The Celestial Gate by Avital Dicker (red white royal blue txt) 📗

any choice. They are the last hope for all of us, he thought, and closed the shutters with a sigh.

It was only eight o’clock in the morning, but despite the early hour, the narrow streets of the old city were bustling with people.

Women in long robes used the lull to stock up on every type of food, while men dawdled in clusters on street corners. Mor bought three round, fragrant bagels, that had just come out of the oven from a cart at the side of the street. The seller held out a little packet of dried oregano mixed with sesame seeds and salt, and a large bottle of water.

“Look!” Yam, chewing the fresh bagel, was pointing at something. Two stone lions stared back at them. “This must be Lions’ Gate.”

A group of men with kufiyah-covered faces and guns slung over their shoulders passed by, and the three hurried to disappear among the other pedestrians.

The honk of a car made them all jump to the side. Three armed men were shooting into the air as their car barreled ahead.

“This way!” Mor pulled his friends into the burial procession of one of the shooting victims. “Nobody here will suspect us of being tourists,” he whispered.

Anise examined the procession. Just behind the coffin, two men were holding up the bereaved mother, who could barely walk. She wiped the tears welling up in her eyes with the edge of her kufiyah. They crossed the street together with the funeral party headed for the Muslim cemetery, trying to blend in with the mourners. The procession had almost reached the end of the street when, again, there came a series of explosions, and everyone flattened themselves to the asphalt. Fifteen or twenty feet ahead there was now a fresh corpse. Anise recognized the bereaved mother.

People all around were screaming and starting to run every which way. The tide of people swept Anise away.

“Yam!” she yelled.

He struggled to reach her through the crowd and managed to drag her out. Both backed up against a wall, waiting for the last of the panicked hordes to get away.

“Hey, something happened over there!” Mor was yelling at them from the other side of the street. He was right. Dozens of masked men were coming up the street, spraying bullets in every direction.

“We’ll meet over there,” said Yam, pointing, and the three, running, caught up with the throng and were quickly swallowed up.

They didn’t stop running until they could no longer breathe and the echoes of the shooting were faint enough to make them feel safe for the moment.

“How’s the leg?” Anise asked Mor once they had stopped. Mor, breathing heavily, nodded. “It’s just a cut.” Mor scanned the alley. It was abandoned, except for a few masked men sitting on low stools.

“Don’t panic. Just don’t move,” Mor whispered, looking at the gunmen.

Then, one of the men grabbed his gun. Another group of armed guys was coming their way from the other end of the street. They were trapped.

Old Ali was standing in a dark corner of a courtyard of one of the buildings. He nodded once and the dark-haired child by his side quickly darted out. Suddenly, Anise heard a faint whistle and saw the head of a child of about eight peeking out from in between two houses. The child signaled her and immediately disappeared back into the courtyard.

Anise hesitated for a second, but there really was no other way out. She looked at the barrel of the gun pointing at them. They had nothing to lose. She pulled on Mor’s arm. “Follow me,” she whispered, “on three,” and all three of them dove to the right, running. The next spray of bullets missed them by inches.

The three followed the child who led them past buildings and through courtyards until they came to a large yard surrounded by a spiky metal fence. The child quickly scrambled up and over the fence, but what he did with such ease turned out to be a little more difficult for them. One of the metal spikes caught Anise’s robe. The more she tried to free it, the more the material twisted away from her, and she cursed out loud. Scared, the child looked back at her and motioned for her to be quiet. Giving up, Anise just slipped the robe over her head and jumped over, leaving the fabric as a memento of her presence on the fence.

The three found themselves on street wider than the narrow Old City alleys. The child disappeared into one of the courtyards.

“Who is he? Is this a trap?” Mor said suspiciously.

“Look, he got us out of that alley,” said Yam. “He didn’t have to help. Without him, we’d have been dead back there. Besides, he’s just a little kid, and there’s three of us.”

Mor had to admit there was something to that. It sounded reasonable. He nodded in agreement, and the three cautiously entered the courtyard.

The place was filled with junk. The child stood next to a tall pile of scrap metal and was pointing to a rusty washing machine.

“Maybe he’s trying to sell it to us,” Mor whispered.

“Very funny,” said Yam, helping the child move the machine aside.

Underneath it, partly hidden by the earth, they saw a wooden door. The child gave a gap-toothed smile, pulled on the rusty metal handle, and mumbled something in Arabic.

“He says it’s dangerous being outside and that these stairs will take us out of the Old City,” Anise translated for the boy.

“I actually thought we were blending in,” a disappointed Yam said.

“Oh yeah, sure! With your brand new Nikes and blond hair,” Anise grumbled.

“Look who’s talking,” Yam retorted hotly.

“Hey, at least I speak Arabic,” Anise answered, clearly annoyed. She turned to thank the little boy, but he was no longer there. How odd, she thought.

“Hey, you two – stop fighting,” Mor whispered. “Look, this is the way down to the underground city Ali was telling us about.”

Yam turned on the flashlight attached to his keyring. The light was