Mother smiled wisely as she saw Paul and my shining self come into the dining room where the food was growing cold with waiting. It seemed to me that all eyes could read my secret. It was still early and Paul asked if he might bring the stranger to our room for a little quiet conversation before showing him to the guest room. I was happy just to sit and watch Paul’s face and listen to his voice. Now and again they attempted to include me in their discussion but it seemed dull, uninteresting to me who had so many more important things to think about. Besides they were talking about God. I would much rather have talked about Paul.
I wanted to know if his plans for a new peace here were being accepted; yes, I even wondered why Lilah had not returned. So Paul’s friend did not try to interest me for he saw that I was not feeling neglected and they settled down in earnest at the table. From his brown leather briefcase the stranger took out a leatherbound book and some papers. Soon they were so engrossed that they forgot me entirely. I let myself be drawn up out of my own thoughts sometimes to hear a few words, but they were disconnected and therefore meaningless to me.
Vaguely I followed Paul’s voice. Perhaps he was speaking of the new plan for peace: “What I want to know—I mean if these things you say are true—when will these things come to pass?”
Why should Paul be asking another about what he must know? Maybe some part of the plan had to be finished first. I made myself listen:
“That is one of the things we are not given to know. We are shown signs by which to see the coming events, but nowhere are we given specific dates or even any specific happening to let us know exactly when these things shall be. The coming has been likened to the thief in the night—a thief does not advertise the time of his coming. We are told to be prepared. If we knew just the exact time we might slacken our efforts. Certainly it would be easy to say that we still have time if we know the date and the hour. So whatever the reason, and be sure it is a good and a right reason, there is no date given—yet as the signs accumulate we can be sure of one thing, that it can be almost any time.”
Even I in my inexperience could make better plans than the haphazard sort Dal was describing! Paul seemed doubtful, too. “But I would think, if what you tell me is true, that it would be better if we did know exactly when to expect these things.”
“God is not bound by our laws, our thinking—suppose you knew the date, would it make any difference? I mean would you believe more quickly what I am telling you?”
“Well, no—I suppose not. In fact I don’t know why I am listening to you as it is.” Paul’s smile belied his words.
“The fact that you are listening is one of the signs mentioned. The time of Jacob’s blindness is about finished—how much longer it will take to unloose entirely the blinding veil only God knows. A few years ago you would not have listened at all, although we have been friends a long time. My heart rejoices that you allow me to tell you these things. I am happy because I hope you will believe them; also because as the scales drop from your eyes the signs become more poignant, more compelling, and I see the time shortening. But again let me say that to God time is not as time is to us. What to us is a year is as a day to Him.”
I thought cynically that my mother should be listening. Her favorite subject was God. Surely she would be in her glory talking to this man. However I drew away from the discussion. It seemed only to have given more reason to doubt a God who planned so carelessly that not even His followers could understand and read His plans. I let my thoughts wander; in my imagination I again felt the black despair that had sent me running out into the field. I thought again of Paul’s softly spoken words, of his kisses, and I pushed all other intruding thoughts aside. I must have dosed now and then for only when sleep stole my own dreams did I let even the louder, at times more quarrelsome quality of the men’s voices in.
I was gradually made aware that the stranger was not the angry one. His face took on a sharp look of grief and at last as Paul broke out into vigorous denial of something that he had said he reached quietly for his Book and closed it. His action gave pause to Paul’s tirade. He suddenly became contrite and almost concerned.
“Look, Dal. I’m sorry I lost my head. But these things you have been telling me—well, they are too new. They’re a little stiff to take. I can’t quite grasp them all at once. They sort of—well, they step on my toes, and I’ll admit I don’t like it. But you sure can give convincing arguments and I’d like to hear more sometime, if you will forget what I just said.”
Dal smiled and quickly accepted the apology. He did not open the Book again that night. Instead he led the conversation into a discussion of the village and showed much interest in it and its growing prosperity.
“That gold touch of yours will be your undoing yet,” he laughed and Paul seemed to understand and to good-naturedly accept the thrust.
When the air had been thus cleared, Dal, as he insisted I too should call him, arose and said goodnight. Paul went with him to show him to his room and suddenly I again felt myself filled with doubts. I was afraid lest Paul have forgotten our moment in the field—was afraid lest he remember! I was pulling nervously at wall-hangings and lampshades actually making crooked the straight when he returned. Momentarily he stood in the door watching as I, with a last convulsive jerk, managed to pull one hanging quite loose.
Foolishly I stood with it in my hand—then his face broke into the smile I loved and swiftly he crossed to take me into his arms. For a moment I looked back at my fears then lost them in the wonder of the moment. How wonderful to be beloved—how wonderful to feel his arms around me, to know that indeed I had been truly chosen. How foolish seemed my fears now and as bodiless as the mists that had frightened me the night of our embarking. The caravan had halted—Rebekah had come down from the camel and crossed the field to enter into Isaac’s tent there to dwell forevermore!
9
DARKENING SKIES
A SUBTLE CHANGE began to be felt in the little valley. Our friends of the black tents were no less friendly, yet strange faces came and went among them. We knew that the arguments they brought were wearing the bond of friendship thin. In many more places there was open warfare. Since the British openly denied any further responsibility other countries moved in their forces to maintain a semblance of order but the land seethed with disunion and enmity. Doors everywhere remained tight closed against our people. Surely America with its broad lands and wealth could have taken many in. But there was hate everywhere. Hate for the Arab, hate for the British, hate for the Americans, hate for the United Nations, rebounding on us from the Arabs, the Americans, the United Nations! We hated others and in their breasts there was hatred for us.
Secret organizations sprang up with bloody reprisal, imprisonment, execution. I still had no real knowledge of the secrets Paul and the others were guarding. I had trust in Paul and his wisdom. I did not believe that he was a member of any carelessly conceived group—neither did I believe that theirs was one of the terrorist groups—for always he was impatient with their activities.
“They will spoil everything if they don’t stop.” He spoke angrily as another radio report of trouble came. “If they would only wait and try to form a strong alliance—show the world that we have something constructive to offer instead of destruction—the whole world will be against us if we do not go more slowly!”
As usual he was right. The British had opened the land for us and for years had championed our cause. But we had become bitter toward them and reluctantly the British had finally washed their hands of us. America had professed to be interested in us, yet there were growing signs that she, too was fast losing that interest as she lost her oil-rights and enterprises because of that interest. Paul reiterated that it was mainly our impatience and ambition that was causing this turn of events. I argued with him.
“What would you have us do? Sit back and let the Arabs grind us under? Let them destroy our gardens and our villages? Let them plunder and steal what we have worked to get here?
What right have they to grumble and to complain? We have never stolen from them! You said yourself that every bit of land was bought from the Arabians who owned it! Why should they feel that we have deprived them of anything since they never used the lands? Maybe we have prospered while they go around with barely rags enough to cover them! Maybe we have food while they go hungry! What of it! They could have cultivated the land and made it give back to them the same as we have! They don’t want to work! Look at their homes! Tents that they can carry with them to better pastures when the ones they are using are gone! Let them pack up their tents and go back to the wilderness and leave us alone!”
Paul was silent until I began to feel smugly certain that for once I had out-argued him; then, slowly as if feeling for his words he unfolded his ideas.
“There is much to what you say, Tanya. Yet in your very words you give back to them one of their best arguments. You say that they have lived here a long time without making the land prosper them—it is the very fact that they have lived here so long that makes them feel that we have no place here. Centuries have passed since we left it and in our hearts there has never been any real regret. Not until oppression and opposition and trouble came to us in other lands to which we had gone. We hate the British because they have not made peace for us in this land. Yet, if it had not been for them and their conquest of the land in the first World War it would not have been opened for us at all.
“Dal seemed to feel that God told us of that conquest—I wonder if I can find what he read to me—” he reached for the black Book which he seemed always to be studying of late. “Here let me read it to you—I’m not sure that I believe many things that he said but some are, on the surface at least, true and there seemed to be truth in it when Dal read it to me—‘As birds flying, so will the Lord of hosts defend Jerusalem; defending it He will deliver it; and passing over He will preserve it!’ Did you know that the Turks actually fled without even trying to defend the city when General Allenby’s planes flew over just for reconnoitering in the first world conflict? Surely, there must be some connection between that happening and the prophecy! If we are learning to hate the British, we should also remember that it was that very victory which opened the land for us. Somewhere along the line we must be obstructing God’s plan. Why now are doors being closed against us?”
“Don’t talk like that, Paul! You sound like my mother! Supposing God did give Jerusalem into the hands of the British. Maybe if He had any plans at all it was just to give them more colonies, more wealth, more power! If anyone is misusing it it seems to me to be the British! Otherwise, if they really wanted to help us, why did they close the ports and even beat and mistreat those who wanted to come in!” Paul seemed lost in the Book or he had no answer to my questions. “What is the Book that you keep reading?
“The Book? Oh, part of it is our own Book of Laws and prophets and songs—the rest is called the New Testament. I would not believe what it said but surely our prophets spoke truly! I do not understand many of the things that I read, but I do not believe Dal when he says it is because we are blind! I may not be too smart but I have about as good brains as most. Dal and I ran nip and tuck in school. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been studying this Book. We used to have some good debates back in college. I’ll be hanged if I’m going to let him get the best of me in this argument!”
“I don’t know your friend very well but I do know you, Paul, and I don’t believe he can be half as wise as you are.” I knew that I spoke like a worshipful child but that was exactly the way I felt.
“Thank you, Tanya! I hope you never have cause to feel anything different. Sometimes I think I’m so smart, so wise! then my bright ideas blow up! Right now everything seems to be in a hopeless muddle. I wish I had stayed back in the States where all I had to do was talk. Here I talk and get my foot in it!” He said more but my ears had closed on the statement which gave new voice to my fears—“I wish I had stayed back in the States!”
Even in my new happiness I had not been able to submerge my doubt. Perhaps it was Lilah and her unconformity, even after being with us so long; perhaps it was her conversation, which was filled with reminiscences of gay cities and gayer people; perhaps it was just Lilah with her secret smile for Paul, alone, and her flaming loveliness. Whatever the cause, each moment, each hour with Paul seemed like stolen time to me. Greedily, I snatched at their sweetness. Often he laughed at my greediness, not understanding how afraid I was that those hours were numbered. There was still a place for him in that carefree land across the oceans. Suppose the yearning for it should become too great, for he could still go back. He was not homeless nor hopeless, as we had been. If only he were not quite so wise perhaps the others would let him alone and he would forget and be more content.
Another reason had come for feeling upset. I kept it secret as long as I could, but one day my mother surprised me and before I knew it, she was sharing it, too. I had called for Ahmed, but to my surprise and anger he did not answer. When I began looking for him I could not find him. Often he slipped away to the big kitchen there to wheedle choice bits from the women who prepared the meals. At last I came to the airy, modern room and accosted my mother irritably:
“Mother, where is Ahmed?”
“I’m sure I do not know, Tanya. He has not bothered us all day, although we have saved out a bit of his favorite date mixture.” She laughed as she said it, for everyone had come to enjoy the mischievous and prankish youth.
His first weeks with us had been hectic beyond measure as he played first one trick after another on practically everyone. I suppose to him it was a game, his ability to take the very garments off a sleeper. To us it was more like plain thievery. His black eyes had been round with perplexity as we continued to refuse the gifts he brought us and each time we made him carry them back. But he wanted to stay with us and when at last he understood that we meant it when we forbade pilfering he turned to doing more useful things. Even the most uninteresting task, however, was colored by his merry, mischievous imagination. Yet, his impudence and his ever-present grin and swift brown legs made friends for him. And not the least of these friends were those in the kitchen.
Mother followed me outside. We saw little of each other these days for she was occupied in the kitchen.
“Perhaps someone else can run your errand, Tanya,” she offered seeing my scowling face.
“It really isn’t important, Mother! It’s just that he should be handy when I need him! It’s bad enough trying to take care of that smelly, sickening clinic alone without his disappearing, too!”
Mother looked at me in some surprise. Naturally she knew that Paul’s many and frequent absences placed a heavy responsibility on my shoulders. She knew, too, that actually no real problems were left for me to solve, for in spite of Paul’s outside work he always managed to attend to the real work of the clinic. My voice had revealed an irritability, a childish petulance that she did not miss.
“You are tired, Tanya, and perhaps a little lonesome?” she questioned, gently.
“I’m tired all right—tired of being left alone while he galavants with—with—without me!” I had been about to mention Lilah, but somehow I could not bring my jealousy into the open. Nevertheless the pent-up emotion broke forth in a torrent of tears. I would have run away, but mother’s arms suddenly were around me. She drew me into the comparative quiet of the deserted dining room.
“My little girl, my little Tanya! It is not like you to be so irritable, so unreasonable!” I pulled away angrily! So my temper was inexcusable and without reason? Well, she had a lot to learn—and so had I!
My flashing eyes surrendered before the half-hurt in hers. “Perhaps, if you wait here I can find Ahmed for you,” she said, but there was enough of sadness to let me know that she was sorry. I put out my hand as she turned to go.
“Please, Mother! I don’t feel like myself. I want to scream at everybody. Sometimes I do. The clinic is awful! All the time the cuts and the burns and the si
ckness and the nasty, smelly medicines and gooey salves! I hate it!” Just talking about it brought a squeamish feeling and mother smiled gently as she came to sit by me. She did not look at me as she began to trace patterns on the spotless, table-oilcloth.
“Tanya, long I have prayed and now I think that God has heard and answered my prayer, is it not so?”
There was no need for her to tell what she had been asking—she had too often told me of her prayer. I felt color mounting into my cheeks, yet it was for very happiness and I was glad to nod acknowledgment. As we talked I felt the irritability, the crossness melt away into gratefulness for the miracle that had brought me here—that would give food, shelter, a measure of peace at least, to my baby instead of the hunger, and cold, the awful oppression which had been so much a part of my life. Mother voiced my feelings when she sang her hymn of praise to God:
“‘I will sing unto the Lord, because He had dealt bountifully with me!’ Oh, Tanya, often I have worried about you. I have seen unrest and uncertainty in your eyes when there should have been only joy and gladness. Surely with a son in your arms you will no longer know loneliness or impatience. You will have little time for petty thinking, but be glad that God gave your child so wise and busy a father. I know how lonesome it has been without Paul, but you will have someone else to think about, and the times of his going will not seem so long. Simon is with him sometimes, but even when he is not you must let me help prepare for the little one. Who knows but that by the time he comes perhaps the planning will have borne fruit and there will be no more need for conferences and absences!”
“I have been selfish, Mother. I know that. But I love Paul and yet, I can help him in so little. I owe him so much, yet I am failing him even in the work at the clinic! These past few days I have been more ill than the sick ones who have come to me! I don’t think I can stand the sight of another cut or burn, no matter how small.” I laughed when I said it, but it was not laughable! Mother nodded; she had borne several babies and knew all the symptoms.
The Lost City Page 9