Mor covered her mouth with his hand. “Shh… Be quiet. We’re not alone,” he whispered in her ear. From somewhere nearby, they could hear the sounds of several men in noisy conversation. Mor looked around: the walls of the tunnel they were in were covered in concrete and thick electrical cables were suspended from the walls.
Unlike the previous tunnel, this one seemed to have been excavated only recently. This is modern construction, Yam thought, and turned off the flashlight. There was nowhere to flee. The only thing that might save them now was the dark. They stayed near the wall, listening quietly to the sounds that were coming closer. Anise shut her eyes.
The bright cone of a flashlight missed them by inches. Six bearded men, who were engaged in a loud argument, walked past and failed to notice the three of them. A moment later, they’d disappeared into the tunnel. Mor held his breath: the men had been speaking Hebrew.
Anise had her hand in her mouth and was biting down hard to stifle the scream that threatened to leap from her throat. Beads of sweat covered her forehead.
“They’re Jews,” Yam whispered, “they’re wearing yarmulkes.”
The three of them waited for several long minutes before daring to turn their flashlight on again.
Yam took the ancient map out of his pocket. Having been enclosed in a zippered plastic bag, it had stayed dry. Yam breathed in relief. From her own backpack, Anise took out disinfectant and bandages and saw to Yam’s wounded leg. The daubing burned horribly, but he made no sound of protest. Ali knew what he was doing when he packed our bags, Anise thought, sending her unspoken thanks to the old man.
“To get back to the gate, we have to turn left,” said Mor, pointing to the path marked on the map. “By the way, during the Six-Day War, legend has it that the gates fought with one another over which one the soldiers should use to enter the Old City. All the gates boasted of their own worth, and only Lions’ Gate kept quiet. God asked it, ‘Why are you silent?’ and it answered, ‘It pains me to think of the young fighters. I’m afraid they’ll be hurt. That’s why I’m not saying anything…’”
“Ha! Now the lions don’t want war,” Anise retorted, cynicism dripping from her voice. “And, anyway, where is all this stuff coming from?”
“My civics class,” Mor answered. Anise laughed. “Wait a second – I thought you were Italian,” she teased.
“Shut up,” Mor grumbled. In apology, Anise gave him a quick hug.
“In any case,” Mor went on, “we can’t stay here. It’s only a matter of time before someone else walks past and we can’t rely on luck to escape notice again.”
“The celestial gate can’t be a gate where blood was spilled and it can’t be a gate that’s significant to just one religion. So, yeah, I agree with you,” said Anise in soothing tones, folding up what was left of the bandage.
“Well, we have to find the gate. It’s our only chance,” said Yam, thinking about his parents. “I think so too,” said Anise, “it’s the only chance we have.”
Suddenly, a rock dislodged itself from the wall, missing Yam by less than an inch. It was immediately followed by another rock, this one near Anise.
Mor looked up. Cracks were quickly opening up the length of the concrete walls and great clumps of cement started to rain from the ceiling. The racket was deafening. The tunnel is caving in, Mor thought in the second before a rock hit his head and knocked him out.
Anise knelt down next to the wall. She didn’t know if this lasted a moment or an eternity. She squinched her eyes and covered her head with her arms.
She stayed in that position for several minutes, afraid to move, even once the rockfall seemed to be over and everything was once again quiet.
“Anise,” she heard Yam calling, finally lifting her arms off her head.
“I can’t move!” Yam sounded panicky.
Anise felt her way along the wall, trying to make her way toward him in the profound dark that didn’t let her see a thing.
“I’m coming. Just keep talking. I can’t see you.” She thought she felt blood trickling down from her knee, but she ignored it. “Yam, turn on your flashlight,” she shouted.
“I can’t find it,” Yam answered faintly.
Anise tripped over the rocks heaped all around her, but stubbornly inched her way ahead. “Come on, Yam, speak to me. I’m almost there.”
She had to keep him talking. He mustn’t be allowed to pass out. Please, let him stay awake until I get to him, she thought, rooting through her pack. There’s got to be something here, she knew. Her fingers finally located a box of matches. Old Ali – thank you again, she thought, taking out a match.
Anise managed to light it and by the feeble match light saw Yam’s shape on the ground nearby. A large chunk of concrete was lying across his lower body, and he was moaning in pain.
The match burned the tips of her fingers. She immediately lit another, only to see a Yam looking pale and weak. She’d never be able to move that concrete off him alone, plus she might injure him more. And where was Mor?
Anise moved the match from side to side, but there was no sign of him. “Mor, where are you? Answer me,” she yelled, but aside from Yam’s moans, she heard nothing. She lit one match after another, but found no sign of
