The House of Lost Spirits: A Paranormal Novel

by Einat Shimshoni

  “But he has no chance of finding it. Thousands of years have passed. Robbers could have stolen it twenty more times or sold and distributed it all over the world. Perhaps the Antiquities Authority found it and is exhibiting it at some museum.”

  “Oved searched in the museums,” Milka dryly replies.

  “And, what if they buried the treasure in a secret underground cave? Oved can’t dig for it. He could have passed the burial place of the treasure without knowing it was there.”

  “Oved is a good tracker,” Milka replies. “He knows how to identify signs of a pit on the ground.”

  “Even two thousand years later? No one could know that. Besides which, even if he were to discover such a place, he can’t dig it up, nor can he know that the treasure there is his.”

  “Yes, that is a problem that Oved finds very frustrating,” Milka says, dead seriously.

  The composure with which she treats the whole matte—as if it is entirely logical to roam the world for thousands of years as a lost spirit looking for a stolen treasure, borders on being delusional.

  “And anyway, what will he do with it if he finds it. He can’t make use of it. He can’t even take it away with him.”

  “He doesn’t need the treasure for himself,” Milka replies, “He never needed it. He just has to find it, and he won’t know peace of mind until he does.”

  It was crazy, stupid, and without any basis in reality. Is it possible that I am the only one who notices it? It’s the first time I feel that Milka isn’t telling me the truth, but she also isn’t telling me lies. She is bluffing herself.

  “He will know no peace until he leaves this world. None of us will achieve tranquility here. He does not need to find the treasure. He needs to let it go, and you know that. You simply want him to stay with you,” I say.

  It is the second bombshell that Milka has not foreseen me dropping on her.

  “You want him to remain here to protect you and provide you with a home each time you have to move. And that is why you talk him into continuing the search for his treasure.”

  “I don’t persuade him to do anything,” Milka answers inflexibly and sadly. “Oved makes his own choices.”

  “But you don’t make much effort to show him how pointless and ineffective his choices are,” I strike out at her.

  Milka is silent for a few moments, then says quietly, “We each have a road we have to follow.”

  Contrary to his promise to Milka, Oved is not watching what is going on outside the house. He is lying sprawled on the living room sofa in his usual relaxed position. The sound of unloading the fencing from outside is like the ticking of a stopwatch on a bomb.

  “You know that you have no chance of finding it,” I tell him. He opens one eye.

  “So, Milka was in a talkative mood, ha?” But he isn’t angry. “You have very little faith, Noga. That’s why you’re still here. You have no faith.”

  “It’s not a matter of faith, but of logical probability, which in your case, is zero.”

  Oved is in no rush to get worked up by my remarks. He raises himself slowly to a seated position and folds his arms.

  “I would stay a little to clarify the meaning of ‘logical probability,’ but we don’t appear to have much time left together. Although I find your company very pleasant, we will be parting for good tonight. I have some friendly advice for you. If your journey to the world of truth fails, empty your head of all thoughts when the walls collapse. It will soften the sensation.”

  He is enjoying the thought of leaving me behind, lost, and alone, and he also doesn’t believe I will succeed in transitioning. He speaks of people with little faith… But I had not yet thought that belief has anything to do with it. Oved is protected behind his wall of cynicism, and I have to find a way to crack it.

  “Milka does not want to remain here alone. That’s the only reason she wants you to spend eternity looking for your treasure. She knows as well as I do that you will never find it.”

  Oved’s face shows that a small crack is starting to appear.

  “Milka can’t know anything, nor can you, and if you pause to think for a moment, you will know that Milka does not influence my plans. I have a will of my own.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem,” I say, “that you have a will of your own. Perhaps it’s time to compromise.”

  Oved looks at me intently. He is beginning to realize what I already understand.

  “That’s what is holding you back—your will. Stop wanting what you can never have. Then, you can move on.”

  A huge boom and the clash of metal tools are heard from outside, followed by cries and shouts, but I hardly notice them.

  I know. At last, I understand it. Helen’s desire for revenge had trapped her, and she had to release herself to move ahead. Leah was stuck with her guilt feelings and obligation to Helen, and as soon as Helen went away, she could also free herself. Benny was held back by his shame for the life he lived. If Oved can find release from his will that is driving him to find his treasure, and Milka can free herself of her fears, they could both leave this world and move on. But what is holding me back? I can’t answer that question yet.

  ***

  Oved loved the booty, but not for its monetary value. Property was not merely a means of acquiring other property, but also a way to create power, and that is what Oved sought. The division of booty was as follows: first, Oved shared out the supplies and tools required for his men. Food, weapons, clothes, utensils for preparing food, leather pouches, and livestock. Anyone needing items like these would approach him after the end of every raid, and Oved would decide if and what he would receive. He was not sympathetic to appeals against his decisions. Sometimes, Oved generously rewarded those who had displayed exceptional courage and daring.

  By the same standard, he refused a share in the loot to those who deserved condemnation. Then Oved would take his portion. He would search for the smallest objects, like precious stones, gold coins, and jewelry. Oved would take his share and let the others fight over the rest.

  No one disputed the division of the spoils. Oved knew that robbers surrounded him, and despite the authority of his leadership, he had to hide the booty he had accumulated in a secure place.

  He had four different hiding places. He did not choose them randomly. Each of them stood on a trade route that Oved estimated he would, perhaps, need in the future. He had no maps and depended on his memory more than he relied on external devices. The fact that he never learned to read or write reinforced his suspicion of written records.

  His grandfather had tried to teach him the secrets of writing, but Oved didn’t have the patience to persevere at it, and he also saw no reason to do so.

  Whoever chanced to come upon Oved, got the impression that they were dealing with a simple man without means. His clothing was never striking; he preferred simple and comfortable linen clothes. He never decorated himself with jewels. Ever since robbers snatched his talisman on his first journey on the trade route, he never wore anything around his neck. He also never carried a purse. The little money he did take with him was stashed away in the inner pocket of his leather girdle. He needed no more than that, just enough to keep body and soul together. He robbed for the satisfaction it gave him rather than out of a need to accumulate wealth.

  Among his fellow robbers, there were family men. From time to time, they would leave the robber band, loaded with the possessions they had accumulated, and return after several days or weeks. Some would return happier and lighter-hearted than when they had left, while others returned in a cloud of anger, disappointment and bitterness. Oved never questioned them about their families and personal lives. He had never felt the need for a wife and family. Of course, he did not abstain from satisfying his passions with women, whether by physical force, in return for payment, or by other means of persuasion. But he never sought to tie his fate to one o
f them. His men joked that he probably has dozens of children in random places. Possibly, this was so. He never bothered to find out.

  His enormous wealth was stashed away in his caves without reason. Oved never wanted to acquire anything for himself. Houses, land, livestock, slaves—in his opinion, were just unnecessary burdens. He recognized the pointlessness of amassing his riches, but could not stop himself.

  Oved found the fourth hiding place when he first met the boy. It was a small cave behind a small waterhole, and it was too low for Oved to stand upright in. It was on the third day of his journey, and the boy was already with him. When the boy asked what he was doing, Oved made it clear that if he wanted to belong to the gang of Oved, son of Ravchiel, he would have to learn to follow orders without asking questions. The boy immediately acquiesced and never asked again, but he did begin to observe. He watched Oved examining the interior of the cave, saw how he fingered the dirt he scraped off the walls to check its quality, and took note of how he stood at the entrance and scanned the area to commit every detail to memory.

  Later, the youngster watched how Oved managed his men, the way he listened to the sounds of the desert, and selected the routes the caravan would follow, his method of sorting and sharing the booty, and the choices he made. The boy watched and learned without asking questions. Quietly and conscientiously. And, with time, he pieced the information together.

  The attack on a caravan of spice traders came after a long period of wretched farmers’ convoys that yielded them no more than a little food and a few utensils. Valuables that they succeeded in robbing from these caravans were so meager that Oved did not trouble himself to take anything from them. And, if it was not enough that the benefits were so small, on one of their raids, they met up with unexpected opposition and were dealt a heavy blow and suffered severe losses. Asharid, one of his best and loyal men, was wounded by a sword belonging to one of the guards, and died after a few days. The atmosphere was so depressing, but news of an approaching caravan of merchants revived their enthusiasm.

  Oved took no risks. He, himself, went out with two more scouts to follow the route of the caravan, and assess the strength of its protection. The attack was well-planned, and the effort produced results. The convoy was returning after trading spices and fragrances from the east for goods at the Gaza port. After returning to their hiding place, Oved chose three heavy silver chains encrusted with jade stones, a large silver medallion, and a pouch full of assorted precious stones, whose names he did not even know.

  The day after the successful raid, the gang dispersed, each man going on his way after agreeing on the location of their next meeting. It was their custom. Some went to bring their new acquisitions home to their family, and others went to trade them at nearby markets. The boy was one of the first to leave and did not tell anyone where he was going. Some of the men suggested that he wait another day and join them on their way to the nearby city of Rehovot. Its colorful market was famous, and they hinted at additional amusements available at the market, but the boy refused and quickly went on his way. Oved did not pay attention to this until much later.

  After all his men dispersed, Oved set out in the direction of his treasure cave. As soon as he reached it, he already knew that something was awry. The water in the small waterhole was muddy. Someone had stepped in it and stirred up the sediment of soil at the bottom, and it could not have been an animal. Oved drew his sword and cautiously entered the low-ceilinged cave, lest someone was lying in wait for him inside. The cave was empty, but the thing Oved feared in his heart the moment he saw the muddy water was now evident to him. All that remained of the place where he had hidden his leather bag with his treasures was an empty pit. Oved quickly mounted his horse and galloped away from there to the nearest of his other hiding places, although it was a five-day ride. There, too, like the previous cave, he had arrived too late. The empty pit that greeted him was fresh. Someone had dug it no more than a day before he got there.

  And it was the same in the remaining two stashes. Oved’s treasure was gone.

  Several weeks later, when Oved got to their prearranged meeting place, he found his men confused and impatient. They had been waiting for him for three days, something that had never happened before, and had already begun to worry that their leader might have abandoned them. A quick survey of those present confirmed his suspicions. The boy was not there. All that Oved had done during the intervening weeks was to search for him. He had wandered from one town to another in the area of the Negev and asked everyone he could, but there was no sign of the boy. Fury and disbelief boiled up in him. He was angry that he had allowed the boy to deceive him and amazed how easily he had succeeded at it. From that day, his raids became more daring.

  The playful way he had once managed them changed, and his behavior was filled with urgency and determination to retrieve what he had lost. He grew reckless and more inclined to take unreasonable risks. When it came to sharing the spoils, he took a more significant share for himself than he had in the past. He no longer took only small, light-weight items that were easy to carry, but began taking bolts of fabric, perfumes, and oils, that he exchanged in the markets for gold.

  In the past, he avoided entering the towns and commercial centers as much as possible. Oved was renowned as a cruel robber, and there was no shortage of Government officials who were interested in catching him. He was becoming increasingly careless. The changes taking place in him did not go unseen by his men. Their considerate and responsible leader began to jeopardize them unnecessarily, and their share in the booty diminished. His leadership deteriorated as a result of his new custom of wandering further and further afar in pursuit of the boy along the spice and perfume trade route. One after the other, his men abandoned him. Rumors abounded of a new gang organizing among those who left the ranks of Oved, the son of Ravchiel. Those who remained with him, enjoyed the excitement of violent raids more than the promise of easy profits. But all these warning signs could not quieten the djinn that had possessed him and drove him to search for his lost treasures. Finally, it was his recklessness that brought him to both what he wished for and his demise.

  It was after an especially successful raid. Although the caravan was small and well equipped, it was almost defenseless. Four armed guards could not protect the convoy from Oved’s men, who hemmed it in from both the entrance and exit of the narrow pass.

  The attack occurred near the town of Avdat, Oved’s place of birth, and the seat of the King. Afterward, the men went to exchange the goods they had robbed at the city’s colorful market. Oved should have known that some of the booty had probably been purchased in the same market only a few days earlier, and exchanging them was likely to give away his participation in the robbery, but he paid no heed to the warning voices that whispered in his head. All he could see in his mind’s eye were the empty leather bags that he had to fill again. A copperware dealer recognized his utensils among Oved’s chattels and noticed that his appearance matched the description of the wanted robber. Even before Oved managed to understand what was happening, two guards from the King’s Nabatean military brigade dragged him in chains to the palace, where he was thrown into prison to await trial.

  And there he languished with the other prisoners, dressed in sackcloth and suffering from hunger pangs. Oved could not believe his ears when a familiar voice addressed him from one of the corners.

  “Look, see who we have here! The celebrated robber caught at last. Did one of your men betray you, or was it just you, doing a lousy job?” The passing years since he had deserted Oved were visible on his face, as was the period of his imprisonment. A beard covered his face now, and the boy had aged. Deep wrinkles appeared at the sides of his eyes, but the spark in those same eyes, the spark of fearlessness, remained as it was. Had he not been chained to the stone wall, Oved would have attacked him with his bare hands.

  “Traitor,” he hissed through his clenched teeth. The boy’s hoarse la
ugh mocked him.

  “Indeed, but smarter than you.”

  Oved knew that this time, it was his mind that had betrayed him and landed him in the dungeon, though the truth was with the boy. Even if the betrayal was the boy’s, the weakness of Oved’s brain had certainly helped, and this knowledge may have been the most painful part for Oved.

  “Where is my treasure?” Oved demanded to know. The question met with another laugh that sounded like a grunt. Oved deduced that the treatment the prisoners received did not improve their health.

  “What does it matter now, anyway?” the boy taunted him. “They will hang you in the morning, but not before they cut off your hands.”

  Oved knew that the boy was right, but he had to know.

  “Where is it?” he asked.

  The boy did not answer. A mumbling arose among the other prisoners. Some were beginning to show interest in the conversation, and others complained that their peace was being disturbed.

  After a short silence, the boy spoke again, “So, how did they happen to catch you? There was a reward on your head for two years. I was sure that one of your men decided it was worth handing you over to the Royal Guard.” Again, Oved was surprised that the boy was better informed than him. He did not know that there was an offer of a reward to apprehend him. Although Oved’s frequent and violent attacks since the boy’s departure certainly was enough reason for the King’s loss of patience. He had to protect the trade routes to secure the economy of his country that depended on the Spice Route. Indeed, he was surprised that none of his men had turned him in. Perhaps the boy was lying.

  “How do you know that there was a prize on my head?” Oved asked defiantly.

  The boy again began his answer with the same scratchy hoarse voice, “Where do you think the King’s messengers go when they are looking for criminals?”

  His question told him that the boy had already been here for two years, and it certainly explained his run-down condition. Now Oved noticed the slack posture of the seated boy that was more frail than relaxed.