Wings of Refuge (13 page)

“Any good-looking ones?”

“Too soon to tell, but don’t count on it. After all, they’re
engineers
and
botanists.”
She wrinkled her nose, as if describing two species of vipers. Rivka sauntered up behind her.

“Come on, Hannah. Let’s go welcome them. Remember what Professor Evanari said?”

“You mean his little speech about how this is an important interdisciplinary project that will have positive long-range effects on Israel’s food supply?”

“No, I was thinking of the one where he said, ‘Be nice to them.’”

Hannah watched as two more jeeps pulled in behind the first. “What do you want to bet those sissies don’t even last the summer?” she said. “After all, they’re not accustomed to rugged desert conditions like archaeologists are.” At age twenty, Hannah felt smug, the veteran of one summer season as a dig volunteer, plus one week already spent on this site located thirty miles south of Beersheba.

“Well, I’m going over to say hello,” Rivka said, patting her hair into place. “Come on.”

In spite of her feigned indifference, Hannah was excited about the project. The Desert Runoff Farms Unit was an experimental team of archaeologists, biologists, and engineers who would attempt to rebuild a first-century Nabatean farm in the Judean desert. Based on the archaeologists’ discovery of an ancient system of catchment basins, terraces, and water conduits, the engineers would reconstruct the irrigation system designed by the Nabateans, preparing the way for the botanists to grow grain, fruit, and other crops. It seemed like a miracle to Hannah that the Nabateans could have once harnessed the scant rainfall of the desert—a mere four or five inches a year—and grown enough food to sustain tens of thousands of settlers. The fact that she had been selected from scores of volunteers to be part of the team seemed like another miracle.

“Hey, they’re not bad-looking,” Rivka said as she and Hannah drew closer to where the scientists were emerging from the vehicles. “And so far, they’re all guys. I like those odds.”

“They look like a bunch of pale-faced intellectuals to me, without enough common sense to wear a hat. Engineers and botanists! They won’t last a day in this—” Hannah stopped midsentence when the last man climbed from the vehicle. “Oh, my goodness! It’s Ben!” Her cousin looked up when he heard his name, but Hannah was already running toward him, arms outstretched. “Ben! Why on earth didn’t you tell me you were coming?” He pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground.

“I thought I’d surprise you. I haven’t seen you in ages!” They had both served in different branches of the military, then attended different colleges, with Hannah away for the summer at dig sites.

“It’s been too long—since your father’s funeral . . .” she said. “But I saw the list of botanists and your name was
not
on it.” He lifted his duffel bag and showed her the identification tag. “Benjamin
Rosen?”
she said. “That’s not you!”

“It is now. I changed my name after Abba died.”

“Why did you do a stupid thing like that?”

“I wanted an Ashkenazi name. I was tired of being shoved aside because I’m Sephardic.”

Hannah remembered the day Ben had explained the difference to her and recalled the bitterness she’d heard in his voice. That was before she’d graduated from school with honors at the age of sixteen; before she’d spent the required two years in the military; before she was accepted into the Institute to study archaeology.

“Hey, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Ben said suddenly. “Jake! Get over here!” The man who separated himself from the group and strode over to them was no pale-faced intellectual. He stood at least a foot taller than Hannah, with long tanned legs, wide shoulders, and a chest like a brick wall. His biceps seemed about to split the seams of his short-sleeved shirt. He had a face to match his impressive build—the kind they put in magazine advertisements, with dark dreamy eyes and thick arched brows. No doubt he knew the effect he had on women, too. Rivka was staring shamelessly at him, her mouth agape. Hannah would never stoop so low as to be enticed by a man’s flashy good looks.

“This is my best friend, Jacob,” Ben said. “Jake, meet my cousin Hannah.”

Jake simply smiled as he shook her hand, then Rivka’s hand after Hannah made the introductions. But then, men like Jake didn’t need to talk. They were much too good-looking to waste the energy, thank you very much. Hannah had met his type in the army. They invariably relied on their physical charms—not words—to pursue their hobby of seducing women. She linked her arm tightly through Ben’s and started walking away, leaving Jacob to her speechless roommate.

“Come on, Mr.
Rosen
, I’ll show you to your tent. If we hurry, you can grab the best cot.”

“So what do you think of Jake?” Ben asked as they strolled across the compound.

“He’s okay.” Hannah would submit to torture before admitting she was attracted to him. “I hope you didn’t plan on playing matchmaker.”

“Me? Match my shy, gentlemanly best friend with my stubborn, unrestrained cousin? No way! That would be like throwing a lamb to the wolves!”

“I think I know a wolf when I see one,” she said, laughing. “And you seemed pretty eager for me to meet him.”

“That’s because he’s a great guy. We were in the same tank squadron in the army, then we ended up rooming together—although he’s studying engineering and I’m in agriculture. When we heard about this joint project, we decided to sign up together.”

“And you had no plans for introducing the two of us, of course.”

“He has a steady girlfriend, Hannah.”

“I’ll bet he does.”

“Speaking of girlfriends,” he said, looking wistfully over his shoulder. “Why did you pry me away from your roommate so fast? She seems nice!”

“You’ll have all summer to get to know her, sweetie.”

But for the first week, the three groups were involved in separate aspects of the project, leaving little opportunity for socializing. Everyone rose early to avoid the heat, then retired early, as well—usually in a state of exhaustion. Hannah ate dinner with Ben every evening, both of them talking nonstop as they tried to catch up on each other’s lives. His conceited friend rarely spoke, quietly watching Hannah like a predator, biding his time, waiting to pounce.

Halfway through the second week, Professor Evanari proposed the first cooperative venture. “I need a volunteer,” he told the archaeology students, “to hike up the mountain with one of the engineers and explore the catchment area. They want to follow the ruins of the water channels and see how much rebuilding will need to be done.”

“I’ll go!” Hannah said, eager for the chance to roam free.

“Not so fast. The desert can be very dangerous—”

“I know, Professor. I grew up in the Negev.”

He looked around at the other students, but no one else volunteered. “All right, Hannah. Come meet your new colleague.”

The engineer was Jacob, of course. Ben had probably told him she would be the first to volunteer. Jake’s knowing smile infuriated her.

“Get some food and water from the mess tent, and a couple of backpacks,” Professor Evanari said. “Don’t wander too far, Hannah, and make sure you two stay together. We want you back before dinnertime.”

The snickering laughter she heard from the other men made her furious. Oh, she would stay aloof to Jacob’s charms, no matter how tempting his full lips might be.

Hannah set a brisk pace as she led the way up the valley where the orchards and farm plots were being restored. She didn’t know one tree from another, but the tags on the saplings that Ben and his team were planting waved like banners in the breeze: almonds, peaches, figs, apricots, plums.

“Your engineering team had better produce some water pretty soon,” she said to Jake over her shoulder, “or those poor trees are going to burn to a crisp out here.” She found the remains of a narrow conduit channel and began following it up the steep hill above the plain.

“Just who are these mysterious Nabateans, anyway?” Jake asked after they had hiked for a while. “And if they were so brilliant, how come you archaeologists are the only ones who have ever heard of them?”

“Plenty of people have heard of them. They were an Arab tribe that took over this territory from the Edomites around the fourth century
B.C
. Ever hear of King Herod the Great? His father was an Edomite and his mother was Nabatean.”

“Who would want to live out in this wasteland?”

“Besides the Nabateans?
I
would. I think the desert has a rare beauty all its own.”

“I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” he said, laughing. “So what else did they do out here besides enjoy the desert’s rare beauty and grow fruit?”

His cynical attitude irritated Hannah, but she battled to remain coldly aloof. “They monopolized the main trade route from southern Arabia to the Mediterranean, among other things. Their caravans passed through all these settlements on their way to the port of Gaza. They were incense traders.”

“Incense! Seems like a lot of bother for nothing.” Jake was breathless from the climb.

Hannah was out of breath, too, but she refused to be the first one to stop and rest. What had appeared to be a smooth brown hill from camp was proving to be a rugged, rock-strewn obstacle course.

“Oh, it was well worth the trouble,” she said. “The Romans used enormous amounts of incense in their religion. It was sent all over the world, wherever the Romans settled. The Nabateans became quite wealthy from it.”

“Maybe that’s what they meant when they said the Nabateans turned the desert green. Hold up a minute,” Jake said. “I need to rest.”

Satisfied that he had grown tired first, Hannah sat down on a rock and took a swig of water. “You sound as though you have your doubts about this project,” she said.

“Not at all—I hope it works. More than a third of the world’s land is as dry as this. If we can get your cousin’s trees to grow out here, it will be good news for millions of people.”

They continued hiking for well over an hour, following what Hannah hoped were Nabatean water conduits. Jake stayed close behind her, never once pausing to examine the channels or even to take notes. If he was carefully studying the catchment area, he certainly showed no signs of it. Hannah would never admit it, but she was no longer certain that the runoff channels were man-made. Nor was she certain that she knew the way back to camp, which had disappeared from sight an hour ago. Now that the sun stood directly overhead, she would have to wait until it began to sink to see which direction was west. She would rather die than ask Jake if he’d remembered a compass.

“How about lunch?” she said, stalling for time. “There’s a patch of shade down in this gully.” She led the way down a steep embankment and pulled her lunch from her backpack—pita bread stuffed with heat-wilted lettuce, warm tomatoes, and melting cheese. The apricots were smashed to a pulp but she ate them anyway. The water in her canteen was blood-warm. Hannah took her time eating, waiting for the sun to move. Neither of them spoke until they were finished.

“So . . . you’ve lived in the Negev all your life?” Jake asked as he tucked waxed paper and apricot pits into his backpack again. Something about the way he said it sounded like a challenge.

“Since I was ten. Why?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just a little surprised that you’ve lived this long if you’re in the habit of sitting in dry riverbeds.”

Hannah realized her mistake as soon as he said it. Of course. Dozens of people drowned every year when
wadis
like this one suddenly became rushing torrents that swept them away. Jacob was already climbing up the embankment, so she couldn’t see his gloating face. Nor, thank heaven, could he see her embarrassment.

“If you were so worried about it, why didn’t you speak up sooner?” she said as she scrambled up behind him.

“I figured I could use a little excitement in my life.” He gallantly stepped aside, gesturing for Hannah to lead the way. “After you . . .”

“Where to? Are you finished exploring up here?”

“I saw what I came to see.”

Whatever
that
meant. His face offered no clue to his thoughts. Hannah glanced up at the sun, which seemed glued to the top of the sky, then started blindly down the hill, following the path of the wadi below them. She had the disturbing feeling that he was laughing behind her back. She decided to lead the conversation as well as the hike.

“So are you convinced yet that archaeology can make as valid of a contribution to mankind as the other sciences?”

“Are you?”

“Absolutely! Look what archaeologists have already done! Nelson Glueck found valuable copper deposits after excavating ancient mining camps. And Yigael Yadin led a surprise attack against the Egyptians during the war using a Roman road he had discovered.”

Hannah expected an argument or at least a sarcastic comment about archaeology not being a true science. Instead, Jake suddenly cried out behind her. She turned to find him lying on the ground, clutching his ankle.

“What’s wrong?” she said impatiently.

“Hold up a minute . . . I stepped in a hole and twisted my ankle. Oh,
man!
I think I sprained it!”

He was quite a good actor, rolling on the ground, cradling his foot, wincing in pain. He might have convinced Hannah if she hadn’t seen this little act performed too many times before in the army. She planted her hands on her hips and stared down at him in disdain.

“That’s the oldest line in the book—you sprained your ankle. I’m not falling for it.”

“Ow! . . .
Ow!
What are you talking about?”

“I’m supposed to sit down beside you and feel all this gushing sympathy for you, right? And the next thing I know you’ll have me in a clinch, trying to make out with me. Sorry, I’m not falling for it. You played your little game with the wrong woman this time. I trained as a medic in the army, and I’ve seen guys like you pretending to be sick countless times.”

“Guys like
me?
You barely know me!”

“But I know your type—too handsome for your own good, convinced that every girl you meet is panting to be alone with you. Well, I know a
real
sprained ankle when I see one. You may have a swelled head, but I’m willing to bet you don’t have a swollen ankle.”