With a Rod of Iron: A Parable, page 55
“That’s where I’m staying.” She tilted her head at him funny. “You’re not really a tourist are you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what I am. I just had to get away from home, strike out on my own—that sort of thing. This seemed like as good a place as any.”
“Young man leaves home and moves to the big city to make a name for himself. Didn’t I see a movie once?”
“I’m not trying to make a name.”
“Sure you are. Everyone is. You want to be a poor and obscure waiter forever?”
He swallowed hard.
“Of course not. In the fall, I’m going to school in Oxford—I got a Rhodes scholarship. There’s no way I’m ever going to be poor and obscure.”
Brian wasn’t sure what a Rhodes scholarship was, nor could he say where Oxford might be; thankfully he wasn’t being tested over such trivia.
Marla launched into a detailed account of her life to that point. In only eighteen years—he discovered that she was only a couple months younger than him—she had done a lot. As she talked, he was relieved that he didn’t have to talk about himself. His own life had been so devoid of any possible meaning.
When the tour was over, they parted; she gave him her room number and encouraged him to look her up later. He promised he would, but he knew he had no intention of following through. Brian felt discouraged as he returned to the restaurant to resume his duties.
“Something bugging you?” Ishmael gave him a funny look.
“Met a girl today.”
“Ah, no wonder you’re so blue. Girls will do that to you. My third wife, she had a certain way about her that could make a clown sad. You just smile, don’t worry; if she makes you blue, you don’t need her. Wait until you find a girl that puts a smile on your face and a spring in your step. Then you marry her and be happy. That’s what I did.”
“How many times have you been married?”
“Six.”
Brian’s eyes bugged.
“That was mostly before Jesus. I’ve been married only twice since he came back. My fifth wife and I—it was very bad, very ugly—and I was not without my faults, since I was sleeping with her cousin at the time, too.”
“Your sixth wife?”
“No—after number five divorced me, her cousin tried to move in, but...well, while she was good in bed, she was not exactly bright and frankly I wanted a smarter woman.”
“Number six is smart?”
“Number six I love.”
* * *
“I can give you a good price on the camel.”
Brian did not let his eyes meet those of the bearded man. The shop was tucked into a corner, no different than the dozen other shops on the same street, each selling olive wood carvings. The olive chess set had caught his eye especially, but at the moment, he was studying a two foot high camel. The craftsmanship was nothing to brag about; probably the workman turned out several dozen an hour, using power tools.
“What do you call a good price? Look at this thing.” In only a week, he had picked up some of the tricks to successful bargaining.
“What? What?”
Brian pointed at the uneven cutting, the rough sanding, the saw marks.
“But that’s what gives it character.”
“I’d call them character flaws.”
The merchant grinned, revealing a perfect set of teeth. “I see you are a hard bargainer. Since you are the first customer today that I’ve had from America, and since I like you, I’ll make you a deal—”
The haggling continued for another few minutes. In the end, he left the shop with a bulging pair of plastic bags; in one was the camel, in the other was the precious chess set. Behind him, was a cheerful and happy merchant, and Brian couldn’t help but imagine that he had gotten ripped off, even though he’d paid half the opening—and marked—prices.
The streets of the old city were narrow and crowded. He found himself bumping from person to person, pressed from every side. At first, the nearness of so many people disconcerted him, and he worried about constantly muttering “excuse me.” But with the passage of time, he was beginning to grow accustomed to it. If he stayed long enough, he’d be pushing and shoving with the best of them, and never again dream of saying “excuse me.”
He paused outside a bakery, letting the aromas of the fresh bread envelope him, even as he tried to ignore the competing odors that clamored for his attention. With the exchange of a few coins, he walked on with a small loaf, still warm, that he absently began munching.
A few steps further, another exchange of money found him in possession of a Styrofoam cup filled to the rim with something as hot as molten lead and nearly as potent, which the proprietor called espresso.
Somehow, despite the jostling of the crowd, he returned to his hotel without spilling any of the espresso on himself, and—for lack of painful screams—on anyone else.
* * *
“Why do you look familiar?” The waitress tilted her head at him.
“I was here last night.”
“Oh yeah—my name’s Shoshanna.” She paused. “I already told you that, didn’t I? And you’re...”
“Brian.”
She nodded. “You tourist—or new resident?” She paused. “I was awfully busy last night. I’m sorry I don’t remember...”
“I understand; I’ve got a job waitering at the King David.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh—that’s great place to work. The tips are really good, I hear.”
He nodded, trying to keep his eyes from fastening too firmly to her body. He resisted the urge to look anywhere but at her face. Her accent was Israeli.
She took his order and vanished for barely a minute before she returned. “How long you been there—you know, at the King David?”
“A little over a month.”
“You know many people there?”
He shrugged, “A few.”
She sucked a deep breath, set her jaw, and then came out with it. “You think you could put in good word for me? I mean....this isn’t bad place to work, but...I could really use the extra money. Tuition isn’t cheap, you know, and...”
Brian shrugged. “I can talk to the boss, but I don’t know if he’s hiring right now. I got my position through a fluke.”
“They like you there?”
“I guess. They keep letting me come back every day.”
“Then you could give them recommendation?”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“You don’t know me that good; you are reluctant.”
He shrugged again, but couldn’t disagree. She was a stranger, and worse, he still felt like a stranger among his fellow workers at the hotel. Brian really had no idea how to ask his boss for a job for a waitress he’d hardly met.
“So, you must get to know me.” She grinned at him. “I get off early tonight—in hour. Why don’t you take me out someplace? I’m hungry.”
Brian’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Did I surprise you?”
“Yes.”
“I like to do that to people I get to know. I don’t believe in being boring; so you drink your soda water, and then you try to show me good time, right? And then you will be comfortable to ask for a job for me, no?”
“Okay,” he agreed, not entirely reluctantly.
“I’ve got to take care of other customers; boss will get mad, and I don’t want to lose this job, not until I know I have another one.”
He nodded, and she left.
* * *
“There is nice little place I know of in the Old City,” Shoshanna said cheerfully. Her hands were gripping the two sides of his upper left arm, and she leaned her body hard against him as they left the curb and crossed the street in a gallop, just ahead of one of the Egged busses. He knew she was with him only for the chance at a job, but he couldn’t help but enjoy her company, anyhow.
The walls of the Old City were illuminated by hidden lights, giving them a warm, golden glow. The shadows were dark and black.
“What kind of food?”
“French. Do you like French cooking?”
He shrugged. He couldn’t remember ever having tried it before.
The Jaffa Gate swarmed with nearly as many people as it did during the daylight; the merchant shops were festooned with small twinkling white lights, creating a fairy-like image for the narrow, stone lined streets. The harsh voices of shopkeepers yelling for customers or calling each other cheats and worse echoed from all quarters.
“You are staying there?” Shoshanna pointed at the Scottish Hospice.
Brian nodded.
“You should think about living to a better place,” she suggested.
“It’s nice enough.”
“But you make good money; you could afford better. You really happy living in one room flop?”
Actually he was, but before he could say so, she was off about something else, then switched again, stopping him in front of a clothing merchant.
“Oh—look at this!” She released her hold on his arm and dashed at a pile of scarves. Yanking one from the stack, she draped it across her shoulder, rubbing her fingers along it.
“Beautiful, no?”
He nodded, but he found himself not looking precisely at the scarf. Her soft black hair lay in waves around her shoulders and down her back. Bright eyes flashed with intelligence and mischief. But mostly, her short skirt showed off her legs to a monumentally distracting degree.
“Buy it for me!” she pleaded, holding the scarf out.
“What?” He finally stared at the scarf. “How much is it?”
Of course by that time, the merchant had made his way over. His cheerful face smiled cherubically, and his eyes danced. “Ah, your girlfriend has found a souvenir?” he spoke up. “That is a fine bit of weaving, and quite reasonable, too.” He gave a price.
When Brian balked, the merchant responded with his ready grin. “You are American, no? So, for you, I have a special discount.” And he gave a price a few shekels less.
“I don’t know...” he glanced at Shoshanna, wondering what her reaction might be to the discussion, but she seemed not to be paying attention any longer, her interest had diverted to some shirts hanging on the wall.
Not wanting to spend the entire evening buying scarves, he quickly agreed on the man’s price, not doubting for a moment that he was paying two or three times what he should. But the woman wanted it, and for some reason, that was enough to make him happy to get it.
“Oh, thank you!” she gushed, squeezing his arm and tucking the purchase away in her purse once they were outside.
“Now which way?”
“Oh—I don’t know,” she said, glancing about. “Why not there!” She pointed.
“Don’t you know where the restaurant is?”
“Of course I do...are you in rush to get there?”
“Uh...” he hesitated, trying to decide what would be the best answer. “No...I guess not.”
“So don’t worry about it. It is wonderful night!”
The street wound first one way and then another. Brian got himself all twisted around within minutes; and with the streets mostly covered by overhanging buildings, it wasn’t long before he lost all sense of direction. The shops were clones and there were no distinguishing landmarks.
They stopped in half a dozen more shops, and half a dozen more times she gushed over something. Although she didn’t ask him to buy anything more, her ready smile and flashing eyes were enough to make him feel obligated.
She exulted appropriately over each new trinket, exclaiming with ever increasing enthusiasm her pleasure in the evening. “I’m really having marvelous time,” she said.
“I’m glad.” For himself, he felt cheerful enough, though the overfed feeling he’d had about his wallet was slowly giving way to weight loss.
With a giggle, she gave him a push that sent him tumbling; she laughed out loud, and when he got up, she took off running. Immediately joining in pursuit, he followed her down the narrow street, passing the amused glances of passersby and merchants.
She darted suddenly around a corner, and he quickly followed. The character of the surroundings had abruptly and radically changed. The brightly lighted shops had given way to a residential sort of thoroughfare—or at least that was his impression, until he realized that the shops here had closed. Great metal gates—the roofs that blocked the sky from view, had been pulled down, sealing the shops as effectively as if they’d been shrink-wrapped.
There was no sign of Shoshanna.
“Where are you?” He asked, wandering forward, head spinning this way and that.
A sudden whoop and she was upon him, throwing her weight full against him and engulfing him with her arms. He stumbled, startled out of his wits, and together they tumbled onto the pavement. She was laughing, the plastic bags containing her purchases banging against him.
“Got you!” she giggled. And she leapt back to her feet, brushing herself off.
Brian stared up at her, every sense on fire; his eyes pawed hungrily at her form, and only gradually did he get back up, feeling a tightness where there hadn’t been any tightness before.
“That was fun!” she smiled, and he nodded, having to agree with her.
A loud crash from the other end of the street diverted their attention. Brian peered down the road, not as well-lighted as the others, since here the stores were closed. A moment later, a pair of young men came into view.
“Must have bumped a trash can,” he commented, then turned back to Shoshanna. “Aren’t you hungry yet?”
“Famished!”
“Then where’s this restaurant?”
“Just down that way—around the corner.” She pointed at the men.
“Then let’s go.”
He reached out as if to grab her hand and she laughed, grabbing his arm instead and giving it a squeeze, briefly pressing the side of her body against his. Once again, he felt as if someone had doused him with fire.
As they approached the men, Brian could hear them talking, but he couldn’t understand a word of it. He eased Shoshanna to the far right, and made as if to go around them; suddenly the men moved in the same direction, blocking their path.
“What is it?” Brian asked, bewildered.
The taller of the two, dressed in a red shirt, muttered something incomprehensible, then reached toward Shoshanna. She backed up, and the stranger tried reaching for her again.
“Excuse me,” said Brian, shoving the man’s arm out of the way. “What do you want?”
Again, the man mouthed off in a language other than English. He could hear a trace of anger, however. And again, the man reached for Shoshanna.
“Excuse us,” said Brian, and pulled Shoshanna close to him; he tried to ease past the man. But the youth planted himself firmly, and his buddy located himself just behind him.
“Now wait a minute,” said Brian, taking a step back. “We just came here to go to the restaurant.”
The man in the red shirt grabbed Brian by the collar and gave him a hard push. Brian resisted, shoving back.
The man glared at him, and swung, landing a glancing blow on Brian’s shoulder. At the same time, his friend came up from behind and grabbed Shoshanna.
She screamed, then kicked backward, but the man dodged her feet.
Without thinking, Brian grabbed Shoshanna by the arm and pulled her in one yank from the man. At the same moment, his arms came up and he gave a hard shove to the guy in the red shirt.
The man in red staggered backward, yelled and came back swinging. Brian gulped; without thought, he swung out with everything he had.
He connected, landing a hard right on the first man’s jaw. His friend reacted and leapt on Brian’s back. Brian walked backward and smacked him as hard as he could into the side of the building.
The man on his back “oomphed” and let go. Brian whirled on him and gave him a swift jab with his knee. The man’s eyes crossed, then he sank slowly the rest of the way to the ground.
The first man, the one in the red shirt, yelled and came charging. Brian easily stepped aside and threw out his foot. The man tripped, stumbled, and plunged forward, smacking his head against the wall of the same building with a jarring thud that reminded him of the sound a ripe watermelon makes.
“Come on,” Brian said, grabbing Shoshanna. Her eyes, big and frightened, turned from the two men and fastened on him. They hurried up the street.
Brian looked back at the two just as he dashed around the corner; the attackers were starting to rise groggily to their feet, but they didn’t look like they were in any mood to pursue them.
“What was that all about?” Brian finally wondered out loud. Shoshanna had regained her composure almost at once, and pointed out the restaurant. Set back from the narrow street, it actually had room for a couple tables outside. Soft orange light danced in the latticed windows, and ruffled awnings decorated the door and windows.
“They were drunk,” she said with a shrug. “Wasn’t it obvious?”
“Drunk?” he was startled. “Are you sure?”
“Couldn’t you smell it?”
He shook his head. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You don’t have much experience, do you?”
“What?”
The inside of the restaurant was consistent with its exterior. The seats were exclusively booths, arranged in groups of four and packed as tight as was structurally possible. For such a tiny place, the usable room was enormous. They were seated nearly immediately.
Brian focused his attention on the menu, eyes scanning hungrily, looking for something familiar and not exotically foreign.
“How old are you?”
He told her.
“And you couldn’t recognize drunk people?”
He shrugged.
“Where’d you grow up?”
“California.”
“Where in California.”
“Northern—near a small town.” The next thing he knew, he was jabbering freely about his childhood, his parents, and his life; it wasn’t until they were halfway through the meal that he realized he had monopolized the conversation.
“I don’t mind,” she smiled when he finally stopped. “I wanted to find out about you.”
“I don’t normally talk so much.”
