On the Hills of God Read Online Free Page B

could be seen a spectacular panorama of rolling hills and, on a clear day, a glimpse of the blue Mediterranean waters. Ardallah was close enough to the big cities, but small enough to have its own charm. It was not exactly a playground for the rich, but an oasis for the young and the aged and all those in between who cared for the cool fresh air and the soft invigorating breeze.
    Ardallah had over ten schools (different ones for boys and girls); five churches (one big Greek Orthodox, one big Roman Catholic, one small Greek Catholic, two tiny Anglican); one mosque; five hotels (renowned for their spacious wooded gardens); and three cinemas. The highest building was three stories, built of chiseled white stone, as were all the houses that were scattered over the mountain slopes. Some of the new homes had all the conveniences of the modern world. Such luxuries were important not only because the new owners desired them and could afford them, but because most of these homes were let during the summer months to the vacationers who insisted on hotel-type accommodations.
    Except for fruit trees in private gardens, the trees around Ardallah were primarily cypress and pine. Perhaps it was these trees that had conspired with the geographic location to give the town its glory. But they said it was the Ardallah breeze that most attracted tourists—the gentle caressing breeze that blew against one’s skin like a mother’s breath. Built 2500 feet above sea level, Ardallah was a natural landmark. Between Ardallah and the Mediterranean Sea lay Jaffa, Lydda, and Ramleh, which were surrounded by hundreds of orange groves; between Ardallah and the highlands lay hundreds of Arab villages surrounded by fig and olive groves and pasture lands, where shepherds could still be seen sitting atop a hill playing the flute or herding their flock as in biblical times.
    Ardallah had always welcomed her guests. Yousif himself waited nine months a year for their return. He loved the change and the excitement that resulted from their appearance. They brought their fashions, their gaiety, their dialects, the glamour of their women in their latest fashions or fancy cars, and their money, which made everyone in town walk around with a smile. The tourists slept in the morning, drank tea and ate fruits on their verandas, and played backgammon or bridge in the afternoon. And, yes, they danced at night.
    Often Yousif would go with his parents to these hotels and meet the rich families and powerful men his parents knew. How lovely the women and their daughters were, Yousif remembered. The women of this upper class did not abide by old-fashioned restrictions; they swayed under the moonlight to the tango and foxtrot and waltz tunes played by orchestras—often imported from places as distant as Athens and Rome.
    Often Yousif would dance with their daughters. The colored lights which had been hung outdoors over the dance floor would shimmer, the dresses of the elegant women would rustle, and Yousif, dressed in the conservative manner of his father, would wish Salwa and not his mother or some stranger’s daughter were in his arms.
    On two occasions the previous summer he had been fortunate enough to have danced with Salwa herself, and to have given her a peck on the cheek when the dance floor was overcrowded and no one was looking. The smell of her hair and the feel of her body burned in him for weeks and still lingered in his mind. This year luck might smile on him again; at least he hoped.
    By the time the conspicuous strangers reached Bata, the famous shoe store, Yousif was jolted out of his daydreaming. What triggered his suspicion was the large amount of equipment they were carrying. What did they need all the canvas bags and the cameras and binoculars for? And what about that tripod under the tall man’s arm?
    It struck Yousif that they were carrying surveying equipment. This new perception was anchored in the depth of his being and born out of many nights of