Her eyes were full.
I touched her cheek and I nodded. "There's an excavation cave I wish I could show you. It's being dug under a Russian convent not far from here. You go down, down, down, like into a mine, and you stoop through a tunnel to come out into a great, spacious cavern which is lit by naked bulbs. You stand before a large stone slab about nine feet long and three feet wide. It is unremarkable, an ordinary hewn piece of rock at your feet. You look down at it in silence for a long time, and finally you kneel and touch it and kiss it."
"Why?"
"Because it was the threshold stone of the city gate in the time of Herod. Only recently have archaeologists uncovered that section of the ancient city wall. They say it is certain that, only a few years before the threshold stone was covered by the rubble of the Roman destruction, Jesus of Nazareth stepped on it with his feet when he left the city to die."
Molly let her gaze drift across the city. "It's hard to picture Jesus here."
"Why?"
"Everyone's so mean," she answered sharply. She was dangerously close to losing her poise. What was she afraid of ?
"The world is mean, Molly. And it makes us mean. In his own way Jesus was mean too. The Incarnation wasn't puppy love, you know. Jesus was one of us, that's all. It could have been the Bronx, but it was here. God came
here.
That's the curse of this place."
Molly was silent. In her face the immobile nightscape showed. Her eyes seemed to look out from one of the city's tombs, and I saw how very sad she was. Not fear, but grief was what undid her. I saw for the first time that she was a young woman profoundly in mourning.
"Michael was a good friend to you, wasn't he?" I touched her.
She nodded shyly. Now the tears came. She stood erect, ignoring them. The breeze feathered her hair. "He was more than that. Forgive me for saying this, but he became like a father to me."
"I'm glad, sweetie. He was the best man I ever knew."
"You don't hate him?"
"I did. You've been asking me why I stayed here so long. It was to purge myself of that, to recover from it. No, Molly, I don't hate him. I haven't in a long time. That's why I'm coming back with you. I have to say goodbye to Michael. He was more than a friend to me too. And when I failed you as a father, I thank God he was there to take my place."
Molly lowered her head and whispered now, "You didn't fail me.
And I could think of nothing to say to her, or of any way to touch her, because we both knew that she was lying.
After a long time I said, "We should go." I took her arm and led her back along the cobblestone ramp toward the street where the taxi was waiting.
After the glare of the floodlit plaza the narrow arched-over passageway was too dark to negotiate hurriedly. As we passed them I could make out the corrugated shutters that covered the stalls and alcoves of merchants. In the cramped Jewish Quarter the stale air with its unfamiliar odor, whether of food or waste, pressed on us. Three Hasidic men on their way to vigil at the Wall brushed by us, and I sensed Molly stiffen, as if modern women knew instinctively of their contempt. At a corner a machine-gun-toting soldier looked up from a match with which he had just lit a cigarette. "Hi ya, Father," he said. It was the young American who'd stopped the Arab bus. There was a snicker in his greeting, and I realized that he thought he had caught me, a monk out of habit, with a beautiful girl in the middle of the night. I winked at him.
And at that very moment from behind us came the explosion, like the sustained clap of hailstones on a metal roof, and instantly it seemed to me that since I first laid eyes on the army in the Judean desert valley ten years before I had been waiting for that outbreak. Without thinking I pushed Molly to the ground. I had no way of knowing how close the bomb or shell or grenade was to us, though I felt a blast of heat and I was sure the ground under us had been jolted. The noise of the explosion
I touched her cheek and I nodded. "There's an excavation cave I wish I could show you. It's being dug under a Russian convent not far from here. You go down, down, down, like into a mine, and you stoop through a tunnel to come out into a great, spacious cavern which is lit by naked bulbs. You stand before a large stone slab about nine feet long and three feet wide. It is unremarkable, an ordinary hewn piece of rock at your feet. You look down at it in silence for a long time, and finally you kneel and touch it and kiss it."
"Why?"
"Because it was the threshold stone of the city gate in the time of Herod. Only recently have archaeologists uncovered that section of the ancient city wall. They say it is certain that, only a few years before the threshold stone was covered by the rubble of the Roman destruction, Jesus of Nazareth stepped on it with his feet when he left the city to die."
Molly let her gaze drift across the city. "It's hard to picture Jesus here."
"Why?"
"Everyone's so mean," she answered sharply. She was dangerously close to losing her poise. What was she afraid of ?
"The world is mean, Molly. And it makes us mean. In his own way Jesus was mean too. The Incarnation wasn't puppy love, you know. Jesus was one of us, that's all. It could have been the Bronx, but it was here. God came
here.
That's the curse of this place."
Molly was silent. In her face the immobile nightscape showed. Her eyes seemed to look out from one of the city's tombs, and I saw how very sad she was. Not fear, but grief was what undid her. I saw for the first time that she was a young woman profoundly in mourning.
"Michael was a good friend to you, wasn't he?" I touched her.
She nodded shyly. Now the tears came. She stood erect, ignoring them. The breeze feathered her hair. "He was more than that. Forgive me for saying this, but he became like a father to me."
"I'm glad, sweetie. He was the best man I ever knew."
"You don't hate him?"
"I did. You've been asking me why I stayed here so long. It was to purge myself of that, to recover from it. No, Molly, I don't hate him. I haven't in a long time. That's why I'm coming back with you. I have to say goodbye to Michael. He was more than a friend to me too. And when I failed you as a father, I thank God he was there to take my place."
Molly lowered her head and whispered now, "You didn't fail me.
And I could think of nothing to say to her, or of any way to touch her, because we both knew that she was lying.
After a long time I said, "We should go." I took her arm and led her back along the cobblestone ramp toward the street where the taxi was waiting.
After the glare of the floodlit plaza the narrow arched-over passageway was too dark to negotiate hurriedly. As we passed them I could make out the corrugated shutters that covered the stalls and alcoves of merchants. In the cramped Jewish Quarter the stale air with its unfamiliar odor, whether of food or waste, pressed on us. Three Hasidic men on their way to vigil at the Wall brushed by us, and I sensed Molly stiffen, as if modern women knew instinctively of their contempt. At a corner a machine-gun-toting soldier looked up from a match with which he had just lit a cigarette. "Hi ya, Father," he said. It was the young American who'd stopped the Arab bus. There was a snicker in his greeting, and I realized that he thought he had caught me, a monk out of habit, with a beautiful girl in the middle of the night. I winked at him.
And at that very moment from behind us came the explosion, like the sustained clap of hailstones on a metal roof, and instantly it seemed to me that since I first laid eyes on the army in the Judean desert valley ten years before I had been waiting for that outbreak. Without thinking I pushed Molly to the ground. I had no way of knowing how close the bomb or shell or grenade was to us, though I felt a blast of heat and I was sure the ground under us had been jolted. The noise of the explosion
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