Outside Eden (12 page)

To make time pass, she examined the pattern on the tile floor. Got up and looked out the window at the valley. Lost a game of spider solitaire. Then tried to connect again. Still couldn’t. Began another game. And heard a familiar voice coming into the lobby, speaking in Hebrew.

Dr Ben Haim was there, talking on the phone.

Harper closed her laptop; it could wait. It was more urgent to tell Dr Ben Haim what was going on at his dig. That a potentially dangerous cult leader had brought his followers there to prepare for Armageddon. For the Apocalypse. She stood to get his attention.

Dr Ben Haim saw her and raised a forefinger, indicating that he’d be off in a minute. That she should wait. Harper sat again, reopened her laptop and tried again for the Internet, but still couldn’t get online. Finally, he hung up and walked over to her.

‘I’m trying to use the Internet.’

He sat beside her. Too close? ‘Good luck. It isn’t always easy here. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. You should wait until tomorrow; use the computer at the site. We have better service there.’

His eyes were soft, connected with hers. His hair glistened silver, reflecting the light. Harper edged away.

‘I hope you enjoyed our lunch.’ Was he flirting? ‘Sorry the students interrupted. For some, this is their first dig—’

‘Dr Ben Haim,’ Harper blurted. She felt clumsy, unsure of his intentions. ‘About the dig – there’s something I need to tell you.’

‘Yes?’

She told him about Ramsey Travis and his followers, that they were preparing for the End of Days. That they believed that only Travis could decode secret messages in the Bible. ‘They think the Apocalypse is imminent . . .’

Dr Ben Haim’s hand landed firmly on hers, startling her. And he was smiling. ‘Dear Dr Jennings. Harper – can we be Harper and Givon?’

Harper nodded, yes. Tried not to stiffen.

‘Harper. I’m happy you came to me. It was wise and even very brave.’

Oh dear. How was she going to get his hand off of hers? And why was he saying that she was brave?

‘You thought you saw danger, and you acted on it.’

Well, ‘acted’ was too strong a word. She hadn’t actually done anything.

‘But, clearly, you are new to our country.’

His hand was warm, meaty. Tanned. Less hairy than Hank’s. And it was squeezing hers.

‘Yes. But I served in Iraq.’ Why had she said that? Was she trying to impress him?

‘Really? You were in the war?’

‘I was. I am not completely naïve about danger.’

‘No, of course not. It was not my intention to imply that you were. What I meant was that this country is not like any other. Certainly not like Iraq. And why is it different? Because this country draws followers of every religion from the whole world. We get everyone: secular, pious, and fanatic. We Israelis even have our own fanatics – have you seen them? They’ll spit at you or throw stones if you drive a car or operate an elevator on the Sabbath. Even if you show the skin of your arms. But you know what? It’s the beauty of this place. The richness and uniqueness. History, traditions, sacred places and faith. All of it belongs to all of us – even, like it or not, to the fanatics. Here, as nowhere else, we tolerate them. Unless they pose a threat, we let them be.’

Harper felt his breath on her face. He was too close. And he was missing the point. She tried again. ‘But Dr Ben Haim – Givon. What if these people do pose a threat? What if they’re planning more than a few prayer meetings?’

Ben Haim’s eyes probed hers. ‘Do you know this? What kind of threat are you talking about? Because if there is one, tell me. In Israel, we take threats very seriously.’ He waited for an answer.

Harper didn’t know what to say.

‘So? Are they planting a bomb? Planning an attack?’

‘I don’t . . . No. Not that I know of, but . . .’

‘Poisoning each other? Planning mass suicide?’

‘I thought you ought to know. They believe the end is coming.’

‘A lot of people who come here believe the end is coming—’

‘But these people think it will happen at your dig.’

Ben Haim frowned, still didn’t release her hand.

Harper moved it away. ‘Look. I’m sorry if you think I’m overreacting. Maybe they are just another group of harmless religious kooks. You have more experience than I do. So, if you think it’s nothing, just forget it.’ She stood. ‘Well. Good night. See you tomorrow.’ She started for the door, sorry she’d even approached him. He’d completely dismissed her concerns, almost scolded her for bringing them. And what about the way he’d held onto her hand?

‘Harper, wait . . .’

Maybe she should keep going, just pretend she hadn’t heard him? No, she had to be polite. He was, after all, the head of the dig. A professional colleague. Composing herself, she turned.

‘Maybe you’ll want this?’ Dr Ben Haim’s eyes twinkled as he held out her laptop.

Chloe played in her bath, pouring water from colored cups, singing. ‘My Im. My Im. My Im.’ Harper sat on the side of the tub, sponging her while Hagit washed out Chloe’s clothes in the sink.

‘Just stay away from them,’ Hagit declared.

‘I can’t. Lynne’s my dig partner.’

‘So get a new partner.’

‘Everyone’s assigned.’

‘So watch them. Listen to what they’re up to.’ She carried Chloe’s wet clothes to the porch, hung them to dry.

Harper put shampoo in her hands, massaged it into the baby’s hair. Put bubbles onto Chloe’s nose and stomach. Gave her a handful of suds to play with. Laughed with her when she reached up and plopped suds onto Harper’s nose, getting even. How did little Chloe even know about getting even? Was it the nursery? Playing with other, older toddlers? Harper rinsed away the shampoo, wrapped Chloe in a towel, thinking of all the other baths she’d given her – the recent ones, with bubbles, songs and toys, and the early ones, when Harper had been afraid to put even the gentlest soap on the newborn’s skin, had worried that the water would give her a chill. Fourteen months? How had they passed so fast? Chloe had six teeth already, was walking, learning to talk. Harper held Chloe on her lap, memorizing the moment. Smelling her curls. Drying her off. Noticing the little
hamsa
around her neck.

Hagit came back in and took out Chloe’s pajamas. ‘I don’t like it.’

It took a moment for Harper to realize what Hagit was talking about. ‘Dr Ben Haim is probably right. Probably they’re harmless.’

‘Probably? You want to stake your life on “probably”?’

Chloe was singing ‘My im, my im,’ again.

‘What’s she singing?’ Harper fastened the diaper, pulled the pajama top over Chloe’s head.

‘Water. Mayim.’

A song about water?

‘A song from the nursery school.’ Hagit began to sing it. ‘Mayim mayim mayim mayim, hey, mayim b’sason . . .’ Chloe scrambled to join her, beaming and clapping, trying to sing along.

Harper watched as Hagit led her in a circle dance.

‘Hey hey hey hey,’ they shouted, and Chloe squealed, jumping and clapping.

Harper didn’t know the words or the dance. She sat alone until Hagit, winded, had to stop. But Chloe, overtired and – thanks to Hagit – over stimulated, kept shouting and spinning, and tumbling and getting up again.

‘So, anyway.’ Hagit sat down on the bed, panting and dabbing her forehead. ‘I’m serious. You already attracted the Evil Eye, so trouble isn’t going to be far away.’ Again, she picked up the conversation from before. ‘Tomorrow, keep your eyes and your ears open. Watch what’s around you.’

‘I always do.’

‘I’ve learned something, Harper. Don’t assume people are who or what they say. It’s not always the truth.’

‘Thanks, Hagit.’ It was good advice. Harper had learned it, too.

Harper grabbed Chloe, ending her rampage. ‘Time for you to settle down. Let’s go tuck you in.’

Hagit wasn’t finished. ‘Be sure you wear your
hamsa
.’

‘I will.’

‘And say Kenahara. In fact, say plenty of them.’

Chloe leaned against Harper’s shoulder, sucking her fingers. ‘Hagit? You think these people are really dangerous?’

‘Dangerous?’ Hagit paused, thinking. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ She went back to the other room, but turned, shaking a finger at Harper. ‘But say Kenahara anyway. Just in case. It never hurts.’

The talk with Hank was brief. He was exhausted from visiting potential desalination sites, but Harper wanted his opinion and decided to tell him about her conversation with Lynne.

‘She said they’re preparing for the Apocalypse.’

‘Normal. For cult.’

Was it? Dr Ben Haim had seemed to think so.

‘But their leader says he’s found secret codes in the Bible, and I think he’s having them prepare now for the End of Days . . .’

‘Just don’t drink. Their Kool-Aid.’

Really? Hank was joking about it? He thought that Jim Jones’ mass killings were funny? That it was comical that people blindly followed their leader to their deaths?

‘Chloe asleep?’

And now he was just moving on, ignoring the entire topic?

‘Yes.’ Her answer was clipped.

‘Good day?’

‘Fine.’

‘Hoppa?’ Finally, he was getting it. ‘What?’

He really didn’t know. He sounded drained, half-asleep. Was she really going to start an argument?

‘Cult?’ So he knew what was wrong.

‘We’ll talk about it another time, Hank. You’re tired.’

‘Hoppa. Here. All kinds come. Normal.’

Again, he agreed with Ben Haim. Probably she should relax.

‘Okay? You?’

She said she was fine, told him she loved him. They said good night.

Harper didn’t feel like going to bed, felt unsettled. She went to the next room, saw Hagit sleeping. Thought about trying again to get online. Doing some research on Ramsey Travis and his church.

Quietly, she wrote a note for Hagit, picked up her laptop and tiptoed to the door. She was on the porch, about to step onto the path, when she heard a wail. A cat in heat, or maybe hurt?

‘Oh, Ramsey!’

It wasn’t a cat. The wailer was a woman.

Instinctively, Harper ducked into the shadows and peered towards the voice. Next door, light spilled out from a window onto the porch of Ramsey Travis’s bungalow. A couple stood silhouetted, locked in an embrace. Kissing, groping. Harper stepped deeper into the shadows, not wanting to spy. Unable to look away. Even in the dimness, she thought she recognized the woman, her long legs, straight blonde hair. Was it Lynne? No, it couldn’t be. Harper squinted into the darkness, trying to see.

Finally, the woman broke away from the man and stepped into the starlight, and Harper saw her clearly. No mistake.

‘Trust me, Ramsey.’ Lynne’s voice was husky. ‘You have my word.’

Travis came after her, gripped her hands, ‘Are you sure? Because the ninth is the twenty-sixth . . .’

‘I told you. I’ll do it.’

Do what? And the ninth was the twenty-sixth? What the hell did that mean?

Travis pulled her back for a final, lingering kiss, and then, abruptly, released her. Lynne turned and walked away. Right toward Harper.

Harper backed against the wall, not moving, not making a sound. Lynne passed without seeing her, and Harper looked back at the porch, at the tall beefy man with receding hair. Ramsey Travis.

Who was he really? What was he planning? All Harper knew for sure was that he’d been kissing Lynne and making her wail like a wounded animal. And that he’d sent her back to her husband.

As soon as Travis went back into his bungalow, Harper hurried down the path to the main road. The main office was empty except for a security officer and the guy at the desk. She bought a Coke from the machine and tried to log on to the Internet, but the whole time, she was replaying the scene she’d just witnessed, trying to process it.

Lynne had said the pastor had counseled her and helped save her marriage. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think that Travis would have used Lynne’s vulnerability and trust to seduce her. What a hypocrite, preaching God’s word while practicing adultery with his followers. Harper ached to get online and find out more about this guy. Ramsey Travis. Where had he come from? What was in his past?

The screen said: ‘Internet Explorer cannot display the web page.’ Damn.

Again, Harper replayed the scene on the porch. What was it that Travis wanted Lynne to do? Was it to tell Peter about their relationship? Maybe. But what about ‘the ninth is the twenty-sixth’? What did that mean? Bible code? Harper had no idea. Could make no sense of it.

She tried another browser. Mozilla. No luck.

‘Miss, you need some help?’ The guy at the desk was watching her.

‘I’m trying to get online . . .’

‘To send an email? Or make a reservation? I can help you . . .’

How? Did he have Internet? Harper stood, went to the desk. The guy’s nametag had a name both in Hebrew and English: Schmuel. ‘Are you connected?’

‘Me?’ He and the security officer exchanged glances and laughed. ‘Not now. Sometime tonight, though, it will happen. Usually about two or three a.m. But maybe earlier. Maybe in an hour. Look, when it happens, I can make a reservation for you. Or send a message – anything you want.’

Actually, anything except what she wanted. Harper thanked him and explained that he couldn’t help; she was trying to do research. She picked up her laptop, deposited her Coke bottle in the recycling can, and headed out. At the door, she stopped, turned back.

‘Schmuel? Let me ask you. Does this make any sense to you? The ninth is the twenty-sixth?’

Then Schmuel blinked, said something in Hebrew to the guard who said something back. Schmuel shrugged.

‘Maybe he’s right. He thinks it’s about the ninth of Av.’

Harper didn’t understand.

‘The ninth of Av,’ Schmuel repeated. ‘Tisha B’Av. He thinks it comes this year on July twenty-sixth. In a few days.’

She still didn’t. ‘What’s the ninth of Av?’

The guard smirked, made a comment in Hebrew.

‘For the Jews,’ Schmuel explained, ‘it’s a serious day. A day of mourning. Very holy.’

The guard interjected something. Schmuel nodded.

‘It marks the destruction of the Temple. First by the Babylonians, later by the Romans. We are supposed to fast and pray – not just for the Temples any more, but for all misfortunes and injustices. It’s a day to remember the tragedies of ages. But not to worry. We’ll still have service for you that day. Anything you want, as usual.’