Serializing a new novel.
Chapter 7 — Dean in Jerusalem (July 2000) —
Part 1
Escaping from criminals who seem to want to harm him, and
seem to be behind the mysterious disappearance of his parents
on a trip to South America, Dean has swiftly and suddenly
joined a group of yeshiva boys going to the airport and from
there caught a flight for Israel. He looks like a yeshiva
boy, but he is fresh from Harvard Business School.
*
The voice that woke Dean seemed to come from far away. Slowly
he became aware of his surroundings. His body felt cramped
and stiff. For a moment he wondered where he was. Then the
events of the previous day flooded into him and he heard the
voice saying, "Good morning, ladies, and gentlemen. The time
in Israel is seven o'clock. We will be landing in two hours.
The weather is hot and pleasant. Please put your chairs in an
upright position as we are about to serve breakfast."
Dean looked at his watch, and then he looked at the rising
sun. Overnight seven hours had disappeared. It was not the
middle of the night. It was morning, a new day, with a whole
host of imponderable problems ahead of him.
The passport had allowed him out of New York. Would it allow
him into Israel? Had the lost passport been reported? Would
someone link the passport to his disappearance? Would Federal
agents, or the Israeli police, or worse, men with guns hidden
beneath dark suits, be waiting for him?
Dean decided that he must act normally. He wiped his hands
and face with the hot moist towels passed around. He ate the
food in the tray. He filled in the forms that were passed
around before arrival. As he was looking for the passport
number he saw for the first time an envelope fixed in between
the pages. Dean pulled it out and saw that inside were four
crisp one hundred dollar notes. The address on the envelope
was Mir Yeshiva, Jerusalem. Now he knew where his first stop
must be, if he succeeded in getting through passport control.
The idea that he had a destination brought some degree of
calm.
The plane taxied down and as it hit the ground everyone began
clapping. In spite of his growing tension Dean grinned as
this happened. All the traveling he had done, so many
different places, this was the first time that landing was
greeted with such euphoria. Unhampered by anything other than
his small overnight case Dean strode ahead of the passengers
and was soon through passport control.
One international airport was much like another, Dean
realized, as he asked the taxi if he would take dollars and
was rewarded with a nod of the head and a grin. Soon he was
in a taxi on his way to Jerusalem.
At last Dean began to relax. If no one knew where he was,
then he had a chance. True, he had very little money and no
passport of his own, but he was alive and fit and well. Maybe
he could find some sort of work, somewhere to live, and
somewhere to keep going while he tried to decide what to
do.
Dean knew that he must first find out what had happened to
his parents. He felt that New York was less than safe for him
at the moment. It was all like a bad dream, yet surely there
was a solution. He clung to the hope that his parents would
re-appear, though the way their employee had spoken had
filled him with dread and fear for their safety.
He was an American citizen. He had rights. He would make use
of them. He tried to think positive and determined thoughts
as the taxi entered a narrow rocky defile and climbed up to
the city of Jerusalem.
The taxi was now entering the outskirts of the city; soon he
was meandering in a crazy patchwork of narrow streets. He
stopped in front of a old white building. "Mir Yeshiva. Fifty
dollars." Said the cab driver.
Dean walked up some steps into a dim hallway. He saw a door
with a sign on it and knocked. When a voice called out to
him, he entered.
He saw an old desk piled high with books and documents.
Behind it sat a man with a long white beard, all dressed in
black. Dean wanted to get this part over as quickly as
possible.
He pulled out the passport from his pocket and he placed it
on the desk. "I found this passport in the airport in New
York City. It has money and an envelope inside. Please could
you return it to the owner as soon as possible."
The deed was done. He turned to leave.
"Just a moment, just a moment. Why did you bring this here
instead of handing it in? Ah, I see, you made use of it to
come into the country. Young man, I went through many
dangerous times when I was younger. Did you know that fear
has a particular smell? You are afraid. Why? What have you
done that you must use a stranger's passport?"
The voice was calm and quiet. Dean heard it and wondered what
to say. He wanted to go. He wanted to book into a good hotel
and have a long hot bath and stretch out on a comfortable
bed. He wanted to be alone, to think about how to proceed.
Instead he remained. He sat down and heard himself pour out
all the events of the past twenty-four hours. When he had
finished there were some moments of silence.
Someone knocked at the door and peeped in. "Come back
tonight," said the old man. Still Dean sat silent.
Eventually the man said. "So now what are you going to
do?"
Dean knew that for the first time since he had heard those
voices in the Manhattan apartment he felt safe. Who would
think to look for him in such a place?
"Could I stay here?" he said. He opened his case and took out
of it the remainder of the money, the credit cards, and the
thick brown envelope that had been alongside the money. As he
placed it on the desk it tore open. Shares from his father's
firm tumbled out and his grandfather's old prayer book and a
folded document. Whatever the cost of staying here was,
surely the dollars and the share certificates would cover
it.
The Rabbi showed no interest in the dollars, but he looked
first at the prayer book and then at the certificate. "Your
parent's kesuba" he said.
"This is a place of learning," said the rabbi. "Where did you
learn?"
He looked hard at Dean and his non-existent sideburns.
"I'm in my third year at the Harvard business school," Dean
answered.
"No, I'm asking about Torah learning, Jewish learning," the
Rabbi said.
Now Dean was silent. He tried to remember the prayer he had
said before being called up to read the law on his bar
mitzvah day, but it had been long ago, and the words eluded
him.
"The boys who are here have been learning since they were
three years old. How would it be if you were here? What do
you know? Nothing! You would stand out like an onion in a
petunia patch, as they say where you come from. No, we must
find another solution."
