She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, struggling to regain her composure. “But I want you to know that this whole thing may not work, Brad. And if it doesn’t, if I give it my honest sincere effort and it fails, I don’t want to lose you.”
Brad enfolded her gently into his arms and held her to him. “It won’t fail, Miri. I’ll be praying with you, for you. I’ll help you.”
Slowly she pushed away from him. “That’s your part of the bargain. I don’t want you to help me,” she said softly.
“But why?”
“I am going to ask you to not push me on this in any way. I promise you I will try to find an answer with all my heart. I ache for you. I want so badly for this to work out that if you start asking me, encouraging me, getting anxious about my progress, I’ll cave in. Your love is pressure enough.”
“Miri, I won’t pressure you, but I just have to help!”
“Please!” Her eyes were pleading. “If it happens, I’ve got to know it was not just for you. I have got to find it myself. President Marks has agreed to meet with me and to answer my questions. And he’s given me some other books to read. Please, Brad. It has to be my way!”
“Does that mean I can’t see you?”
“Oh no,” she said, quickly. “I’m not that noble. Just don’t press me on this. Let me find my own way.”
Brad kissed her then, hard and long.
“Does that mean ‘yes’?” she asked breathlessly.
“That means yes. You’ve got your deal.”
“Thank you for understanding.” She put her arm around his waist as she looked at her watch. “It’s nearly five. The kitchen crew will be arriving any moment now. We’d better go.”
He kissed her one more time, and they moved to the door.
She stopped and turned to face him. “Brad?”
“What?”
“You know how they have a canopy at Jewish weddings?”
“Yes.” Brad had been doing some reading of his own. “And do you know why?”
Surprised, Miri answered. “They say it represents the tabernacle that Moses built in the wilderness.”
“Exactly. And the tabernacle was the portable temple for the Israelites. In other words, though you don’t know it, you believe in temple marriage too.” He smiled.
“The parallels really are quite remarkable, aren’t they?”
“Anyway, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Go on.”
“Well,” she said, her dark eyes sparkling now, “if this does happen to work out and I join the Church, and if we then decide to get married, could we have a canopy? I mean, I know we’d be married in the temple. But at the reception, could we?”
Brad took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Miriam,” he said, “if this works out, you may have dancing elephants and the whole Israeli army at our reception, if that is what you want.”
* * * * * *
Brad glanced at his watch, his face lined with exhaustion. It was nearly ten o’clock, and he was beat. Since he and Miri had parted in the TV room early that morning, it had been one long, frantic day. They had delivered the children back to their kibbutz west of Jerusalem shortly after eleven, but by the time they had accepted the profuse and often tear-filled thanks of three dozen parents, it was after noon before they had started back to Jerusalem. Much to Brad’s dismay, a horde of reporters, photographers, and the curious were waiting for him in the hotel lobby. At first, grateful that he had dropped Miri off and saved her this, he stood patiently, embarrassed as they pressed him with questions and praise. But he quickly tired, feeling the drain of the last thirty hours catching up with him.
At that point Levi Shadmi had bustled in and driven the crowd out like a bull skinner handling a team of balky mules. When it was quiet, he had turned to face Brad. His normally piercing blue eyes suddenly grew moist, and Brad’s spine nearly cracked under the crushing bear hug that was thrown around him. “To bed with you,” was all that Shadmi had finally managed, his voice low and raspy.
But three hours later, Brad had awakened with a start. The huge Arab in his nightmare had leaped through the fence, pulling it closed behind him, then had tossed Brad the hand grenade, his mouth twisted in a wicked grin. Over Levi’s vehement protests Brad had come downstairs and insisted on taking his evening shift at the desk. Now he knew that had been a foolish mistake, for the phone had rung incessantly, and two more reporters had sought him out.
Brad groaned inwardly as he heard the lobby doors open again, but then brightened as he turned and saw it was Ali. “Hi,” he called, pleased to see his friend.
Ali snapped to attention, executed the perfect imitation of a drum roll with his tongue while he tapped his invisible sticks, then lifted both hands to form a mock trumpet and tooted out a fanfare. “Welcome home, the conquering hero!” he called out in his best herald’s voice.
“All right,” Brad growled in embarrassment. “Knock it off.”
Ali strode over and stuck out his hand. “Allow me to shake the hand of the man who made the front page of today’s Jerusalem Post.” He stepped back so as to get a better view of the unseen newspaper hanging in the air in front of him. “Viet Nam Veteran Battles Terrorists,” he intoned.
“Hey, come on, Ali. It’s bad enough as it is, without you chiming in. I even got a call from my folks this evening. It made the wire services in America.”
“No kidding? Not only nationally famous, but internationally as well. That is really something.”
“No it’s not. I’ve been hounded all day. And my mother! I kept telling her there was no danger here. Somehow I have lost my credibility.”
“Not with Levi Shadmi,” Ali said, coming around the counter to sit next to Brad. “He was in the shop picking up some things today. He could hardly talk about you without choking up.”
“That’s only because of Miri,” Brad said modestly. “He thinks about what could have happened.”
“How is Miri, anyway?”
“Fine. She went through a real shock, and she got some bad scratches on her arm, but she’s incredible. Today you wouldn’t know anything had happened.”
“She really is a remarkable person,” Ali said, then squinted at Brad. “How are things going with you two? Last night probably didn’t hurt, did it?”
“I’m very encouraged.” Brad told Ali about their early-morning talk concerning her study of Mormonism and about their bargain, but left out Miri’s confession about her feelings for him.
“Good,” Ali said, obviously pleased. “If she’ll give it an honest shot, I think you’ve got her. And President Marks is super. But can you really stay out of it?”
Brad shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m going to try, because she is right. If she joins, it can’t be for me.”
“So how long do you wait?”
Brad let out a long sigh. He had asked himself the same question several times today. “I don’t know.”
“And if she finally does decide against joining the Church? Are you really going to just walk away?”
“Just walk away? No, I won’t just walk away. But I will go. At least I’ve come to that. I will not marry out of the temple.”
“And what about your decision to return home and get started on your schooling there?”
“It goes into a holding pattern for now,” Brad said glumly.
Ali touched his shoulder softly with his fist as he stood up. “I don’t envy you. You’ve got your plow stuck in some hard ground. But listen, I’ve got to get going. See you tomorrow,” he called as he headed for the door.
“Hey!” Brad shouted. “I almost forgot.” He left the counter and joined Ali at the door. “What did you decide about the Sinai trip?”
“Oh,” Ali said, his brow furrowing. “I forgot about that in all the excitement. Tell me again. When are you leaving?”
“A week from next Monday, October the first. We’ll be gone five days, Monday to Friday. All you need is a sleeping bag and
personal items. Miri and Sarah have planned out the menu. You won’t put any meat on those Arab bones, but you won’t starve either.”
“Sarah?”
“Yes, Sarah Millstein. The schoolteacher we were with this week. You and she could talk shop. I think Miri is hoping something will develop between Sarah and Nathan.”
“Nathan’s going?” Ali said slowly.
“Yes, he’s got a week’s leave for the Yom Kippur holiday. He was stationed in the Sinai in ‘67. He really knows the area.” Suddenly Brad sensed Ali’s hesitancy. “What’s the matter?”
“Does Nathan know I’m going?”
“I don’t know. And frankly, I don’t care. I’m paying for the majority of this trip. It’s my idea. It is the only part of Israel I haven’t seen. So if he doesn’t like it, tough! We can find our way around without him.”
Ali still looked unconvinced.
“Anyway, I thought you got along fine with him.”
“Oh, I do. It’s just that…” He sighed. “With Miri I don’t think of her as Jewish, and I don’t think it occurs to her that I’m Arab, unless she really thinks about it. We’re just people who like each other and do business together. I think the same is true of Levi. But I don’t think Nathan can ever quite forget it. I suppose being in the military is part of it. It might add strain to the trip for you.”
“I’ll chance it,” Brad said firmly. “So I say, let Nathan be hanged. I want you to come.”
Ali nodded slowly. “And I would like to come. Count me in.”
Twenty-two
The monastery of Saint Catherine lay near the southern tip of the Sinai Peninsula, nearly two hundred and fifty miles south of Jerusalem. The monastery looked more like a fortress than a center for meditation and prayer. Tucked up beneath the incredibly sheer granite cliffs of Mount Sinai, from a distance it looked unreal, almost toylike, like a model built by an architect to sell a client on his design. But when one stood at the base of the massive walls, six to eight feet thick and almost a hundred feet high, and saw that they enclosed an area about the size of Temple Square, any feeling of smallness was instantly dispelled.
In the harsher light of day one might agree with Ali’s dry comment that since the Emperor Justinian’s workers had left thirteen hundred years ago, nobody had touched the monastery. But now as Brad slipped out of his room, the arches and domes of the various buildings were lovely, almost ethereal in the pale light of the half moon that gleamed out of a stunningly clear sky.
Neither Nathan nor Ali nor any of the other six tourists in the men’s dormitory stirred as Brad carefully dressed and slipped out. He tiptoed past the windows of the women’s dorm-style room where Sarah and Miri lay sleeping and went down the stairs to ground level. Only then did he sit down and put on his tennis shoes.
The air was still biting cold with the desert night’s chill, and he shivered in his light windbreaker. The cold didn’t concern him, however, for he had before him nearly two hours of hiking with a vertical ascent of almost three thousand feet. He would quickly warm to the task.
Of greater concern to Brad was Nathan’s reaction when he awoke and found Brad’s note. Though it was supposedly Brad’s tour, Nathan had taken charge and wanted to be on the road by six this morning. They had a lot of hard, bone-jarring miles to drive across the Sinai. Brad knew he couldn’t climb up and back in the three hours left till six, but he thought if he pushed himself he could make it in four, maybe four and a half. Yesterday, the five of them had taken nearly seven hours for the round trip up and down Mount Sinai. But they had set a leisurely pace and had spent over an hour on the top, plus another hour eating lunch on the way down.
The heavy iron door blocking the only exit through the high walls was shut and padlocked. For a moment Brad felt cheated but then he checked his watch and saw he was a few minutes early. He had told the Bedouin gatekeeper three o’clock, and he was confident his promise of some baksheesh, a little green on the palm, would bring him.
As he waited in the moonlight, aware of the immense stillness and the soft fragrance of some unknown blossoms, Brad wondered again why he was doing this. The climb to the top was a man-killer, especially the last portion, where the steep slopes gave way to imposing granite cliffs. The only access to the top lay in a narrow cleft, breached by seven hundred crude rock steps made by the monks. But yesterday, when he stood on the top of Mount Sinai, he knew he had to get up there again alone. In every direction the upthrusting fists of granite mountaintops punched into the incredible blue-black sky. No trees softened the grandeur and majesty of the convoluted, jagged rock. Breathtaking was a gross understatement. Spirit-taking, if there were such a word, would come closer. It was inspiring, and Brad felt a desperate need for some inspiration.
He heard a shuffling sound and saw the little man with the wizened old face appear from out of the dark.
“Shukran,” the Bedouin said softly, as Brad slipped him three one-dollar bills, the universal trading medium of the Middle East.
Brad left the monastery quickly and settled into a steady pace that would eat up the distance without exhausting him, and yet leave his mind free to agonize over his dilemma. Two weeks ago he had been ecstatic over the prospects of Miri’s conversion. Now he didn’t know what to think. Miri had said virtually nothing about her quest. President Marks reported that they were still meeting regularly, and that he was pouring it onto her straight and undiluted. But when Brad pleaded with him for some indication of hopeful signs, the president just shook his head. “I don’t know, Brad. I just don’t know.”
If that worry hadn’t been hanging over him like the threat of a coming doomsday, Brad’s life would have been glorious. The cactus spines of his sabra were completely retracted, and each new day he saw more of the tenderness, more of the inner flower unfolding. Cautiously, almost shyly, she opened herself more and more to him. He found a woman of great strength and yet gentle tenderness, sparkling, almost teasing humor, and yet profound solemnity. She was vitally alive, and he found her physical presence distracting to the point of madness. Yet they could sit for hours talking, touching ever so softly, and not have the physical blot out the wonder of discovering each other.
Brad had bitten his lip nearly a dozen times to stop himself from violating his part of the agreement, and so far he had been faithful to it. If she sensed his growing frustration and despair, the only sign she gave was in her fierce longing as she clung to him when they kissed. More and more he questioned his ability to hold out in his resolve. More and more he rationalized that if she couldn’t commit before marriage, then after she surely would. More and more he asked himself what he would do if she came back at last and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kennison. I love you, but I can’t abide your religion.” Brad hunched his shoulders and increased his pace. Maybe if he punished his body sufficiently, it would let his mind rest.
The moon was now low in the sky, the stars glittering like a thousand thousand diamonds spread out on a vast expanse of blue-black velvet. He stared up into the heavens for a long moment. Oh Lord, he cried out from the depths of his heart, Moses came to this mountain and received a law to govern Israel. I come to find answers to direct my life. What shall I do?
Moses and Brad Kennison were not the only ones who had come to the top of Mount Sinai. The sky in the east gradually paled from the deep velvet of dawn, through the pink of coming sunrise, to full light. Brad was puffing heavily up the last fifty or so steps, his thigh muscles feeling like beef jerky that had been left out in the sun too long, when he raised his head and saw her.
She sat at the apex of the granite summit, her arms hugging her legs, the first rays of the morning sun burnishing her black hair with highlights of gold. Her head was cocked to one side, the dark brown eyes filled with—what? Pleasure? Amusement?
Brad stopped and stared at her. “Miri?”
“Hi,” she said cheerily. “What took you so long?”
He shook his head. “What are you—?” He stood there, panting h
eavily, unable to believe what he was seeing.
“Hey, old man, when you get your breath, come on up. It’s a gorgeous view.”
He left the trail, scurried up the steep slope of rock, and dropped down beside her. Miri reached over and brushed a damp lock of hair away from his forehead, then kissed him gently.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked, as he took in huge gulps of air.
Brad glanced at his watch. One hour and a half. He had really pushed it. But to heck with that! He turned to her. “How in the world did you get here?”
“Rented a helicopter.” Little flickers of amusement danced in her eyes.
“Come on!”
“Would you believe a friendly caravan?”
“Miri!” he said in exasperation. “How long have you been here?”
“About fifteen minutes.” Gradually her smile faded away and she grew serious. “I overheard you talking to the gatekeeper last night, making arrangements to get out this morning.” Her eyes dropped, and her fingers touched his arm. “I know you wanted to be alone, Brad. But I—” She sighed unhappily. “Do you mind terribly?”
Brad put his hand over hers and gave it a quick squeeze. “Of course not, I’m delighted. But when did you leave, for heaven’s sake?”
“I slipped out at two-thirty, but I was afraid you might catch up to me, so I came up the front way. I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, you succeeded in that.” Brad shook his head and stared at her, still unable to believe she was here. There were two ways up Sinai, the long circular back route Brad had taken and which most others took, and the much shorter route the monks had carved right up the face of the mountain into the rock. Virtually that whole way was like the last seven hundred steps Brad had just conquered. It was steep, precipitous, and, counting those last seven hundred, consisted of over three thousand steps of rock and dirt, some of which had a vertical rise of eighteen inches or more. They had gone down that way yesterday, and by the time they had reached the bottom, Brad’s knees were throbbing. And that was going down!