Page 42 of One of Them

E arly on the morning after they’d arrived, Anne waited for Delia in the hotel dining room. When she didn’t show up, she went to her room and knocked on the door. No answer. So she went back downstairs to the front desk, where she learned that Delia had gone off on her own very early.

“How do you like that? She left without me,” Anne told Drew when she sat back down again.

“But why? She agreed to let you go with her. And the guide would have made things easier.”

“Delia’s not interested in things being easy.”

“Well, you can go to Be’er Sheva anyway. Jim Doyle is taking the bus there in about an hour so you can ride with him.” Jim Doyle was a reporter with the Herald Tribune .

“I still wish I could go to Jerusalem with you,” said Anne.

“I know. But it’s not a good time. There’ll be lines everywhere, armed forces patrolling the streets. You wouldn’t be able to see any of the sights, and you’d barely be able to get around the city because you’d have to show your papers everywhere you tried to go.”

So Anne reluctantly agreed, and a little while later she watched as the olive-green jeep pulled away from the curb and started off down the street, sputtering as it went.

Drew was in that jeep, along with three other reporters.

They all wore helmets. Maybe it was better to spend the day in Be’er Sheva and meet Drew later on.

On the bus with Jim, she took the window seat.

The landscape outside turned from green to brown, and soon they were in the desert.

She thought of Delia, who must have come this way earlier today.

Maybe her decision to go solo had less to do with Anne and more to do with her need to do this momentous thing on her own.

What would that be like—thinking your mother was dead and then finding out that no, she was alive?

The bus pulled into the depot before noon, and Ahmed was waiting in front of it. She knew who he was because he held up a sign with her name.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.

His English was excellent, and he was dressed in a pressed white shirt, open at the neck, dark slacks, and black loafers.

His very dark, silver-streaked hair was worn somewhat long and combed back from his face.

“Be’er Sheva is nothing like your cities in America, but it’s our home, and we love it here. ”

“I’m sure you do.” Anne felt there was something just the slightest bit challenging in his comment, but he said nothing more, so she simply followed him past low houses, mostly stone but some made of stucco and painted creamy pastel colors: pink, pale blue, a turquoise that was several shades lighter than the sky.

There were almost no cars on the road; instead there were wagons pulled by horses and donkeys.

And camels. Anne had never seen so many.

She stopped in front of a camel that had been tied to a rusted metal post. The animal’s hump was covered in dense light-brown fur, and its feet were large, flat, and dusty.

But it was the face that interested her: the mournful dark eyes, the set of the mouth, which appeared to be smiling, as if it knew an important secret that it would never reveal.

When they started walking again, they came to what appeared to be the main avenue.

Rows of evenly spaced date palms lined each side, and the ground beneath the trees was littered with ripe, sticky fruit.

Ahmed knelt to pick up a date, which he wiped clean with a white handkerchief drawn from his pocket before offering it to Anne.

At first she hesitated—it had been on the ground, after all—but refusing felt churlish, so she took the date and carefully bit into the dark, wrinkled flesh.

It tasted sweet but also somehow tangy and even smoky—a complex, lingering flavor. “Delicious,” she said. Ahmed smiled.

After that, there wasn’t much to see. Anne wondered how they would fill the next few hours.

It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, and Drew wouldn’t be here until this evening.

She was hungry, though, and so was glad when Ahmed led her to a small café and ordered a meal for the two of them—something he called falafel.

It came served with round, flat bread. Anne tore it open, and steam rushed out, burning the inside of her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Ahmed said, dipping the same handkerchief he’d used before into his glass of water; the glass itself was smudged and dirty, but Anne allowed him to press the wet cloth to her palm, where a blister was already beginning to form.

The crisp golden balls of ground chickpeas, along with the bread, were like nothing she’d ever had before.

For dessert, there were dates, this time stuffed with a mixture of finely chopped nuts, and dark, fragrantly spiced tea.

But after the meal ended, there were still several hours before dinner. Then Anne had an idea about how to fill them. “Could you take me to the kibbutz near here?” she asked.

“Chatserim?” Ahmed looked puzzled. When Anne nodded, he added, “I suppose so. But why?”

“The friend I’m traveling with is visiting. I’d like to see it too.” This was true; Anne had not even heard of kibbutzim before Delia had told her about them, and now that she was so close, she was curious. And she wanted to make sure Delia had gotten there and was all right.

“It’s not very far,” Ahmed said. “I suppose I can get you back to Be’er Sheva by dinnertime.”

They made the trip in a wagon that Ahmed owned; it was pulled by a small black horse.

As the animal clopped along, Ahmed talked to him, often offering encouragement and praise.

Anne knew very little about horses, but it seemed to her that this one was well cared for, and clearly loved.

Soon they had left the city behind and were surrounded by the vast expanse of the desert.

Anne rooted through her handbag for the small guidebook that Drew had given her and began to read.

The uninitiated traveler comes to the Negev and sees only a void, a barren, forsaken place.

But this is the land where Abraham came face to face with God, and where ancient tribes forged a new relationship with Him.

The sons and daughters of the Negev hold the history and majesty of this place within themselves.

The Bedouin have been here for centuries.

The Ottoman and the Turks came later, along with the Jews.

The Negev is big enough for all of them, and it is these privileged souls who know the secrets of the hidden canyons, the brilliance of the piercingly blue sky, and the harsh beauty of the ragged promontories that jut out over the land.

She looked up again. Those canyons were pretty well hidden, and she had yet to see any promontories, ragged or otherwise, jutting out. But she knew about “the privileged souls” who each felt they had a claim to the land. “Has your family lived here a long time?” she asked.

“At least three generations.” He seemed surprised by the question. “Maybe four.” He was quiet for a few minutes before adding, “It wasn’t always like this.”

“Like what?” she asked, though she knew.

“The fighting. The endless fighting. The British came because it gave them the opening they needed to conquer Syria and the rest of Palestine. After that, there were riots, and most of the Jews left—most, but not all. And now they’re back again. Grabbing the land. Trying to force us out.”

Now Anne felt defensive. She wondered if he assumed she was a Jew.

She was silent for the rest of the trip.

When they arrived at the kibbutz, Ahmed helped her down.

It was a primitive, makeshift sort of place, and she saw two young men with rifles sitting on either side of the entrance.

The men looked at them quickly, sizing them up, and one of them said something in what Anne now knew was Hebrew.

Ahmed answered and then turned to Anne. “There’s someone who speaks English well, and I’m going to find her for you.

Her name is Hadas. You can wait here.” He went off and reappeared a few minutes later with a woman at his side.

She wore work clothes like everyone else that Anne saw.

Ahmed climbed back into the wagon. “Meet me here at five thirty.” He gave a signal to the horse, and they were off, the sound of hooves reverberating in the air.

“Hello,” Hadas said to Anne. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Sophie Rossner and my friend Delia. Do you know where they are?”

Hadas nodded. “Delia came earlier today, and I helped her find Sophie. I’m guessing they’re together now, though I’m not sure where. We can go look for them.”

As they walked, Hadas pointed to a rectangular, one-story building. “That’s the beit yeladim —the children’s house.”

“Children’s house?” asked Anne.

“We raise children communally,” Hadas said. “It’s more efficient, and we think it benefits the children too.”

Really? Anne heard at least one baby crying as they passed, and possibly even two.

That didn’t sound beneficial to her. They kept walking until Hadas stopped in front of one of the tents.

“Sophie lives here.” Hadas called her name, and when there was no answer, she peered into the opening.

“They’re not there,” she said. “Let’s go to the dining hall.

They’ll be setting up for dinner soon, and I’m sure Sophie and her daughter will be there. ”

Anne followed Hadas, who pointed to a bench just outside the building. “You can wait here.”

Anne sat down and set her small valise by her feet; Drew had said they would be spending the night in Be’er Sheva, so she’d brought a change of clothes.

People passed back and forth, all of them in well-worn clothes—heavy pants or sometimes shorts, faded canvas jackets or sweaters that had stretched-out hems and necklines and were punctured by holes.

But their attitudes, at least as far as she could tell, were cheerful and optimistic.

They were smiling; they stopped to talk to each other, to clasp hands, to hug.

The kibbutz may have lacked material comforts, but it seemed rich in communal feeling.

A couple with a little girl walked by. The man and the woman each held one of her hands, and on the count of three, pulled her up so that for a few seconds she was suspended in the air, head thrown back and laughing.

After they had passed, Anne caught sight of a young woman in very different clothes—a blue-green silk dress, or was it a skirt and blouse? —and knew instantly who it was.

“Delia!” Anne waved her arm. “Delia, over here!” She saw Delia look in her direction, and Anne jumped up, about to go over to her.

But before she took a step, she felt the ground shake under her, and in the next second there was an explosion that shocked her ears.

More sounds followed—things smashing, screams. Smoke filled the air, causing Anne’s lungs to tighten and her eyes to water.

She began to cough, her lungs rebelling against the rapidly forming gray clouds.

Whirling around, Anne saw that it was the dining hall—there was a huge hole in one wall, and the roof was on fire.

And then, before her horrified eyes, the building collapsed, bringing the roof—and the fire—with it.

More screams, and someone was shouting—shouting at her.

She didn’t understand the words, but she understood their meaning.

Someone was telling her to run, run for her life. So that’s what she did.