The Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman

had been. Only when he needed me to guide him, to feed him, to be his only sustenance in the wilderness, did he remember that I, too, was his child.
The men who’d come for us were no older than my brother, young in years yet hardened by what they’d seen and done. I recognized one, Jonathan, from Jerusalem. He’d been a serious prayer student. People thought he would be a rabbi or a scholar, then he’d joined with my brother and picked up the knife. The other was called Uri, which meant light. He was a lumbering, warmhearted young man whose good humor dominated every discussion. I shied away, reluctant to make my presence known, but my brothers’ friends rejoiced in finding me and called me to join them. Amram had told them about me, the sister called Yaya, who had cared for him as a mother would, who had made his meals, sewn his tunics and his mantle, listened to plans so secret he hadn’t dared tell anyone else. The one called Jonathan took out a blue square of silk that the wind had carried to my brother’s path. This was how they’d found me.
WE WOULD take a route that would lead us to the southernmost part of the Salt Sea. I knew that, if I went, I could not look back. I would be abandoning Ben Simon, the only man who had ever known who I was. His bones would not be gathered on the anniversary of his death, as had always been our custom, to be secured in a stone ossuary. But if I stayed, the desert would claim me. I could not falter now, or give in to my impulse to lie down beside my beloved.
We would be going through the harshest part of the wilderness, a place of salt and sorrow, a land even more difficult to traverse than the valley where we’d found the Essenes. There were said to be troops from the Roman garrison scattered throughout, and we would need to take care to avoid their camps, backtracking when necessary. I thought of my poor little goat, whose milk was the only thing I could stand to drink. It is said there is a goat demon in the desert called the Sa’ir, but if anything I had found a goat whowas an angel. She had saved our lives when we had nothing; she had been wild and I had kept her captive and she had forgiven me; she had been my only friend when I was alone.
Before we left, I let her free. I tied a string of red around her throat and led her to the highest cliff. “Go on,” I said as I cut the strand that bound her. She was so accustomed to following me, she didn’t flee back into the wilderness. My pet merely stood there, looking at me. I smacked her rump to get her moving. I thought of Ben Simon’s dark eyes, his olive skin, the curl of a smile whenever he spied the goat trailing behind me so meekly. “Stay away from me,” I insisted, waving her on.
I knew that although I was shouting at the goat, I was speaking to Sia’s ghost.
AT THE START of our journey, the cliffs were so high the men had to tie ropes around my waist, and around my father’s waist as well, then help pull us up the sheer sheets of limestone. Because of the season there were herbs and wild asparagus sprouting in the nechalim between the cliffs. The air was scented with mint and tangy scallions. Every bit of green was a delight to see. There were the yellow blooms of mustard as well, like fallen stars upon the ground. The sycamore fruit had turned bright orange, and wasps were drawn to its ripening odor. We relished the sound of such abundant life, but soon enough we went on, higher, to where the air was pale, shimmering. We tramped across fields of rocks so sharp even the ibex could not run here. Our feet were bleeding by the second day.
At twilight, no matter where we were, I went to sit quietly by myself. In this way I would procure our evening meal. Each night I would watch for birds. Once I discovered the delicate lattice of twigs where they nested, I sat nearby in silence. They came to me, thinking I was cast of stone, seeing me as a part of the desert andnothing more. I covered their eyes when I broke