Uzzi sat up on the side of the sheepskin bed and grinned. “A week ago I wouldn’t have been able to do that,” he said to Samara, who was standing on the far edge of the fire’s light.
“And three weeks before that you were more dead than alive,” she replied lightly as she walked to the fire and bent over to stir the pot of chicken soup that was simmering.
“The food smells good,” Uzzi said, realizing that for the first time in weeks he was genuinely hungry. “You’re a good cook.”
“It’s your mother who’s the good cook. She made this; I’m only stirring it,” Samara replied as she brushed her dark bangs out of her eyes.
Struggling to his feet, Uzzi carefully walked to the fire and stood close, watching as she stirred the pot. Then placing a hand lightly on her shoulder, he said softly, “I’ve never thanked you for—”
Samara cut him off in midsentence. “There is no need to thank me,” she said coolly as she swept his hand away and rose up to face him. “It’s your mother you should thank. I’ve only changed your bandages once or twice. She has changed them many times—and sat up with you when you were burning up with fever.”
Uzzi stepped back slightly and stammered, “I was only trying to say—”
“I know what you were trying to say.” She pulled her lips into an artificial smile. “And . . . well . . . I really don’t care to hear it.” Then as if issuing a command to an underling, she said, “You should rest.” Wiping her hands on her robe, she picked up a lamp and scurried to the tunnel.
Uzzi raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in confusion as he watched her walk away. He could understand why Hanan was attracted to her beauty, but he couldn’t fathom how his brother could overlook the sharpness of her tongue. “I was just trying to be nice,” he mumbled to himself.
Caleb walked into the cave carrying two freshly killed chukars from which he’d already plucked the feathers. “What’s the matter with her?” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the retreating figure.
“Don’t ask me.”
“What did you say to her?” Caleb asked, laying the birds on a small table. “Something sure upset her.”
“I told her thank you; that’s all.”
Caleb gave Uzzi an incredulous look. “You told her thanks, and she’s upset?”
“Exactly, all I—”
Miriam entered the cave holding a small oil lamp. She reached out and extended it toward Caleb. “This is one of the lamps from the entrance tunnel. It’s out of oil and needs to be refilled.” Then looking at Uzzi, she said, “Why is Samara upset?”
“That’s what I asked him,” Caleb said as he took the lamp from Miriam’s hand. “He says he told her thanks for taking care of him.”
Caleb and Miriam both looked at Uzzi and waited. Uzzi looked back and forth between them and raised his hands in frustration. “I told her thank you; nothing more. I don’t know why she’s upset.” Dropping his hands to his side, he turned and made his way back to his bed.
Miriam looked at Caleb, gave a slight smile, and winked, but Caleb simply shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, totally confused. Pointing to the table, he said, “I killed two chuckars with my sling while I was scavenging around the village.”
“That’s wonderful.” Miriam eyed the birds. “We can save the soup for another day, and I’ll roast these for dinner tonight.”
As Miriam busied herself with the chuckars and Caleb poured oil into the lamp from a goat-skin bag, Uzzi slowly walked over and sat down gingerly on the wool sheepskins that made up his bed. He watched as the flames from the fire created dancing shadows on the walls and ceiling of the cave, and he absentmindedly began rubbing his hand lightly over the soft white wool. Looking at Miriam, he said softly, “What are we going to do, Mother?”
Miriam let the question hang heavy in the air as she sprinkled a mixture of salt and spices over the birds.
Caleb walked over to the fire. Squatting down he set the filled lamp on the ground. But rather than pick up a burning stick and light the oil, he looked up at Miriam and waited silently for her response to Uzzi’s question.
Miriam turned one of the chuckars to its other side and reached into the dish for another pinch of salt and spices. Letting the mixture fall through the air and onto the meat, she finally said, “Do about what?”
“We can’t stay here forever,” Uzzi replied as he stopped rubbing his hand through the sheepskin. “We only have food for another few weeks or month, and there’s no time to plant grain and nowhere else to get food.” He paused briefly. “We must do something soon.”
Miriam began massaging the spices into the second bird as if she hadn’t heard anything Uzzi had said. Only after she had finished her task did she look over at him. “I understand we can’t stay forever, but what you don’t understand is why I can’t leave.” Pointing toward the cave’s entrance, her voice trembled as she said, “My husband and son are buried out there.” Choking back a tear, she stabbed her finger at the ground. “And this dark hole is the last place I saw my daughter.”
The silence in the cave was as thick as the darkness. Uzzi and Caleb looked at their mother, but Miriam looked at neither of them. She leaned on the table with both hands, her head hanging, and made no effort to control her tears.
The crunching of footsteps in the tunnel caused all three of them to look at Samara as she entered the tunnel carrying another lamp whose oil had burned out. “Another lamp is out of oil,” she said as she walked into the circle of light from the fire. But as soon as she said it, she realized she had inserted herself into a serious conversation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting,” Uzzi said. “It’s good you’re here. This involves you. We were just about to discuss our future plans.”
Miriam stood tall and brushed tears from her cheeks. Looking at Uzzi, Samara said, “Oh? And what have you decided?”
“Nothing,” Uzzi quickly replied shaking his head. “We’ve decided nothing yet, but we need to make some decisions.”
“Decisions about leaving here?” Samara asked.
Uzzi looked at Miriam and waited for her to respond. When she didn’t, he said, “Leaving, yes, but more than that—where shall we go?”
Samara stood motionless, holding the small oil lamp in both hands.
Caleb suddenly stood, walked to Miriam’s side, and asked, “Why can’t we stay here? We can rebuild our house, plant grain, and do as we were doing before.”
“And live every day in fear of the Syrians returning?” asked Samara.
“Why would they come back? They’ve destroyed this place,” Caleb replied.
“But what if they do?” Samara fired back quickly. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“Jerusalem.”
Uzzi, Caleb, and Samara all jerked their heads to look at Miriam. She returned their stares and repeated, “Jerusalem. We’ll go to Jerusalem.”