by Amalie Coles
“Do you know him?” Avi asked, eyes blazing with wonder.
“Yes.”
“I’m close friends with his family.”
“Oh, how nice!” I exclaimed. “Does it mean you get to have free concert tickets?”
“I’m not a big fan of his music. But he’s cool.”
“I thought you must be into rock.” That was my assumption about all the guys beside my husband, who was a country boy at a heart.
“Not really.”
“So which artists do you like?”
“I prefer Sarit Hadad and Zehava Ben.”
“Really? I love them, too!” I nearly jumped on the couch.
“Shhh, don’t tell anyone.” Avi looked serious.
“Why not?”
“Mizrahi music isn’t well received in academic circles.”
“Really? What’s wrong with it?” I began to feel indignant.
“It’s considered a bit primitive, but I like it anyway.”
“Well, I’m offended now.”
Avi smiled. “No need to be because I’m just the same.”
“Fine! So, who’s considered refined then?”
“Arik Einstein, Matti Caspi, Chava Alberstein...”
“Oh.”
I had tried listening to their music back in high school, but all of their songs sounded the same. Some were a bit too Eastern European for my taste. I liked the Ashkenazi culture in general, but when it came to music, I preferred Middle Eastern melodies with a lively beat and simple lyrics celebrating love.
“Your secret is safe with me, Avi. Otherwise, we’ll collectively get into trouble with snobs.”
He laughed. “You are so funny. May I ask you what’s your name?”
“Rebecca. You can call me Becky.” I offered a handshake.
“Nice to meet you, Becky. I assume you’re part of the Leon Levy team.”
“Yes. The Gaza conflict forced us to move here, but I don’t regret it in the least,” I announced jubilantly.
“I know. My brother is fighting in Gaza now. I’m praying for his safe return.” Avi looked sad.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I lowered my eyes.
“It’s not your fault. I totally understand why you are happy about the way everything had turned out. The Albright Institute is an amazing place to work. Great people, great atmosphere.”
“In the meantime, what do you do here?”
“I’m working as a lab assistant for the summer. Hey, I heard you’ll be translating an article. Am I correct?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’m usually the one in charge of the translations.”
“I see.”
“But this year, everyone is so busy that any help will be great.”
“I’ll do my best then.”
“I hope you enjoy it, too.” He smiled. “Gotta go. See you, Becky.”
“Bye.”
After he left, I watched TV for a little longer. There were a few songs by the Idan Raichel Project and some other singer I didn’t know. At some point, I accidentally hit the wrong button on the remote control and was immediately redirected to the English news channel. I wanted to turn it off, but something urged me to keep it on for a few minutes. Just as I expected, nothing good was being shown.
Ashkelon came under fire several times, and one time, a missile hit an empty house. Although its owners were lucky to be away at the moment, the destruction to the property itself was quite severe. I hoped this house didn’t belong to Shlomo or someone I knew from the hotel.
In my room, I checked Facebook and found several photos from the Golan Heights tour. I noticed that Janice was online and decided to say hi to her. She immediately responded with questions about the trip to the Institute and about George.
“No need to ask,” I typed back. “We are only friends.”
“The rest of us think otherwise,” she typed back.
“I don’t know where you are getting this idea from. Anyway, how is Megiddo treating you?”
“Oh, I’m loving it,” she replied. “Better weather, better work conditions. But I’m definitely not going into archaeology. I had enough of slaving under the sun.”
“Cool,” I typed. At least you won’t be torn between your family life and your expeditions, I thought.
I exchanged a few words with Karen and Lara, who were also online. Unlike Janice, they didn’t bug me about George but simply went on about their final day trip and the following day at the dig. I wanted to stay online a little longer, but it was almost midnight, and I had to be fresh next morning. So I said goodnight to everyone and logged off. When I was already in bed, my phone rang.
“Hello,” I said, feeling a bit frustrated about being forced to get up.
“Hi, Becky! How are you?” Jason asked.
“I’m good. Yourself?”
“Not so bad. Just wanted to make sure you got to Jerusalem OK.”
“I thought I sent you the message earlier,” I replied, feeling annoyed. After all, he was stealing time from my sleep.
“Yeah, I got it, but I wanted to check on you regardless. I just read about the missiles in Ashkelon and everything, so I felt like talking to you.”
“No need to worry.” I hoped my quick reply would satisfy him.
“So how was your day?” he asked just as I was about to hang up.
“It was fine.”
“Anything new?”
“Jason, I’m sorry, but I really need to sleep right now. Can we talk tomorrow?” My patience was running thin.
“OK, I understand.”
“Bye now.”
“Goodnight, love.”
I could tell he wanted to talk a little longer. Under different circumstances, I would’ve told him more about my day and the impending project. Maybe he would’ve reassured me about my ability to do the job well. Maybe we would’ve even laughed about it. Yet I simply hung up the phone and collapsed onto my bed.
Chapter 15
I couldn’t believe I had gotten myself into this mess. In the morning, all I wanted to do was climb back to my bed and hide under a thick blanket for the entire day. There was no way I would succeed at this task.
“Are you ready?” George asked me as we were finishing our coffees at the cafeteria. The breakfast was simple and yet very filling.
“Not really,” I admitted.
“You will be by the end of today.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing,” I complained, secretly hoping for one last encouragement.
“I think we should get going,” he said instead and got up from his chair.
“Let’s go then.”
Most people were already downstairs waiting for the work day to begin. Some were still unpacking boxes from yesterday, while others were sitting at the computers and trying to set up the database.
“Good morning,” Helen said, eyeing me and George. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” I tried to sound as confident as possible.
“Let’s get you started. You probably prefer to work somewhere else, right?”
“Yes, I’d rather find a quieter place.” I was glad she asked me this question. Working in a busy lab was another thing I had been dreading since early morning.
“That’s what I thought. How about the library?”
“Oh, that would be awesome!”
We quietly proceeded to the library, where I spotted Avi sitting in front of a laptop.
“Avi, can you please show her what needs to be done?” Helen asked.
“Sure,” he replied.
“Thank you. Let me know if you need any help. I’ll be downstairs.”
“Have a great day,” I said.
“You too.” Helen quickly left the library.
“Here you go.” Avi got up and pointed at the laptop.
“Oh, thanks. What do I do?” I asked, peering at the desktop with a photo of the Shrine of the Book set as its background. At the very left side of it rested a folder named “Articles.”
Avi clicked on the folder and opened the top document. “Here is your article,” he said. “Don’t forget to leave it connected to the power.” He pointed at the cord hanging from the desk.
“Thanks.”
“I’m going to the lab now. I need to finish digitizing some finds from Sha’ar HaGolan. Let me know if you need any help.”
“Definitely! When do you need it done?”
“Well, it would be great if you could finish the article by the end of this week, but you don’t have to. Just do as much as you can.”
“No worries. I’ll have it done by Friday.”
After he left, I put my head down and sat motionless until I finally mustered courage to look at the document. What I saw next was not for the faint-hearted. The article was thirty pages long, single-spaced, and every single word looked unfamiliar.
“Is there, um, a dictionary I could use?” I asked the librarian, a middle-aged lady named Rania.
“Yes, of course!” She disappeared into the stacks and came out holding a large book. “Here it is.”
“Shukran kathiran!”
For a few seconds, I sat at the table peering into the computer. Agreeing to translate this article was clearly a big mistake. I considered browsing the Internet for a few minutes just to calm myself down. However, half the sites were blocked, and the ones available were directly linked to academic research.
Whenever I got stuck with some difficult project, I would find a million ways to distract myself. From Facebook to text messages and even Google news, anything would do. Here, however, there was no room for distractions. I left my phone upstairs and even warned everyone ahead of time that I would be busy during the day. The only choice I had was to focus on my work and do the best I could.
I looked closer at the title and recognized a few words. I sighed with a relief. The rest of them I could look up. Word by word, I managed to get through the title and the first two sentences of the abstract. The article was about the Palaeolithic settlements in the upper Galilee, particularly the Manot Cave. Although I was starting to feel a little bit better, the idea of translating the entire article in five days was still daunting. It would take me ages to get through at least half of it.
I spent the first few hours looking up the words I didn’t know and figuring out how to make the English sentences sound coherent. My progress was ridiculously slow, and by noon, I barely managed to get through half of the abstract, which was only one paragraph long. Then suddenly, my speed picked up.
It turned out the article wasn’t that difficult. There were only a few words I didn’t know, and those I soon learned. Moreover, the content, which dealt with the identity of humans occupying Palaeolithic sites, was fascinating. Apparently, there was quite a lot of speculation on whether or not those people were the Neanderthals. If scholars could establish their identity, it would be a big achievement in archaeology. By the afternoon, I became so wrapped up in my work that I almost forgot it was time to eat.
Since our lunch wasn’t included in our meal plans, I could either use the Institute’s kitchen for cooking or find a place to eat nearby. The second option was more appealing, especially since cooking would take more time, and I would still have to go out to get the groceries first.
I quickly saved my work, grabbed my wallet, and proceeded to the lobby. I was about to leave the building when I saw George talking to Caitlin and Megan. The trio looked happy and relaxed.
“Hey, Becky, where are you going?” he asked.
“For lunch.”
“Wanna join us? We know one cool falafel place nearby.”
“Sure.”
We strolled through a busy street until we spotted a small eatery. The entire time, the three of them were chatting. I heard a few jokes from their favourite shows, which I had never seen. In the last few years, I hardly ever watched TV for lack of time. I was amazed that those Ph.D. students, who were probably ten times busier than me, were finding ways to have a life outside of academia.
As we were walking through the vibrant Middle Eastern neighbourhood, I started to wonder if staying inside one building all the time was a good idea. Although the area had a shady reputation in the media, it looked like a good place to explore. I wanted to check out the stores and maybe sniff a few spices from the grocery shops. Also, here most people were unlikely to speak English, which would be a big bonus for me.
I ordered chicken shawarma while George asked for rice and meatballs, and the girls ordered falafel wraps. I considered getting one as well but decided to try something different.
“How is your day going so far?” George finally asked. He probably sensed my uneasiness over being left out of their conversation.
“Oh, it’s going great. Better than what I expected.”
“You see? I told you it wouldn’t be hard.”
“What are you working on?” Caitlin asked.
“I’m translating a Hebrew article into English.”
“Wow, you speak that language!” Megan joined in.
“Yep!” For me it was not a big deal, especially since no one really cared about my language skills back in Toronto.
We finally found a place to sit and put our food on the table. I took out my hand sanitizer—a routine practice in North America—and passed it around. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a few glances in our direction. Most locals weren’t used to carrying bottles of sterile gel around. Half the time, sandwich makers didn’t even bother putting on gloves after handling cash.
“So, where are you from?” Megan asked.
“Toronto, Canada.”
“Nice,” she replied.
“What do you do in your life?” Caitlin asked.
I thought about a few possible answers, but none seemed appealing. Bragging to this Ph.D. group about my dead-end job would make me look like a loser. Lying wouldn’t be a great idea either because George already knew most of my story. So I told them I had graduated from the U of T a few years ago and was taking a “break” from school.
“Do you think about going to a grad school?” Megan asked.
“Yeah. Maybe someday.”
“Tel Aviv University is offering a great program in archaeology. You can even apply for a grant,” George said.
“Oh, yeah! That’s where I did my master’s!” Megan exclaimed. “The program was awesome.”
“Did you excavate in Azekah?” I asked, recalling the site I had looked up back in the winter when looking for an excavation dig.
“Yes, I did. It was a very busy season.”
“I’d love to visit it someday and maybe even join the dig,” I admitted.
“Then you should go for it,” George said, smiling.
I already knew I would never choose to do a master’s in Tel Aviv. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I had no right to uproot Jason from his current job or give my parents a heart attack.
During our walk to the Institute, I mostly kept quiet, for the feeling of sadness was back. Sure, I had had a great time in Ashkelon, Megiddo, and was slowly managing through the most difficult task I had ever received in my life. Soon everything would be over, and I would come back to my old life in Toronto.
To squelch my melancholy, I threw myself at work during the afternoon. No matter what the outcome of this trip would be, I had to do a good job at the translation. Thus I perused the Hebrew dictionary, solved puzzles from new words, and put my rough translations into neat sentences.
By dinner time, I was completely exhausted. My head was spinning from all the time spent at the computer, and my eyes were red and dry. I absolutely had to get some fresh air.
I had convinced myself and others a hundred times that I would never go anywhere in a foreign city alone. Had Caitlin and Megan been around, I would’ve asked them to join me. However, the duo quickly disappeared from the cafeteria, and George was nowhere in sight either. In the end, I decided that taking a few steps around the Albright Institute solo wouldn’t harm me.
The streets outside we
re bustling with life. The air was hot and spicy, and most shops were still open. Noisy cars were everywhere, and gigantic tour buses were lined up in a queue. After a while, my ears started hurting from all the honking. I kept walking straight until I saw a small, narrow street and decided to make a turn. That street led me to another one, which, in turn, led to a third one.
All of a sudden, I had no idea where I was. Having looked around, I noticed a few low-rise buildings clustered together. I took a few more steps forward and saw a parking lot filled with old, rusting cars. Next to the lot was a half-broken fence with heavy graffiti drawn all over the surface. The fence was surrounded by garbage bags and rubble.
As soon as I checked the time on my watch, I became overwhelmed with panic. It was close to nine o’clock, which meant that sunset wasn’t far away. I had no clue how I got to this place. Neither did I know how to find my way home. I should’ve asked for a map at the hostel lobby, but thought it was unnecessary. I didn’t plan to go this far. Somehow, I lost track of time and ended up in this creepy area.
I tried using the navigator feature on my cell phone, but the satellites refused to work. It took the system forever to recognize the street and to come up with directions. As soon as the system started working, the battery went dead. I considered getting a map at the closest shop, but most of them were already closed. Moreover, it would hardly be useful since I couldn’t read Arabic.
Think hard, Becky, I told myself while trying to recall the last street name I saw. There must be a way back.
However, my memory wasn’t much help because all streets looked the same. Gripped by fear, I started running fast from one narrow, crooked street to another until it became completely dark and quiet. At last, the feeling of frustration took over. I sat down on the pavement and began to cry. It was the first time during the trip that I felt utterly helpless.
“Rebecca! What are you doing here?” I heard someone ask angrily. I lifted up my head and saw George walking towards me.
“George! How did you find me?” I was beyond relieved to see him.
“I asked you a question first!”
“What’s wrong?” I hadn’t seen him that angry before.
“And you have a nerve to ask? The entire Institute has been looking for you since dinner. We were even thinking about calling the police. Do you know what type of neighbourhood this is?”