The realm of the shadow, p.27
THE REALM OF THE SHADOW, page 27
Chapter 32
Abraham, a small eight-year-old boy with short black hair, rubbed an itch away from his small freckled nose; every day he enjoyed waiting for the mail to arrive, a responsibility his great grandfather gave him.
His great grandfather, Isaac, who was fondly known to him as Pops, was very grateful for the extra help. The stairs were becoming a barrier to the street outside.
Abraham sat on the bottom of Pops’ long staircase. This was a place he was always to be found at this time of day; 9am was always mailman time. Abraham waited for the tinny rattle that would signal a delivery, which occasionally offered some treat from his distant relations, although the gifts were becoming rare. He had luckily received sugared almonds and some Turkish Delight from Great Aunt Sara.
Abraham’s parents had died in a tragic car crash when on holiday in Israel. Abraham had been staying with Pops for over a year. None of his other relations seemed to care. This long stay had helped bolster his relationship with Pops, an eighty-six year old retired rabbi and part time translator of ancient text.
Abraham saw the blue shirt of the mailman walking towards the door. A hand reached up towards the stained glass window. Abraham jumped. Knock, knock, knock. The window vibrated. This was unusual. Abraham jumped up off his hard wooden stair and shouted up the flight of steps.
“Pops, it’s the mailman at the door.”
An old Jewish voice replied, “Ask him his name, before opening the door.”
Pops knew almost every one in the Jewish community in Manhattan.
Abraham, with the confidence of youth piped out, “What’s your name, mailman?”
A strong New York accent replied, “My name’s not Mailman, it’s Zack.”
The little boy shouted back up the stairs, confused, “It’s not mailman, it’s Zack, Pops.”
Laughter echoed down, followed by, “Open the door and take the delivery, Abraham. Mind to lock it again before you come up.”
Abraham placed his hand on the key, that appeared so big in his small grasp, and turned it, clunk. He placed both hands on the large round doorknob and twisted it with all his might. The door opened to the smiling mailman standing on the step.
“This is for Isaac, make sure he gets it.”
He placed the parcel in Abraham’s small, open hands and rubbed the young boy’s head.
Abraham looked at the package and guessed it was a book straight away. This was far more exciting than he had hoped.
He shut the door, shouting in a hurried voice, “Thanks.”
Zack, whose back was turned, was already halfway down the small path that leads to the main street. The mailman lifted his hand in acknowledgment, but the door had already shut with a clunk. Abraham’s excitement had already propelled him halfway up the stairs. He reached the top in no time at all, hopping from one step to the other, and entered the long dining room with the polished wooden oak floor, with a long run up. Abraham skidded by the dining room table and past all the gilt framed photographs of the Middle East, a favourite topic for Pops to show him and explain in great detail young Abraham’s origins.
He had heard all the stories many times but loved to hear Pops’ old, musical voice that had an undercurrent of German. Pops had the special gift to bring the pictures alive.
Abraham skidded straight into the white curtain that hung down from the large oval window at the end of the room. Dirty hand prints on the fabric were a history of many skidding games, for this was Abraham’s most favourite pastime when Pops was working in his study, the closest to the dining room.
Isaac did not mind this game, although it cost him a dry cleaning bill all too frequently. He would always worry if his young laughter could not be heard. It normally signalled that Abraham was in an inquisitive mood and up to no good.
Abraham remembered to walk into the small study through the open door, on account that the floorboards were loose and any vigorous movement would unsettle the large book cases that filled the room giving the appearance of darkness. Somehow the unique smell of incense, tobacco and old leather bound books that lined up, one by one in every direction, helped to overcome the dark, making it a welcoming place for a young child. Anyway it was where Pops spent most of his day and that made it quite special.
Isaac looked over his reading glasses, averting his eyes from his study of yesterday’s New York Times that lay flat on his desk.
The desk faced the open door. “What have you got there, young Abraham?”
Abraham walked over to the cluttered desk and placed the package on top of the newspaper and said eagerly, “It’s a book, Pops, I’m sure of it.”
Isaac smiled at Abraham’s curiosity. “Well let’s see.”
The old man focused his attentions on the delivery and looked back at the young child. “I suppose you may think it’s yours, umm?”
Abraham’s smile lit up his face, no words needed to be said to understand the answer.
“It seems a strange way to wrap a book.”
Isaac’s old fingers tugged at the knotted shoe laces that held the parcel together. As he unwrapped the delivery he revealed a second covering. It had writing on the paper in Sumerian. Isaac looked back over his glasses.
“I’m afraid It’s not for you, my young Abraham, go and run off and play.”
Abraham was not disappointed, he was not that kind of boy. He ran off to play his sliding game. Isaac realised his mistake as the young boy left him sitting in his study to the noise of shaking bookshelves.
“Sheesh,” he smiled, as the bookcases settled down, and shook his head, “I’m getting a little too old for this.”
Isaac stroked his long white beard with his wrinkled and thin hand as he looked down to examine the inscription. Isaac knew it was from John straight away. As a young student, he had always written to his old rabbi and mentor in Sumerian, as a test of his budding knowledge of the text.
Isaac was an unknown reader of Sumerian. It was sometimes frowned upon for a rabbi to have such a well grounded understanding of another language, from a culture that did not believe in his god. It was thought a waste of his time, so he largely kept his talent to himself. This did not stop him from teaching Walter and eventually John, who showed a gift, and more importantly an interest, in ancient text and in particular Sumerian.
Isaac carried on stroking his beard in contemplation. John had not been in contact in over twenty years, ever since he argued that he did not believe in God, with his once mentor. Needless to say, Isaac took great offense to John’s point of view and they stopped all contact. So the last person he expected to hear from was John, made even more certain by the reports of his death only three weeks ago in a plane crash, en route to Ireland.
Isaac picked up the discarded parcel paper from his desk, lent forward with a creak of his chair towards the table lamp and closely examined the postmark; it had come from Northern Ireland and was dated the 4th April 2004. He was more than aware of the date and location of the plane crash, the 2nd of April, and that it had blown up over the Atlantic, with not a soul being recovered.
These so called facts were etched on Isaac’s mind. He had been a close friend of the Hoffmann’s, their rabbi and mentor, for over fifty-five years. It had deeply saddened him to read of the death of John.
A chill went up Isaac’s spine. Something was amiss. He opened his stiff drawer, the only one that worked in a desk that had become too small since the arrival of his computer, a second-hand gift from his son over two years ago. Isaac could not bring himself to part with anything, that was why his study was so cluttered. He even had an empty wardrobe in the very far corner of his study, a favourite hiding place for Abraham when he was playing at being a spy and watching the infamous evil agent, Pops. So Isaac was never going to get rid of his small and untidy desk.
Isaac had just started to come to terms with the new technology that looked completely out of place in a room that smelt of history. He tolerated its intrusion into his surroundings, because he had been suffering from arthritis in his hands for some time. In truth, not that he was going to tell anyone, Isaac was proud of his achievements in learning how to use this new technology. He could even email.
Isaac smiled as he thought to himself, “So, John, what have you been up to now, hmm, in trouble no doubt.”
His attention fell back on to the Sumerian text. Isaac started to stroke his beard again. “Hmm… that’s as good as using a secret code.”
The smiled broadened as he noticed a mistake in the manner John had formed a word. Isaac was still very sharp in mind, although his body was starting to fail him. He was trying to hang onto his now tired life, until Abraham’s coming of age.
Isaac sat back in his chair and placed a disc into the computer from his open drawer. His frail hands typed on the screen the meaning of the Sumerian text;
“Isaac, my old mentor, please keep this book unopened for three months from the post date. If I don’t collect it by then, do with it as you feel fit. Wisdom has always been your trait.”
Isaac placed the package into the drawer and, with some effort, closed it with a thud. He looked up, realising the noise of the sliding game had stopped and was reassured as he could just see a little eye peeking at him around the open door.
Isaac said through his laughter, “I’m being spied on again, I can see. How do you expect the evil Pops to take over the world, little Abraham? Especially when you keep on catching me.”
Isaac pushed his chair back on its wheels. “Come here, my little friend.”
Abraham ran towards him, with the bookshelves rocking to and fro, into the arms of his Pops. They both looked up at the shelves swaying and laughed. Isaac hugged the young boy even more closely. He then gently pulled out of the grip and looked into his great-grandson’s eyes.
“What do we do for a friend in need, Abraham?”
That was an easy one for the bright child, who gave the answer with a broad smile.
“We help them, Pops.” Isaac pulled the child back into his body with a great big hug and muttered just loud enough for their ears.
“Yes, my little spy, we help them.”
Chapter 33
John’s eye’s flickered in his sleep and then rolled back into their sockets. He was having another one of his visions. This one was not frightening, but very calming. His father and mother were standing side by side with a white light behind them. Their lips did not move yet their voices were as clear as a bell that rang out a message of reassurance.
“Our son, you will do the right thing. Don’t worry, everything will be as it once was. You will come through this, but not in the way you might think. Time is always short, but that’s what makes life so special.”
John had a tear running down the side of his face, following its natural course onto the white starched hotel pillow.
Louise lent over and tenderly wiped it away. John opened his eyes slowly, letting the morning light of the room filter into his eyes.
“Sorry, John, I did not mean to wake you. I was watching you sleep. I have never seen you looking so at peace with yourself. You were smiling and crying at the same time.”
It was one of those perfect moments. She stroked a tender finger around his chin. He turned his head to look into her deep, beautiful brown eyes. Over the last couple of days he had found so much joy within them, whilst waiting to make his next move.
John had been given the best gift in his life, the deep love of a woman, and he had been able to return that gift. He smiled at her.
“Thank you for helping me to find myself, you are my reason for life.”
She smiled and placed her finger over his lips and whispered, “Be still.”
Her naked body rolled on top of his bare flesh, under a single white sheet that spread across the double bed that stood proud in the middle of the room.
She took her finger off his lips and replaced it with a kiss so tender it made John’s body tingle with pending excitement. She opened her legs slowly and placed them either side of his. Louise positioned her groin just above his and slid slowly down his body. John entered inside her velvet wetness without a single movement.
Louise took her lips away from his mouth and sighed with the pleasure of the contact she had just felt. Her body moved with a slow rhythm that played the most beautiful of music in his mind.
She lifted her hands away from stroking along John’s exited body and swept her long, dark silky hair away from her face. She placed her hands on the bed and lifted her back into an arch, revealing her firm and perfectly formed breasts, rocking slowly with the motion of her body, her nipples flawless and erect.
John started to move his hand towards them. She moved her head in response, down to his left ear and whispered, “No touching. I’m making love to you.”
Louise nibbled his earlobe, forcing him to thrust upwards with pain and delight. She groaned in his ear, pausing for a moment to allow the pleasure out, and then said in a teasing and playful voice, “Don’t move John, I do all the work.”
Louise licked around his ear very slowly, as her body moved more quickly on top of his. She started to trace her tongue down his neck and onto his left nipple. Her tongue licked it until it became erect and firm. She gripped it with her teeth as he pushed deep in to her groin. John’s head bounced into the pillow in response to the delight.
Louise sighed, as her body carried on its perfect rhythmic motion on top of John. Louise lifted her head back up, as her whole body could feel him inside her.
John looked at her perfect shape. Louise’s flesh seemed to come alive with a golden glow. Her flesh glistened with a sheen of moisture that allowed her flesh to slide effortlessly across his own. Louise’s was now in full motion, her groans matching his with her every movement.
John looked at Louise as a flush of redness flowed across her striking face, her lips pouted and full, her body tensed rigid, gripping him inside her. John’s excitement flowed into her body as Louise let out a final and loud groan to meet him and collapsed on top of him, her body in spasms her breathing quick.
John heard himself whisper into her right ear, “I love you.”
Louise could not speak. She gently squeezed her legs closer to his.
Minutes passed without a single word being said. Words did not need to be spoken. The feeling was of non-movement, a desire to savour the moment.
Louise rolled off John, pushed the white sheet back, and lifted her muscular brown body out of the bed. Her line and shape seemed perfect as she walked towards the bathroom, looking back at John with a smile.
Louise disappeared behind the closing door.
John sat up and looked at the light flooding in through the white curtain that lifted up and danced in the breeze coming through the open window to the sound of the running shower.
John knew this was the day that would frame and shape the direction of his life. Nothing could stop its bearing. The plan had been played out over and over again in the confines of his mind over the last couple of days. He thought to himself, as he snapped out of his daydream, “I must have been staring at the window for some time.”
Louise walked into the room, her hair still wet, wearing a white Japanese dress with dragons running up the sleeves in a blaze of red. Time had gone so quickly over the last few days, spent cementing their relationship and making plans for the future.
Louise slowly moved to the window with purpose. John knew what she had on her mind; her body stood perfectly still, showered in the light as she looked out over the expanse of buildings that is New York City.
“John, I have left the shower running for you.”
He got out of the bed, his body still hurting from his now healing wounds, and walked to the bathroom. Before he could get to the door, he was stopped in his tracks.
“John, don’t go today.”
They both had their backs to each other. The couple had spoken frequently about this day and had not come to agreement on what was the best plan. The only detail she knew was that John was going to collect the book on his own.
John replied, talking to the bathroom door, “Louise, you know I have no choice.”
She did not turn around either. It was far easier to conduct this conversation in this way; they were both hurting over the situation.
Louise said, with a plea in her voice, “Please, let me come with you”
John wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but their lives together would not truly start until this day was over. She could not possibly come, it was far too dangerous.
“You know my answer, I will not change my mind.”
Louise tried to change her approach in desperation. “At least tell me where you are going.”
John, still looking at the door, only had one response. “No…” Louise used her final emotional plea. “If you loved me you would.”
John swallowed and spoke through a breaking voice. “It is because I love you that I do not tell you where I’m going.”
With that, he walked into the bathroom and the door closed.
A tear ran down Louise’s face. “Oh, John.”
When John came back into the room, wearing blue jeans, a grey jumper and brown shoes, Louise was still looking out of the window.
John moved towards the bedside table, not saying a word. Resting on the top of his wallet was his father’s watch. “Louise, where did you get that from?”
She still did not turn around, not wanting to show her crying face. “I took it from Andrew, for you. I wanted to give it back on the birth of our son. You know, given time, we would have had a baby boy.”
This all seemed so final. John’s tears rolled down his cheeks and he said, “We will have time Louise, we will have all the time in the world.”
Louise did not turn around and her answer was on pause, designed to gain strength: “John, go now, I don’t like long goodbyes, and leave without another word. We will save our emotions for your return.”
John had no answer to that. What could he say? The door to the hotel room closed, leaving Louise standing at the window.
