and behind us Ahmed was laughing, too. So we came into our village bringing not rugs nor other gifts but Ahmed. He was a very doubtful addition to our Arabian collection.

  Ahmed was not so much accepted as tolerated by the villagers. His presence was looked upon with suspicion. Paul and I shared some of the doubts as to the wisdom of letting him stay. True, he proved himself over and over in aptitude and helpfulness; certainly he took up very little room and food. He had been accustomed to but two meals a day usually, and often skipped the midday meal. He followed close on our heels, quickly grasping our needs and putting things into our hands almost before we could ask for them. There was no doubt about the time he saved, the steps he spared us, but he still presented a problem. First of all there was his dirtiness. He was amazed and hurt when Paul referred to him as being unclean.

  “But doctor, my right hand I always clean. My left hand, too. That is to be more than clean!”

  “Maybe to you, but not to us. If you are going to live with us you will have to be altogether clean. Peel off the rags and get into the bathhouse for a complete scrub!”

  Ahmed argued and fairly danced around trying to escape the indignity of a bath, but Paul was grimly insistent. At last even the fertile brain of the boy could find no more excuses. Reluctantly he followed Paul who had no intention of giving him a chance to trick us into thinking that he had complied. The door shut slowly behind them and there followed a hectic half hour for both of them. The noises coming from the bathhouse drew quite a crowd, but when he emerged to find us standing outside Ahmed was quite unabashed. His usual, ready grin spread over his face and he fairly strutted in his clean clothing. One would have thought it was he who had won the victory instead of Paul. Indeed, he looked more the victor. Paul was splashed, disheveled, and scowling when he came forth, but even he could not hold anger against the charm which was Ahmed’s passport into the hearts of all the villagers.

  Once Ahmed had taken that first plunge we found that we had a new problem. Let him be released for a few moments and he would race to the bathhouse there to luxuriate in all the hot water and soap in the place. At least we always knew where to look, for him, but we began to wish that we had left him dirty since the whole village began to be upset because of the lack of hot water and soap.

  Nevertheless, Ahmed managed to make himself completely indispensable. He trotted about the place doing odd jobs and running errands for everyone when we were not using him. Now and then a bit of distrust reared its head as he darted in and out of the buildings. What better spy could the Arabians wish than this lad with his small-boy grin, his engaging manner, and a too-wise head!

  Tenseness began to increase. We still enjoyed peace in our corner but more and more trouble was brewing elsewhere. The British withdrew their help—we were spiteful and angry because of rough treatment accorded by them to others who were trying to come in. Many had been returned to concentration camps or rode the ocean in ships from one port to another seeking shelter. The United Nations worked on a plan for partitioning Palestine and their suggestions and decisions met with opposition from both Arab and Jew. In the cities disruption and confusion broke out with bloodshed and open warfare. We believed that our own friends and neighbors would do no harm to us, but there were others beyond who felt none of the friendliness or those bonds woven by daily mingling. Stranger Arabs were becoming more aggressive; we never knew when a group might seek us out.

  Our bus and the trucks were twice waylaid on the road and plundered. The harvests were good and we could afford to laugh a little at the small spoils thus taken, but those incidents made us know that we were not immune. Paul and Lilah went away again secretly to meet others plotting something so secret that even I could not guess what it was. Ahmed’s sharp eyes watched their going and within me I felt an uneasiness. Suppose Ahmed were spying. Surely he could not live with us and not guess that Paul and Simon, with others, were busy planning something which could very well be displeasing to the Arabs. The Arabs were beginning to insist that we were taking too many liberties. We were over-running the country; we must be put in our places and crushed once for all. Anything that had the appearance of concerted effort on our part, whether to gain recognition or power, was offensive to them.

  I had been so proud of Paul and of the part that I knew he was playing that this new anxiety came to me unexpectedly. If the Arabs knew of his activities, would that not place his life in jeopardy? Mayhap this truce was intended to bring him to more sure danger. Ahmed seemed so harmless, so ready to please, yet he knew every coming and going of Paul, of Simon, indeed of every one of us. My imagination became reckless. Once again I let myself go from one fear to another which would not let me alone. The growing jealousy would not let me sleep nor eat while Paul and Lilah were absent. That fear I would not let even my mother see. I need not be ashamed of revealing anxiety over Paul’s safety.

  Mother had been noting my a
nxiety and I was sure she had. When again the gate had swung closed behind them she followed me as I hurried to my room.

  “Tanya! But you are weeping, my child?” Her arms took me in and I let the tears flow unashamed.

  “Oh Mother, I am so afraid!”

  “Afraid, my daughter?”

  “It’s Paul! What if something should happen to him! What if he should not come back!”

  “This does not sound like you, my little one. You have been so proud, so boastful; surely the wisdom of which you have been so sure will not let him run into danger heedlessly.”

  “Not if—if the ones he loved were with him—but alone—” hesitantly I spoke but my mind was racing with my words. If he were with his love—oh, therein lay my real concern! Lilah! Lilah! Yet, if he had found her to be his beloved he would not take her into danger! Small comfort, that! If he loved another he would protect her—if he felt that only himself needed protection would he be less careful?

  “I think you are again talking like a child, Tanya! When will you grow up? Surely if Paul has wisdom and good to offer our people he will be careful lest that wisdom be cut off. There is danger! We all know that. There is danger in taking even fruits to the market, yet I do not think another woman has wept foolishly as you are weeping! You have too much time for silly thinking—your head should be filled with dreams of little ones for in theta we lose ourselves.” Then she lifted my head to look into my tear-filled eyes. “Perhaps that is what ails you, my daughter!”

  “No, oh, no, Mother!” The anguish in my voice made her own voice soften for the partial truth she heard.

  “Do not fret, little Tanya, there is time! You will be wiser, more able to understand and to care for the little ones when God gives them into your keeping, as He surely will.”

  How could God undo what, in my foolishness, I had done? Even if there was a God He had been slow in helping His people. Tragedy and sorrow had turned my mother’s hair gray—He was letting trouble follow us even here! Should I then, turn to the God who has shown me only failure? Impatiently I let my hurt and anger dry my tears. I was tired of hearing about God! I wanted only to talk about Paul! So I did not demur when my mother withdrew to leave me to nourish my anxiety on the bloody news coming from the radio.

  Lilah—the Arabs—whichever way I looked I became more and more certain that I had lost Paul. Days slipping into a week, a week into a fortnight without his returning deepened that conviction. The misery within me was not the less because I had no one but myself to blame.

  8

  ISAAC’S TENT

  AHMED SEEMED TO HOVER over me, clucking like an anxious mother hen. He did not know the reasons for my sleepless tossing but since we had been unable to entice him with any other sleeping quarters than a pile of rugs outside our door he knew, doubtless, that I spent restless nights. He knew that I was not eating. He watched my every move solicitously—too solicitously because he was always “underfoot” and began to get on nerves too tightly stretched already. I scolded but his only answer was a wider grin. Exasperated I began to find errands to keep him busy and since it took time, and some effort, to keep him occupied I began to have less time for brooding and for neglecting my clinic work.

  It was after a particularly busy day when it seemed everybody had had a cut or small ailment requiring my attention that I found Ahmed had elected to disappear. In a way it should have been a relief, but in that last hour before closing the clinic I could have used him. It was easy for me to let exasperation change to suspicion when I learned that he had slipped through the big gate against the angry remonstrance of the gateman. He had run toward the darkening hills. The gate had been ajar because the bus had been expected momentarily.

  “But the bus—where is it?” I asked, looking expectantly around the yard.

  “That’s what we are all wondering. Looks as if it might have met trouble.” The man who had told me where Ahmed had gone shook his head and turned toward the gate which was now tightly closed.

  As if drawn by an irresistible magnet I drifted toward the gate. Deep inside I felt the suspense and disquietude stirring again. Why had Ahmed run away just when I needed him? Why had he run outside? Why had he gone in the direction from which the bus would come? What connection was there between his disappearance and the failure of the bus to arrive? I quickened my steps at signs of alerted activity in the tower surmounting the gate-posts.

  As I came near I heard the excited Ahmed arguing with the gatekeeper. Angrily the gatekeeper was scolding him for having run out in the first place and was refusing to open to let him come inside.

  “You’re in no danger out there! You were so anxious to go out—now you can just cool your heels. You’re an Arab. They won’t bother you! Come to think of it, since you are an Arab it might be wise to let you stay put unless you can give a pretty good accounting what you’ve been doing these past two hours!” The gatekeeper’s spoken suspicions were an echo of the mistrust that brewed in my own mind.

  “I went for a walk. Surely there is no wrong in wanting to stretch one’s legs and push out one’s chest with good air, is there?”

  “Maybe not, but you know the rule that everyone must be inside when night falls, yet you went out when the sun was setting!”

  “I only wanted to go out to meet the bus!”

  Breathlessly I ran up to the gateman and shook his sleeve to get his attention. “Maybe he saw it coming!” surely if Ahmed had been out there for mischief he would not be telling us glibly where he had gone. My thoughts were not clear; yet of a sudden I did not believe that Ahmed had anything to do with the delayed arrival of the bus.

  His frankness caused the gateman to hesitate a moment then reluctantly to open the small door. With a return of his magnificent unconcern that bordered on insolence, Ahmed took his time about entering. I ran forward impatiently to meet him. He grinned broadly when he saw me and his insolence left him.

  “The bus is up there, just beyond the knob on the hill. There was trouble—the doctor said to tell you that they are all right.”

  I gasped. All my lurid imaginings had been right after all. Something had happened to Paul and it was like him to send Ahmed to prepare me for the truth! I did not hear the sudden commotion behind me as the gatekeeper grasped the surprised Ahmed with the intention of getting more information. I did not wait to learn more for I had heard enough. My fear lent wings to my feet as I ran down the road toward Paul, sobbing and calling his name. The road ran into a big swinging curve and I turned aside to go through the rustling ankle-high grain of a field that would shorten the way.

  Midway in the field I brushed the tears from my eyes and miraculously saw a figure just entering from the road. Even in the dim twilight I knew it was Paul. I saw his pace quicken to meet my hurried feet. Then suddenly I was in his arms.

  “Paul, oh, Paul! I have been so worried! Paul, Paul, don’t ever leave me again!” I clung frantically to him and did not realize how at last I had let him see my heart until his lips stilled mine gently in a kiss. From my lips his mouth traced a path across my tear-wet cheek up to my throbbing temple, then softly into my ear he whispered,

  “Isaac walked in the field and he lifted his eyes and saw Rebekah coming to him.”

  I thrilled to his kiss and to his quick understanding. I thrilled to the wonderful knowledge of being beloved. Suddenly I was filled with confusion, but I lifted my eyes to his and answered their questioning with a shy half-nod. His arms tightened and once more he bent to kiss me.

  I became aware of another form now, but Paul turned me and, slipping my arm into his, he drew me to walk beside the stranger who had passed and gone toward the village.

  “Wait a bit, Dal. I want you to meet my wife.” There was new timbre in his voice.

  “I’m anxious to meet her, Paul. That’s all I’ve been able to get him to talk about for long at a time! He’s sure head over heels about you, Rebekah—I may call you that?” he asked with such a friendly voice. For a moment I did not e
ven notice that he had called me Rebekah instead of Tanya. Rebekah! Oh, then Paul had been thinking and wanting me if only I had not yet my foolish pride, my silly shyness hold me back from letting him know that I had learned indeed to love him. No wonder he had been so quick to quote from that ageless love story when I had run to him across the field!

  I lifted my eyes joyously, proudly, and looked toward the village and our home. For the first time I felt a slight dissatisfaction. How I wished that like Rebekah I was going with my beloved into a place all our own—a tent set in the fields, in the hills, or even in the wilderness. I wished that I could cook the evening meal and set the table for ourselves and not for a whole town! I wished that—but what good the wishing? Should I let such a small thing mar the happiness that at last was mine? Others had made home out of the single large room that was their private domain—surely I could do no less.

  We had walked slowly and the other occupants of the bus were already at the gate when we came to it. Ahmed was still there and his broad grin made me ashamed of my suspicions. Paul had told me that the bus had been delayed on the hill by an unplotted breakdown and since it would need a few minor repairs and was close to the village all had elected to walk and leave the bus till morning. Their decision had been made after Ahmed had returned to let us know that they were stalled close by. Even if it had not been made later his swift feet would have easily outstripped them. He loved the limelight and would not have missed the chance to be the first to allay our anxieties and give me the news that Paul was coming home. What a rough and unpolished jewel our Ahmed was!