Living Stones (32 page)

Robert sat over his breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast, deep in thought. He wished his parents had not come to Seattle. They were trying to run his life again. He’d made his own decisions now and would have to live with the consequences. He didn’t need them and would continue not responding to anyone, certainly not to his parents. That would make them return to Long Island.

Robert lay down to nap. It would pass some time. The guards did allow him a few minutes for exercise right at ten, outside in the courtyard. He remained alone except for a dog that seemed friendly and apparently belonged there. On returning with a guard, he found Officer McKenzie and a man in a dark suit waiting outside his cell.

“Robert, this is Mr. Charles Rand, an attorney here in Seattle. He’s here to help you and needs to get acquainted.”

Mr. Rand reached out to shake hands, but Robert refused and looked away into his cell. Officer McKenzie opened the cell door and motioned for both men to enter. Then he stood in the hall outside the cell. Robert shuffled in first and sat on the edge of the bed, face impassive. Mr. Rand stood, briefcase in hand, and peered at Robert. For several moments he didn’t speak, but looked around the cell. Finally he asked Robert if he understood why he, Robert, landed in federal detention here and what to expect next. Robert remained silent and studied the floor tiles.

Rand tried several times to engage Robert in conversation about himself personally, even about sports. He tried fishing and then travel in the U.S. Did Robert know how much experienced lawyers could help to minimize the time convicted felons must serve? Or how sometimes they could get people off the hook completely?

Robert refused to talk, becoming increasingly agitated. He knew his dad had hired this guy, and he wasn’t about to knuckle under and accept help. Finally Mr. Rand shrugged. “Here’s my card. Call me if you decide you want my help.” He left it on the small table.

After lunch Officer McKenzie came with an envelope addressed to Robert. He handed it through the cell bars. “We’ve checked it for hacksaw blades. There’s only one there.” He chuckled at his stale joke. Robert didn’t, but took the letter. He wondered who could be writing him. It looked like a woman’s handwriting. There was no return address but it was postmarked in Seattle at six the previous night. Maybe Jenny. She must have read about his arrest. She must be shocked.

Robert tore open the envelope, sat back down on the bed, and began to read. The handwriting looked feminine and graceful.

Dear Robert
,

Now that I know your name, we can meet officially. We have seen each other several times now, first at the synagogue, I think, then at church, and finally in the supermarket on Broadway in Seattle. On each occasion one or both of us have been afraid. We’ve run from each other. I can’t live with fear or hate in my heart for another person. I realize the dangers and implications of writing you, and that this letter may not remain private. Yet I feel I must write. So I choose my
words carefully
.

I did recover completely from my injury when the bomb went off. I know the bomber didn’t intend to harm me, personally. I just stood in the wrong place at the very moment of the explosion
.

Then in Israel and the West Bank, on four occasions, a man tried to abduct and kill me. It frightened me. But all attempts failed. Clearly someone here feared I’d report him as the bomber
.

Robert, I feel heartache for you. You must be very lonely in detention, awaiting the grand jury and the unknown. And very frightened. I’m trying to put myself in your place now, what it would feel like. You probably don’t trust anyone now and may be abandoned by your friends. How about your family? I’m just guessing how you might feel
.

Robert turned to page two of the letter. Why did she care how he felt? She couldn’t know, but she guessed right. The paper smelled something like mint and reminded him of his family’s garden on Long Island. He hadn’t received a real letter like this since Boy Scout camp at Alpine. Memories flooded back. Life seemed so simple then. But his interest climbed quickly. He read on.

A jury will ultimately determine your guilt or innocence. That’s not up to me. But I will write from my own conviction. Whatever you have done to me, if you did, I forgive you. I don’t know why you might have done what you are charged with. It doesn’t matter that I don’t understand. Nor does it matter that you have not asked me to forgive you. If I harbor bitterness or revenge in my heart, if I live in unforgiveness, I am the one who suffers for it. It will eat away at my soul, the real me inside. It will eventually consume me
.

I remember reading of a very special man of Galilee, who stood where I visited recently. His friend came to him and asked how many times he should forgive his brother who wronged him. Seven times? No, he said, seventy-seven times. Then later, when he hung dying on a cross, innocent of any crime, in the cruelest of slow executions, he asked his Father in heaven to forgive those who put him there. They didn’t know what they were doing
.

None of us always understand what we are doing. I know only that I must forgive you, totally and completely, not just by saying it,
but from the heart. So with God as my witness, Robert, I forgive you. That also means I am to forget the past and start over with a clean slate when it comes to you. There is no barrier of fear anymore. You are a person I would like to meet, just to be your friend. This is sincere. I am not a plant of the police or FBI, nor do I wish to talk about what happened. I want to talk person-to-person before any lawyers prevent our meeting
.

You probably need friends right now. I would like to visit you on Thursday. Would you agree that we could just talk and begin to be friends?

Sincerely
,

Ashley Wells

Robert forgot momentarily where he was. He stared blankly at the wall, remembering a beautiful blonde taking a direct hit from the crumbling synagogue. She fell, bleeding on the sidewalk. He imagined his hit man following her in Israel, four times, terrifying her and failing. And now she forgave him, wiped the slate clean, and wanted to become a friend.

Robert never even dreamed of this kind of forgiveness and reconciliation between former enemies. It just didn’t happen in real life. No one would do that. She obviously was up to something.

Robert shook his head slowly and rocked back on his bed, holding one knee up. But now his jihadist friends were gone. No Ali. He wouldn’t bother trying to pray toward Mecca. It wouldn’t do any good. Imam Jabril had fled with no thought of Robert. He didn’t seem to care. The five pillars of Islam made no sense anymore. Nothing did.

He felt totally alone. He wouldn’t respond to his parents or anyone. Even if they wanted to help him. He would show them his hate by his silence. They’d understand eventually. He’d make his point.

Robert swore under his breath. He lay back on the bed and tried to sleep. He couldn’t even escape his thoughts anymore by getting high on pot. He missed it.

Officer McKenzie came by and tossed some old magazines into the cell. “Thought you might be getting bored.”

Robert shook his head. They held no interest for him, and he left them on the floor where they landed. Finally dinner came. He started to hate prison food and picked at it. Everything tasted the same, the meat, the carrots, and potatoes.

Finally as the cell lights dimmed at ten o’clock, Robert drifted off to sleep. He woke up at three a.m. after dreaming about Ashley falling to the sidewalk, bleeding. Now he couldn’t get her letter out of his mind. She had written that she had forgiven him and wanted to be his friend. And that she would be coming today.

He bolted upright. What should he do if she really came? She wanted to talk. Did he want to talk with her? He’d be breaking his silence. And she had something to do with his arrest. The authorities probably put her up to this.
She probably has a hidden agenda
.

Robert’s thoughts paused a moment.
But, if she has, then why did the letter seem so . . . so true?
He realized something in him wanted to believe her, then chided himself for being so gullible. The thoughts tumbled over and over in his mind. He finally decided that he would choose whether to talk to her only when she came. He didn’t need to settle it yet. He lay back down and finally slept.

After breakfast Robert heard activity in the hall. It sounded like more than one person. He jumped up from his bed as visitors approached. McKenzie had not said anything about visitors. Suddenly she appeared, long blond hair, smiling, accompanied by a tall young man who looked like he could be anywhere from Afghanistan to Morocco. Robert knew who she was, but had never seen the man. Or had he?

McKenzie brought two chairs and placed them just outside the cell. “Your visitors, Robert. Be nice for a change.” He gestured to the visitors and then the chairs with a half-smile. “I’ll be nearby, just around the corner if you need me. You can stay for twenty minutes.”

Robert looked at Ashley, who smiled at him. “I’m Ashley. We come in peace and as your friends, Robert. This is Najid, from Palestine, now Israel.”

Robert continued gazing at them both, first one and then the other. Shorter than Najid, he suddenly felt like a trapped small animal. Hate rose within him. Why did she bring him? Maybe for protection. He had almost decided to talk with her. This guy must be her boyfriend. Was he the guy at the synagogue?

The silence seemed awkward. He felt like telling them to go away.

Finally Ashley spoke. “Robert, it is good to meet you when we can talk rather than run from each other. Did you get my letter?”

He still felt trapped. He couldn’t say no if he wanted to talk with her. But he didn’t want that guy around. He sighed and looked from one to the other, finally nodding.

“Yeah, I did.” That broke the icy atmosphere.

His visitors seemed pleased and relieved. He focused on Ashley. She looked radiant. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. But he could hardly bring himself to talk with her, let alone this tall stranger who could easily use anything he said against him. He probably would.

“Then you know that I have totally forgiven you for anything you might have done. I hope that we can just talk as beginning friends.”

“Yeah, I understand you want to talk. But it has to be alone.” He nodded at Najid. “You need to go.”

Najid’s eyes widened. “How do you feel about that, Ashley? Are you OK with my leaving?”

“I’ll be fine, Najid. You can go and chat with Officer McKenzie.”

Robert stared at Ashley. How could she say she’d be fine, alone with her bitter enemy? Could he still silence her somehow? But time and events had moved on. Too late. Officer McKenzie appeared. Robert realized he had overheard their conversation, and that he would have to talk softly. The marshal ushered Najid down the hall.

Ashley seemed to understand he didn’t want anything said to be heard by anyone but her. She scooted forward until her knees touched the bars of the cell. She didn’t seem to be afraid of him. Did she really want to be his friend? Or was it some trick to get him to talk. He’d have to be careful what he said.

“OK, what do you want to talk about?”

“First, Robert, I want to assure you that I am not here to report on you. No one but the Detention Center people, Officer McKenzie and you know I’m here with Najid. The supervisor gave me permission to visit even though I’m not family. When the lawyers get involved, it’s unlikely that you and I can meet until after your trial, if it goes that far. So I’ve come just as a new friend, not a victim or an enemy. The letter explained it.”

“But you had something to do with my capture.”

“Yes, I was terrified that someone might try to hurt me here in Seattle, like in Jerusalem. So I contacted the police.”

“I never hired a hit man to find you here in Seattle. And they’ll have to prove I did it in Israel.”

“Robert, I felt threatened. That’s why I went to the police. What happened at the synagogue was wrong and deserves justice. I realize you feel I’m your enemy. But I don’t see it that way.”

“Will you be testifying against me?

“Either side could subpoena my testimony, so perhaps yes, although I don’t want to.”

“They have my computer, so I don’t stand much of a chance.”

“Robert, I didn’t come to talk about your case. And I don’t want you to worry about anything being recorded here. I have no other agenda. You can ask me anything you want. That’s how friendships are built.” She paused. “You must be pretty lonely right now. What about your parents? Are they in town?”

“You’ve guessed right. Yeah, my parents are here from New York. They visited me day before yesterday.”

“Will they help you?”

“I hadn’t seen them in more than a year, not since I left home. And no, they won’t be helping me.”

“So, why did they come all the way from New York if they weren’t here to help?”

“I don’t want their help. I don’t like them or what they stand for. I didn’t even turn around to shake hands.”

“Don’t your parents love you?”

“You’d have to ask them.”

“Don’t you love them?”

“It’s a long story I don’t want to go into. But it’s why I left and came out here.”

“But now, after a year’s absence, you ending up in jail, and their rushing out to Seattle to see you—isn’t that love?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it possible they want to help you?”

“I doubt it. They just want to look like they’re caring.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Robert. I’m just a new friend. But it sounds like your anger is working against you. Whatever you have against your parents from the past, it sounds like they really care for you and want to help. By turning them away, you are hurting yourself. A lot.”

“How am I hurting myself? I’m communicating my hate to them . . . to everyone.” He grew silent and gazed at the floor. Then he glanced up again.

Tears filled his eyes. Then he shook with sobs. He couldn’t stop. He felt like an abandoned little boy in deep trouble with no one to turn to. All the loneliness, the guilt. The pent-up frustration, fear, and accumulated anger of years poured out in a torrent of emotion.