Fare Forward (3 page)

I walk over to look at a large painting on the wall. It is all grays and blacks, different than the others in the room but interesting. Modern.

"You like my paintings?"

I turn around to face him. I want to be the one asking the questions. "Of course, everything here is incredible, beautiful. So this is your home?"

"When I'm in Jerusalem. I travel . . . a great deal." His voice drops down. "Please." He lifts his hand and waves to the space as he invites my inspection.

I walk around the room and look at everything: photographs, ceramics, and the many shelves filled with books, every subject, many languages. I realize that he has been watching me.

"Tell me, the archaeology, you seem somewhat disappointed with the lack of findings on the dig. Are you not?" he asks.

"No. I didn't really know what to expect. I mean, I was hoping to find something. A connection to—" He waits for me to finish, but again, I seem to be uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "I don't know, we haven't found many answers."

"Well, I have something for you. A gift." He reaches into a drawer in his desk then raises his hand out to me. I watch as his fingers slowly uncurl and reveal a small disk. "Come."

I take a step toward him and reach out to touch the inside of his palm and take what he offers. My eyes scan the surface of the small object. I see the lines that create seven spaces, the faint ancient letters and shapes. The rough, uneven surface polished in places from touch and time.

"What is it?"

"Look closer." I hear the smile in his voice.

"A Roman coin?"

I turn the uneven charm over and examine the strange symbols. But as I hear the words come out of my mouth, I realize that I know the answer. What I hold is an amulet. A secret charm believed to contain energy, even mystical power, part of the legend of Kabbalah. None had been found on the archaeological dig, and I catch my breath as I look at every detail.

My hand carefully cups the coin, protecting the energy I can feel coming from its surface. I know that I am taking my place in a long line of others who have held the amulet in this very way. Yet, more than that, I see it being passed on to those who will come after me, searching for answers to similar questions.

The sounds of the party filter back into the room, reminding me of the strange day and events. I look up at him and see that he is smiling at me.

"Thank you so much, Mr.—" I want to say his name but I realize that we have not been introduced.

"Benjamin Landsman. Very pleased to meet you, Sophie."

"Well, yes, Mr. Landsman. I really do need to get back. Thank you again—for this."

I want to hurry. I know that my parents will be wondering where I have been and I need a few moments alone to think about what has just happened. I want to try to put all the pieces together—who he is, his beautiful home, and what the discussion I overheard could possibly mean. As I reach the doorway of the room, I stop and turn around to make sure I have not imagined it all and I see him looking at me. I raise my hand in the beginning of a farewell, unable to speak. He says what I hoped to hear.

"We will see each other again."

His words are filled with promise.

My parents seem older. Changed by time or perhaps by the shifting lens of my own eye. These last few months as I searched in the caves of Judea, I found time to think about myself and my family. I had even seen very clear images of my future, the premonitions that were always accompanied by the familiar sensations. The silence and energy of the desert lit places within me that had been dark and undiscovered.

My own archaeology.

I seem to love my parents more and understand them better. What they have given me, what I have inherited, and, more, what is to come. As I approach them, I see that they are talking to a young man about my age. My father's hand rests on his shoulder, and my mother's head inclines toward his, taking in his words. I have come from behind and don't want to catch them off guard. My hand reaches into the bent shape of my mother's elbow as the familiar softness of her form welcomes my fingers. My other hand covers the treasure in my pocket. "Mother, I'm so sorry. I—"

She turns slowly to greet me. "Where have you been? Come here; I want to introduce you to someone."

I recognize the moment with shock. I have seen it before; in a dream, a premonition. I know what is about to occur, what it means and, more importantly, I know who he is.

"I want to introduce you to Sydney Vogel. He was traveling on our ship, with Professor Einstein."

As his eyes lock onto mine, I am sure. I can feel it in my heart.

I know this is the face I will look into for the rest of my life.

“I
SAID NO, SYDNEY—NO!"

I open my eyes as quickly as I can because it is happening, again— the voices, the arguments, the strange meetings that happen at the house, the ones late at night that I pretend to be unaware of. I strain to hear fragments of what they are saying.

"Once again, they are reorganizing and have new leadership."

"The world will soon find out that their deaths were not an accident, that it was murder, who they really are. I'm telling you, it cannot be revealed!"

"You're
wrong.
We've worked our whole lives for this moment, we can't keep the findings a secret any longer."

"No. The information must be kept hidden. We have sworn an oath to protect the secret, as so many before us have. It has been decided."

I hear a crash, something being thrown against the wall in a room several floors below mine, and I sit up in bed. I have that familiar feeling, not only from what they are saying but the clear images about the past and future, connected to the people downstairs.

An intersection of time and worlds.

I try to come back to where I am, into the present and the dark room. I see my books, toys, and the shells we have collected together on the beach, each one a shape and color that touches something in me. They are all here, and so am I, safe in my room at the beach. Tucked into bed, I hear my friends Emily and Lily breathing, their soft sounds of sleep confirming that I was awake. I cross my hands over my eyes as I press them down hard into my forehead and try to push away the pain, the feeling that always comes before—what I see. When I know what is going to happen. I need to separate, close myself off. I don't want to let the images in.

I had decided that things were going to be
different
now.

"You are ready to understand," my grandmother, Sophie, had said, "what we share. It's our special gift, our connection to the future—and past. Come here, Gabriella." I had felt her soft lips on the top of my head. "Always remember that you're different." Her arms circled around me as we rocked back and forth. "Very few people have this ability. It means you are very, very special; I promise you." She smiled. "You'll see."

That was why it happened; this was her promise. But I didn't want it. I didn't want to be special, or different.

The waves crash on the beach below my window, and I climb out of bed. I want to see the movement that makes the sound, connect back to something reliable—the rhythm of the sea. I can still feel the icy cold water we play in during the summer days, the way it stings my ankles and makes my skin tingle. I look over at my friends, Emily and Lily, as they sleep peacefully. They were tired from another summer day together running up and down the beach, looking for crabs, building sandcastles, and throwing our small bodies against the tide. Trusting, knowing that the waves will always carry us back into shore. I treasured my summers with them, away from my other world, the life my parents had chosen to lead in the ancient mystical city so far away.

"Look at this!" Emily had screamed in joy earlier that day as I spread large splashes of color on the blank canvas in my grandmother's painting studio. "Look what Gabriella is making!"

Lily's red hair caught the light as she danced to the music, turning up the volume when no one was looking. We inhaled the scent of the sweet sticks that burned all around us, casting flickering shadows around the room.

"We're creating magic." Our hands would clench together in the small circle our bodies made. "We'll be best friends, forever—always together." I remember how I looked into their eyes, wanting it to be true.

"Gabriella, maybe this time you can stay here? Go to school with us instead of so far away?"

I wanted to; I wondered how I could make time stretch on without an end. I loved them both so much, but there was something about Lily. She was different. I knew that she could really see me. I wanted to test the limits of what I might reveal to her. She would often come and find me seated against the wall, my eyes focused on a pattern of clouds in the sky or the paper on which I was drawing shapes and lines.

Separate.

"It's okay, Gabriella," she would say and put her arms around me, "you can tell me what you see." She knew something. She was connected to the deep dark place inside of me. I wanted to tell her, but I couldn't.

"Maybe next time, Lily," I had said.

This night, there is an urgency to the voices with my grandfather that I haven't heard before. A tone of fear in their words. I feel like I can't breathe and want to go out onto the roof. I pad over to the small door in the slanted walls of the attic bedroom and push it open. I feel the cold wind as it pulls me out into the night. I bend down and crawl carefully, gripping the safe spots my grandmother had shown me. I reach the little ledge where we would sit for hours together and I see her staring out at the sea. I try to be quiet, I don't want to make any sudden movements that might frighten her.

"Is that you, Gabriella?" she asks rhetorically. My grandmother turns and smiles at me. She reaches her arm out to make the perfect small space I fit into.

"I thought you were downstairs, with
them,"
I say.

"No, silly, let them argue amongst themselves."

I know she is trying to reassure me. She was the only one who understood. I lean into her safety and pull my nightgown tighter around my legs, not letting the cold late August air in. This is our secret space on the roof of the house, built for those who wait for the ships to return from sea.

As they look out into time.

"It's starting to happen when I'm awake. I thought they were dreams but they're not. They're something else, something very real."

"I know." She wraps her arms over mine as she exhales slowly, preparing herself for whatever I will say. "Tell me, Gabriella. Tell me what you saw this time."

I
TELL HER OF this night's dreams, some I have seen many times before and some that are new. I describe the sensation of the icy grip of the ocean pulling me down into its inescapable depths, the feeling of my feet walking on a flat-topped mountain under a star-filled night, and the skyline I see of a beautiful city with thousands of lights in its towers before it disappears into darkness. I tell her how I can clearly hear the sound of chanting voices twisted by the rounded walls of a dark cave in a far away place. Even the remarkable green eyes of a stranger and how he looked at me, but mostly what it felt like to be near him.

"Wait—" My grandmother stops me. We are interrupted as I realize that the voices from the meeting have emerged from the house and into the night. I hear car doors slamming and the familiar sound of tires on the crushed-shell stone of our driveway.

"Benjamin, stop! When will you be back?" My grandfather's voice sounds uncharacteristically desperate as he says the strangely familiar name, "Benjamin!"

I feel every muscle in my body tense and turn to look at my grandmother, afraid to ask the question.

"What's going on? Who is that?"

She looks at me then smiles, recognizing something in my words but doesn't answer my question.

"I see so much of myself in you." She squeezes her arms tighter around my small frame.

I wanted to see it too. What she could see in me.

"Who are these people? Is Papa in danger?"

"Shhh, so many questions. I promise you; he will be fine. Please don't worry, Gabriella—not about this." She looks away.

"Emily and Lily, they . . . they ask me questions. They want to know what happens to me. But I can't tell them that I see things sometimes. What I described to you tonight and so much more. It's as if I know what's going to happen next, even before it happens."

"You might be able to tell them one day, to trust that they love you and will understand."

I wanted to talk about it, to try to understand what it was and what it meant. "I know I'm different. We are, right?"

"Gabriella, there are things that we are each given. This is not something you choose. It's simply a part of who you are. It makes up all the beautiful pieces of you." She turns my face toward her, and behind the encouragement I can see the sadness in her eyes. "I know this is difficult and frightening, but I promise you—it can be wonderful, too. You are connected to so much that has come before and, also, to what will be. As you get older, you will learn how to use this power. It will provide many of the answers you are looking for. Until then, I am here to help you."

"Sometimes I don't know what's real and what's not."

"You will know; you'll see. You have already learned so much— how to choose and what to believe."

I push myself back into her, closer. I know she is telling me things that are important, as if they are in anticipation of what is to come.

"I'm not sure I understand."

"You need to live your life, Gabriella. Just
live."

"Those people who were here tonight. Are they trying to warn Papa? Is it his work?"

"Remember, things are not always what they seem." She points to a star in the night sky. "There will always be light in the darkness, if you know where to look."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes what seems to be an ending is really a beginning. Promise me that you will remember that. Promise me? And also what I said about finding the love that was made for you."