"Of course." Valerie leafed through the Persian-English volume.

"I only know him in French though. My favorite quatrain is " etrange passe la caravane de la vie."

Najya sat down next to her as she turned the pages and studied the illustrations. "Yes, I like the ones about the caravan and the caravanserai * 162 *

Vulture's Kiss too. Maybe you're thinking of this one." She reached across Valerie's arm, the heel of her hand lightly brushing the fi ngers that held the book open at the edge. She leafed through several pages until she found what she was looking for. "See if this one sounds familiar."

Valerie was feeling the ef fects of the wine now , and the sphere of light in which they sat seemed to detach itself from the rest of the world. The Rubaiyat was at the core, drawing them together . Valerie held the narrow volume from below with her palm, and she felt the weight of Najya's hand that rested on it from above. It was almost as if, through the pages of the Rubaiyat, they were holding hands.

She licked her lips, tasting the residue of the wine, and began to read out loud.

Think in this batter'd caravanserai, Whose portals welcome and send forth each day How merchants, scholars, lovers, and their creeds Abode their precious hour and went away.

Najya nodded faintly with the rhythm. "It' s a nice image, the passing of generations, hundreds of them, from nowhere to nowhere."

"Not to nowhere," Valerie said. "Sometimes the later generation, the hundredth, say, or the two hundredth, may be expected to accomplish something. I, for example, am expected to accomplish something,"

she said dreamily . "I was supposed to have accomplished it already today."

"How very mysterious you are." Najya was sitting on one hip now ,.

an arm thrown along the back of the sofa. "To accomplish what?"

Valerie already regretted having spoken. She'd been too anxious to interest Najya, who sat so close and smelled so wonderful. But it was a story that she couldn' t tell her . "Look, I don' t know you very well-and I don't want to involve you in something dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Najya looked perplexed. "How did we get from Omar Khayyam to dangerous all of a sudden?"

"I'm sorry. It was a leap, wasn' t it? I just meant, I'm here in Jerusalem because of some generational obligation.

And when it' s done, I have to leave."

"I hope it won't be soon."

"I'm afraid it will. In just a few days, I think. But maybe we can * 163 *

see each other again." A crasser voice in her head said Idiot. Why drag this out? Just r each out and kiss her . She felt herself staring again, obsessively, at the muscles that swelled so wonderfully around Najya's mouth, drawing attention always to her lips. No, too soon. She looked past Najya at the objects behind her.

On a table at the end of the sofa lay something she hadn't noticed.

An expensive-looking Nikon with telephoto lens. "That's quite a camera you have there. Do you photograph much?"

"It's Harry's. He lent it to me for a few days. Actually I'm not a very good photographer at all. I just take snapshots to help me remember details. Harry's the professional."

At the mention of the man's name-twice-Valerie felt something inside her collapse and be replaced by...she wasn't sure what. A mixture of embarrassment, anger, even nausea. The cozy fl irtatious dinner, the whole afternoon changed meaning. It was all just sisterly friendship, a girls' night out, everything she didn't want. And she had almost made a fool of herself. She looked at her watch.

"I'm sorry if I seem rude, but I have a lot to deal with in the next few days. And I'm sure you do too, so I won' t keep you any later this evening." She stood up.

"Oh, it's not at all late." Najya looked at her own watch. "But I can understand that you might be tired from travel and stress." She stood up next to Valerie. "Look, what about meeting tomorrow evening? I'd like to show you the Pool of Siloam. My grandfather was part of the team that renovated it."

Valerie hesitated. What was the point? Najya belonged to a man and Valerie was on his turf. In another life, before the bloodshed, she might have taken up the challenge, but not now . Now she was under threat and in a hurry. It would only make sense to say no.

"I'd love to. I have a lunch in the afternoon, but we could meet about six."

"Six would be perfect." Najya seemed unusually pleased. "You're going to meet Auset's family?"

"Her grandparents, who are orthodox, so the lunch will be kosher.

Is there anything special I should know? I mean besides not asking for pork chops?"

They were at the door now. "Yes. Don't kiss the host. You Belgians * 164 *

Vulture's Kiss do a lot of that kissing thing, but it' s strictly taboo here. With men, I mean. So don't kiss any men, ever."

The word "kiss" on Najya' s lips seemed provocative; each time she said it, it was a tease. But Harry' s things were in her house. And Najya was one of Harry's things.

"I'll try not to," Valerie murmured and walked dazed and confused into the corridor.

By the time she was on the street she remembered why she was in Jerusalem, and bereavement settled over her again like a fog.

* 165 *

40.

Let My People Stay At the last moment, Valerie wondered if she should have brought fl owers. And now it was too late. She knocked.

Sephora Ibrahim opened the door . A woman somewhere in her seventies, she bent forward against the door jamb and squinted amiably through thick eyeglasses. Valerie's fi rst thought was Golda Meier , but no, she amended. Sephora had a certain gentle sadness in her face, like a woman who had expected life to turn out differently.

Dr. Foret, please come in." She stepped backward, supporting herself on her cane. "So nice to fi nally meet you."

As she walked in, Valerie smelled onion and garlic. "Can I help in any way?"

"Thank you, dear," Sephora said. "We have a girl who cooks, and she is taking care of everything." She hobbled ahead down the hall to the dining room.

A man met them at the end of the corridor. Stooped and completely bald under a white kippa, he laid a palsied hand over his heart in greeting. "Itzak Ibrahim, Auset's grandfather ," he said in thickly accented English. "Good afternoon, Dr. Foret. Auset has told us about the tragedy of your friend in Cairo. I am very sorry for your loss."

She was touched by his sincerity and by his bringing the subject up at all. He had to have known that Derek was the father of their illegitimate grandchild.

"Thank you, Mr. Ibrahim. I am pleased to be here." She laid her hand on her own heart, hoping that the rest of the evening would not be as awkward. She knew the taboos of conservative Islam, but not of Judaism, and wondered how soon she would blunder.

They entered the large dining room where another man and woman waited.

"This is my son Yehuda, and his wife Hadassah." Itzak' s open hand trembled slightly as he pointed with it.

Itzak Ibrahim, with his short well-trimmed white beard and wizened eyes, was as engaging as his son was not. There was a family * 166 *

Vulture's Kiss resemblance in the eyes, and Valerie could see a hint of Hannah in all their faces. Though both men had declined to shake her hand, Itzak had sparkled warmth, while Yehuda's eyes slid of f her and glanced elsewhere.

Hadassah was opaque; her expressionless eyes suggested a woman who pronounced no opinions, although a look of disapproval at Valerie's trousers had fl uttered quickly over her face, then disappeared.

She resumed unwrapping a lar ge bouquet of cut fl owers from a cone of wet newspaper . She had, Valerie noted, the perfect coif fure of an expensive wig.

Yehuda, for his part, wore the same black suit as the men at the Wall and had the same curled payes in front of each ear.

Valerie smiled toward her host and exhaled audibly when Auset appeared with Nefi in hand.

Nefi held out her arms. " Khalti," she said as Valerie knelt down and kissed her on both plump cheeks.

"Habibti!" Valerie lifted the giggling two-year -old into her arms while Auset brought a high chair to the table from the corner of the room. The kitchen help brought in the meal and Valerie saw she was not a "girl" at all, but a woman in her fi fties, Arab or Druze or-less likely-a poor and secular Jew. Valerie's fi rst instinct was to assist her, but the demeanor of the others-including Auset-suggested they had a long established ritual, not to be interfered with.

With practiced effi ciency, the woman swept repeatedly from kitchen to dining room carrying soup tureen, salad bowl, platter of warm pitas, and a wide tray with half a dozen sauces and pastes.

When the table was complete, everyone stood up. Itzak pulled himself up from his chair and spoke the prayer . "Baruch atah Adonai Ehohenu melech ha-olam hamotzi lechem min ha-aretz."

Valerie lowered her head in respect and tried to make out the meaning of the Hebrew words. It seemed a simple blessing on the bread.

Itzak lifted his glass of wine to his guests. "To family and friends.

It is a blessing for an old man to have so many people at his table."

All sat down again and Valerie said to the host, "It is an honor for me to sit at this table. You are the second Jerusalemite I've met whose family has deep roots in this city."

* 167 *

"Who was the other one, dear?" Sephora asked as she handed around the bread. "Maybe we know him?"

"It is a woman. A Palestinian," Valerie replied, wondering if her remark counted as a faux pas. "Her family name is Khoury."

"Khoury." Sephora was silent for a moment. 'I do know that name.

Yes. Someone named Khoury worked on the renovation of the Siloam Spring tunnel a few years ago. It was in the newspapers."

Itzak nodded agreement. "A few families here, Jews and Arabs both, have been in Jerusalem for centuries-maybe a millennium. The historical records say that crusaders murdered everyone in 1099, so the farthest back we can claim to date ourselves is the twelfth century."

Itzak's impish smile reminded Valerie a bit of Yoda.

"I like to think that my ancestor and the ancestor of my neighbor Abdul returned at the same time afterward and have been ignoring each other ever since."

Valerie laughed. "That would have been during the time of Salah-al-Din, wouldn't it? He took back the city from the Christians about a century later."

Itzak twinkled Yoda-like again. "Actually some Jews and Muslims managed to migrate back only a few decades after the fall under the brief reign of Baldwin III. You know, Semitic tenacity-on both sides."

"I should have warned you," Auset said, cutting up chunks of chicken for Nefi . "My grandfather adores medieval history and can match facts with anyone in the fi eld."

"Semitic tenacity. Do you mean of Jews, or of Arabs too?" Valerie risked.Looking up through remarkably thick eyebrows, Itzak tapped a fi nger on the table next to her hand to make his point. "Both are Semites, and equally stubborn. That's why neither side backs down.

And I know the Arabs have their Jerusalem songs, just as we do. There is quite a nice one, by that Lebanese woman, Fairuz. ' Al radabu...' He hummed a few bars of a lively tune. Do you know Fairuz? You look a little like her, you know." Sephora cleared her throat and he lowered the wattage of his twinkle. "Just to say I know the Arabs have their dreams and their roots too."

"Roots?" Yehuda took issue. "The roots of the Jews go back over two thousand years."

Valerie felt Auset tense next to her and changed the subject. She * 168 *

Vulture's Kiss turned to Hadassah. "I noticed the bouquet you were unwrapping.

Where do you get such beautiful fl owers in Jerusalem?"

"Oh, they are from our own garden," Hadassah said with obvious pride. "My husband grows fl owers, mostly roses and carnations. We also have a vegetable plot. I love it that we can grow things on our own land-'make the desert bloom,' so to speak."

"Yes, I can understand that. Cultivating the land makes you feel part of it," Valerie replied politely, though she'd never planted anything in her life.

Yehuda's expression warmed slightly at her remark. "Absolutely.

You feel a connection with your ancestors who worked the same soil."

His eyes took on a distant look. "And when you feel close to the soil of Israel, you feel close to God." He stared of f into space for a moment.

"Sometimes I just stop and hold a clump of soil in my hand and say a prayer of thanks that God has brought us back home."

Valerie heard the ardor with which Yehuda had said "soil" and "home." It was a sentiment she would never feel, but could respect. She could imagine him standing, humble, in his garden, and for a moment she liked him. "Where do you live?" she asked.

"In Hebron," Hadassah replied and looked ready to be asked more about fl owers.

"Hebron, in the West Bank," Auset interjected. "My uncle's lovely large garden and orchard that were given to him by God used to belong to Palestinians. Apparently God hadn't given it to them, but only lent it for a few centuries."

Valerie lowered her eyes and felt her face warm. Five minutes into dinner and she'd already opened the gate to a minefi eld.

Yehuda wiped his mouth and beard and laid his napkin down with ominous care. The warmth was gone now from his face. Valerie wondered if she should ask to use the bathroom and stay there until it was all over.

"It makes me sick to hear you always whine about Arab land,"

he said. "You should be damned glad your mother 's family is safe in Israel. Six million others were not so lucky . If you hate your Jewish blood so much, go back to Egypt and put on the veil."

"Yehuda, mind your manners," Itzak said, raising the hand that held his fork.

A small voice in Valerie's head cried, Shut up! Do not get into this!

* 169 *

"I'm sorry," she said. "It was Germans-Europeans who committed the genocide. Not the Palestinians." Valerie looked at the pained face of Sephora and immediately regretted becoming involved. It was obviously an old family argument.

Yehuda tried a new tack. "They left a desert and we have made it into a garden." He pointed to the salad. "How do you like our Jewish tomatoes and artichokes?"

"Well, of course you have," Auset returned fi re. "But not because of God. Billions of American dollars have allowed you to introduce agro-industry, using water from Palestinian wells.