The Kabbalist (10 page)

E
itan raised his head.
“An interesting letter and a truly fascinating story,” he said. “So what is your
question?” The two were sitting in Eitan’s office. Luria had asked his partner
to read Pascal de Charney’s translated letter and comment on its content.

“When I first read the
letter, something just did not feel right,” explained Luria. “Since then, I
have gone over it several times, and I think I now understand what is wrong
with it. I wanted to hear your opinion.”

“I am not sure I know
what you mean,” said Eitan. “I don’t know whether this letter is authentic or
not, but nothing in it gave me a reason to believe it is not.”

“I never said it was
not authentic.”

“So what
are
you
saying?”

“Don’t you feel that
something about this letter is just wrong… that some parts are at odds with
others?”

”No, but
you
obviously do. What is it?”

“I believe this letter
has been censored.”

Eitan looked puzzled.
“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that parts of
the letter have been omitted.”

“And what makes you say
that?”

“Well, take, for
example, this part,” Luria pointed at one of the last paragraphs in the letter.
“De Charney writes about the Jewish community of Tiberias.
‘We found a
big Jewish community, and they gave us a warm welcome. However, by now my work
is done, and I will not need them.’  
What do you make of this?”

Eitan took the document
in his hand and looked at it again. “Interesting,” he responded after a while, “there
is
something odd here. ‘
…
my work is done
’… he
is referring to something which has not been mentioned in the preceding parts
of the letter. What work? There is no mention of this before.”

“My point precisely! In
the beginning of the letter, Pascal refers to a conversation he had with his
father a year earlier, presumably just before he left France on his way to the
Middle East. His father must have given him an assignment.”

“An assignment which,
apparently, had something to do with the help of the Jewish community,”
suggested Eitan.

“Exactly; and he
explains that since the mission has already been accomplished, he is not going
to require the help of the Jewish community of Tiberias…”

“Because he had already
accomplished his mission with the help of the Jewish community of
Safed
…”
Eitan completed the sentence. “Is this what you are implying?”

“Bingo,” smiled Luria.

“Very nice,” said
Eitan, “but perhaps he just meant to say that in Tiberias they did not require any
help from the local population because of the different strategic
circumstances, as the Turks had already run away and presented no immediate threat?”

Luria shrugged. “I
don’t think so. But I was just beginning. Now, take a look here.” He pointed at
another paragraph in the letter. “He describes what happened when the Turks
attacked Safed. The Frenchmen retreated to the fort, the civilians panicked,
and de Charney writes:
‘…However,
I was true to my word and
made sure that my Rivka’s family, along with some other local inhabitants,
retreated with us to the fort.’

“So?”

“Why did he host Rivka’s family?”

“Because he had
promised to protect her.”

“It certainly looks
like it,” agreed Luria, “but this is the first time he refers to such promise.
He seems to assume that the reader already knows about it, perhaps because he has
mentioned it earlier in the letter. He might have paid her with protection for
something she had done for him.”

Eitan was not so sure.
“This is a bit far-fetched. Here is a much simpler explanation. The man was in
love. He wanted to score a few points with his new girlfriend, so he promised
to protect her and made good on his promise. That’s all.”

“I doubt it,” said
Luria, “but now note the beginning of the letter:
‘I will now tell you in
brief of some of these events, and I will also dwell upon the specific subject
that is close to your heart
.’ This clinches it. It is obvious that de
Charney is referring to something his father had asked him to do. He hints that
he is going to discuss it later, but when you read through the letter, he
doesn’t! There is nothing there! For me this is the final proof that this
letter has been tampered with.”

Eitan thought about it
for a while. “Well, if there had been an attempt to hide information, why were
the parts that made you suspicious not dropped in the first place?”

“Ah,” Luria smiled. “You
are looking for the perfect crime, but this is very rare. This is probably the
result of haste or lack of attention to detail. Anyway, don’t forget that you,
too, never noticed this on first reading.”

Eitan shrugged and
remained silent.

“I deduce from this
letter that Pascal de Charney had been tasked by his father to perform
something and that he indeed accomplished it.”

“I guess this makes
sense,” Eitan finally concurred.

“And it is also quite
obvious that Jeanne knows what this is all about, and that she does not want
me
to know. I don’t buy the story about her interest in the romantic aspects of
this affair. It might be partly that, but this is definitely not the whole
story.”

“Well,” said Eitan, “knowing
you, I trust you will soon get the true story out of her.”

“I just needed to
discuss this with somebody. Thanks for your help, Eitan.”

Eitan laughed. “I would
have felt better, if I could say that I had contributed something to the
discussion.”

“But you did help,” insisted
Luria. “You were a great sounding board. Now, what’s new on your side?”

“You mean Porat?”

“Yes.”

“I am still working on it,"
said Eitan. “His land lines at home as well as those in his office were easily
fixed. The mobile was a different challenge, but I got it done. I already have a
lead, but I need some time. Give me a few more days.”

*    *    *

Luria stopped in front of
the entrance to the Dan Panorama hotel in Central Carmel. Jeanne recognized him
and waved, looking stunning in her casual evening dress. He stepped out of the car
to open the door for her. She hugged him affectionately and kissed him on both
cheeks, the smell of her perfume making him dizzy. Then, she climbed into the
car and in a minute they were on their way.

“How are you?” asked Luria, feeling terribly corny. “How was
your weekend?”

“Oh, it was
fascinating.” Jeanne was enthusiastic. “The tour you recommended was fantastic.
We spent two days in Jerusalem and on Saturday, we drove down to the Dead Sea,
visited Qumran and went up Masada. It was truly overwhelming. I have no other
words to describe it.”

“Have you managed to
get any rest at all?”

“I slept like a log until
late afternoon,” she smiled. “When I woke up, I went for a short walk along the
promenade just behind the hotel. The air smelled great, the view of the bay was
spectacular, and I am now feeling as fresh as a sea breeze.”

“Yes,” agreed Luria.
“The view from the promenade is really special. You can see Downtown Haifa, the
German Colony Boulevard and Haifa’s celebrated Baha’i Temple with its gardens
and golden dome. Were you also able to see Acre across the bay?”

“No,” Jeanne was
surprised. “I did not think about it. I was just enjoying the view. Please show
me when we return.”

“I’ll show you right
now.” Luria put his foot down on the accelerator. A few minutes later he
stopped the car. “Let us take a look,” he said. “This is a nice observation
point.”

The two got out of the
car and took a short walk. Jeanne looked around her; they were standing on top
of a cliff. Almost two hundred meters below, she could see the dark sea
surrounding them on three sides. To the east, she saw the lights of Haifa and
its satellite townships across the bay. To the northeast, on the far end of the
bay, there were more lights. “This is magnificent.” She was impressed. “Where
are we?”

“This is
Stella
Maris
. This is the point where the Carmel mountain ridge is the closest to
the sea.”

“Stella Maris?”

Luria pointed to the
other side of the road. “‘
Stella Maris’
is Latin for ‘Star of the Sea’. It
is the name of the church and monastery over there.”

Luria now pointed
towards the horizon. “There you can also see the other side of the Haifa bay,
and beyond it, in the distance, you can see the Acre peninsula.”

“Where?”

“Over there, where the
lights seem to invade the sea.”

“Yes, I see it.” Jeanne
was excited. “So this is where Pascal de Charney fought and died… I will have
to go there.”

“And you will,” Luria
assured her. “Now we must see that you are properly fed.”

“Sure. I am quite
hungry now,” smiled Jeanne. “Where are you taking me?”

“To Acre,” said Luria.
“Where else?”

*    *    *

“This is such a beautiful place
and the food is excellent,” said Jeanne. “Thanks for bringing me here.” They
were sitting at a restaurant in Acre’s old Pisan port, overlooking the sea.

“The pleasure is
entirely mine,” said Luria. “This restaurant is one of my favorites.”

Jeanne smiled at him.
“Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? It looks like we are going to
spend some time together in the near future, so we might as well get to know
each other. You told me at our first meeting that you were born in Safed.”

“Yes,” said Luria. “I
grew up there and loved the place, but after joining the army, I left and never
really returned. I still have relatives there.”

“Close family?”

“Well, both my parents
have passed away, and I have a brother in the US, whom I hardly see. I have relatives
who are ultra-orthodox Jews, with whom I have no connection, with the exception
of one cousin, whom I still meet sometimes.”

Jeanne sensed that
Luria’s close family was not going to be a hot topic for conversation, and took
one step back. “You said your family had roots in Safed.”

“Right; the Lurias have
been part of the history of Safed for centuries. My cousin, the one I have just
mentioned, has been researching our family roots. He thinks we are related to
Rabbi Yitzhak Luria, who lived in Safed around 1570.”

Jeanne laughed. “I
believe you are trying to compete with my family tree. Who was this Rabbi
Yitzhak Luria? What do you know about him?”

“He was, and still is,
one of the most famous Kabbalists in history. He is better known as the ‘Holy
Ari’, and the main current of Kabbalah still carries his name.”

“Kabbalah? I think I
have heard about it.”

“It is an ancient
tradition of Jewish mystical thought. Don’t ask me for details, as I really
know nothing about it. As a rule, I try to keep away from any type of
mysticism.”

“Really?” Jeanne put
down her cutlery and looked into his eyes. “Why is that?”

Luria thought a moment.
“Well, I guess I am more prone to rational thinking. Mysticism challenges the
mere use of logic and does not lend itself to rational examination.”

“Are you saying that you
cannot contain anything which exceeds the boundaries of logic?”

Luria did not miss the
disdain in her voice. He produced an awkward laugh. “You make it sound like a
serious flaw, but yes, I think you basically got it right.”

“But you must be aware
of the crucial role mysticism can play in our lives!”

“Absolutely,” agreed
Luria, “I see it all the time. It is definitely an important factor in human
behavior. I like books and movies with mystical themes, yet it does not mean I
really buy the stuff, much less let it affect my daily life.”

“The perfect analytic
investigator.” Jeanne sounded cynical.

“Do you believe
otherwise?”

She looked at him
defiantly “I am a devout Catholic.”

“I see,” said Luria. “I
myself am not a believer. Considering the fact that my family tree is rich in
famous Rabbis and Kabbalists, and that most of my closest living relatives are
ultra-orthodox, I guess you can say this is quite ironic. I am not much
attached to the old trunk…”

Jeanne was looking for
pain in Luria’s voice, but found only acceptance. Nevertheless, she felt a bit
sad for him and hastened to change the subject. “I understand that you have
served in the police before starting your own business.”

“Yes,” answered Luria
tersely and Jeanne sensed from the edge in his voice that this, too, was not
one of his favorite topics for conversation.

“What about your
personal life?” she asked, changing direction again, navigating to a subject
she was especially curious about. “Do you have your own family? Wife?
Children?”

“No. I am not married.”

“A girlfriend?”

“Not at the moment,”
Luria sounded tired. “The last relationship I had, ended a couple of years ago…
Well, I meant to say the last
meaningful
relationship.”

“What was her name?”

“
Ella.
”

“What was she like?”

“Well…” she could see
this was very hard for him. “Actually, she was very much like you. She was a
student of history, too.”

Jeanne heard it in his
voice. It could not be mistaken; the woman inside her was very attentive to
such nuances. “And you still love her… what happened?”

Luria shot an angry
look at her, and she immediately got hold of herself, understanding she had
invaded his privacy, and astonished at her uncharacteristic lack of tact. She was
rather frustrated. It felt like walking through a mine field. Every thread of
conversation she was trying to bring up and maintain was hitting a dead end...