Smuggler's Den, Jerusalem, 1964

Smuggler's Den, Jerusalem, 1964          
         
     Rob is my husband. I fell for him at a party for we college girls and the air force men. I was looking for a date for the party but had none. My roommate Doris said, “Well there is Rob but you wouldn’t want to go with him.”          
     I replied, “Oh I can go for any man in uniform. Please do introduce me to him.”          
     What starts off as a dance partner turns into my life mate. Then he is stationed at a base in Turkey. But we want to see the Holy Land. So we take a flight to Jordan for a tour of the West Bank and East Jerusalem. Our bus takes us through refugee camps where people live in tents. We are forbidden to take pictures. But Rob goes to the back of the bus and sneaks some photos. I am proud of him. He’s always been a Mama’s boy. In fact we meet his mother at the hotel in Jerusalem. I am irked by her presence. Why can’t she give Rob and me some space?          
     So when we enter the hotel there is a sign up saying, “If you want to buy stuff meet the car at 5:00 p.m. in front of the hotel.”          
     I say to Rob, “Oh honey we must go! I don’t want to leave here empty handed.”          
     Rob says, “It sounds dangerous.”          
    I say, “There is that element which excites me. You’re an officer in the United States armed forces. No one will harm us.”          
     Rob says, “Mom will worry.”          
      I say, “Let her worry. It irks me to the bone  how much she dotes on you.”          
     Martha, Rob’s mother, is napping at the crucial time. But her motherly second sense awakens her. She stands at the doorway of the edifice as we exit. She screams, “Rob, come back here! You’re not safe.”          
     We dive into the smuggler’s car and leave Martha in a cloud of dust. The vehicle is redolent with the scent of tobacco. My heart beats with exhilarated fear. Yet, the prospect of the smuggler’s den and the risk give me such a rush I feel like screaming for the pure pleasure of it. We arrive. Rob leads me by the hand to the door. We enter the smoky room like players in a high-stakes poker game.        
     The Arab merchant hawks jewelry. He holds a Harem ring. I say, “Oh I want the ring! Please hand it to me.”          
     Rob says, “Kate what interests you about such a thing?”          
     I say, “Rob, harems fascinate me; to be one among many.”          
     Rob says, “You are my one and only wife.”          
     I say, “But there are so many others in your life; Time magazine, Saint Augustine, and so many others. Your bookshelf is your harem.”          
     Rob says, “Don’t compare yourself with a news magazine.”          
     I hold the ring up in the light. “Look at the gemstones. Each one is a different color. The stones are unique like the women in a harem. But they are joined by the gold band in a circle of love. Look at the emerald rock. It is the color of my eyes. You love my eyes don’t you?”          
     “Oh yes. Your eyes interest me more than any book.”          
     “Well then I shall wear the ring proudly as the queen of your harem!”          
     “Oh please. No need for satire.”
     The seller calls, “Chi. Chi.”
     A young boy brings in a platter of tea cups for the customers. As soon as the tea is taken and the plate empty he vanishes awaiting the man’s summons for more tea.
     “Let’s raise a toast, to marriage!”
     “Just remember the other ring you’re wearing.”
     “Of course. It is much prettier than the harem one.”