Damascus gate [antikvár]

Jerusaletn, 1992Th at morning Lucas was awakened by bells, sounding across the Shoulder of Hinnom from the Church of the Dormi-tion. At first light there had been a muezzin's call in Silwan, insisting that prayer was better than sleep. The city was well sup-plied with divine services.He climbed out of bed and went into the kitchen to brew Turkish coffee. As he stood at the window drinking it, the first train of the day rattled past, bound over the hills for Tel Aviv. It was a slow, decorous colonial train, five cars of nearly empty coaches with dusty windows. lts diminishing rhythms made him aware of his own soli-tude.When the train was gone, he saw the old man who lived in one of the Ottoman houses beside the tracks watering a erop of kale in the early morning shade. The kale was deep green and fleshy against the limestone rubble from which it somehow grew. The old man wore a black peaked cap. He had high cheekbones and a ruddy face like a Slavic peasant's. The sight of him made Lucas imagine vast summer fields along which trains ran, long lines of gray boxcars against a far horizon. Once Lucas dreamed of him.He had grapefruit and toast for breakfast and read the morning's Jerusalem Post. A border policeman had been stabbed in the Nusei-rat camp in the Gaza Strip but was expected to recover. Three Pales-tinians had been shot to death by Shin Bet hit squads, one in Rafah, two in Gaza City. Haredim in Jerusalem had demonstrated against the Hebrew University's archeological dig near the Dung Gate; an-cient Jewish burial sites were being uncovered. Jesse Jackson was threatening to organize a boycott against major league baseball. In