Through Dust and Darkness by Jeremy Kroeker

Author:Jeremy Kroeker
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-927330-75-3
Publisher: Rocky Mountain Books
Published: 2013-10-14T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 29

I poked at the neutral sensor below the shift lever until the green light flickered on. The engine didn’t want to start at first, but it finally sputtered to life. After that it rose in pitch to a healthy idle. The exhaust came in metered bursts, making the leaves jump on a nearby bush. In the cool air you could see the smoke. Sometimes the Oscillator puffed out a smoke ring just for fun. As the bike warmed up, I looked it over.

“I know I’ve been ignoring you,” I whispered, patting the gas tank, “and I’m sorry.” I strapped up my helmet, still talking softly to the machine. “It’s just that I haven’t left Beirut much these past few weeks, and when I did I had company. You know. It’s easier to take a taxi.”

If the Oscillator resented the neglect, it didn’t show. Together we rode north, in the direction of Tripoli. Nearing the city, I turned away from the coast and climbed into the hills towards a low bank of cloud. When I stopped at the edge of a town to check my map, an old man waved me over to join him for coffee on his porch. Bundled up against a chill in the mountain air, he wore a long woollen jacket and a black hat. We took turns leafing through my Arabic phrasebook in an effort to communicate, but that only frustrated us both. In the end we sat quietly, enjoying the cool air and hot coffee.

One side of the man’s porch nudged the road, while the other side opened onto a rocky yard. From there, the property dropped into the holy ground of the Qadisha Valley. The valley is home to several Christian monasteries and the town of Bcharre, an important centre for the Christian Maronites and their right-wing Phalange Party – the people who carried out the Shatila massacres.

Crags in this valley often split open into caves, and these caves have for centuries attracted hermits aspiring to religious perfection. Whether any have attained it or not, who can say? Still, you have to admire their resolve. At least these guys follow beliefs through to their logical conclusion. (“Wait. You mean, after living for maybe ninety years we die, but not really? We go on living in heaven for billions and billions and billions of years and then billions more forever and ever? Fuck it. I’m going to wait in a cave.”)

Looking across the gap, I could see a clutch of white houses perched at the far edge of grey cliffs. The cliffs were all mottled with ochre and rust. Hardy shrubs with green leaves clung to the rock, while farther upslope the leaves had gone yellow. Higher still, a dusting of snow settled on grey mountaintops.

Way down below, the Qadisha River ran through the valley. Its headwaters are in a grotto very near the Cedars of God. That was my destination, the last remaining grove of Lebanon’s ancient cedars.

I stood to leave, thanking the man for his kindness.

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