The Moses Legacy

Chapter 71

‘So what did he tell you?’ Daniel asked Gabrielle.

‘Nothing. The flow of information was strictly one-way.’

After their debriefing in Herzliya, Daniel and Gabrielle had taken a taxi to Jerusalem. It had been a strange experience getting there. At eleven o’clock, as the taxi was steadily ascending the long and winding road to the city, a siren had sounded. Not a rising and falling siren to warn of an enemy attack, but a flat siren, like the all-clear at the end of an air raid. But in Israel on this day it heralded neither the beginning of an attack nor end of one, but rather the recollection of many battles and their tragic consequences.

When the driver stopped the taxi and stood by the roadside, Daniel followed suit and Gabrielle did likewise. Afterwards, when they got back into the taxi, Daniel explained that it was Remembrance Day and the siren heralded the two-minute silence to honour the war dead, something that Israelis took very seriously.

They had booked into the Leonardo Plaza Hotel, in the centre of town – having to share a room because the hotels were packed for the forthcoming Independence Day celebrations. The hotel stood on the edge of Independence Park and their luxury suite near the top of the tall building had a panoramic view of the whole city. At Daniel’s suggestion, they had decided to forgo lunch at the prestigious Cow on the Roof for the ‘best little diner in Jerusalem’.

‘Far be it from me to endorse any of the age-old stereotypes about women, but I refuse to believe that you didn’t pump him for information.’

Gabrielle smiled wickedly. ‘Oh, I pumped like a milkmaid. But the udders were dry.’

They were in Pinati, a tiny but packed little diner on the corner of a main road and a side street in the centre of Jerusalem. Clashing elbows at the Formica table they shared with three blue-collar workers, they were tucking into stuffed peppers, moussaka and meatballs with rice and beans, accompanied by pickled cucumbers, onions and chilli peppers. This was after a starter consisting of the best humous they had ever tasted.

‘You don’t come to Pinati for the decor or the ambience, let alone the comfort,’ Daniel had explained. ‘You come here for the food.’

And he was right. That’s why they had stood outside in a long queue in a city that appeared to be bustling more than usual, with people scurrying to the souk to buy pita bread, meat, bags of charcoal and disposable barbecues.

‘For tomorrow,’ their taxi driver had explained cryptically.

‘You didn’t get anything out of him?’

‘All I got was what he told you,’ Gabrielle replied defensively. ‘They know who locked us in the tomb but won’t say who,’ Daniel confirmed.

‘Did he tell you that the man who locked us in was the man who killed Uncle Harrison?’ Gabrielle asked.

‘Yes. But he didn’t say who it was.’

‘I guess that means he doesn’t want us interfering.’

‘Maybe he’s right, Gaby. Maybe we should leave it to the pros.’

‘So why is the city so busy today?’ she asked.

‘Like they told us at the hotel: Independence Day. Actually the celebrations start this evening, because in Israel festive occasions start the night before, running from sunset to sunset. But tomorrow there’ll be about a million barbecues. That’s the way they celebrate Independence Day over here. So everyone’s getting ready for that.’

That evening, Gabrielle decided to sample the true Israeli experience of Independence Day, venturing out into the jam-packed streets and dragging Daniel in tow. Caught in the crush of thousands of happy Israelis, they edged their way along slowly amidst the throngs of mostly young people. Once in a while they emerged into free space, where the people – natives and immigrants – danced and sang to the strains of amplified live bands that filled the air with both modern and traditional songs about Israel. Songs of victory and songs of peace… an eclectic mixture of nationalism and optimism.

‘What’s with the plastic hammers?’ Gabrielle had to shout to be heard above the noise of the crowds. She had just been hit over the head for the umpteenth time by a plastic hammer wielded by a child of about four or five, who was seated atop his father’s shoulders. It was painless and the father of the child seemed to find it amusing too, even when he in turn was hit by a teenager’s plastic mallet in a well-timed counter-strike.

‘It’s an old-new tradition,’ Daniel replied cryptically.

‘Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?’

‘It goes back to a merchant who bought them for another celebration. He overestimated the demand and had a few thousand left over, so he sold them off cheaply for Independence Day. That was a few decades ago and it’s been an Israeli tradition ever since.’

‘I guess I’ll get used to it eventually,’ said Gabrielle as she succumbed to another couple of sneak attacks. Daniel didn’t seem to mind or even notice it when he was the target. But the children – and adolescents and adults – seemed to get a perverse pleasure in landing one on Gabrielle’s head, as if her height made her an especially distinguished target.

‘I’m glad we had a big lunch,’ said Gabrielle.

She had a point. Food rather than drink was normally the Israelis’ preferred method of celebration. But today there was no one available to serve food.

‘What the-’

Gabrielle had just been sprayed with foam by a teenage youth with a cheeky grin on his face. He was clearly being egged on by two of his friends who flanked him and laughed at his antics before moving on to a new target.

‘Is that also an Israeli tradition?’

‘A more recent one,’ said Daniel. ‘Albeit a rather annoying one. I think they imported it from Tel Aviv. I thought Jerusalemites had more class though.’

‘I guess when you live in a country that has so many wars, it’s nice to have one day a year when you can let your hair down.’

Daniel noticed for the first time in the last three weeks that Gabrielle was having a good time. In Egypt, even before the incident in the tomb, she had seemed uptight and tense. Now, for the first time in ages, she seemed to be full of the joie de vivre that he hadn’t seen in her since she was a teenager.

By two in the morning, fortified by a bottle of Arak that they had managed to obtain in their downtown adventures, Gabrielle had learnt the hora – Israel’s national dance – and half a dozen Israeli folk songs, or at least the chorus thereof. Her favourite, judging by her constant repetition of it, seemed to be ‘ Od loh Ahavti Dai’ – ‘I Haven’t Loved Enough’ – an up-tempo song in which the singer laments that they haven’t done enough in life, listing all their unachieved ambitions from finding water in the desert to writing their memoirs and building their dream house. But most importantly, not having loved enough.

Daniel realized she was drunk and decided to get her back to the hotel before she embarrassed herself. He had to half-prop, half-carry her to the bedroom as she flirted with everyone from the security man on the door to the night porter. Undressing her on the king-size bed was relatively easy, but he had to remind himself to keep his intentions honourable – or at least his actions.

But when he was undressed himself, she seemed to undergo a revival. ‘Come over and kiss me, Danny.’

‘You’re tired.’

‘No I’m not. I’m just drunk.’

‘Well I’m tired.’ He realized that he was drunk too, having consumed a fair amount of Arak himself. ‘Goodnight, Gaby.’

He lay down on top of the bed – it was too hot for the covers.

‘Now that you’ve called me Gaby, you’ve got to make love to me.’

‘Goodnight, Professor Gusack,’ he said, making his honourable intentions clear.

‘If you don’t make love to me, I’ll have to force you,’ she said. And without waiting for his reply, she rolled over on top of him and tried to hold him down with a schoolgirl pin.

It looks like we’re going to have that wrestling match after all, he thought, putting up a token show of resistance.