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It suited her, Ben thought. Hearing her talk like a truck driver in a Midwest accent just would have been wrong.The guys snickered at her mention of mineral water.Even Quohog let a chuckle go. "Mineral water? What do think I am lady, a spa? Would you like the cold cucumber soup or the escar-the fried snails?" The guys snickered. The lady—even in jest Ben couldn't bring himself to label her as a 'chick'—didn't even crease a brow."I will take anything bottled, if you please, and something to eat that isn't fried." She took off her shades. Her eyes were a rich brown, and Ben was startled by their intensity. "I am not in a mood for cucumbers and detest fried snails, thank you very much." The corner of her mouth went up just a bit, or maybe Ben just imagined it.Quohog grunted and reached below the bar for something. "I got some chicken pot pies in the freezer, or lasagne if that's what turns your crank." He placed an old dusty bottle of Bud in front of her.The woman stopped and thought a. “So Peter, what do you think of the Jordan River?”Getting the hint from David’s voice he laughed, “I guess Pete Seeger never visited the Jordan River,” he said referring to the lyrics of his version of the old African American spiritual song, made popular by the Highwaymen in the early sixties.‘The river is deep and the river is wide, hallelujah,Meet my mother on the other side, hallelujah.’The river was neither; being less than twenty yards wide and approximately four to five feet deep as best as Peter could tell.They got back into the car and continued their journey south into the Judean Desert. Outside the landscape gradually changed from the lush green trees and plants of the Jordan Valley to the treeless, sparse, brown vegetation of the desert. For miles they traveled. On one side of the road, stood bare desolate mountains; on the other was a flat, treeless plain mostly covered with dried out grasses, the only sporadic greenery where the Jordan River was accessible; and in the.
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