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Show showed my pass to the guard. It was still too early for all but the most devout, so it was alone that I made my way across the torn and broken soil to the Wailing Wall and, just beyond, my job. In the work shed made of corrugated steel I drank coffee and made my curious sandwich, the chocolate turning to paste if the bread was still hot. Talma Levy was always the first to greet me. From across the room she nodded, studied my slow ritual and watched me eat. Her dark eyes never seemed to leave me, but only when I had finished my sandwich did she come over to speak. "Boka toy, Ian Alden. Are you ready for another day?" It was time for me to smile, and smoke my one cigarette. Then I was ready. Taking off my nylon jacket if it was warm enough, I would go with her and the others out to the pits. For eight hours we dug, slowly making our way along forgotten perimeters, filling rubber buckets with dirt and ash and broken rock. We were digging up ancient Jerusalem, sending it skyward by rope pulley, and each day we were getting a little closer to the buried Temple. I liked Talma, but I was a long time in getting to know her. Her English was halting and guttural. The baggy work clothes that she wore, probably her father's, desexed her. I met her the first day I came on the dig, was introduced to her and the six or seven others by Moshe, our bearded leader; that |
