The Clay Urn Page 4

  Ari asked, “Why not?”

  Benny smiled and scooped more ice cream into Ari’s bowl.

  “Why did they do that to the children?”

  “It’s hard to figure, and it makes no sense to us,” his father said. “But in the minds of those who did it, I guess it makes sense. Maybe they never shared ice cream with their dads.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Ari said.

  Ari and Benny continued to climb up the narrow path towards the ancient wall.

  “I see it now,” Ari said craning his neck. “Is that where we’re going?”

  “Yep. We’ll have to leave the path and walk straight up through the thistle.”

  Ari inhaled, reached for his father’s hand and stepped slowly and deliberately. Thin patches of clouds moved quickly to the east, exposing a sliver of turquoise sky. The rain slowed to a drizzle.

  “What’s the best thing you ever found?” he asked his father.

  “It’s hard to say, but I like finding coins.”

  “How come?”

  “They have dates and letters.”

  “And we still use coins today.”

  “That’s right. I found one that had an impression of a Roman Emperor’s face on it. That’s my favorite find. I’ll show it to you when we get home.”

  Ari looked up at his face and reached out for his hand. He wondered if the rain felt good on his father’s face, and if the scar would be there forever.

  “What do you do when you go away to the army?”

  “I’m a captain in a reconnaissance unit. I’ve been with my buddies since the Six Day War.”

  Ari listened to the word and let it sink in. He wondered if he would be in the army with his buddies from school and if his father would be his captain.

  “What’s reconnaissance?”

  “Every year we spend a month in the Golan Heights in our jeeps learning the terrain so at night we can watch the enemy up close without them seeing us. If we have a good location we radio to the tank divisions.”

  “Who’s the enemy?”

  “Up there it’s the Syrians.”

  Ari looked up at his father and lost his balance momentarily. He stopped his movement to regain his footing but was overcome by an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He looked at his small fingers and moved his thumb over his index finger.

  “What does a gun feel like when it shoots?” he asked his father.

  Benny touched Ari’s chest near his heart.

  “You feel it here mostly.”

  Ari didn’t understand what he meant. He reached out for his hand again.

  “Is what you do dangerous?”

  “Not during training. But if there is a war, we’re the first in and I command the lead jeep.”

  “Is that dangerous?”

  “Could be.”

  Still holding his father’s hand Ari stopped and looked up at the sky. He watched the drops of rain shimmer as they fell across a wide swath of sunlight. He inhaled and turned to look at his father.

  “How come you write when you get home from the army?”

  “Putting down my thoughts helps me to leave things behind and move ahead. It’s like putting your pajamas in the right drawer. If they’re scattered they’ll be hard to find when you need them.”

  Ari looked at the ground. He picked up a clay shard and put it in his pocket.

  “Do you write poetry?”

  “Sometimes poetry and sometimes little stories that I make up.”

  Benny reached into his pouch and handed Ari a metal casing. The shell was the size of his pinky and blackened. “This is from a Kalachnikov. It’s a Soviet gun the Syrians use.”

  “Can I have it?”

  “I just remembered I had it. I wanted to give it to you the last time I returned from the Golan.”

  “Did you shoot your gun, dad?”

  “We just drive around in our jeeps with our maps looking for good spots for our tanks.”

  “What’s it like up there?”

  “It’s beautiful, Ari. Especially at dawn.”

  The rain came down hard again. Clouds moved overhead and quickly sealed the sliver of turquoise sky. A dark mist covered the mound and rolled towards them. Ari felt unsure of the shifting light and tightened his grip around his father’s hand.

  “You think we’ll find anything?”

  “No guarantee,” Benny said.

  Ari exhaled and slowed his pace. He looked at the ground and thought of the boy in his class and the girl with the long braids and thick glasses. He listened to the word ‘Kalachnikov’ as he repeated it to himself. The sounds of the syllables echoed inside his head and mixed with the rain that fell on his cap.

  “Dad, look.”

  Ari saw a small round silvery object. He breathed in the damp air, released his hand from his father’s grip and sank to the ground.

  “What is it, Ari?”

  “I think it’s a coin.”

  Benny removed a magnifying glass from his leather pouch and handed it to Ari. He set it close to his eye and looked through it. The bronze coin was small, about the size of his father’s thumbnail with the strike slightly off center.

  “It doesn’t look like his face is in the middle.”

  He handed the coin to his father. It looked small between his fingers.

  “They were mass produced by slave’s hands. Each one was struck from a single blow with a hammer so lots of things could go wrong in the process.”

  “Wow. Is that why the guy has such a funny face?”

  “That’s the way Roman Emperors looked in the second century.”

  “How do you know it’s second century?”

  “You’ll learn about that in school.”

  He handed the coin back to Ari. A drop of rain fell on the letters underneath the Emperor’s face. Ari rubbed his thumb over it.

  “How many years ago was the second century?”

  “About two-thousand two hundred years ago.”

  “Is that real old?”

  “Yes, it is very old.”

  Ari wrapped the coin in tissue paper and slid it into his pant’s pocket.

  “Let’s go, dad. Let’s go to the top.”

  They left the path and trampled through wild wheat and thistle. Ari slipped on the wet rocks and reached out for Benny’s hand. His father was not quick enough to catch his hand and stop his fall. Ari’s wrist slapped a large boulder. A jolt of pain ran up his arm. He winced and squeezed his hand against his chest. Benny inhaled, stared at Ari’s face and remained silent. Ari pushed himself up slowly but then slipped again on another boulder hidden under the thick weeds.

  “Can we go back to the path now?”

  “It’s much quicker to the top this way.”

  “I’m okay with just the coin, dad.”

  “Hold my hand and keep your eyes on the ground.”

  “The rocks are slippery, dad.” Ari was breathing heavily.

  “We’ll go slow. You’ll be fine.”

  A thick mist covered the entire mound. Ari stepped slowly but his body twisted with each step. He trusted his father knew the best way. After some time they found a narrow path that snaked its way directly to the top.

  “Keep an eye out for oil lamps,” Benny said.

  Ari exhaled and looked down at the path in front of him. Water raced down through the exposed earth forming a narrow channel and arced over a bulge that stuck out from the middle of the path. The water drained in two directions. Ari leaned over to have a closer look.

  “Dad, what’s this?”

  His father sank down next to him. They scooped out mud from around the vessel and dug a small trench on both sides. Ari pushed the object and created space between it and the earth.

  “Be careful, Ari.”

  “What is it, dad?”

  Benny scooped out mud from around the lip and kneeled closer to it.

  “I don’t know yet. But it’s b
ig. Maybe a jug of some sort.”

  Disturbed by the mud thrown in its direction, a bird flew out of a nearby thicket. Taken by surprise by the bird’s fluttering, Ari became unsure of his footing and fell back onto a boulder. Benny reached out and lifted him up. They worked together to clear debris from around the body of the object. He guided Ari’s hand to the edge of the lip. Water pooled on Ari’s brim and flowed onto the bulky object.

  “Ready?” Benny said.

  Ari nodded.

  “When I say three, lift.”

  The storage jar was large and intact.

  “It could be from the early Iron Age, the time of King David.”

  The vessel had a wide neck and a mouth about the same size of the body. There were two single strap handles from shoulder to rim and at its widest was about fourteen inches and equally as tall.

  Ari struggled with the weight. They set it upright and stepped back. Rain fell into the mouth of the vessel. Ari put his small hands over the widest part and ran his palms over it.

  “It’s beautiful, dad.”

  Benny lifted it and turned it over. Debris trickled out and fell into the channel. Ari looked at the ground and scooped up the pebbles.

  “What about these, dad? Are they old?”

  “I think they’re just rocks.”

  “It’s an urn, right? For dead people.”

  “Not exactly. It’s a kind of storage vessel. It’s a very rare find.”

  “Is it old?”

  “Yes, very old. Maybe two-thousand eight hundred years old.”

  Benny focused his magnifying glass on three ancient Hebrew letters incised into the clay on the widest part of the body.

  “What does it say?”

  “It’s very faint and hard to read. Probably a family name.”

  “What are the letters?”

  He moved his head close to the magnifying glass and held it steady.

  “I think it spells Ahvar.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “The root letters mean ‘to cross over.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure, Ari. It might be just a family name. Or maybe a coincidence that the letters have another meaning. Either way, this is a really rare find.”

  Benny wrapped the urn in a white cloth and carried it on his shoulder.

  “Why did they leave it here?”

  “It is hard to say, Ari. Maybe they were running away from an enemy and the mother dropped it.”

  “Let’s go home and show mom?”

  Ari burst through the door holding his urn tightly against his puffed chest. “Look, look mom.”

  Shira’s eyes opened wide.

  “Oh my god, Ari. It’s beautiful,” she said while looking at Benny.

  Ari put it in her hands. Her muscles flexed from the weight.

  “I can’t believe it’s intact. Like someone left it there for you.”

  Ari felt overwhelmed with emotions.

  “Look at the letters. It spells something. Maybe you and dad will come to school with me tomorrow and help me carry the urn. We’ll tell everyone about it.”

  “Are you sure it’s an urn and not a vessel to hold water?” his mother asked.

  “Urns were used for storing people’s remains when they passed on. We learned about that in school,” Ari said. “I think this is an urn.”

  “Did you check if there’s anything inside?” his mother said.

  “It’s empty,” Ari said. “Me and dad are a great team. I can’t wait to bring it to school tomorrow.”

  His mother smiled, wrapped her arms around Ari and pulled him close. Her hair, wet from her shower, felt cool on his cheek. He inhaled and watched her lips move while she spoke about his urn. Her skin smelled like fresh oranges. He gripped her tight and held her for longer than usual.

  “How about we put it high on the bookshelf so it’s out of the way. It’d be a shame if anyone knocked it over.”

  Later that year Benny received orders to return to the Golan Heights.

  “Why’re you going, dad?”

  “I got a call up. They say the Syrians are threatening war.” A pain ran through Ari’s stomach. He wanted to ask his father about war. What does it mean? Is there a winner and a loser? If we lose do we have to move? His mother’s face was red.

  “Can we go searching again when you get back?”

  Benny picked up his machine gun, duffle bag, and small backpack. He stood in the doorway for some time.

  “You okay?” Shira asked.

  “I’m not sure. Things are shifting. I’ll write you when I’m up there and settled in.”

  He looked back again at Ari and his little sister, Maya. A tear slid down Shira’s cheek and followed the channel alongside her nose to the crease of her mouth. He leaned close and kissed her. She turned her head, pushed away from him, and sighed.

  “Look after our finds, Ari,” he said while closing the door.

  When the captain came to give official notice of Benny’s death, Ari ran out and hid in the garden. He listened as the soldier told his mother how it happened.

  “He didn’t have time to mail these letters,” the captain said. “I think he wrote them for you. We all loved Benny very much. I’m so sorry about this.”

  As the days passed and the war raged on, the initial shock of the loss sank into reality. Shira moved between periods of artificial happiness and extreme sadness. She self-medicated with antidepressants and withdrew from her children, her chores, and external self. She passed mornings in silence unable to comprehend what had happened or to figure out a way to console Maya and Ari. Friends and family stopped by to look after them during the day. To help her sleep, she took an assortment of plastic capsules. One morning Ari heard her crying and ran into her room. She sat at the edge of her bed staring at him, not saying a word.

  “Mom, we’re hungry,” Ari said.

  “I’m tired. You make breakfast for your sister and go play in the garden. If you hear bombs, bring her in.”

  Ari felt a growing sense of unease and grappled with never ending stomach aches. Sometimes he would go days without eating.

  “Maya hates what I make. She doesn’t eat it,” he yelled to his mother.

  “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. Please be quiet.”

  Ari slammed the cabinet doors and ran outside. By late afternoon, Shira awoke and shuffled into the kitchen. Ari watched her spread a white tablecloth over the wooden table and set four places. Her eyelids were puffy. She put a kettle on the stove and turned the knob all the way up. Ari listened to the tin bottom dance on the elements. A loud shriek erupted from the tiny hole and grew louder with each passing moment. Maya ran into the kitchen to investigate.

  Shira turned away from them and focused her gaze on her small garden outside the kitchen window. She straightened her back and pressed her palms over her ears. Her eyes and lips stretched tight. Ari watched in silence. A sharp pain ran through his stomach. Ari’s sister inhaled and tilted towards him. Her tiny body pulsated from sobbing, and she pressed her face into his armpit. Tears stained Ari’s shirt. He put both arms around her shoulders and exhaled. When the sun set, he took his sleeping bag out to the garden. He folded his hands behind his head and looked up at the dancing stars. In the distance, he could hear the faint sound of muffled explosions. A cool October breeze brushed over him. His eyes grew heavy. He dreamed he was on top of the ancient mound. The war was over. Everyone was wiped out except for him and the soldier who shot his father. They stood motionless and stared into each other’s eyes.

  After the war ended, he returned to school and took his seat behind the girl with the long braids. The pain in his stomach grew worse every day. He wanted to run away and find a place where no one knew him. It was the worst month of his young life, and he didn’t have anyone to turn to.

  “I want everyone in class to know that Ari’s father, Benny, is a hero,” his second-grade teach
er said. “He sacrificed his own life to save the platoon. We owe him and Ari a big thank you. And they had no right attacking us on our holy day, Yom Kippur.”

  It all sounded wrong to Ari. He raised his hand and asked the teacher if he could go to the bathroom. The children stared at him in silence. The girl with the long braids and thick glasses patted him on the shoulder. There was so much pity in her young eyes. After school he wanted to tell his mother what had happened and how angry he was.

  “Let’s collect up your father’s letters and put them into your urn,” she said. “That will be a nice place to keep them safe.”

  Ari watched her mouth move. He remembered how her eyes had beamed when he walked into the house with the vessel. He looked at her bare arms. He wanted to be held, to feel her skin against his.

  “I don’t care about my stupid urn, or dad’s letters. Besides, you told me it’s not an urn. It’s a vessel. A stupid, clay vessel with letters we don’t even understand what they mean.”

  “I understand your anger,” Shira said. “But for now, his letters are all we have.”

  Chapter 4

  With her mandatory service behind her, Ilana needed to distance herself from familiar surroundings; the papers and airwaves were consumed with news about the intifada and escalating tensions between Israelis and Palestinians. As the death toll mounted on both sides, Ilana became more conflicted with which direction Israel should take to deal with the violence. After two years together with Ari she still had strong feelings for him but sensed a shift in his personality. Upon completion of officer training he was assigned to his first command with a paratrooper company inside the Gaza Strip. He became convinced that a tougher policy would eventually weaken the Palestinian resolve and bring them to accept their fate.

  “First we teach the shabaab they can’t defy us, then when things settle down, we can talk,” Ari said one night after they ate dinner.

  “Nothing will settle as long as we’re inside their homes and villages,” Ilana said.

  “They attacked us first, Ilana. We have the right to hit back.”

  Ilana had grown tired of the political arguments. She wanted to be in a place with no ties to bloodlines, and New York City would give her what she needed. Her grandfather offered to pay for her plane ticket to New York from his German reparations bank account. The most difficult thing was to leave Ari, but she felt it was the right time to do this.