The Clay Urn Read online

  Ari put the photo of Abdul Naser into his breast pocket and signaled to his platoon to get ready.

  “You are sure that is him?” Itamar whispered.

  Ari pushed the lens of his night vision goggles closer to his eyes and let the green static of electronic clutter settle. He identified the face of the young man at the table as Abdul Naser. He signaled to his squad to remain in place. Outside the house wild dogs sensed an unfamiliar presence and snapped viciously at the night air. He inched closer to the wall and lowered his body below the open window. He heard a chair scrape against the floor. He sunk lower and listened to approaching footsteps. He filled his lungs with air and remained dead still. Naser poked his head out of the window and slammed it shut. Ari exhaled and signaled to Itamar.

  “I have positive identity,” Ari whispered. “We’re going in.”

  Itamar motioned to the others. They checked their magazines were firmly in place and opened their safety latches. They moved in single file and crouched behind Itamar. The barking stopped. An eerie silence settled in. Ari signaled to one of the soldiers who was fluent in Arabic. The other soldiers took a knee and waited.

  “The soldiers set up an ambush,” said the man in a low voice. “They wanted my keys. The captain pointed his gun at my foot and said he’d blow it off if I refused. I knew you had bomb equipment in the trunk. I made up some story that I needed it to get to work or I’d lose my job. The stupid captain believed me. He returned my keys but slammed me in the gut with his rifle. Broke two ribs. That’s how I got these scars.”

  “You should’ve grabbed his gun and killed him,” Naser said.

  Ari shut his eyes and reviewed the layout of the house and contingency plans in case they had weapons. A sharp pain ran through his stomach. A chair scratched over the floor again. He opened his eyes and signaled to the others to move closer to him.

  “Ready,” he whispered.

  They nodded once to confirm.

  Ari moved towards the door with Itamar and, with a heavy iron, they busted the door wide open. Naser flipped over the table and bolted down the narrow hallway. Sounds of shattered glass and ceramics cut through the mother’s wail. “Get out, get out. This is my home,” she screamed.

  The soldiers moved with precision. Each pointed their gun in different directions as they moved quickly into position. Three soldiers ran around the back to prevent Naser’s escape, another two restrained the father. They quickly wrapped a blindfold around his eyes and forced his hands behind his back. Lights flickered and the house went dark. Ari looked through the goggles to make sure everyone was in place.

  “All good, Captain,” Itamar said.

  A shadow moved under the door jamb of the room at the end of the hall. Ari signaled for the soldier with the heavy mag machine gun.

  “Get out, Jews, this is my house,” the mother wailed. “Shut her up,” Ari said.

  Wild dogs caught wind of the chaos and began barking wildly. The silent night cracked wide open.

  “You have no right to be here. Get out.”

  One of the soldiers pointed his gun at her head, but to no avail. They could not restrain her and were unable to hear any movement.

  “Captain, what do we do? She won’t shut up.”

  “Stuff a blindfold in her mouth. We can’t hear anything.” Ari signaled to the gunner to move forward with him. “Itamar?”

  “I’m here, Ari.”

  “There’s a light in the room at the end of the hallway. There’s something moving.”

  “Get out of my house,” the mother screamed.

  “I told you to stuff something in her mouth,” Ari said.

  The barking dogs surrounded the house. The noise was at a fever pitch. Ari heard something move behind the door at the end of the hallway. He signaled to Itamar and the machine gunner to come with him to investigate.

  “On three.”

  Ari kicked open the door and burst in. A shadow leapt at him and clamped down on his arm. He swung around and squeezed his trigger. The burst of fire ricocheted off the walls.

  “He’s in the room!” Ari yelled.

  The machine gunner opened fire at the shadow tearing through the windows and ceiling. Smoke filled the room. Bullets ricocheted everywhere. Streaks of green and red light bounced off the stones. Windows shattered, throwing glass over Ari. A piece landed in his mouth. Gun powder and dust engulfed the hallway. The soldiers’ eyes locked in through their sites. A whimper echoed off the heavy stone walls. A terrible silence settled in.

  “Hold your fire,” Ari screamed.

  “It’s a dog,” the gunner said.

  “You killed her,” the mother screamed. “Jews, get out of my house.”

  Ari surveyed the destruction through his night vision goggles. The bitch’s upper gums were torn apart. Her tongue twitched in a pool of blood. Ari ran over to the open window and saw a shadow running in the distance.

  “Captain!” one of the soldiers shouted. “What’s up?”

  “Our soldier is down.”

  Chapter 6

  Ilana’s re-adjustment back home was not easy. Her time in New York gave her the distance and space she needed and the anonymity to explore her art. Knowing this freedom was temporary, she embraced every moment with Gabriel. Ilana grew fond of what they shared and felt liberated by his singular focus on the present and commitment to her personal and creative growth. It also became clear that when she returned to Israel she would be confronted with a decision about her future with Ari. A few weeks before leaving New York, she and Gabriel took the subway to explore the Ultra Orthodox Jewish section of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. They sketched and ate sandwiches on a park bench near a busy intersection. A man with a long white beard and black hat passed by their bench and glanced at Ilana. He lingered for a moment too long then shifted his eyes to Gabriel. “Go back,” he whispered, and crossed over to the other side of the street. Ilana sketched his face under the wide brim of his hat. Before entering the synagogue he turned towards her. “Go back,” she thought he said again, and then disappeared through the large wooden doors. Turning the page, she sketched a rope stretched across a body of water and tied at both ends around the waist of two men. One she shaded darker than the other. Thick droplets of blood fell off the rope and landed in the water. Ripples spread out in concentric circles and intersected before reaching the shorelines where both men stood. In the middle of the water Ilana floated on her back with her eyes closed. Suddenly, a car screeched to a halt at the light in front of the bench where they sat. Ilana looked up from her work as a stiff breeze pushed her hair away from her face. She closed her sketchbook and watched Gabriel’s hand move back and forth over the page. The sun set behind the synagogue and cast a dark shadow across the concrete and over them. Gabriel looked up from his work.

  “You ready to head back?” he said in the familiar voice she had grown accustomed to.

  Ilana closed her eyes and let the fumes of South Williamsburg fill her lungs. She imagined herself in a white dress with an ivory floral crown in her hair, Ari moving his hand over her cheek as the setting sun ignites the limestone rocks of the Judean Hills in orange and gold.

  “You ready, Ilana?”

  “Yes, Gabriel. I am.”On her flight back to Israel she sketched a scene of an ibex on a rocky cliff with the New York City skyline in the background.

  The sun rises over the Jordanian mountains spreading an orange and red hue over the desert. Ilana closes her nightgown and gathers her colored pencils from the makeshift table. She opens the gate and watches the bitch cross the road and disappear into a deep wadi.

  “Come back and visit anytime, sweet thing.”

  She picks up the photo of her and Ari and places it closer to the clay urn.

  “Wake up,” she yells to Ari.

  “Five more minutes,” he mumbles.

  She pokes his sleeping body. “Wake up,” she whispers. Ari rolls over, pushes her hair away from her face and presses hi
s lips to her cheek.

  “I heard you get up,” he says.

  “I went outside. I can’t resist the morning light. I really missed it.”

  “Did you draw?”

  “I will show it to you on the bus.”

  “Did the dog come by?” Ari asks.

  “She did. Her ear is chewed. Looks like she got into a fight.”

  Ilana inhales and nestles her head into his neck. His body is warm and his morning scent is familiar.

  “We should get ready,” Ilana says. “We need to catch the nine o’clock bus to Tel Aviv. My grandparents will worry if we’re late.”

  Ilana’s grandparents are sitting outside at their usual table under the red and white awning of the Arlozorov Cafe. They gradually rise from their seats, steady themselves and embrace Ilana and Ari.

  “Can I get you cappuccinos,” her grandmother says. “Cappuccino for Ari, and tea for me.”

  “You don’t drink coffee anymore, Ilanachka? Do we need to know about something?”

  “This is a nice place,” Ari says to her grandfather.

  “Dis reminds me of Paris,” he says.

  “Again with the Paris,” her grandmother says. “I’ve told you a million times, you’ve never been to Paris.”

  “It’s okay, Grandma. He forgets.”

  “The man I’ve known for forty years is fading into a past that never existed. It’s all the time now. Yesterday he mentioned another woman’s name. Something about a dress. He never mentioned this name or this dress before.”

  Ilana feels a surge well up in her throat. Her grandfather’s glazed eyes focus on the waitress as she circles around them.

  “It’s good to see both of you,” Ilana says. “Not quite New York City, but it’s home.”

  Ilana inhales and looks at the side of Ari’s face. She remembers Gabriel running his hand down her cheek. How he placed his colored pencils in a row on the cement floor and meditated before choosing the ones best suited to depict her features.

  “I’m putting all these sketches in the exhibit,” Gabriel said. “No one will buy them,” Ilana said.

  “I’ll make you a deal. If they sell, I’ll take you out for dinner at a place of your choice.”

  “Tavern on the Green?”

  “Come back for the opening in the fall and we’ll sit outside. The trees will be changing colors.”

  “You’re confident they’ll sell?”

  “It’s my best work.”

  That night in his studio they crossed over into new realms of deeper exploration. She wrote in her journal while opening herself up to him. She wrote down every feeling and emotion that shot through her. Afterwards, she read it aloud to his applause. When finished, he opened a bottle of wine for her and clanged their glasses.

  “Your writing is getting really good,” Gabriel said. “Reminds me a little of Rimbaud and Lorca.”

  The waitress asks if they want anything else.

  “It’s getting late,” Ilana’s grandmother says. “Maybe you want to stay over tonight and get the bus back to Jerusalem in the morning.”

  “I have the morning off tomorrow,” Ari said. “It’s not a problem as long as we get back by one.”

  The waitress puts the check in the middle of the table. Ari withdraws his leather wallet.

  “We’ll take care of it, Ari. But thanks for the offer,” her

  grandmother says.

  “I insist.”

  Ilana puts her hand on Ari’s. “Let them pay. It’s important

  to them. You can take care of the check the next time we meet.”

  “I understand.”

  Ilana smiles and squeezes his hand.

  “Thanks, Grandma. We’re gonna get tickets to a concert tonight. Our favorite band is performing at an outdoor venue near the beach.”

  “I’ll put the key under the mat. Stay out as late as you want.”

  After the concert they find a quiet place on the beach at the south end of Tel Aviv. The water is hot from the July sun. They swim parallel to the shore, the bright moon reflecting off their backs. Ilana leans her head back and looks up at the stars. A series of gentle waves rocks her back and forth. Overcome by the night’s perfect serenity she wraps her arms around Ari and ascends with the rising tide and weightlessness of the sea.

  The next morning, they awake early, bothered by the bright light beaming into her grandparents’ apartment. They rise and quietly move through their morning routine. Ilana slides her grandmother’s key under the door, and they step out. The sun pushes through a thin layer of clouds spreading orange light over the Tel Aviv sidewalk. She opens her lungs, inhales the sea air and turns to Ari.

  “Let’s walk to the bus station,” she says spreading her arms around his waist.

  “It’s far.”

  “I want to.”

  A street cleaner’s large circular brush spins near them, gathering last night’s remains. They navigate through the narrow, busy streets near the Central Bus station. Ilana pulls on Ari’s arm to slow down his quick pace. Vendors selling coffee and chocolate croissants in tiny stalls one next to the other hawk their products. Magazines hang on racks displaying photos of soccer teams and young girls in bikinis.

  “I’ll get the tickets and meet you in the line,” Ari says.

  In front of Ilana a soldier waits with a full duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Next to him is a young boy holding his mother’s hand. His older sister reads a colorful book with large print. A coiffed woman stares at a well-dressed man reading an English language newspaper. Bodies push up against bodies in anticipation of the bus door opening and the ultimate rush to get an open seat.

  “Excuse me,” the soldier says to Ilana. “Can you watch my bags while I run to the bathroom.”

  Without waiting for an answer he runs off. Ilana moves closer to his duffle bag. An ultra orthodox Jewish woman with five children squeezes in back of Ilana. The youngest one pulls at her mother’s arm. With the other children clambering for attention she removes her hand sized prayer book from her bag and recites the words. The soldier returns and takes his place in line. The children stare at his machine gun. Ilana watches the scene unfold and wonders what the children are thinking. Based on a complex agreement still in place from the early days of the founding of the state, she knows they will be exempt from doing military service. At eighteen years old, the boys will go to religious institutions. The ultra orthodox guard the status quo and form alliances with other religious parties to gain strength in numbers and keep it intact. Ilana remembers the religious man with the white beard she saw in Williamsburg. “Go back,” he’d said to her. She wonders if he said it because of Gabriel. Or if he’d meant for her to go back to Israel or back to god. “Is it that easy?” she thinks to herself while watching the mother’s lips move as she recites the words. “You praying for this soldier to return safely to his mother. What about me? I’m not perfect. Do I deserve to end up in heaven?”

  The youngest child tugs violently on his mother’s arm. The book falls to the ground and lays open. Ignoring the child, she bends down, wipes her hand over the cover and presses her lips to the binding. Ilana wonders, “Why shouldn’t their children contribute to the society and witness mother’s tears and embrace a father who loses a son in combat?” The oldest of the five children stands off to the side and looks back at Ilana. He has new facial hair and piercing, blue eyes. He stares at Ilana’s long hair and twists his side curl. It is forbidden for men to look at women. Visibly uncomfortable with Ilana’s physical presence and exposed shoulders, he turns quickly to look at his mother’s head, covered and shaved under a tight black scarf. Setting her physical pleasures aside in this life, the mother’s earthly purpose is to facilitate the commandments and multiply. Ilana watches the mother’s interaction with her younger children. Her eyes are distant and spacey. The oldest boy looks up again from his prayer book and makes eye contact with Ilana. She runs her hands slowly over her bare
shoulders and whispers to herself, “Come close, touch my breasts and tell me how it feels in your hands. I’ll drop my pants. You can explore. I’ll give you this and pray while you sin. Will you pray for me?”

  “Here’s your chocolates, Ilana.”

  Ilana is startled. The young boy grins and quickly looks down at his prayer book. She leans into Ari leaving no space between them. He wraps his arms tightly around her and kisses her forehead. The bus doors swing open. They throw their weighted backpacks into overhead racks and slide into open seats. The bus jerks forward and makes its way out of the packed bus station chugging through the bustling streets of Tel Aviv. Stucco buildings rise up from gritty asphalt, exteriors blackened by relentless fumes and cigarette smoke. A fair skinned man ducks under a palm tree taking refuge from the onslaught of the Mediterranean sun. Arab day laborers clutch lunch bags and scamper over beaten brown center islands undeterred by changing lights and blaring horns. A thick haze like the hands of god push down on the spirited people as they slam their fists onto car horns.

  “Get the fuck outta the way,” a driver screams.

  Ripping through a changing yellow traffic light, the bus swerves as it speeds towards the flat coastal plain. Birds flutter near endless rows of sunflower fields. Ilana nestles close to Ari, sending a rush of blood through his tired body. Looking out at the shifting clouds and changing landscape, he pulls her close. She opens her sketchbook to the drawing of the dog and Ari she did in the garden two days ago. A rope dangles from his suspended body down to the Dead Sea. Ilana turns to a blank page and sketches her grandfather sitting outside at a café. A gestapo commander in a waiter’s apron turns a metal rod and lowers the striped awning to block out the late day sun.