by August Arrea
“Is that it?” he seethed while glaring at the boy.
“It just seems…to me, at least…such a short amount of time, you know,” Jacob stammered. “Not that I’m any kind of an expert.”
“I suppose you can do better,” Enes all but challenged the boy.
Jacob chuckled nervously and gave a shrug as he was fond of doing whenever situations became uncomfortable.
“It’s hard to say. I’ve never really timed myself before,” he replied.
“Then we shall find out,” said the soldier motioning to the vacant seat across the table from him.
With some hesitation, Jacob stepped cautiously around the soldier with the ring who shadowed him to the table. In a friendly attempt to deflect the intense discomfort of being in direct line of the soldier’s gaze that never shifted away from him, Jacob introduced himself while reaching across the table and offering the man his hand.
“Mehmet,” the soldier answered begrudgingly though he refused to shake the boy’s hand.
“Okay, so what do we do?” asked Jacob.
Enes picked his coin up from the table. “We spin together.”
Jacob dug into the front of his jeans and retrieved a quarter from his pocket of change and a hand instantly came slamming down on the table.
“NO!” barked Mehmet. “Not with American coin.”
“It’s all I have with me.”
Enes reached into his pocket and pulled out several silver and copper Turkish coins, one of which he tossed Jacob’s way before depositing the rest onto the table. He then motioned to one of his comrades to time the contest on his watch.
“Ready?” he then asked the boy preparing to set his coin into motion.
Jacob nodded, and at the go the two coins were released. The soldiers, who stood forming a scrum around the table began cheering loudly over the spinning silver pieces, all except Mehmet who remained quiet, his eyes coldly watching the coins engaged in their duel.
Jacob glanced over at Enes whose face was tense with concentration. And only when the soldier saw the momentum of the challenging coin begin to wobble while his continued to keep its form did a smile of victory emerge from his face. When Jacob’s coin finally sputtered in defeat, the men loudly cheered Enes.
~~~
“What can I say? You have shamefully proven to me that thirty nine seconds is no small feat in trying to beat,” said Jacob humbly to his competition.
“Point thirteen,” Enes replied pointedly.
“Point thirteen, yes.”
“And just to prove I am not heartless, I will not force you any further humiliation with that ridiculous claim you boasted of earlier.”
“You still don’t believe I can do what I say?”
“Please, two coins, one on top of the other…it’s impossible,” said Enes with a dismissive wave.
Jacob reached once more into his jeans and retrieved a crumpled wad of paper money from which he pulled a crinkled bill. “Twenty bucks says I can.”
The challenge brought a questionable look to Enes’ face and instantly sparked chuckles from the other men who quickly began searching their own pants for money. Twenty. Forty. They began calling out bets in denominations of their homeland’s currency.
“One hundred,” Mehmet offered coolly, holding in his hand several rumpled lira banknotes he had retrieved from his pocket.
He set his bet on the pile of money that had formed on the table and smiled like a tabby cat that had just cornered a mouse.
Jacob reached across the table for another of Enes’ coins. All eyes watched closely as he took the two silver and copper intricately engraved pieces and fit them in his hand—the middle and forefinger on one side and the thumb pressed firmly on the other. Jacob rubbed the two coins against each other in a circular motion then tightened his hold. Bringing back his arm slightly he made a snapping motion and the coins were released. There was a hushed silenced and then a collective gasp as they hit the table spinning in unison, one balanced on the edge of the other just as Jacob had boasted.
“I don’t believe it,” Enes uttered with awe. His eyes were wide with disbelief and together with the other men he leaned in closer to the table in an attempt to see more clearly that which appeared to defy any known law. That is until Mehmet suddenly reached out and slammed his hand down upon the dazzling display as though he were swatting an annoying fly.
“What is this?” he hissed angrily at Jacob. “What kind of trick are you attempting to pull?”
He swept the coins up from the table and began to examine them up close from all sides and angles.
“They’re coins from your own country. You saw Enes pull them from his own pocket,” Jacob retorted.
When Mehmet saw nothing unusual or fixed with the coins, he handed them off to the other outstretched hands eager to examine them. Yet the look aimed at Jacob that remained on his face was one of distrust.
“Choose a new set of coins, and I will do it again,” said Jacob defiantly as he slowly began to grow tired of the soldier’s demeaning attitude. “Only this time I will do it with three.”
Eager to see a repeat of the trick, the men frantically went for their pockets to fish out some coins but were quickly motioned by Mehmet to stop. He then retrieved from his own pants three coins and held them up for everyone to see before handing them over to Jacob. Quiet again descended, and every move Jacob made was carefully followed by the many eyes fixed upon him. After methodically fitting the coins between his fingers, just as he had before, Jacob snapped them into motion and again an audible gasp rose at the sight of all three coins brought to life on the table, one upon the other, reflecting flashes of silver and gold. And as the men marveled at them, Jacob reached across the table to the pile of coins at Enes’ side and quickly set into motion another set. Then another. And another. And before long the small tabletop had been turned into a ballroom floor for the dancing coins.
“It is not possible what my eyes are seeing,” remarked Mehmet, the anger in his voice finally surrendering to suspended doubt. “How is it you are to do this trick?”
Jacob sat silent, his eyes marveling at the coins dancing before him with the same wonderment fixed upon the faces of the other soldiers gathered about the table. How did he do it? Indeed, it was a question he himself longed for an answer since before he left Cain’s Corner, an answer that suddenly, for the first time came in a one-word whisper echoing in his head: Nephilim. And in that very moment when the desire for clarity which had proven so elusive was finally recognized, Jacob basked in the response he drew from the befuddled men about him watching hypnotically as he continued playing maestro to the spinning objects.
“They don’t stop,” Enes muttered almost too softly to be heard. “They just keep going and going and going…” The bewilderment at what he was witnessing was clear in his voice, but also a hint of disappointment in seeing his record, if not officially, diminished in such an astonishing display.
“Can you do more than three?” one of the men suddenly asked.
Before Jacob could open his mouth to answer, he grimaced from a sudden flash of pain that burst from the side of his head. Something had taken a sharp hold of his ear and was cruelly twisting, lifting him from out of his seat. If he were anywhere else, his first thought would have been that Mrs. Braukoff had found him, but he knew without so much as a glance that it was Gotham. He cried out as the pain yanked his concentration from the table, and as it did, the spinning coins came to a simultaneous abrupt halt and, with a loud clamor, came crashing down.
Jacob’s feet struggled clumsily in their attempt to help him retain his balance as well as keep pace with the brisk speed in which he was being dragged away from the table and down the aisle of the passenger car away from the soldiers.
“Wait—my money!” he cried out.
CHAPTER TEN
Tale of a Fall
“I
DIOT!”
Jacob tripped over his feet as he was given a forceful shove thro
ugh the doorway of the train compartment causing him to stumble forward onto his knees upon the floor. He immediately reached for his ear, which had finally been granted a merciful reprieve from the pinching hold that had dragged him with unwavering swiftness through four passenger cars. It throbbed and pounded against the side of his head as though it were his heart dislodged from its place inside his chest, and it burned hotly against his caressing touch. Yet the pain was quickly put out of mind when Jacob turned and saw Gotham suddenly upon him.
“Dunderheaded fool of a boy!” the angel seethed with an anger he struggled to keep at bay. “I should snatch both your ears for they obviously serve you no useful purpose.”
“It was just a silly trick. What are you getting yourself so worked up over?” grumbled Jacob.
“Did you see the look on the faces of the men watching you perform your silly trick?” drilled Gotham. “The world is scoured from corner to corner in search of those those performing such tricks, only such discoveries are not met with fawning cheers of amazement but by a cold damnation once saved for Salem witches. And here you are calling out to it like a lighthouse shining its beacon through a shroud of fog.”
He began pacing the floor, the tiny compartment providing his long-legged stride only a couple steps before having to quickly switch direction.
“You will remain in this compartment for the remainder of time we have left until we reach Tatvan,” instructed Gotham. “No more wandering about the train. Whatever meals you may require, you will have delivered here.”
Jacob became suddenly incensed at the definitive tone being leveled toward him and he quickly jumped to his feet.
“You don’t have the authority to tell me what to do.”
“That is where you are mistaken. The moment your grandmother placed you in my care gave me every authority and more,” Gotham snapped back. “Stamp, cry and pout over how I choose to exercise that authority, as long as it keeps you safe so be it.”
Jacob was having none of it. “Let’s just get something straight. My grandmother may have talked me into going on this excursion with you, or whatever you want to call it, but I will not be taking any orders from you or anyone else for that matter. Who do you think you are anyway? You’re not my father. You’re not even a true angel. You’re a castaway—a…what do like to call yourself?—a Fallen. You’re nobody.”
There was suddenly a great rumbling like that of an earth-shifting tremor with the force to break loose pieces of mountain and set into motion an avalanche of rolling boulders to come tumbling down and crush into dust everything standing in its path. Jacob was certain at that moment the train had hit something and was about to careen off its tracks until he saw a look cross Gotham’s face which spooked him more than the prospect of some massive catastrophic railway accident. It made him slowly back away until the confines of the compartment pressed itself against his back preventing him from retreating any further. He then took notice of a darkness beginning to seep from within the walls, threatening to consume and snuff out with its emerging shadows the last vestiges of light the remaining hours of day had to offer.
“Do not attempt to engage me in your petulant mortal baiting, boy,” the angel’s voice echoed with a great terrifying roar. “Or I will reveal to you the stupidity of stirring the wrath of an angel, sitting or castaway.”
When he had finished speaking, the darkness retreated back into the walls from which it came, and the rumbling fell silent to the returning sound of the train.
“As for not being your father,” Gotham continued in a much calmer, yet equally stern voice, “you are correct. But I’m the closest thing you’ve got, for the time being at least.”
Jacob felt his heart beating fast and waited for the expected ruckus of jilted passengers and stewards to quickly fill the hallway outside the door to investigate the terrible sounds they surely heard come from the compartment, but no one stirred. Then as Gotham collapsed heavy in his seat, Jacob, as quietly as he could, followed suit. It didn’t require much insight to see the angel was troubled.
“You’re bothered by something, and I don’t think it has anything to do with my coin-spinning abilities,” said Jacob, braving whatever response his words might provoke. “It seems the further we travel, the more troubled you become.”
Gotham didn’t respond. Instead, he directed his focus on the day which was beginning to darken with the slow-approaching night on the other side of the window.
“I have no idea where we’re headed, but wherever it is, I have a gut feeling it’s a place you wish you were heading in the opposite direction from,” said Jacob. “I’m right about that, aren’t I?”
The angel shifted his eyes to Jacob, and the marked heaviness seen lingering within his gaze retreated somewhat behind a subtle smile which crept its way upon his face.
“It seems I was mistaken. You might be a boy who does foolish things from time to time, but a fool you are not. In fact, you are quite perceptive and observant. A very promising sign for a young Nephilim,” said Gotham, but he could see his words offered the boy no comfort and attempted to further assuage him. “I made a promise long ago to your mother to guide you on this journey when the time was right. I am here to fulfill that promise made. But you are right, my apprehension grows greater with each mile of track we pass.”
The angel’s words only confused Jacob more. “But why if this place is as wonderful as you and my grandmother have promised?”
“For you it will be wonderful,” answered Gotham assuredly, “but that wonder was lost to me long ago.”
He paused again and shifted his gaze once more to the window and the passing scenery that had become a darkened silhouette cast against the setting sun. Whoever the thief was who had stolen this wonder, Gotham refused to name it.
“It has been quite some time since I last stepped foot there, almost a life-time in human years,” he pondered aloud. “I find myself questioning if I am ready to return to it. More importantly, I wonder if it’s ready for my return.”
Jacob opened his mouth to question Gotham further, but he thought better of pushing for those answers he itched to know. At least for the time being. Instead, they rode in quiet for some time, each silently left to their own thoughts.
“I remembered you,” blurted Jacob suddenly.
Gotham turned a curious eye onto the boy.
“When I was back in the passenger car, you know, right before I was…showing off. And you were right. I was, and it was a stupid thing for me to do.” How Jacob hated to apologize, especially when he knew he was in the wrong.
“There was a little kid trying to mimic one of the soldiers he was watching spinning a coin,” continued Jacob. “I dunno, something about it caught my attention. That’s when this memory came up out of nowhere of when I was about his same age sitting in my room cutting out paper snowflakes. You were there, suddenly, at the window.”
If Jacob held any doubt his memory was some false image conjured up inside his mind, Gotham cast it away.
“You knew even then at such a young age that you were unique,” said Gotham.
“I understand why my mom didn’t tell me, but why didn’t you tell me?” asked Jacob.
Gotham was silent for a moment, as though mulling carefully the words to his answer.
“Despite the many special gifts you possess, being a Nephilim is not an easy existence. Nor is it a particularly safe one,” explained Gotham. “I may not have agreed with your mother’s decision to keep this life-changing secret from you, but I understood her selfless desire in wanting for you a piece of normalcy, however brief in passing it might be. I also knew the only way for you to have a normal childhood—or as normal as humanly possible—was to first and foremost ensure your safety and keep you out of harm’s reach. And the only true defense I knew was in making sure you remained blind and oblivious to who and what you really are.”
Jacob was having a difficult time following. After all, what possible harm would a small boy, Nephilim or
not, need protecting from growing up in Cain’s Corner, aside from taking a possible spill off the swing set in the nearby park or the traumatic experience of a first haircut by old Harvey Floyd, who owned the local barbershop?
“You said earlier—and I quote—‘The world is scoured from corner to corner in search of those those performing such tricks, and such discoveries are not met with fawning cheers of amazement but by a cold damnation once saved for Salem witches,’ ” recalled Jacob from the screaming match moments before between himself and the angel.
“You are as sharp in your recollections as you are perceptive,” noted Gotham.
“But what did you mean?”
“I think it best if we leave that for a later discussion.”
“Why does everything I ask get the same response: later, later, later?” asked Jacob irritably. “You said being a Nephilim isn’t a particularly safe existence. Am I in some kind of danger? If so, I think I deserve to know what it is.”
For once, Gotham couldn’t argue with the boy. “There are many dark forces which roam this world,” he said finally with a breath heavy with apprehension. “But there is one in particular which poses an especially grave threat to you. The closer we get to Tatvan, the more they can sense your presence growing nearer. They don’t know who you are, of that you have in your favor…for the time being. But they have come to know the scent of the marked soul of a Nephilim, and possess an uncanny ability of sniffing them out from amongst ordinary civilians.”
“Do—do I want to know who they are?” asked Jacob, though the question was as much for himself as it was for Gotham.
The angel released a deep sigh that carried with it a tinge of despair. He turned his gaze to the window and stared out into the dark void beyond.
“Not who, but rather what. Unfortunately, you will eventually come to know them first hand,” said the angel ominously. “In fact, I fear they may already be blindly stalking you based on the way I’ve watched you toss and turn while sleeping.”