A River in the Sky

He took a bundle of dried plants from the basket. Ramses rubbed a pinch between thumb and forefinger and smelled, then tasted it. It was an herb of some sort, strongly scented. The taste was sharp but not unpleasantly so.

“He not go on today,” the boy said. “Write. I take it.”

“What?” Ramses asked. “I don’t understand. Write?”

As the light strengthened, the boy’s uneasiness increased. He threw up his hands in an unmistakable gesture of frustration. “Write a message, to those who await you. Tell them to come for you. I will see that it reaches them.”

He had spoken Hebrew.

WE WERE RUDELY AWAKENED next morning by persistent knocking. Leaving Emerson cursing and flailing about, I hastily assumed dressing gown and slippers and went to the door. The room was gray with predawn light; it was still very early. It was obvious to me that something of a serious nature had occurred. A variety of hideous images flooded my mind, many of them having to do with my son. I flung the door open.

The manager stood on the threshold. He was in a state of great agitation and barely coherent. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Emerson, but there are persons who insist on speaking with your husband. Something of a serious nature has occurred!”

“Damnation!” shouted Emerson from the bed. “What sort of hotel is this, when a man cannot-”

“Do stop shouting, Emerson. Something of a serious nature has occurred. I will ascertain its precise nature, but I suggest you rise at once.”

Hastily assuming proper garments and directing that coffee be served immediately to Emerson, I went down to speak with the individuals in question. They turned out to be Mr. Samuel Page of the British Society and a stranger, round-faced and portly, who introduced himself as Edmund Glazebrook, the British consul. I apologized for not having paid him a courtesy call before this, to which he replied that he readily forgave me, since he had enough to do dealing with complaints from our compatriots.

“May we see Professor Emerson?” he went on. “It is urgent, ma’am, very urgent.”

When I had explained the situation they agreed that I should be the bearer of the bad news-never a comfortable position and, in the case of Emerson at this stage in his arousal, potentially dangerous.

“There is a riot brewing at the Temple Mount,” Glazebrook explained. “The authorities are attempting to control the mob, but I must say-”

“Get to the point, please,” I said impatiently.

“Er. It was Mr. Page who persuaded me to come here. For some reason he believes Professor Emerson may be able to intervene to better effect. Though I must say-”

I left him and hastened at once to Emerson. As I had expected of him, he rose nobly to the occasion, finishing his coffee as-with my assistance-he dressed. We were ready in ten minutes or less, and went down to join the others.

Pale sunlight strove to penetrate the morning mist as we hastened along the street. “Now then,” said Emerson to the consul, “what is this all about? Be succinct, I beg.”

Glazebrook was forced to be succinct, since, like Hamlet, he was fat and scant of breath, and he had to trot to keep up with Emerson. Apparently early worshippers had discovered a party of foreigners at the base of the Mount, attempting, as they believed, to begin engineering activity at that most sacred spot.

“The first ones on the spot were Moslems,” the consul panted. “But the news was quick to spread and they were soon joined by Jews coming to defend the Wailing Wall. At last report both groups were hurling stones and threats at the foreigners…”

His breath gave out and Emerson said coolly, “And eventually at each other, if they haven’t already begun to do so. Hmph. Well, let us see what can be done.”

We heard the riot before we saw it. The roar of an angry crowd is one of the most terrifying sounds in the world. Most of them were clotted round the base of the great wall, so that when we came out onto the square we were some hundred yards from the scene of action. At first it was difficult to make out precisely who was hitting whom. There were, thank God, no firearms; but stones flew through the air and clubs were brandished. Thuds and screams of pain and screams of fury made a horrible din. At the farthest point, up against the wall itself, stood a ragged row of Turkish soldiers. They appeared to be armed with rifles, but they must have been ordered not to fire into the crowd. Using the weapons as clubs, they were trying to fend off the attackers from a small group huddled against the stones. Presumably these were the foreigners whose appearance had started the trouble, but I could not make out their features owing to my lack of inches.

Emerson, who suffered from no such disadvantage, said, “Ha! As I expected. Stay here, Peabody. Gentlemen, kindly make certain she does.”

Whereupon he plunged into the crowd.