Thar lowered his head and prepared to ram Mr. Eppstein, but he immediately stepped to the side and called out: “Leave me in peace. I am not one of those beasts! I only wanted to warn you about today’s dangers—never considering that I would be treacherously ambushed. Should I contact a reliable rent-a-donkey business for the trip you’re planning?” I answered: “Yes. Preferably one that does not devour Christians.”
Mr. Eppstein was glad to help: “There is only one, so I’ll ask him to come. It saddens me to acknowledge that today is such a Day of Hate. I’m sorry to say that your wife was only permitted to see the outside of the mosque. I have always said this, so I’ll continue to repeat it: If the faith of these people were pure and noble, then they would not find it necessary to keep others away from their shrines.”
He excused himself and sent for the donkey-lender. Thar pulled out his notebook and thoughtfully recorded this quote from Mr. Eppstein. For him, those words seemed important enough to remember. In a short time, the donkey-driver arrived and heard our requests. As our photograph shows, he looked Moorish, but he seemed to be good-natured and not a person to inconvenience us. He had no horses whatsoever; not even one donkey was available. On account of the festival, all animals had been reserved ahead of time. However, there were three mules that he could lend us. We could honestly say that they were only suited for pulling a cart, not for riding. One of them had an especially stubborn temperament, but we had to be thankful that these dear animals were still available. So we closed the deal with this merchant and asked that he bring the mules without delay.
Whenever a Middle Easterner, and particularly a donkey-driver promises to turn up without delay, this may mean that he will arrive one or even two hours from then. Yet this fellow was true to his word; in just thirty minutes, he showed up. He claimed that he would have come even sooner if he hadn’t found it necessary to clean the animals before he delivered them to us. I don’t care to describe them, so I’ll simply confess that the sight of them was no minor fright for us.
They consisted of skin and bones. For well over a month, they had neither seen a washing, a scrubbing, nor a curry-comb. What was supposed to pass for a saddle and strapping was a sheer hodge-podge of things that didn’t fit. The lady’s saddle was such a boldly sad afterthought of improvisation. In light of the donkey-driver’s freethinking and artistic invention, I paid him an extra baksheesh—an act for which he solemnly assured me that I had his everlasting love, loyalty, and devotion.
Needless to say, we wanted to provide feed for the poor animals. They fed on everything edible, including all the bread that we found in Eppstein’s house—and still they were not full. The prettiest parts about them were their names. Mine was called “Guewerdschina,” which means “dove.” Naturally, I managed to pick the one that seemed to be the most ornery—and it proved to be true. In both a good and bad sense, we would have quite an experience with this one. After we paid the rental fee, mounted our mules, and prepared to ride away, it became evident that Guewerdschina didn’t want to go along. She would not budge from her space.
I now applied all of my equestrian skills. The Donkey Driver himself gave it his best effort, and Eppstein’s servants did the same—but all their efforts were in vain. They knew the stubborn nature of this dumb animal, so they were sure that it would rather die than take just two steps from its spot. What was I supposed to do? Like the Donkey Driver, should we too just walk along beside her? No! Once again, I mounted the mule and ordered the Driver to lead Guewerdschina. Of course, she followed him. Once we had left the city behind us and we had reached open fields, I had hoped to convince her to ride on—and I partially succeeded. Kind words and caressing didn’t help at all, and whipping the animal accomplished even less. So I tried something with my thumb; from the side of “the dove,” I pressed hard between the first two vertebrae. She shot forward and obeyed me for a little while, but not for long. I was convinced that I had to experiment from a new angle. During the entire journey, I agonized about what I should do with this contrary beast.
From the time we left the gardens till we reached the Oak of Abraham, a half hour passed. It’s said that The Oak of Mamre originated during the time of the first patriarchs. This is an exaggeration. It belongs to the genus Quercus ilex psudo-coccifera, which has a base circumference of approximately ten meters. At the height of four meters, this tree begins to fork and to form immense boughs. For the most part, the tree is already beginning to die as it branches out.
As early as the sixteenth century, this tree was venerated; anyway, it has a considerably different age—and it probably will not stand much longer than it already has. It belongs to the Russians who established a hospice here and built an observation tower; from its height, one can see all the way to the Dead Sea. For just a small fee, the key to this tower can be fetched inside the hospice. I sent Thar inside and asked him to bring me the key. After he did that errand, he brought me a cord that he had found.
While he was showing the rope to me, he said: “This is for your dear Guewerdschina. I want you to use this when you ride her away from here.” I had my doubts about that: “Do you think you can make her move from this spot?”