The Moses Legacy - Adam Palmer [87]
They had booked into the Leonardo Plaza Hotel, in the centre of town – having to share a room because the hotels were packed for the forthcoming Independence Day celebrations. The hotel stood on the edge of Independence Park and their luxury suite near the top of the tall building had a panoramic view of the whole city. At Daniel’s suggestion, they had decided to forgo lunch at the prestigious Cow on the Roof for the ‘best little diner in Jerusalem’.
‘Far be it from me to endorse any of the age-old stereotypes about women, but I refuse to believe that you didn’t pump him for information.’
Gabrielle smiled wickedly. ‘Oh, I pumped like a milkmaid. But the udders were dry.’
They were in Pinati, a tiny but packed little diner on the corner of a main road and a side street in the centre of Jerusalem. Clashing elbows at the Formica table they shared with three blue-collar workers, they were tucking into stuffed peppers, moussaka and meatballs with rice and beans, accompanied by pickled cucumbers, onions and chilli peppers. This was after a starter consisting of the best humous they had ever tasted.
‘You don’t come to Pinati for the décor or the ambience, let alone the comfort,’ Daniel had explained. ‘You come here for the food.’
And he was right. That’s why they had stood outside in a long queue in a city that appeared to be bustling more than usual, with people scurrying to the souk to buy pita bread, meat, bags of charcoal and disposable barbecues.
‘For tomorrow,’ their taxi driver had explained cryptically.
‘You didn’t get anything out of him?’
‘All I got was what he told you,’ Gabrielle replied defensively. ‘They know who locked us in the tomb but won’t say who,’ Daniel confirmed.
‘Did he tell you that the man who locked us in was the man who killed Uncle Harrison?’ Gabrielle asked.
‘Yes. But he didn’t say who it was.’
‘I guess that means he doesn’t want us interfering.’
‘Maybe he’s right, Gaby. Maybe we should leave it to the pros.’
‘So why is the city so busy today?’ she asked.
‘Like they told us at the hotel: Independence Day. Actually the celebrations start this evening, because in Israel festive occasions start the night before, running from sunset to sunset. But tomorrow there’ll be about a million barbecues. That’s the way they celebrate Independence Day over here. So everyone’s getting ready for that.’
That evening, Gabrielle decided to sample the true Israeli experience of Independence Day, venturing out into the jam-packed streets and dragging Daniel in tow. Caught in the crush of thousands of happy Israelis, they edged their way along slowly amidst the throngs of mostly young people. Once in a while they emerged into free space, where the people – natives and immigrants – danced and sang to the strains of amplified live bands that filled the air with both modern and traditional songs about Israel. Songs of victory and songs of peace… an eclectic mixture of nationalism and optimism.
‘What’s with the plastic hammers?’ Gabrielle had to shout to be heard above the noise of the crowds. She had just been hit over the head for the umpteenth time by a plastic hammer wielded by a child of about four or five, who was seated atop his father’s shoulders. It was painless and the father of the child seemed to find it amusing too, even when he in turn was hit by a teenager’s plastic mallet in a well-timed counter-strike.
‘It’s an old-new tradition,’ Daniel replied cryptically.
‘Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?’
‘It goes back to a merchant who bought them for another celebration. He overestimated the demand and had a few thousand left over, so he sold them off cheaply for Independence Day. That was a few decades ago and it’s been an Israeli tradition ever since.’
‘I guess I’ll get used to it eventually,’ said Gabrielle as she succumbed to another couple of sneak attacks. Daniel didn’t seem to mind or even notice it