by Amalie Coles
“Will I see you tomorrow?” I asked him as the bus was approaching the kibbutz.
“I believe so,” he replied. “And maybe even after tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you going to the Albright Institute?” I asked, confused.
“Yep.”
“So how will I see you then?”
“I said ‘maybe.’” He gave me a wicked grin.
I wondered what he could mean by his words, but decided to drop the subject. I was certain that his leaving would help me to put my mind back on track.
As soon as we reached the room, all I wanted was to remove that dress and to take a lengthy shower. Being sticky for several hours straight was no fun. When I walked inside, all my roommates were still away. So I grabbed one of the new towels our cleaners had left for us, fished out some fresh clothes, and went straight to the bathroom.
I heard the door open a few minutes later when I was lying on my bed, relaxing. Katie and Michelle were chatting happily. I considered telling them about the incident, but decided against it. It was enough that the entire Leon Levy team saw me drenched in the waters of the Jordan River.
“Hey, how was your day?” Katie asked me.
“It was great,” I replied while getting up. “You won’t believe how many sites we saw today.”
“Did you go the Golan Heights?” Michelle asked.
“Yes.”
“Our group went there last week.”
“There is one place where you can actually set your foot on Lebanon,” Katie added.
“No kidding!” I exclaimed. “I want to know where it is.”
“Hmm, do you remember the name?” Katie turned to Michelle.
“Is it Tel Dan?”
“What? We just came from there! How come nobody told us?” I exclaimed furiously. I could have set my foot on the lands of Phoenicia and Aram without getting caught.
“We don’t know if it’s true,” Michelle said. “I doubt the border between the two countries at war would be left unsupervised.”
“I agree. It’s probably a rumour,” I said, trying to console myself.
“Let’s go eat something,” Katie suggested. “I’m hungry.”
We quickly left the room and walked towards the cafeteria, where everything was already set up. The three of us dispersed, and I found myself sitting with two of my former roommates.
“So, do you like him?” Janice asked at some point.
“Who?” I said, pretending to be oblivious to her question.
“George, of course! I’ve noticed it from the very first day.”
“I think he likes you, too,” Madeline added.
“Look, I’m married! Just because we talk doesn’t mean something is going on between us.”
“Not when you are spending every minute together,” Janice commented. “Besides, we all saw what happened at the Banias Springs today.”
“It was just a crazy mishap. I felt so embarrassed later!”
“No need to be. It happened to almost all of us at some point.”
“I know. We’ve all been in funny situations.”
I was happy our conversation was steering in a different direction. If I felt anything for George, I didn’t want to admit it to anyone, especially to Janice and Madeline.
“Now I’ve got a souvenir from Majdal al-Shams,” I joked. “I doubt I’ll ever wear it again unless I decide to visit Egypt or Jordan someday.”
We had one more day of travelling before starting the Megiddo excavation. Although I would rather spend the next day relaxing at the kibbutz, I couldn’t miss the opportunity to hike the Arbel cliffs and see Beit Alfa along with Beit Shean. I had to go, even if it meant putting forth extra effort. So I decided to head straight to the room after dinner and get ready for the day two of sightseeing. This time, I was planning to throw in an extra T-shirt just to be on the safe side.
“Where are you going?” George asked me as I left the cafeteria.
“To my room. I need to prepare for tomorrow’s tour.”
“I’ve got a surprise you might like.” He winked at me.
“What do you mean?” I was truly confused.
“Would you like to join our team at the Albright?”
“Say that again?”
“We want you to join us at the Albright Institute in Jerusalem,” he repeated.
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Isn’t it the type of work meant only for qualified people?” I asked.
“Yes, it is. However, knowing how much you’d love to work in a lab, I convinced them to let you participate. Besides, your Hebrew could help us. We need some work translated into English, and everyone is overwhelmed right now.”
“OK,” I said quietly, still trying to digest the news.
“Do you want to participate?” he pressed on. “You don’t have to. It’s only a suggestion.”
“Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand anything?” There was no way I was being invited to work at the research center of my dreams.
“Yes, I’m sure. If you really want to be part of our team, you are more than welcome to join us.”
“I do!” I tried hard not to jump from excitement.
“Then you should get ready for tomorrow morning. We are leaving at seven-thirty.”
“I will.”
Suddenly, it all made sense. Before leaving Ashkelon, I knew something good would happen in the next few days, but I wasn’t sure what it would be. When we first arrived at Megiddo, I had a strange feeling that I shouldn’t completely unpack my suitcase. Now I knew where the feeling was coming from. No wonder George was so ambiguous when I asked if I would see him again.
I couldn’t resist texting my entire family about the news and telling everyone about the new plan. Nor could I resist updating my status on Facebook. The opportunity at the Albright Institute felt like a small victory after a chain of failures.
In my second year at university, I tried to get a campus job as an archaeology lab assistant. My application was rejected because, according to the lab director, I lacked proper experience. I later learned that the role was given to a graduate student and felt devastated. How was I supposed to get any experience without getting a chance? After graduation, I wanted to work with artefacts at a museum, but it never happened either. Fast forward several years and many more miles, I was an inch away from living my dream. Never mind I wasn’t getting paid for the work. Never mind the opportunity would last for one week only. The thought of working side by side with scholars, handling ancient artefacts, could bring me nothing but a big smile.
Chapter 14
“You don’t understand! This bitch is winning!” I heard Rachel scream into her cell phone while walking to the cafeteria next morning. “She’s married, and she’s trying hard to snatch him away. Oops, I think she heard me. Bye now.” She put down her phone and started walking along.
“Good morning,” I said casually.
She didn’t say anything but looked at me with her red, puffy eyes. For a moment, I wondered if I should confront her about the situation. Perhaps I needed to tell her I was sorry about the way everything had turned out. However, I couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t sound awkward. So we continued walking side by side without exchanging a single word.
During breakfast, I bid farewell to everyone, including Lara, Claire, Luke, Karen, Janice, Madeline, and my new roommates, Katie and Michelle. I caught a glimpse of Rachel, who was sitting at a distant table by herself, looking defeated. I still couldn’t believe we were practically competing against each other.
“Best of luck to everyone,” I said while going around the circle and offering hugs.
“Let’s keep in touch online.” Katie handed me a paper with her Facebook email written on it.
“We’ll see you at the reunion,” Madeline added, referring to the final dinner the group was planning to have in Tel Aviv.
Over time, I had become attached to our group, and by now, I was able to imagine what living on a campus would be l
ike. I would probably make tons of friends, and some friendships would go way past university years.
Having said my goodbyes, I grabbed my suitcase and boarded the bus. The most exciting part of the journey was about to begin.
The road to Jerusalem was quick and yet marvellous. At the beginning of the ride, I could only see plain, yellow fields and small towns. Then, all of a sudden, our bus became surrounded by valleys and hills covered with lush, green trees. No wonder this part of Israel is called the Hill Country, the original place of the Biblical Israelites. Who could imagine that the other side of the city was surrounded by desert? I tried taking as many photos as possible, but the angle would always shift, leaving me with a bunch of blurry images that failed to convey the beauty of the scenery.
As soon as we entered the city, I began looking for familiar places and spotted the tower of the Park Hotel, where Jason and I had stayed last time. The bus drove through a few busy streets and finally arrived at our destination, the Albright Institute. I was shocked to find it was located in East Jerusalem, which was easily recognizable by shops and houses with Arabic letters and hanging cords. Having opened the bus window, I smelled spices wafting through the air and heard sounds of darbuka coming from a shop nearby.
In theory, I had nothing against this part of the city. However, I somehow had to explain to my family where I was staying. My mother had asked me to send the address the night before, and I did so, assuming the Institute was located somewhere in the west end. I could only hope that no one would check it on the map.
As we stepped out, I saw a gate leading to a beautiful two-storey building surrounded by a small garden. Having picked up our belongings, we proceeded to the Institute’s guest hostel.
“Here is your key,” the hotel owner said.
“Toda rabbah,” I replied.
“Bevaksha.” He looked a bit surprised. My language skills had a strange effect on the locals.
My room was small but clean and cozy. Although there were two beds, no roommates were in sight. The idea of having personal space was a welcoming change. After taking a quick shower, I proceeded to the basement where our group was supposed to meet.
“Do you know where we are going?” George asked me as we were walking down the stairs.
“No, I don’t.”
“Let me show you.” He grabbed my hand and led me to a small room with dozens of boxes lying around and waiting to be opened. Some staff members were bringing in more.
“So, what do I do?” I asked, immediately regretting my question. The best tactic would be to follow everyone else’s lead.
“We’ll have to make drawings and input data into the system,” I heard someone reply. “For now, we just need to set up the basement.” A lady in her late forties or early fifties was standing next to me. Her name badge read, “Helen Campbell, the University of Chicago.”
“Let’s get those boxes moving.” George gave me a light nudge.
We worked for a few hours, setting up the work area, checking computers and other equipment, and organizing artefacts from oldest to newest. Although the work was relatively easy, I still had no idea how I managed to survive the afternoon without embarrassing myself. I had a tendency to be clumsy when doing something for the first time.
“See you all tomorrow at seven,” Helen Campbell announced in the end. I was about to leave when I heard my name called. “Rebecca, can I see you for a moment?” she asked.
“Sure, Dr. Campbell,” I said.
“Call me Helen.” She smiled. “Is it true that you speak Hebrew?”
“I do.” I wondered if she would ask me to put Hebrew labels on the shards.
“We have an article that needs to be translated into English. Would you be comfortable doing that?”
For a second, I fell silent. The task she was offering wouldn’t be an easy one. However, I had always wanted to work with a Hebrew text. Back at the U of T, I had even considered taking an independent study course that would involve translating a Hebrew novel into English. Now I had the opportunity to fulfill my wish.
“Sure,” I said, without even thinking twice.
“Can you start on it tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect! See you at dinner then.”
The moment she walked away, the reality hit me hard. OK, perhaps my Hebrew was good enough to ask for directions or order falafel. I could definitely maintain a decent conversation about music and politics. However, I wasn’t sure about my ability to understand, let alone translate a scholarly article. Besides, I only had one week to get it done.
I weighed my options. I could still run after Helen and let her know I’d rather work with the rest of the team on the artefacts. Surely, there would be nothing hard about keying dates and numbers into the system. Or I could give it a shot and decide later if I wanted to continue. I chose the second option.
The best thing to do was to relax for the rest of the day and not dwell on the situation. So I chose to take a short walk around the garden and enjoy the sight of cypress and palm trees surrounding the building. The courtyard had a set of tables and a small pond at the centre. After roaming through the garden for a while, I decided to check out the library.
For some odd reason, it reminded me of the Pontifical Institute, a U of T library, which housed a rare collection of books on medieval studies. Although visitors usually weren’t allowed inside, I had managed to get in once by claiming I needed to consult a book for an essay. I could still remember the excitement I had felt from holding an oversized two-hundred-year-old book in my hands.
Having browsed through different documents, I found a publication on Ekron, another Philistine site. I was casually flipping through the pages when I heard a familiar voice. When I turned around, George was standing next to me and peering into my book.
“I passed this site a few times when I was working in Tell es-Safi,” he said. “I was also part of the team that worked on the famous inscription, but only briefly.”
“Cool!” By now, nothing he said would surprise me.
“How do you like it so far?”
“It’s all right, but I’m a bit nervous about tomorrow.”
“I hear you, Becky. This week won’t be an easy one. I’ve just talked to Daniel, and it looks like we’ll be slaving for a while. Well, the thing is, you’ll get used to it.”
“At least you won’t be translating a Hebrew article into English.”
“Did they give you the article?” He looked excited.
“Yes. Wait, was it you?”
“I simply mentioned you know the language when trying to convince them to take you on board. The rest was up to them to decide.”
Now I recalled George mentioning the translations yesterday after dinner. Never could I imagine that I would be actually asked to translate something.
“Well, thank you, George,” I said, sarcasm being palpable in my voice.
“What’s the matter, Becky? I thought it would be a good way for you to build your CV.”
“And what makes you think I’m applying anywhere?”
“Just in case you decide to apply to a grad school, I mean. Plus, you can always count on me for help.”
“How are you planning to help?”
“Well, I cannot do the actual translation, but I can always help you to put the words together. I’ve edited articles before.”
“I can put those sentences together myself, thanks.” I turned away and continued browsing books.
“Of course you can! I only wanted to offer my help in case you needed it.”
“Excuse me. Can you please keep the volume down?” the librarian asked.
“Sorry! We are leaving now.” I put the books back on the shelf and walked towards the exit. George ran after me.
“Becky, wait,” he yelled as I was walking through the corridor.
“What?” I turned around. Our eyes met. For a few seconds, we stood there motionless.
“You can totally do it,” he finally
said. “I believe in you.”
“I hope you are right.” I sighed. Suddenly, I realized that I had enough strength to overcome my fear.
***
During the evening, the staff decided to dine in the courtyard, as it was still bright and warm outside. Having grabbed my plate of couscous, I followed George and the rest of the team to a small marble table that had a box of beers waiting for everyone.
I got to meet Caitlin and Megan, two Ph.D. students who were working at the Albright Institute during the summer. Both of them were in their early thirties and had an air of confidence about them. I also exchanged a few words with Matthew J. Adams, the new director of the Institute.
Throughout the evening, no one had raised the topic of archaeology, not even once. Instead, people talked about their favourite music bands, most of which were unfamiliar to me, shared concert memories, and discussed their past trips to Europe. Since I didn’t have much to contribute, I sat quietly drinking my bottle of Goldstar and listening to everyone else. I doubted my trips to the United States or infatuation with ethnic music would impress anyone. In fact, I had a small fear of not being sophisticated enough for this group.
After dinner, I went to the common room to relax on a couch and watch TV.
“Do you need some help?” a young man asked me as I was flipping through channels. According to his badge, his name was “Avi Elias,” and he was a graduate student at the Hebrew University.
“Sure,” I replied casually.
“You are probably looking for an English channel, right?”
“Not true,” I said, thinking about all the bad news it was probably broadcasting at the moment. I was in no mood to hear about the Gaza conflict or the crisis in Ukraine.
“OK, so what are you looking for?” he asked, pressing buttons on the remote control.
“Some entertainment channel in Hebrew.”
“All right.” Avi looked slightly surprised. He played with the remote control for a while until he finally found a music channel with English and Israeli music videos. At the moment, a clip of Aviv Geffen’s “Mistovev” was playing. Recognizing the words, I started singing along.