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part of her present.
    Instead Yael smiled and said, “It’s been a long time. Are you well?”
    Mustafa shrugged and said, “I’m old, like your grandfather. We have earned our right to complain.”
    Yael laughed. Grandfathers, it seemed, transcended culture.
    â€œI have many grandchildren now, Allah be praised. But they grow up too fast. One moment you’re cuddling them on your knee, the next moment they’re helping you find your walking stick.”
    â€œBut we love them for all their faults of growing up, don’t we?” replied Yael. She struggled for what to say next, strangely awkward as she stood in front of the old Muslim after having just saved the life of Bilal, who had murdered in the name of Allah. She was almost relieved when he broke the strained moment of silence.
    â€œYou are here to see Shalman?” asked Mustafa.
    â€œYes,” and before she had time to think about what she was doing she added, “I’m taking him this . . .”
    She took the stone out of her pocket and unwrapped it carefully, handing it over to the elderly archaeologist. He looked at it thoughtfully, turning it over in his fingers.
    â€œThis is not in my expertise; it’s not Arabic. It’s Hebrew. But it looks very interesting. Where did you find it?”
    â€œIn the hands of a Palestinian terr—” she began, but cut herself off before she completed the word. Mustafa looked at her as if he understood and slowly handed the stone back to her with a frown on his face.
    â€œShalman will be excited to see this.”
    Yael didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing as she folded the stone away into her pocket once more.
    â€œIt is good to see you, Yael.”
    â€œYes.” It was all she could say.
    Then the old man turned and shuffled off down the corridor.
----
    S HE WALKED ON until she came to the outer office of Shalman’s suite, and his secretary of thirty-five years beamed a smile and walked around the desk, hugging and kissing her like a beloved daughter.
    â€œ Nu ,” said Miriam, looking her up and down, “you’ve lost weight.”
    â€œDon’t start,” Yael said with a smile. “No, I’m still not married;no, I don’t have a boyfriend; no, I’m not joining an online dating club; no, I’m not interested in your neighbor’s son; and no, I’m not ill. I’m just busy.”
    â€œDid I say a word?”
    â€œYou’re a Jewish mother!”
    â€œHow’ve you been? Seriously, you look tired.”
    â€œYou’d think there was a war on. We’re still packing them in, ten operations in a day. Mines, bullets, accidents. It never stops. God help us if Iran or some other basket case decides to get nasty. Peace is busy enough for trauma surgery.”
    Miriam smiled. “I’d better let you go in. He’s been ringing every half hour, asking whether you’ve arrived yet.”
    Yael grinned and walked to her grandfather’s office door, knocking gently. She heard his chair scraping and waited for him to open the door.
    He stood there, diminutive, overweight, balding, white-haired, and pink-faced despite the cold air-conditioning, but just as beautiful as she’d always known him.
    â€œ Bubbeleh ,” he said, and hugged her.
    â€œShalom, Shalman. How are you?”
    â€œNow, good. An hour ago, lousy. But come. Sit. Miriam, tea. And some cookies. The chocolate cookies, not the ones you usually give me.”
    â€œBut your doctor said—” Miriam began.
    â€œ Phooey! ” he said. “ I’m the boss. Not him. What does he know about chocolate cookies?” He winked at Miriam, and said softly, “Miriam and my doctor conspire to stop me eating chocolate, but sometimes I’m clever and I fool them.”
    â€œBut, Zaida,” Yael said, “you know you shouldn’t . . .”
    â€œNot from you! I have enough