Edward Whittemore - Jericho Mosaic

For a moment Tajar was stunned, so arresting was this face. It would have caused him to stop and stare, to wonder, no matter where he had met it. But then Yossi smiled and his teeth flashed and dozens of little lines danced around his eyes. It was an immensely appealing smile, even warmer and more inviting than Tajar remembered, and at once it transformed this formidable figure into the best friend a man could ever have.

Here was tenderness and confidence and strength, above all understanding. The deep lines in this face, Tajar realized, came from smiling.

They embraced warmly. Yossi stepped back and they gazed at each other with their arms clasped, holding on tightly with their hands, then hugged again. Tajar suddenly felt much older than he had a minute before then. He felt weak and clumsy, an awkward cripple, while Yossi was hard and strong, all muscle and bone.

How are you? they both said at once, feeling the breath of the other.

Blessed is the Name, they both answered, using that most Hebrew of expressions.

Once more they were standing apart, smiling and laughing as they held on with their hands and gazed at each other.

I've aged, said Yossi, but you look just the same.

Oh yes, said Tajar, I did all my aging when I banged up my legs. Now I don't get any older. I just lie in my hammock and watch the sky.

Yossi laughed. I remember that hammock of yours, he said. I have one of my own strung at the back of my garden in Damascus. People are always asking about it, they think it's a wonderful invention. I tell them it was a lazy habit I picked up in Argentina.

They laughed at the word lazy. Spoken by Yossi, it seemed a grandly exotic notion, for he had the wind-hardened look of a man who only rested while mounted on the back of his camel, an instant here and an instant there between the steps.

Tajar was abruptly serious. You are well? he asked, not referring to Yossi's physical state. Yossi thought for a moment. Still that utter sincerity, thought Tajar. Then Yossi's smile burst out and lit his face.

More than enough, replied Yossi. Like any desert traveler, naturally, I also seek the next oasis.

***

Their time together was brief in days and nights but exquisitely long in moments. For both of them it was a feast of memory to be savored and shared, with whole worlds of unknown sights and sounds to experience, to explore. And beyond all that were the nuances of feeling, those shadowy inner landscapes of the heart which could only be sensed when they were face to face.

They talked of Assaf and what he had gone through in the war, of his wounds and his recovery, his life in the Arab village of el Azariya and his friend the young Arab schoolteacher. Of Anna and her painting and the old stone house on Ethiopia Street where Assaf had grown up. Of Tajar and his snug cottage hidden behind the cactus and the rosebushes, the bushes still wildly out of control, the cottage still slowly crumbling at the end of its tangled, secluded compound.

They spoke of Jerusalem undivided now after the war, one city again, no longer separated by barbed wire and bunkers cutting across its stately hills.

Of the Mossad and Dror and Tajar's commandos, of Israel and the Arab territories occupied in the war.

Of the tiny settlement in the Negev where Yossi had met Anna, an army outpost now. Of the other settlement on the south coast where Yossi and Anna had lived by the sea after independence, a small city now.

So much has changed, said Yossi.

Oh yes, it happens quickly, said Tajar. The country grows, everything changes.

And Assaf is really taller than I am?

From only a little fellow, just imagine, said Tajar. He's at least an inch taller than you when he stands straight, which he's learning to do. The leg wounds held him back for a while but now he's overcoming that. A handsome young man who sometimes reminds me of Anna's brother, David. His good looks come from Anna, in other words. I know you wouldn't have it any other way. But his smile is yours, unmistakably. I always see you when he smiles and Anna also feels that. No wonder he's so independent, she says. That's the same smile we used to get in the Negev when we faced impossible odds and Yossi waved as he went off into the desert in another of his disguises. Who can resist it? she says. A smile like that is the hope of the world.

They spoke of Bell.

It's been over a year since I last saw him, said Yossi. I used to enjoy those visits to Jericho immensely, but then life became too hectic and I couldn't get away. And now, unfortunately, Jericho is on the wrong side of the river for me.

Tajar nodded. At the time of their meeting Assaf had only recently made the first of his trips with Yousef down to Jericho. Tajar explained Yousef's connection to Abu Musa, and through him to Bell.

So Assaf is also going to get to know Bell? said Yossi. Well it's not such an odd coincidence, really. Jericho hovers down there as a midway point on all the caravan routes, and the one-eyed hermit of Jericho has acquired quite a reputation over the years. You even hear people in Damascus speak of him from time to time, although not particularly the people I do business with. Bell is too out of the way for them. But if Assaf comes to enjoy the company of Abu Musa because of Yousef, that's certainly all for the best. Abu Musa's a marvellously clever old rogue. Have you ever met him?

No, said Tajar, for some curious reason I haven't. Neither him nor his partner at the gaming board, the giant called Moses the Ethiopian. Inexplicably and more's the loss, I've missed the antics of their forty-year shesh-besh game. But of course it's been decades since I knew Bell, in Egypt during the Second World War.

They talked of Damascus and Yossi's life in Damascus, or, rather, Halim's life in Damascus.

With its gardens and orchards, said Yossi, the city has great beauty. Then too, it has a river flowing through it and you know how special that is in this part of the world. When you have a river along with the desert you feel you have everything God can give. Unlike the Egyptians, though, the Syrians have never had the luxury of living off by themselves in history, so they have none of the easygoing habits that can bring. Every army from east or west, forever it seems, has conquered Damascus on its road to empire and people remember that, even if the memory is less than conscious. Intrigues and enemies and warring factions are what they've always known, that and an ability to survive which gives pride and also makes them wary, suspicious, shrewd, clever. They work hard and keep an eye over their shoulder. Some of the men I deal with are jackals, but no more than anyplace where life is difficult and power is hard to seize and dangerous to hold. The Syrians are many different peoples because of all the conquering armies, but even when people differ so much you're never far from those two fundamental lures of human nature, the river and the desert, with their opposing creeds and unresolvable promises. That's finally the struggle, I suppose, beyond empire and race and even beyond religion. Surely it has nothing to do with national boundaries. Since it's waged in each man's heart, in fact, how can there be an end to it? But for all that Damascus is still el Fayha, the fragrant, blessed with gardens and a river at the foot of its mountain on the transdesert routes of history.

Your days? asked Tajar. Your evenings?

Mostly I listen to people, said Yossi. The last few years I've been rushing around, but generally I spend more time in my garden. I do much of my business there. Meetings and appointments, it's my main office really.

You're able to relax then?

Oh yes. You know how it works out. A man who's doing well is expected to relax. That's what succeeding means, having more time to consider. It's the traditional way, as opposed to the Western or American way.