Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy (2 page)

I stopped and turned. A young girl about my age ran
up to me. I didn’t recognize her, but she seemed to know who I
was.

“Hi,” the young girl said, catching her breath.

I searched my memory. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so. I’m Lilly Ruston, a friend of
Maurice.”

How did she know Maurice? A brilliant mathematician,
he always helped me with calculus.

She dropped her eyes, as if now embarrassed by our
impromptu meeting.

“Were you
looking for me?”

She groped for
words. “Yes. Daniel, we’ve been praying for you, about the loss of
your father and now General Goren.”

“Thank you.”

An awkward silence followed. I didn’t know what to
say to the stranger.

She edged towards me. “I have something to give you.
I hope you will take it. I mean, if you don’t want to, I’ll
understand, but God told me to give this to you.”

I looked down
at the book in her hand and read the title.
Jewish New Testament
, translation by David H. Stern. Should I refuse it?
I’d never read a book like that.

“Thank you,” I
offered. “I might look at it.” I lied.

“It’s written for Jews,” she said.

“We aren’t practicing Jews, except for the holidays,
like Hanukkah and Yom Kippur.”

“I wanted you
to know we’re praying for you. God told me to give you this book,”
she said again. Her voice trailed off, as if she had lost the
courage to say more.

I checked my watch.

“Are you
returning home? I mean, have you been discharged?” she
asked.

So she knew I had been at the Treatment Center.
“Yes, I’m going home.” I looked around. “Where do you live?”

“In the Armenian Quarter. My father is a professor
at the Institute of Holy Land Studies.”

“Oh.” I remembered seeing students outside the
building on several occasions, but I didn’t know much about the
college.

“He teaches Arabic.”

“Can you speak it?” I asked.

She laughed.
“No. I speak English and a little Hebrew.”

“You speak
Hebrew well,” I corrected her.

A brisk wind blew her long brown hair over her
shoulders.

Under different
circumstances, I’d have been interested in her, but I wanted to get
home. “Well, thanks for the…” I searched for the correct name of
the book.

“New Testament.”

I held it awkwardly. “What was your name again?”

“Lilly Ruston. Don’t tell anyone I gave it to
you.”

“I won’t. Thanks for your prayers.”

“Maurice said you were a good friend.”

I nodded and started towards the Jewish Quarter.

“Stay safe,”
she hollered as I walked away.

As I
approached our apartment, I remembered my father. If only things
had been different. He was a passionate businessman and treated the
Arabs with respect. In fact, they were his best customers. His
family had done business with them in Syria for years.

He knew the risks. He trusted them too much, we used
to tell him, especially when Syria disintegrated into splinter
factions.

Why would
someone want to kidnap him—the conclusion the authorities came to
when all the leads came up empty. Even though the police never
found his body, we assumed he was dead. Two years later, the wound
festered, unable to heal.

Our history
was full of such sad stories—everyone had their own version. Jews
had more versions than everyone else—the historians were right. We
were different.

I opened the gate to the side alley.

I had never
known a time when war was not a possibility. Soldiers carrying guns
on the streets were commonplace. Even women had to serve—our
survival as a nation depended on everyone being a Zionist. Despite
the past, though, I didn’t want to live anywhere else.

Recently
military planes had increased practice runs in the wilderness of
Judea. There they could perform military maneuvers without
disturbing the civilian population.

When I was
younger and camped with friends in the remote area, I would look up
and see the birds fly over and wait for the sonic boom. That’s how
I learned sound traveled more slowly than light.

As I climbed
the stone steps to our apartment, lingering doubts returned.
Perhaps I should have stayed at the halfway house. I’d brought some
sanity to the poor souls, if not even a little humor. Just as birds
perceive the arrival of winter before the first frost, the collapse
of peace talks and military maneuvers pointed to war.

I glanced at
the
Jewish New
Testament
. Too bad a dumpster
wasn’t nearby so I could throw it away. I set the book by the front
door.

When I poked
my head inside, my mother was cooking over the stove. I slipped by
her to say “hi” to Martha. My sister was reading a book curled up
on the sofa. When she saw me, she jumped to her feet.
“Daniel!”

I wrapped my
arms around her. “So, Mother’s turn to cook, huh?”

Martha laughed. “I get to do the dishes.”

Mother ran into the living room. “Daniel, when did
you get here?”

“Just now.”

A confused look spread across her face. “Did they
discharge you?”

“Sort of.”

Tears weld up
in her eyes. “Oh, Daniel, I missed you.” She rushed over and hugged
me.

I forced myself not to get emotional. We often
didn’t see things the same way, but I loved her as any good Jewish
son would.

The aroma from the kitchen awakened my hearty
appetite. “Am I in time for supper?”

Mother smiled.
She had pulled up her hair in a bun and wore a long, cotton, flared
skirt and modest green blouse. “Sit and chat with your sister. Only
a few more minutes.”

Martha
motioned for me to join her on the sofa, but I chose the chair
instead. I sat and leaned back, rubbing my hands along the leather
arms. I closed my eyes briefly, thankful to be home. When I opened
them, Martha was smiling.

My sister wore
tight blue jeans and a white cotton blouse—no doubt an expensive
name brand, though I wouldn’t know the difference if it were a
cheap counterfeit. I tried to see what she was reading, but
couldn’t—probably a hot romantic book by an American
author.

The view of Mount Zion through our dining room glass
doors looked the same as always. Everything was as I’d left it a
few weeks earlier. The old photograph still hung on the wall behind
the leather sofa, taken at Yad Vashem when Martha and I were young.
Mother’s grandparents had been victims of the Holocaust and she had
insisted we visit the museum.

My guitar sat in the corner. I was the only one who
was musical in the family.

We chatted about school and business, avoiding the
political situation. Martha whispered, “I bet you left on your own,
didn’t you?”

I put my
finger to my lips. I couldn’t fool her, but I’d rather not confess
to my mother until I had to.

“How is the business?” I hoped to change the subject
to something less edgy.

Martha caught on. “It’s okay. Well—sort of, except
for Moshe doesn’t—”

“What’s the problem?”

Martha shook her head.

Ever since our
father’s disappearance, we had depended on Moshe to restock our
fabrics and textiles from Syria. Few were willing to make the
perilous journey, but we paid him well.

“Food is
ready,” Mother said. “Let’s eat.”

The dining
room table brimmed with hot food—my favorites, turkey and gravy,
steamed white rice, avocado salad, and my favorite pastry, Boureka.
Martha said the blessing, one of the few religious traditions we
kept.

Mother watched
me intently. “I’m glad you’re back, though no one told me you were
being discharged.”

I knew the topic would come up. I was still a
minor.

I set down my fork and wiped my mouth with a napkin.
“I need to tell you,” I began.

Mother’s eyes got wide. “What’s the matter?”

“I got a day pass, but I’m not going back.”

“How did you
get a day pass without a chaperon?”

“I stole it.”

“What do you mean, you stole it?”

“I was depressed, but that place is for lunatics.
Perhaps a visit to the rabbi would have been sufficient, just
someone to talk to.”

“Daniel, I don’t know a rabbi well enough to send
you to one. That part of my life is over.”

Mother could
forsake her religion but she couldn’t take the Jewishness out of
her blood. Bitterness now filled that hole.

Not embracing our heritage had cost us. If we
weren’t God’s people, who were we?

“You know they will be looking for you.”

“If you want me to go insane, send me back.”

My caring nature was a doubled-edge sword. Everyone
knew I wanted to be a doctor, but after being so depressed
following General Goren’s death, she questioned my ability to
become one.

I turned to Martha, as if asking her for support.
She listened attentively.

“Mother, just let them know Daniel came home,”
Martha suggested.

I moved the
salad around on my plate. “I feel something is about to happen. And
I want to be here when it does.”

Mother shook
her head. “Don’t say things like that, Daniel. Why do you scare me?
One minute I want to believe you are okay, the next minute you
worry me with your preoccupation with the future, about what might
happen.”

I lashed back.
“Just because I feel things more than others doesn’t mean I’m
crazy.” My words were ignored. I’d always had a better relationship
with my father. My mother, Kitty—as much as I loved her—frustrated
me with her inability to see other people’s viewpoints.

She was silent
as she dug into her food. Taking a few bites without speaking
dissipated the tension. Finally she said, “Maybe it’s best. We have
some business news we need to discuss.”

“Like what?”

“I’m sure you realize now how difficult it would be
to get into medical school.”

Was that a
question or a statement? I glanced at Martha. “What do you mean?”
Was this what she started to tell me?

“Moshe can no
longer make the trip to Syria. He believes it’s too dangerous and
isn’t willing. He fears the aggression will spill over into Israel
any moment—that the recent events are far more serious and likely
to lead to war. We need someone to take his place and take over the
family business.”

Take over the family business? “I can’t do that—I’m
not old enough, and I still have three years to serve in the
IDF.”

“I know,” she said reluctantly. “I’m thinking down
the road. We can find someone on a short-term basis, if we pay him
enough.”

She wanted me to sacrifice my dreams for her
security.

“You want me to take over the family business
instead of becoming a doctor?”

Mother looked
away to avoid eye contact. “How could you ever be a doctor? I mean,
your reputation—”

“What reputation?”

“You’re too unstable, Daniel. And anyone who has a
mental breakdown is not going to be admitted into any medical
schools in Israel.”

Anger rose
within me. “That’s a pretty judgmental thing to say.”

Mother stabbed
her knife into the turkey. “You don’t know what suffering is. Not
until you’ve—”

I glared back.
“Not until what?”

Mother didn’t
need to tell me. The flames of Auschwitz were in her eyes. Her
grandparents were murdered and her mother was left an
orphan.

Her only
picture of them she kept by her bedside. Probably her most
cherished possession, though Martha and I were a close second. Not
that she loved us less—but we were her children. She had never
known her grandparents.

Martha interrupted. “We don’t have to discuss this
tonight. Daniel just got back. Let’s wait until tomorrow and talk
about it. You can call the Treatment Center and let them know he’s
home.”

Mother nodded. She wiped her face as if to wipe away
the heated conversation.

What sorrow did she carry? Perhaps I was more like
her than I admitted.

“Would anyone like some tea?” Martha offered.

“I would love some,” I said.

The French doors were open and a gentle breeze
lifted the aroma from my mint tea. A deep red painted the sky as
the sun arced below Mount Zion. Memories stirred from happier
times.

Mother collected the dishes from the table and
carried them to the sink. “Since you’re back, you should check the
mail.”

“Anything important?”

“You got your letter from the IDF.”

My rite of passage.

*~*~*~*

Sleep eluded
me. After an hour of tossing and turning, I remembered the book
Lilly gave me. Why had I agreed to keep it? I slipped out of bed
and tiptoed to the front door. When I opened it, cold air gushed
into the hallway. I grabbed the book and returned to my room.
Flipping through the pages, I stopped to read a couple of
lines.

“It was during those days that Yochanan the Immerser
arrived in the desert of Y’hudah and began proclaiming the message,
‘Turn from your sins to God, for the Kingdom of God is near.’” If
Lilly asked me if I’d read any of it, I could say yes and wouldn’t
be lying.