The Book of Trees

by Leanne Lieberman

  The guide stopped talking. All around me the B’nos Sarah girls sat, their eyes closed or focused down. Aviva rocked back and forth like she was praying. Michelle crouched down, stroking some stones. I let the sand sift through my fingers. Here Avraham made his covenant with God. Also, here Avraham thrust out Hagar because Sarah was jealous. Here was the land of banished Ishmael.

  The desert at night was totally different from the other times I’d come, when it was so hot I could barely walk. I remembered the way the heat had closed in on me, the way it beat me down. Tonight the warm balmy air made the desert easy. Anyone could love a land like this. Anyone could claim it as theirs.

  My land. The idea bubbled up my throat like a giggle, erupting out of my mouth. I tried to swallow it down. Aviva was pacing now, concentrating on the sand. Michelle sat with her shoulders hunched forward, looking straight ahead. Behind me were Chani and Sarah and Rebecca and the other B’nos Sarah girls, all communing with their ancestral earth.

  I tried to imagine us as children of the bible, as inheritors of this landscape of rock and sand. Again I quelled an urge to snicker. At best we were the descendants of shtetl Europe, of snowy winters and dark forests, not this heat and light.

  I couldn’t keep the giggle down. I started to titter, softly at first and then louder. I imagined a bird’s-eye view of us North American girls squatting in the sand, each proclaiming ownership of our own square foot. Then a choking belly laugh escaped me. I felt as carefree and reckless as I had been after Chani’s shower. Eyes turned my way, staring at me. I saw Aviva gawking and Michelle’s concerned look. Our land. I’d never heard anything so funny. I stumbled away from the group back to the bus.

  The smell of pine needles on damp earth over steep rocks by a lake; the sound of frogs in the tall grass by a log; the sight of a heron skimming over the water. That was my land. Not these sandy hills.

  The bus was quiet on the way home. I sat alone at the back, restless. Giddiness tinged with nerves kept me tapping my fingers on the window.

  Once we were back in our room, Aviva turned to me. “What the hell were you doing?” I’d never heard her swear before. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying, and the fluorescent lights made her skin look yellowish. Curls frizzed out of her ponytail.

  I felt light-headed, almost dizzy. I stood with my weight on one foot, my hip jutted out. “Oh, it was just so fake. All that ‘connect with the land’ bullshit. Give me a break.”

  “I bet you think we should give it all away.” Aviva clenched her hands.

  “No, not all of it.” I stalked across the room, letting my hips swing. I felt like going out, like dancing in a sweaty bar, waving a glow stick. “Why are you so angry?”

  Aviva wrung her hands. “You ruined the moment. You were laughing when I was trying to pray at the most beautiful spot. It was…disrespectful.”

  “I’m sorry. I left as soon as I could.”

  “You know what your problem is? You just can’t be part of a group.” She sat down on the bed, shoulders hunched, her hands stuffed under her legs.

  “Maybe. But all that land stuff, it’s so narrow-minded. I can’t accept this is only our land, especially North American Jews. How can we walk here and say, I’m a North American Jew and I’m entitled to land. You Palestinians, sorry.” I gripped the rim of the sink.

  “Israel is the only democracy in the Middle East.”

  I threw up my hands. “What good is a democracy if it doesn’t recognize all its people?”

  “You’re judging by Western standards.”

  “What standards am I supposed to use?”

  “Middle-Eastern ones.” Aviva leaned forward and glared at me. “You think all those Arab countries treat Jews as nicely as we treat Palestinians? You think they don’t want to push us into the sea? All the Arab countries kicked out their Jews after Israel was created. Jews who lived in Muslim countries can’t go back to their homes. We have our own country, an army. We’re supposed to stand aside and let terrorists do what they like?”

  “No, of course not, but I don’t see how the answer is more violence.”

  “That’s reality, Mia.”

  “No, there must be a more peaceful way.”

  Aviva slapped her hands against her thighs. “You are so naïve. Look, this may sound grim, but this is what I think: there’s just not enough land and water for everyone. We need to take care of our own first. Israel should be for Jews. Arabs should go somewhere else. There are winners and losers.”

  I clapped my hand over my mouth. “You couldn’t care less whose land it really is because you’ve won, and the Palestinians have lost.”

  Aviva shrugged. “If you want to put it that way.”

  I stared at her. “You really think that.”

  “At least I’m honest.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” My voice rose.

  Aviva balled her hands into fists. She stood and walked over to me by the sink. “Let me ask you this. Why didn’t you come back here after the bus blew up?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When the bomb exploded. You didn’t come right home.”

  “No, not right away.” I walked back toward my bed. “What are you getting at?” My cheeks grew hot.

  “You were with someone.”

  “Yes, this guy I know. We were waiting for the bus together.”

  “A guy?”

  “He’s just this guy I know who plays music. He told me about the rebuilding, but we didn’t go together. We were both waiting for the bus when the bomb exploded. Then he took me back to his hostel.”

  “And you never thought of calling?”

  “Aviva, I could have been on that bus! I was in total shock.” My voice got louder. “We sat around in this stunned silence and said things like, ‘A bus burned, a bomb exploded. People died.’”

  “And so you spent that time with some guy you know from playing guitar at his hostel.”

  “You’re making it sound so indecent. This guy used to play guitar on Ben Yehuda near the bus stop. I gave him a sandwich because I thought he was hungry.” I started talking faster, tugging on my knuckles behind my back. “We chatted and I played guitar at his hostel once. He told me about the book, about the Nakba, and when we talked about it again, he said I could help rebuild a house. I mean, I know this guy from lugging stones in the desert.”

  Aviva’s mouth dissolved into a tight little line. “I saw you in the Old City today. I followed you to that hostel and I saw you with that guy. You were both laughing. I saw him touching you.”

  I felt like a balloon emptying of air. I struggled not to sway. “But it’s not what you think.”

  Aviva glared at me. “The Torah says men and women—”

  “I know what the Torah says.”

  “So why are you running around playing music and building houses with—”

  “What do you care what I do anyway?” I thumped my fist on the desk.

  Aviva paused. “People are starting to talk.”

  “Oh, I get it. You’re worried about your reputation.”

  Aviva started to cry.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t want it to be that way.” Aviva settled back on her bed, hunched over her lap.

  “But it is.”

  I let Aviva sob. Suddenly I felt badly for her. She didn’t want to be the girl with the crazy roommate, just like Michelle didn’t want to be the one with the nutty study partner. Around us the dorm was silent. I wondered if girls were listening from other rooms.

  Aviva looked up at me. “He’s so in love with you,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “Can’t you see it? He’s totally in love with you.”

  I stood up and walked across the room. “He’s just a friend.”

  “Please, I saw the way he looked at you.” She started sobbing again. “I’ve never had a guy
look at me that way.”

  I paced back to my bed. I felt dizzy, so I sat down again and let my head rest in my hands.

  Aviva wailed, “What are you going to do?”

  “Shh.” I needed to think. I sat for a few moments, my head swirling. I was hurting Aviva. I wasn’t being fair to myself. I was deeply in love with Andrew.

  Then I knew what I needed to do. I started filling my backpack with underwear, skirts, some fresh T-shirts. I worked quickly, adding my hairbrush and toothbrush, some deodorant and hair elastics. I added my journal, my Discman, Andrew’s bandanna, some pens, my maps and my passport. I left my bible and notebooks on the desk. Aviva watched me, nervously gnawing on her fist. I took my sunhat, sunscreen and my water bottle. At the last moment I stuffed in my checked rockabilly dress.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To solve problems. You won’t have to worry about your reputation anymore.”

  “You can’t just walk out in the middle of the night.” Aviva’s voice was screechy.

  “Why not?” I stood with my hands on my hips.

  “It’s not safe!”

  I started to laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m good at this kinda thing.”

  “The school will call your parents if you just take off.”

  “My parents?” I started to laugh. “My mother would probably love to know I was leaving.” I could almost hear Sheila’s sigh of relief a million miles away. “She’s at some women’s retreat, dancing naked and making pottery. And my dad…” I was starting to feel out of control. I took a deep breath and checked my desire to punch a wall or kick the door. “We haven’t spoken in almost a year. You get the picture?” I swung my backpack over my shoulder. “See ya around.”

  “Mia, wait.”

  I didn’t. I walked out of the dorm and headed to the road.

  I took a taxi to the Old City. I could have run all the way just on adrenaline. At the hostel I took the stairs to Andrew’s room two at a time, knocked on the door and waited. No one answered. He wasn’t on the rooftop with the other hostellers or in the kitchen. I ignored the sick feeling starting to twist in my stomach. Then a girl told me Andrew was house-sitting near the café we’d eaten at on Emek Refaim. A bunch of people had gone over earlier to hang out. She gave me the address.

  My stomach tightened even more as I walked through the dark streets. I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going. I didn’t know Jerusalem at night. What if Andrew wasn’t there either? What if he said, “What the hell are you doing here?” I circled the Jerusalem Theater twice, squinting at my map in the lamplight. I tugged on the ends of the bandanna covering my hair.

  When I finally found the house, it was after 11:00 pm. I peered through the fence and bushes to see if there was a light on. I couldn’t tell. I sat on the sidewalk a minute and took a few deep breaths. He could be busy. He could be out. Then I thought about the way he had looked at me that afternoon. I got up, straightened my skirt and rang the bell.

  Andrew opened the door. His hair was uncombed.

  He rubbed his eyes sleepily. “Hey, what are you doing here?” He looked surprised to see me.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No, I was just reading. Aren’t you supposed to be in your dorm?”

  “You mean locked up?”

  “They don’t really do that, do they?”

  “No, I was just kidding.”

  “So?” He leaned against the door jamb. His eyes appraised me.

  “I was wondering if we could look at those lyrics I gave you.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Now?”

  I started to panic. “If it’s too late, I’ll come another time.”

  Andrew hesitated, squinting at me. “No, now is good. C’mon in.”

  I stepped inside a narrow hallway and followed him into a living room with low couches and an elaborately carved octagonal coffee table. He sat on a couch in his jeans and T-shirt, his bare feet tucked under him, and reached for his guitar. He started to tune it.

  I perched on the edge of a chair across from him and focused on trying to find my journal.

  Andrew tuned the A string. “So, you get in trouble?”

  I kept my eyes on my backpack. “My roommate saw me at your hostel.”

  “We only talked a moment.” Andrew looked up.

  “It was enough. She knows—” I stopped. My face burned. Andrew looked back down at the strings. “Here.” I reached for the guitar. He handed it over and I quickly finished tuning it. “I never played for you like I said I would.”

  He gestured for me to go ahead.

  I slid over the armrest of the chair and curled into the cushions. Then I took a deep breath. I tried to clear my head of the sound of Aviva sobbing, of her angry words, of the sensation of fleeing. I tried to brush away the nerves clawing at my stomach, focusing instead on the image of Andrew waiting patiently for me to start. I played a few scales and some random chords; then I closed my eyes. I played the first songs I ever learned on guitar: “Country Roads,” “Scarborough Fair” and “Brown-Eyed Girl.” Then I played Fred Eaglesmith’s “Wilder Than Her” and Don’s song “Journey,” about his father coming from Ireland. I played “Summertime” for Sheila, slow at first, thinking of cotton fields and a small black girl dreaming of angels, and then I played a jazzy version.

  Andrew lay back against the cushions, eyes closed, mouth relaxed, sexy forearms crossed over his chest. He opened one eye and grinned at the second version of “Summertime.”

  “That’s it?” he said.

  “No, there’s more.” I played the mournful opening chords to Don’s tree song, “Weeping Willow.”

  You said you could always come home,

  But it’ d never be the same.

  Oh, Momma, I’m getting old as you,

  But I fear I’ ll never be as wise.

  Call off the bulldozers,

  Call off our western ways.

  This progress, I’ ll have none of it,

  ’Cause I lost my weeping willow, where I used to sit.

  When I finished I leaned back, the guitar across my lap.

  “It’s a beautiful song.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It makes me think of the trees in Liberty Bell Park.”

  “I haven’t been back.”

  “I ruined it for you,” Andrew said softly.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve ruined lots for you.”

  I shrugged.

  Andrew sat up on the couch and drew his knees into his chest. “C’mere.” He patted the couch beside him.

  I hesitated, and then I stood up. The space between the chair and the couch seemed huge. I took three steps and settled beside him. His arm lay across the back of the sofa.

  “Mia Quinn.” His fingers were so close to my shoulder he could almost touch me. “What are you doing here?”

  “I can’t be at my dorm anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t—I can’t lie anymore.”

  Andrew bit the corner of his lip and tapped his fingers on the couch. “Who are you lying to?”

  “My roommate.” I swallowed. “Myself.” I whispered. “You.”

  Neither of us said anything for a long moment. I kept my eyes on Andrew.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said. The lamp cast shadows across his face.

  I felt my stomach tighten. “Okay.”

  He leaned back against the armrest, a playful smile across his lips. His fingers danced on the sofa. “How come you’ve always got your hair covered up?”

  My hands flew to my bandanna. “It’s neater. And cooler.”

  “Oh.” Andrew closed one eye, looking at me with the other. “I saw you with your hair down once.”

  I blushed. Moments seemed to tick by. I didn’t move.

  Andrew leaned in closer to me. I could feel the heat of his body near mine, smell the sweet scent of his skin. My heart was racing. If I leaned just a little bit, I could brush my lips against his neck.


  “Will you show me your hair?” he whispered.

  I nodded, then hesitated. My hands hovered near my head. Then I leaned back and untied the knot in the bandanna and let it fall to my lap. My hair was in two tightly coiled French braids. I reached up to release the pins, and my braids fell down my back, like two snaky ropes. Then I pulled out the elastics and shook my head, running my hands over my sore scalp. My hair fell around my face.

  My heart pounded as Andrew looked at me. His eyes followed the hair falling over my neck and down to my shoulders. My arm hairs stood at attention.

  He reached out to touch me. “Can I?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  I held myself still. Andrew slowly smoothed my hair over my head and then down my shoulder. Then he lightly brushed it away from my neck, sending shivers down my spine. He moved his hands through my hair, grasping my scalp, bringing my face toward him. Our lips touched and I was drowning in his intoxicating scent.

  THIRTEEN

  I woke up the next morning to light spilling across my face. A breeze knocked the window blind back and forth across the sill. I covered my eyes and rolled over, snuggling my face into Andrew’s shoulder as if I’d done it a million times. Andrew pulled me toward him. I nuzzled his skin the way I’d wanted to since the first time I smelled him. I drew my fingers slowly down the smooth skin of his back. My lips traced small kisses from his ear down to his shoulder and then across his chest, briefly rasping a nipple with my teeth. I heard him sigh. I wanted to know the expanse of his skin, the breadth of his muscle. My nose pushed up under his arm and around the back of his neck. Andrew let me explore, his breath quickening. Our legs intertwined and his warm arms snaked around my waist until we were tangled together.

  “I’m so glad you came here last night,” he whispered.

  “Me too.” I gave him a kiss.

  We made love slowly, eyes closed in sleepiness, just two bodies moving together, pressing, with none of the uncertainty or speed of the night before. As he slowly came inside of me, I resisted the urge to press him deeper, faster into me, letting him tease me until my breath came too fast, too loud, and I became just limbs, pounding blood and sweaty hair. Andrew collapsed on top of me, his weight pushing me into the mattress. We drifted back to sleep, the blind still wafting across the open window.