Daphne du Maurier - Not After Midnight & Other Stories

'Three dollars for the medallion. You owe me three dollars! ' He looked back over his shoulder. The vendor behind the stall was red with anger.

'Here, take it, I don't want the damn thing,' said Jim, and threw the medallion back on to the stall.

'You pick it up, you buy,' shouted the man, and he began jabbering to his neighbour, and the pair of them started shaking their fists, attracting the attention of other vendors in the market, and other purchasers. Jim hesitated a moment, then panicked. You never knew what might happen with a Middle East crowd. He walked quickly away, and as the uproar rose behind him, and heads turned, he quickened his pace and began to run, elbowing people aside, head down, and the crowds intent upon their shopping, or merely strolling, stepped back upon one another, causing more upheaval. 'What is it? Is he a thief? Has be planted a bomb?'

Murmurs were all behind him, and as Jim mounted a flight of steps he saw two Israeli policemen coming down, and he turned again, and tried to carve his way through the crowd below in the narrow street. His breath came quickly, there was a pain under his left rib like a knife, and the sensation of panic increased, for perhaps the Israeli policemen had questioned someone in the crowd and even now were pursuing him, believing him to be a thief, an anarchist, anything… How could he clear himself? How could he explain?

He fought his way through the crowd, losing all control, all sense of direction, and came out into a broader street, and now there was no escape because the way was barred by a throng of pilgrims walking with linked arms, and he had to fall back against a wall. They seemed to be all men, wearing dark trousers and white shirts. They didn't look like pilgrims, for they were laughing and singing. He was borne along with them, like a piece of flotsam on the crest of a wave, unable to turn back, and he found himself in the centre of a great open space, in the midst of which young men similarly dressed were dancing, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder.

The pain under his left rib was intense. He could move no further. If he could only sit down for one moment, but there was no space. If he could only lean against something… against that enormous, lemon-coloured wall. He couldn't reach it, though, he could only stand and stare, for the way to it was barred by a line of black-hatted men with curling hair, who were bowing and praying and beating their breasts. They are all Jews, he thought, I am alien, I'm not one of them, and his sense of panic returned, of fear, of desolation, for what if the two Israeli policemen were even now close to him on the fringe of the crowd, and forced their way to his side, and instead of bowing and praying before the Wailing Wall the line of men turned and looked upon him in accusation, and a cry arose from the whole lot of them calling, 'Thief… Thief…'?

Jill Smith had only one thought in mind, and that was to put as great a distance as possible between herself and Jim Foster. She didn't want to have anything more to do with him. She would have to be polite, of course, as long as they were all together, but they were due to leave Jerusalem later in the day, and once they were on board ship again none of them need have any close contact. Thank heaven she and Bob were going to live several miles from Little Bletford.

She walked quickly back along the narrow crowded street, away from the market quarter and the shops, passing tourists, sightseers, pilgrims, priests, but still no sign of Bob, nor of any of their party. There were signposts everywhere to the Holy Sepulchre, but she ignored them. She didn't want to go inside the Holy Sepulchre. It didn't seem right. It didn't seem, well, clean. It would be hypocritical and false to go amongst all those people praying. She wanted to find some place where she could sit and think and be alone. The walls of the Old City seemed to be closing in upon her, and perhaps if she continued walking she would be free of them, find more air, and there would be less noise, less hustle.

Then she saw a gate in the distance, at the far end, but it was not St Stephen's Gate, by which they had entered earlier. The letters said 'Shechem', and another sign read 'Damascus'. It did not matter to her what it was called, as long as it led her out of the city.

She passed under the great archway, and there were cars and buses parked in rows outside, just as there had been at St Stephen's Gate, and more tourists than ever coming down across the broad thoroughfare into the city. And there, standing in the midst of them, looking as lost and bewildered as she probably did herself, was Kate Foster. Too late to turn back-Kate had seen her. Reluctantly Jill went towards her.

'Have you seen Jim?' asked Kate.

'No,' she replied. 'I lost him in all those narrow streets. I'm looking for Bob.'

'Well, you'll never find him,' said Kate. 'I've never met with such total disorganisation. The crowds are absolute murder. None of our party has kept together. Lady Althea has gone back to the hotel practically having a nervous breakdown. She's lost her teeth.'

'She's what?' asked Jill.

'Lost her front teeth. They came out on a piece of bread. She looks an absolute fright.'

'Oh dear, how dreadful for her, I am sorry,' said Jill.

A car was hooting at them and they moved to the side of the street, walking out of the stream of traffic but in no particular direction.

'The friends who were with her kept talking about finding a dentist, but how do you know where to get hold of one in such a place of turmoil? Then luckily we ran into the Colonel near St Stephen's Gate, and he took over.'

'What did he do?'

'Found a taxi at once and bundled her into it. She was nearly in tears, but he sent her friends packing and got in beside her, and if you ask me, though she usually spends her time snubbing him, she was never more relieved to see anyone in her life. I wish I could find Jim. What was he doing when you saw him last?'

'I'm not sure,' faltered Jill. 'I think he wanted to buy you a present.'

'I know Jim's presents,' said Kate. 'I always get one when he has a guilty conscience. God! I could do with a cup of tea. Or at least somewhere to sit where I could take the weight off my feet.'

They went on walking, looking aimlessly about them, and came to a sign with the words 'Garden of the Resurrection' upon it.

'I don't suppose,' said Jill, 'we could get a cup of tea there?'

'You never know,' replied Kate, 'All these tourist centres carry ridiculous names. It's like Stratford-on-Avon. Everything is either Shakespeare or Ann Hathaway. Here it's Jesus Christ.'

They found themselves descending into an enclosure surrounded by rock, with paved ways all about it, and an official in the centre handed them a pamphlet. It said something about the Garden of Joseph of Arimathea.

'No tea here,' said Kate. 'No, thank you, we don't want a guide.'

'We can at least,' murmured Jill, 'sit down on that little wall. They surely won't make us pay for that.'

The official moved away, shrugging his shoulders. The garden would soon be full of pilgrims showing greater interest. Kate was studying the pamphlet.

'It's a rival site to the Holy Sepulchre,' she said. 'I suppose they like to spread the tourists around. That curious little tumbledown place built against the rock must be the tomb.'

They walked across and peered into the opening in the wall. 'It's empty,' said Jill.

'Well, it would be, wouldn't it?' answered Kate.

It was peaceful, anyway. They could sit down beside it and rest. The garden was practically empty, and Kate supposed it was still too early in the day for the usual hordes to stamp all over it. She glanced sideways at her companion, who looked tired and strained. Perhaps she had misjudged her after all. It was probably Jim who had made the running the night before.