“With no trouble at all.”
“Well then, do you have some kind of remedy?”
“Yes, it works every time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?
Sly as a fox, he winked at me and laughed; his gorgeously white teeth glistened as he answered: “It’s because I wanted to double your delight, and the cure can only be doubly pleasing when it follows prior turmoil. Watch this!” He took the middle of the rope and firmly tied a knot around the tail of “the dove,” so that both ends of the cord hung down—then he climbed onto the saddle. We wanted to start out on our trip to Harem Ramet el Chalil, to the Sacred Heights of Hebron. My wife sat upon her mule, and I climbed onto the one that Thar had been riding. Now, we simply had to wait and see what the boy was going to do. The donkey driver handed him both ends of the rope, which he calmly held in his hands. “Now, watch how quickly this works,” he said. “Make room; I’m riding on ahead.”
We moved to the side. He goaded dear Guewerdschina. She swished her ears and waggled her tail, but she took no steps forward. He struck her, but that did no good. He screamed at her and slapped his feet into her sides—all to no avail. So he pulled on both ends of the rope. With that trick, the mule’s tail flipped up and onto her rump. Thar then wrapped the cords around her belly and tied a knot, thereby firmly stretching the ropes in a way that they could not release backwards. Guewerdschina was visibly startled. Nothing like this had ever happened in her lifetime. Like the wings of a windmill, she flailed her ears. She also wanted to whisk her tail, but that couldn’t happen. At this point, she let her ears droop down as she contemplated her troubles. To this spirited annoyance, the boy added a rambunctious swat. This caused “the dove” to turn her head to the right, trying to look behind her—but she saw nothing. So she turned to her left and tried to see what was behind. In spite of her tremendous efforts to move her tail so that she could see it, she couldn’t.
“Now she’s unbearably worried!” laughed Thar. “She thinks her tail is gone. She believes that some frightening thing is behind her. Now she will run for all she’s worth!”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when Guewerdschina let out a bone marrow-jarring hee-haw. She cringed and arched her back like a cat. She lunged to the right and to the left—then with sudden haste, she shot straight forward, as if she wanted to charge beyond her own head. It required a very good rider not to fall off; Thar effortlessly stayed in the saddle. Laughing heartily, we followed him as fast as we could. In light of the tragically comical, apprehensive demeanor of mules, it really was impossible to keep a straight face.
Our new route led us through the ruins of the village of Chirbet en Nasara, then on towards the road to Jerusalem. There we caught up with the boy, noting how the mule pretty much obeyed him. From this path, it was just 400 paces to Abraham’s Well; in the corner of the photograph, note the large, square stone wall. No one knows why this wall exists, nor whether it was ever expanded. Now, it is simply a rubble. The blocks are often five meters long, yet they are no longer joined with mortar. In Baalbek, I have seen hewn stones that are over nineteen meters in length. Given the era of this wall’s origin, a five meter stone was plenty to manhandle. Nearby is still another cistern; it’s called “The Bath of Sarah,” Ishmael’s mother’s well. In the nearby rugged rocks, two oil lamps have been affixed. Not far from the crumbled wall is a large church, most likely the basilica that Constantine the Great erected at “The Strong Terebinth Tree of Mamre.” To this day, this place is called “The Valley of Terebinth,” a place to search for acceptance and adoption.
When we reached the four-cornered wall, we saw a poorly clothed Arabic woman and her small daughter sitting in a corner near the well. As soon as they saw us, they stepped back from the water. After we dipped up some water for our animals and gave them time to drink, my wife found a spot to take a photograph. When the Donkey Driver saw her camera, he immediately removed himself and his mules to a place of safety—for he believed that only Christians and Jews were able to withstand the power of photography. Every other creature, whether man or beast, risked destruction.