We examined Ben Shadouf’s irritation. He would have to hire a male servant to do the food buying for the household. He would have to sequester Afaya and his daughters to the upstairs of the house, for the servant, being unrelated to them, could not run the risk of coming into contact with them or seeing them. If his wife was not in the courtyard, where the kitchen was, she could not cook his meals! All these endless complications in order to keep his wife, a human being like himself, imprisoned from the sight and hearing of any other man! Even his consciousness of his own frustration annoyed him.
When the wife of Ben Shadouf began coughing again, he looked up in anger. It was a strange anger, directed as much at himself as at her. Her cough had become more dangerous over the previous days. Vess and I believed she was dying. She held memories of the time before the war when she had gone to a clinic staffed by women doctors, but women were not allowed to work any longer. Their place was at home where their purity could be protected by their menfolk.
We sought throughout the city and found the clinic, which had set up anew in a private home. It was staffed only by women who did not go out, who received shipments of medicines from outside the country and who had husbands or brothers to shop for them. Vess put the knowledge of this place into Ben Shadouf’s head. We saw him thinking the women doctors were probably Americans, or influenced by Americans who were always trying to seduce followers of the Prophet to their evil ways. He worried whether he could risk defilement by going to the clinic with her, and he feared the satanic notions they would put into her head. Perhaps it would be better, he thought, to let her die and then find a new wife, one with a brother who could share the duty of protecting her.
And yet, he loved her. We saw tears in his eyes.
Vess and I tried to make sense of this as we watched him picking at the vegetables: lentils and onions and herbs, which had a flavorful aroma. His wife was dying, his children would be motherless, and he could not engage in any constructive action.
Abruptly he pushed the food aside and got up. Calling loudly, he said, “I am going into the town for my meal. This food is fit only for women.”
As he left, he heard her coughing again.
Intrigued by this episode, we sought similar confusions where religion warred with good sense. We found them in many parts of the world: in Afghanistan, Moslem against Moslem. In India, Moslem against Hindu against Christian. In Israel, Moslem against Moslem against Israelis who are against other Israelis. This particular observation saddened us, for all the pain that was in it, and it excited us, too, for it showed us there are ways in which we know we can help your world. While you are putting together your household, Benita, we are taking our first action, not in your country, where we had planned to do so, but in Afghanistan and Israel and India and so on. Your Moses, in your holy book, brought down plagues upon his adversaries. So Vess and I will bring down plagues upon that part of your world.
15
jerusalem
THURSDAY
The first public notice of what was later called the Old City Absence came at 4:15 A.M. on Thursday, when a caravan of determined Hasidic Jews from New York approached the Old City of Jerusalem where they planned to enter via the Dung Gate on their way to securing an early and favorable position at the Wall. The valley through which they had been driving was filled with mist, making the world seem dreamlike and insubstantial, an effect which did nothing to make the sleepy driver more alert. It was only when the road before him seemed to vanish altogether that he screeched to a stop, the car swerving so that it blocked the road. The three other cars in the convoy also pulled to a halt, and the rabbi in charge of the group got out of the second one and walked toward driver number one, now out of his car and following his flashlight’s yellow circle along the roadway to the point at which it disappeared infinitely downward.
“What is it?” cried the rabbi, himself still half asleep. “What’s wrong?”
The driver’s eyes stayed glued in place, though he took a backward step as he heard the rabbi’s footsteps approaching.
“What is it?” he asked again.
“It’s gone,” mumbled the driver. “Everything’s gone. The walls of the Old City. I can’t see them. There should be some lights. Everything’s gone.”
The rabbi stared along the flashlight beam. Before his feet the earth stopped at a clean, knife edge, and a great chasm opened beyond it. The chasm had no farther side that they could see, nor any bottom. The rabbi dropped to his hands and knees and crept forward until his chin was over the abyss. He lay flat and stretched one arm downward, feeling along the side.
“Glass,” he muttered. “Like it was melted. By a bomb, maybe. Smooth like glass.” He pulled himself away from the edge and rose, eyes wild. “Nothing,” he cried in an awed and grief-stricken voice. “Nothing there. Everything stops but the pit! It’s smooth, it goes down.”
“How far?”
“I should know how far? Farther than your light shines!”
They went back to their vehicles. The first three cars stayed where they were while the last car in line reversed and went back the way it had come. No one among them had a cell phone, but a half mile back, they’d passed a public phone from which the frantic driver called an emergency number. His announcement was met with weary amusement.
“Sir, you’re a tourist, right? So you’ve probably taken the wrong road…”
“Yes, I’m a tourist,” he cried. “But the men driving the cars live here, and the man leading our caravan lives in Jerusalem! He was born here. He’s lived here all his life. Will you, for God’s sake, send someone to see what happened?”
There were murmuring and the sound of voices raised in the background.
“Where are you calling from?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “Half a mile back from where the road disappeared.”
“Where were you going, sir?”
“The Wall. We were going to the Dung Gate and then to the Wall.”
“Stay where you are, sir.”
He rejoined his passengers, and they sat in terrified discomfort, waiting. A car went by with a flashing light. Another stopped. The driver got out.
“You the one who called? Right. Follow me.”
They did follow, only half a mile to the place where the first car flashed its light at the edge of the abyss, its uniformed driver and passenger standing next to the rabbi, who was rocking back and forth in rapidly muttered prayer while they stared downward into nothing.
Eventually, after lengthy radio conversations with his headquarters, the officer asked the rabbi where his group was staying and suggested they return there.
“There’s no alternate road we can take to the Wall? These people have come a long way,” the rabbi objected, eyes unfocused.
“It wouldn’t matter if there were an alternate road,” said the officer. “There’s no Wall. The Old City’s gone. All of it.”
“But…but my son, his family…they live there!”
Lived there, silently amended the officer, taking the old man by the arm.
For the police and the army, which was immediately called out, the rest of the night, what little there was of it, was spent putting up traffic barriers. Skid marks extending across the edge indicated the barriers came too late for some travelers.
16
afghanistan
THURSDAY
Ben Shadouf was awakened by the call to prayer. He had overslept, not that he needed to answer to anyone for his sleeping time, merely that he had slept badly early in the night. Yesterday he had taken his concerns about Afaya to his friend, his commander, Mustapha ibn Daud, and Mustapha had told him not to take Afaya to the clinic. She would live, said Mustapha, or she would die, and in either case, that was the will of Allah.
“I feel I am killing her,” Ben Shadouf had cried. “She went to the clinic before. They helped her.”
“Only to confuse you, my friend. That is their purpose, these unbelievers. They will use anything
to weaken your faith. They will use your sorrow for a wife. Your pity for a child. You must harden yourself like iron that is quenched and beaten in the fires of adversity. If our wives or children die, they die, but while they live they are pure. If we die, we die, but while we live, we are faithful!”
Ben Shadouf came home angry. He was glad Afaya was not where he would encounter her. He did not want to see her face.
He listened, but did not hear her. No cough. No footsteps. He heard the children, on the roof, playing a singing game. It would be safe to rise, to leave the house and find a meal in the town. Perhaps it would be as well not to come home for a while. He could ask his neighbor to have his wife check on Afaya from time to time. If she died or was unable to get out of bed, the children could be taken somewhere else. Luckily, they were still tiny. Nowhere near an age when they would need to be watched to be sure they did not let anyone see them.
He got out of bed, washed his face and hands, and dressed himself. He visited the latrine behind the house, outside the courtyard. He did not hear a sound. Then, an upper window over the courtyard opened, its hinge screeching, and a woman leaned out. He thought it was a woman only because she did not wear a man’s headdress, though she, or it, could as well be a man. A very old, very ugly man, with a huge, curving nose and a great box of a chin dotted with brown, hairy moles.
The person leaned farther, pouring water on a plant that sat on the ledge beneath the window, and as the person leaned out, Ben Shadouf saw that he, it, was wearing Afaya’s garments. But it was not Afaya. Its head was bald and wrinkled. It was hideous. He stared upward unbelieving!
The creature saw him and smiled, opened its horrid mouth and spoke in Afaya’s voice!
“Welcome, husband. I feel somewhat better today. Perhaps you can take me to the market, to buy supplies. Perhaps you can…”
He heard no more. His own scream of rage and terror covered anything else this horrid being had to say in Afaya’s voice. Every word in Afaya’s voice!
His rage and disgust carried him in a fury to the stairs. The being was still in the room where he had seen it, her, him, the afrit, the genie, the demon who had taken his wife.
“Where is Afaya?” he cried.
“I am here,” she said, in Afaya’s voice, turning to give him a welcoming and hideous smile. She came toward him, her arms wide, and he lifted his staff to split the ugly bald skull, but the blow never landed. Instead, he felt the blow he aimed at her strike himself, riving his head so the blood ran across his eyes and he fell senseless at her feet.
17
benita
THURSDAY
Despite her anger, partly at Carlos, mostly at herself, Benita had fallen asleep almost immediately. She did not waken until about eight on Thursday morning, when the phone rang.
The voice was Chiddy’s. “Are you all right, Benita?”
She nodded, then realized Chiddy couldn’t see the nod. “Yes,” she said.
“You were unhappy last night. You don’t sound happy now.”
She didn’t mean to talk about Carlos, but the words spilled out. “My son, Carlos. He’s a very manipulative person. I hoped when he went away to school, he’d grow out of it. But he’s still doing it. I wish he’d just…grow up and let me alone.”
“This wish is not improper. Does your husband share this characteristic of manipulating?”
She thought about it. “Well, yes. Until I caught onto it.” Which had only taken—what? A lifetime?
Chiddy sighed. “It is one of the tragedies of your biology, Benita. Your men and women are often insufficiently selective in the mating practices. We have noted you people do not consider that your children will have the worst traits of either parent, often to a great degree. In our opinion, women in your world who are under the age of thirty and who wish to mate should require the approval of a board of qualified geneticists and behaviorists. Alas, that is unlikely to happen. Is that all you were upset about?”
His tone made her choke. It was so sympathetic and yet so very superior and above it all. “Well, General McVane didn’t keep his word to us about not telling anyone. But the First Lady was very kind, and I don’t think the media found out who I am.”
“Speaking from what we have seen of your people, they will find out, sooner or later. Your congressman has allowed himself to be persuaded by McVane and others. They already know who you are. They do not know where you are, however, which we will try to keep private for the time being.”
“Why do reporters have to dig into people’s privacy?” she fumed.
“Communication is much like sex.”
This set her back. “I don’t understand…”
A chuckle. “Being celibate is often wise and prudent. People know this, but the inborn drive to reproduce makes their organs wag. Keeping silent is often wise and prudent. People know this, also, but the drive to question and tell makes their tongues wag. Sex spreads genetic material, good and bad; prying spreads information, true and false; natural selection takes over and both ethical failings contribute to continuing evolution.”
She laughed. “I wish there were ways to do it that were less troublesome. Did you know that the Secretary of State is going to fix up my new apartment for me? She says to save time, but I imagine it’s to keep an eye on me.”
“Interesting,” said Chiddy.
“So, maybe I’ll see you after I move in?”
“You will, yes. Have you any questions?”
“I have some, yes. One is…I didn’t realize you were depending on me to go on working with you, and I’ve told Simon I will work for him. I owe him my full-time effort, you know. If he’s paying me, it wouldn’t be ethical not to give him a fair day’s work.”
“What you do for us will be very simple, Benita. It will take very little time.”
“And…the money you gave me. I really didn’t need all that. I should give the rest of it back.”
“That is our standard payment for the kind of service you will be rendering. It doesn’t obligate you to do anything for us that your conscience finds abhorrent.”
“In that case, well, thank you.”
“No thanks needed. Do you have another question?”
“I don’t really understand just what the requirements are that we humans have to meet in order to be members of your Confederation. Since I’m the intermediary, I ought to understand them, shouldn’t I?”
“Yes, you should. The preliminary requirement is Neighborliness, as we have said. Learning to get along together without blowing up people or shooting children from cars or oppressing people because of perceived dissimilarities to oneself. Once that has been achieved, there are only a few formalities. First, we require a volunteer liaison person from your planet, someone who must be intimately connected to the process of mutuality. We call this person the Link. We will also need a profile person to travel among our various worlds while the members of the Confederation establish biological parameters for your race. This person, we call the Pattern.”
“Is that it?”
“Become neighborly, give us a Link and a Pattern, then a short probationary period, and that’s it. Does that answer your question.”
She wasn’t satisfied, but she didn’t know what would be more satisfying. “Yes, I think so. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Benita. We will be in touch.”
18
jerusalem
THURSDAY
In Israel, first light had brought helicopter flights over the city of Jerusalem. The mile-deep hole followed the serrated polygon of the old city walls. Vanished were the Temple Mount, the Dome of the Rock, El Aqsa Mosque, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Via Dolorosa. Gone were the Citadel and the Antonia Fortress, the Zion Gate, the Jaffa Gate. Gone was the entire Old City: Arab Quarter, Jewish Quarter, Armenians, Greek Orthodox, odds and ends of varietal Christians and all.
When the sun got high enough to reflect off the inside lip of the chasm, large gold letters appeared just below the weste
rn edge in Hebrew, Latin, Greek, and Arabic. Further examination found other languages, ancient and modern, extending along the north and eastern sides. At midmorning, former residents of the Old City were seen approaching the city from various directions, on foot, most in their bed clothes. No one was hurt, though many were thirsty and hungry, and all said they’d left others out in the desert or along the roads or in the smaller towns or villages in which they themselves had wakened. The International Red Cross/Red Crescent arrived a few hours later, though the Israeli army had already set up a tent city for the displaced, divided by hastily erected barriers into areas for various religious or ethnic groups who might otherwise be expected to fall upon one another in a frenzy of mutual accusation.
The news was carried by CNN before full light, and was reprised every quarter hour thereafter as the country turned toward the sun, allowing more of the chasm’s southern and then eastern faces to be illuminated. As each new language appeared, an appropriate scholar was summoned to the CNN newsroom to pontificate upon the meaning of the words, though in each case the meaning was the same, whether in Latin, Coptic, Armenian, Aramaic, or various forms of ancient or modern Hebrew or Greek: “Jerusalem was to be a city of holy peace. Without peace, it is not to be.”
When telescopes were brought and focused far down on the walls, the message was seen to have been augmented with another phrase, also in multiple languages. “Next time, the hole will be bigger.”
19
washington
THURSDAY
In the U.S., in the office of the president, that gentleman was closeted with a number of his close advisors, all of them trying to figure out what to say or, indeed, whether it was appropriate to say anything except “Wow,” or something sanctimonious starting with the words, “Today God has seen fit to remind us…”
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