Two Out of Three

"Nothing specific set it off that I could see," Val answered the paramedic. "She just began to behave erratically."

"All right, folks. We'll take all your contact information when we get to shore, and we might need to follow up after we talk to her. Sir, are you the one in charge?" he asked Avi.

"I'm the dive master, but I'm filling in for someone else. I fill in when I can. I have all my certifications in my dive bag, if you want to see them."

"Eventually we'll need to take a look, for our paperwork. And we'll need to speak to the captain as soon as he's available, just to cover all the bases."

Avi nodded towards Yoel, who was coming down. Ben had already helped everyone else off the boat.

"One more thing," the paramedic said. "We'll need to check the air tanks." Both the captain and Avi nodded.

"We'll leave everything as it is until you tell us it's OK to move. The boat doesn't have another trip for a couple of days. The usual DM is sick, and Avi is unavailable tomorrow or the day after."

The medics had moved Ylva off the boat in a gurney, and Val, realizing she was no longer needed, grabbed her dive gear and followed the gurney off the boat.

"Val!"

She heard Avi's call and turned to see him running after her.

"I really need to thank you," he said. You were outstanding."

"Thanks, Avi, but I did nothing special. I'm glad it wasn't worse." She paused. "You knew, didn't you? That she was epileptic? Was that why you buddied up with her?"

He nodded. "She asked me for a special favor. She's a friend of one of my army buds. She assured me it was very unlikely that anything would happen. She loves to dive, but doesn't often have the chance to do it. Most dive boats look at her health record and turn her away."

"Why didn't you? Or Yoel?"

"Because one of my brothers is epileptic. Most of the time he's fine, and it's kept under controlled with drugs. But it affects everything. People just worry around him all the time, as if he's too fragile to live. Listen, thanks again. Are you off to Petra tomorrow?"

She nodded.

"I may see you again, then. I think they may have assigned me to escort the bus. We always send an escort, just in case."

He stepped up to her and embraced her tightly. She felt her chest smashed up against his, hard muscles pressing against her breasts. His arms pulled her impossibly tight, his face buried in her neck, then gave her a peck on her cheek. He felt so good in her arms, she wondered what had kept her apart from him.

When she thought he'd let her go, he pulled her in again and kissed her lips. He lingered, his mouth pressing against her own, his firm full lips warm and demanding. A moan escaped her, and she parted her own lips, feeling his pelvis pressed against her, his leg muscles corded tightly against her own thighs. His tongue entered her mouth and felt her own tongue, danced against it, exploring her mouth, her teeth, lingering and stroking. She arched into him, involuntarily. Her body wanted him, that much was clear. And while pulling back, the outline of his hard shaft against her lower stomach made had already imprinted on her as he bucked slightly against her.

He left his hand on her jaw and cheek for a few more seconds, his eyes boring into her own. "Val."

"Avi."

They each nodded, a bit awkwardly, and he smiled. "You still have my number?"

She smiled. "Yes, soldier."

"Call me if anything comes up. Please."

She nodded, pulled her bag farther up her shoulder, and walked away to her rental car. The man had, in less than a couple of minutes, scrambled her brain cells.

The trip to Petra

Val parked in the corner of the same lot where the large tourist bus overwhelmed the cars around it. People milled near the bus, checking in with the guide who stood near the front checking off the names of the tourists on his list.

When she walked up, he nodded at her paper. "One day or two?"

"The two-day trip. Will my car be OK here? I tried to leave it out of the way."

"Yea, should be fine. Good call on the two-day, lots to see."

"By the way, do we need any special clothing? It's pretty hot, so I'd rather not wear long pants or long anything, for that matter, but if I have to, I have spares in the car..."

"The Jordanians are pretty laid back, but it's always a good idea to have a headscarf with you." He looked at her legs and she did the same. "You're OK," he said. "It's Jordan, not Iran."

She'd worn a light bias-cut skirt whose hem flirted comfortably mid-thigh, short but not outrageous, and black Converse high-tops over rolled down socks. Her flip-flops and another change of clothes together with a small bathroom kit were stuffed in a small backpack. A small satchel held her phone, passport, wallet and the smallest electronic SLR camera she could find. She'd also tucked a small guidebook on Petra into her backpack, though she was pretty sure she'd want to buy something else there.

She climbed on the bus and proceeded towards the back, picking a seat near the window so she could both watch the scenery and doze off if the mood struck her. Bus rides and train rides were good times to think. She hoped no one would take the seat next to her so she'd have more room to stretch out. After stowing her backpack in the overhead rack, she slid into her seat, took out her book, and made herself comfortable.

They'd started off about a half hour later. The bus had about 30 or so passengers of various ages and dress styles, placing them in different corners of the globe, but mostly Western developed nations. Val's eyes had drifted over the fairly stark landscape, the highway quite new and smoothly paved. Along the way, after having turned north away from Aqaba, they'd passed only small villages and light traffic.

Eventually, as she woke up from a nap and let her eyes wonder and her brain zone, she realized they had an escort, a large army-green Jeep that stayed closely with them the entire time. She didn't know whether it was Israeli or Jordanian, and decided it was not worth figuring it out.

"Folks, we're going to take a break shortly for a rest stop and a chance to grab a snack if you are so inclined. This is also where the Jordanian authorities will look at your passports, so we will collect them from you now, and return them to you after you get back on board."

The same guide she'd talked to before boarding the bus made the announcement in his heavily Hebrew-accented English. He began the trip down the narrow aisle, using a wide stance to balance himself and leaving his hands free to carry the pad on which he was checking off the names of those he'd collected passports from and the box into which he was placing them. The backs of the bus seats were too high for her to get much of a view of him but what she saw of him was quite pleasing, deeply tanned skin with curly light brown hair and brown eyes.

When he reached her seat, he propped his hip against one of the backrests and let his smiling eyes wander to her legs, left knee against the seat-back in front of her, right knee stretched diagonally forward for extra space. She realized her pose had lifted the hem of her skirt rather higher on her thighs, draped rather suggestively between them.

"Comfortably cool, miss?"

She laughed. "Yeah, I am, thank you. Here you go," she said, handing him her passport. He winked as he took it and continued on his trip to the back.

When they reached the parking lot, they all filed off the bus and meandered to the building holding a café, restaurant, and small convenience store, modeled after a rest stop in the US. She grabbed herself a sweet Turkish coffee, a rare treat, the liquid dark brown and thick served in a tiny porcelain cup even in this out-of-the-way place. She thought of little girls' delicate tea sets as she found a table and placed the cup on it, stretching out her legs to relieve her muscle cramps. She reached for the small almond cookie that sat on the saucer, dipping it in the coffee and bringing it to her lips.

"Do those go all the way up, miss?" a familiar voice startled her.

She raised her head to meet the liquid deep-brown eyes. "Avi. Are you stalking me?"

"You're stalk-worthy material, Val, don't get me wrong, but no. I told you, it's one of my occasional jobs, accompanying the tourist buses."

"Why didn't you tell me yesterday?"

"I didn't know for sure they would send me. And frankly, I couldn't have anyway. No one is supposed to know until the last minute. Security measure."

"Ah. Hey, what happened with Ylva?"

"She'll be all right. The hard exercise induced her epilepsy. I guess she didn't feel the exhaustion, but it happens in some people, so they told me. May I join you?"

"Are you allowed? Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"I'm on my break. I can sit with you, if you'll have me."

"Be my guest. I'm enjoying some Turkish coffee. Not easy to get stateside."

"Yeah, I know. I like it but it's a bit thick for me."

She smiled at him. "If you get one, I can tell your fortune."

"Oh yeah?" he laughed. "More and more surprises. How are you going to do that with Turkish coffee?"

"I can't, unless you get one and drink it."

"Are you a good fortune teller? Is it going to be worth my acid reflux?"

"You never know until you try it and see," she winked.

"All right, you convinced me. I'll be right back."

He stepped into the café and brought back a small cup and a sandwich. They sat back companionably, exchanging dive stories and sipping their bittersweet coffee until only the dregs were left coating the bottom of their cups.

"Leave a bit of liquid behind," she told him. She swirled the dregs up in the liquid, watching the thick slurry leaving residue up the sides of the up. Then in a swift motion she up-turned the cup in the saucer and let it sit.

She laughed at his inquisitive glance. "It's like reading tea leaves. My aunt taught me. She learned it in the old country. She does all sorts of things like this, like throw Tarot cards. But she really went all poetic on us when reading coffee grinds. She can really spin a tale. I won't be anywhere as good as she is."

He put his hand over hers as she rested it next to his cup, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. Val watched his thumb's sway back and forth, then lifted her eyes up to meet his.

"You feel familiar to me, somehow. I don't know why," he said, his voice low.

"Avi, I'm not sure how good I'd be at a whirlwind affair."

"In my experience, rather rusty now, these things have a way of working themselves out. They either work or don't work. You don't have to think too much about them."

She nodded. "We either fit or don't fit, I know. I think too much. But I can't help it. It's that kind of a trip."

"What do you mean?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not give you more details. I know, I brought it up, and now I should elaborate, but if you don't mind, let's leave it there."

"As you wish. Why don't you tell me my fortune?"

She was about to start when a three blustery figures in dark green uniforms with large brass crescent moons on their belt buckles walked up to their table. She assumed they must be Jordanian army or some military policemen.

"Identification papers, please," they said, rather aggressively.

"I'm with the tour bus over there." Val pointed to the parking lot. "I gave my passport to the guide, to give to the authorities."

"OK, miss. And you?"

"The same," Avi said.

Val wandered what had made him stretch the truth as he did.

"You're in Israeli army uniform. Papers, please," the largest one barked at him.

"Just ran out of clean clothes for the trip," Avi answered calmly.

"He's telling the truth," Val piped up. "He's my boyfriend. I told him I wasn't going to do his laundry for him as well as cook and clean. He'd have to marry me for that," she giggled a little, moving her leg and making the skirt's hem ride up a little farther up her thigh.

The Jordanian, if indeed that's what he was, obediently dropped his eyes to her leg. As nonchalantly as she could, she dropped her hand into her lap in a way that brought the skirt down between her legs and made the hem ride even higher up her thighs. She curled her fingers inward, pointing between her legs in what she hoped was a distracting movement. The Jordanian licked his lips.

"Darling, I know, I know. You're such a good... cook," Avi said, leaning forward and placing his hand familiarly on her thigh. "And it serves me right, having to wear this heavy uniform." As he said the last thing, he swiped his hand slowly up her thigh and down between her legs, his fingertips almost touching the juncture. Then he pulled his hand back, dragging the skirt with it and covering her thigh as much as the length of the material allowed.

"Bring your skirt, down, darling. We've talked about your lack of modesty before,"

Throughout his little speech, Val bit the inside of her cheek, making sure she didn't flinch at his touch or act in any way that would give them up. She didn't know what was going on, but she felt drawn to Avi and wasn't about to feed him to the Jordanians. But as his fingertips had nearly touched her pussy, she felt moisture leak from it into her panties, and had to rein herself in tightly to keep from squirming in her seat.

"OK. We'll check both your passports. You're both going to Petra?"

"Yes, of course. Isn't everyone on the bus?" Val said, a touch saucily.

Avi's hand tightened on her thigh just enough that she could feel it.

"Are you staying one day or two days?"

"Two. We're spending tonight in a hotel in Petra. I think it's all in the tour company's files." Val didn't want to sound defensive, giving more details than strictly necessary. She did, however, realize that she had signed herself and Avi up for a night together in the same hotel room.

"Well, I hope you enjoy the trip," the self-appointed spokesman said and, with a quick glance at his two companions, turned and walked off, the others following.

Avi's hand on her thigh relaxed a bit but didn't move, and she wasn't sure whether that was in case the Jordanians returned or if he was worried that they were being watched by another, or whether he was trying to reassure her.

"Thank you, Val. You didn't have to take the story quite that far, but you made it much more believable."

"I didn't know how far to take it. Anyway, we can figure out a way to get out of the spending the night together."

"I'm afraid not. They will be watching me. I think they're looking for me, from the way they acted. And anyway, I don't want to get out of spending the night with you."

"Avi," she said, warning in her voice, "just because we'll be in the same room doesn't mean anything. Doesn't mean I'll sleep with you."

"Of course. I'll behave. I promise to be a gentleman. Or as much a gentleman as you want me to be. But I think they're calling us back to the bus," he said, rising and giving her his hand to help her up.

His hand was warm, like the rest of him had been yesterday, and his fingers closed over hers in a reassuring gesture. She knew he would hold himself to be a gentleman. She had told him that's what she wanted. She was not, however, convinced that she'd spoken the truth.

"Darling, I need to go to the restroom. And I'll communicate with my comrades in the Jeep from there. I have to ride the bus with you - it would look too strange if you rode the bus and I rode in the Jeep."

She nodded and took the opportunity to use the women's room. When they arrived at the bus, he put his hand lightly but possessively on the small of her back, and she felt his fingers trail down her butt and brush her naked leg below the hem of her skirt as she climbed the steps. She led the way to her seat and thanked the fates that she'd had no seat mate.

When they arrived in Petra, they were split up from the single day-trippers and led to the hotel to check in. They'd been given entrance tickets and told they were free to visit the "city" at their own pace as long as they were at the meeting place to catch the bus back by 4 pm the next day.

Val quickly scanned the cute and intimately small room, left her backpack on a chair, and washed her face. Avi had produced a small duffel that had presumably been in the Jeep. As she heard him use the toilet, she shook her head at how she'd gotten herself into this predicament. What was she doing with a near-stranger in the same room, listening to him pee in "her" toilet? This trip had turned into something a bit different from how she had imagined it. Just go with the flow, Val. Then she laughed at her own pun as she heard the last of his stream.

"Are you ready to play tourist?" she asked him a little uncertainly as he came out of the bathroom.

"Actually, yes. I love Petra. It's a spectacular place. You know, there's an old poem about it."

"Do you know it by heart?"

"I do. I will recite if for you if you wish, but not until we walk into it a bit."

She nodded decisively, and led the way downstairs.

They wandered down the road leading into Petra, the red rock walls rising all of a sudden and looming high above them, keeping out the hot sun. Despite the dry desert heat that had been nearly unbearable, their walk was shaded and cool. The rock walls rose straight up in some places, while in others they bore in on them ominously.

The road twisted and turned, wide enough for no more than two or three riding abreast, and Val wondered if the purpose of the serpentines had been to slow down unfriendly visitors or marauders. Looking up at the walls, she marveled at how long it must have taken to dig out the path through the heart of the mountain, and imagined the city's defenders hiding in the shadowy niches barely visible here and there high above them.

She wondered about the serpentine pathways to her own heart, and thought wistfully that Josh might have been the one to accompany her here rather than Avi. But Josh had recoiled from her in the end. It was she who'd sent him to his death. Her chest constricted, and it took everything she had to hide the physical pangs that overwhelmed her all of a sudden.

As if on cue, Avi put his arm around her and pulled her into him. When they arrived at the Al-Khazneh, the so-called Treasury, he began pointing out the features and history of Petra while they looked up at the immense Greek bi-level façade with its huge columns incongruously carved into the canyon walls. It was there that he recited to her the poem by John William Burgon:

by labour wrought as wavering fancy planned;

But from the rock as if by magic grown,

eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!

Not virgin-white like that old Doric shrine,

where erst Athena held her rites divine;

Not saintly-grey, like many a minster fane,

that crowns the hill and consecrates the plain;

But rose-red as if the blush of dawn,

that first beheld them were not yet withdrawn;

The hues of youth upon a brow of woe,

which Man deemed old two thousand years ago,

match me such marvel save in Eastern clime,

a rose-red city half as old as time.

She took his hand and pressed his fingers in hers, moved by the combination of the Rose City around her, the poem that described it so well, and his attention. He was being romantic, and she was falling farther and farther for it.

They had meandered past The Treasury and out into the open valley, where more buildings had been carved into the walls of the mountain. On their left, carved in the gently sloped hillside sat the theater, and they climbed up to the top and sat on one of the benches, resting and looking over the valley vista, a mixture of stately carvings and boulders cascaded all over themselves. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the bustle of horses, camels, donkeys and people, the sounds of the ancient Nabataean center of caravans.