Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3

by Benjamin Laskin

  “You’ve forgotten something, brave heart,” Grace said. “No one here believes in your God anymore. You have no audience for your exhortations. And even if they were to return to Him, how could He forgive them hundreds of years of transgressions?”

  Volk answered by quoting from the Bible: “‘The Lord your God is gracious and merciful, and will not turn away His face from you, if you return unto Him.’”

  “But they won’t return,” Grace said with exasperation. “They don’t even know they left!”

  “They don’t know here,” Volk said, pointing to his head. “But they know here.” He pointed to his heart. “And so do you, Grace. You are a child of God, a manifestation of His holy word. The embers of His words burn deep within you. Keep searching.”

  “But, Captain, even if a number of the cupids were to rally behind you, we couldn’t possibly overcome the entire Academy, the forces of Anteros, and the yetzers too!”

  “We can, and we must,” he said. “Listen, the reason Captain Cyrus and I have a success rate so much higher than that of the Academy is because we have long known something about the humans that the Academy does not. The Academy only focuses on the fear demon, the yetzer hara. The evil inclination. The Academy does not recognize another yetzer that lies dormant within the humans, what the sages called the yetzer hatov, the good inclination. We don’t have to slay every fear demon on earth, and couldn’t if we tried. All we need is for enough humans to reawaken the yetzer hatov within them, and that will be enough to tip the scales back to our favor.”

  “But how?”

  “Through example, through deeds, through prayer, through repentance, through education, through sword and fist, and through emuna—faith.”

  “There’s not enough time for all of that!”

  “Not by our calculations. Not by our configurations. But the Almighty has His own. That is the meaning and power of emuna—true faith—and bitachon—deep trust. Our earnestness can earn our reprieve. And we can begin right here, Grace. Right now…with you.”

  3

  Bubby

  “Here you go, Virge,” I said, handing him a towel to wipe the barf from his uniform. “Don’t worry, it happened to me too the first time I spun down to Earth. It’s a much different ride than just bopping from place to place in Heaven, eh?”

  “Well worth the admission ticket,” he said, the color returning to his face. “That was the coolest!”

  “You drifted a little off course, but that’s okay. So did I on my first couple trips down. You did good. Come on, it’s this way.”

  We headed down the city sidewalk the ten blocks to our intended destination, taking in the sights and faces of those we passed along the way.

  For the first time, I began to really notice what the captains had long been talking about between themselves. A shadow seemed to have descended upon the humans. They were a cranky lot, wary of their fellow man, slow to smile, and seemed frightened of something they could not name. The future, once considered by Americans as a time of even better things to come, was now something overcast and baleful; to even consider it was to be filled with angst and trepidation.

  Ever alert, Virgil pointed ahead towards two men dressed in hooded trainers, jogging up behind a well-dressed thirty-something business woman in a stylish suede jacket with a purse around her shoulder. One of the men grabbed the woman’s purse. When she screamed and clutched the shoulder bag to her chest, the other man slammed his elbow into her face, knocking her down. The men quickly dug out her wallet and cell phone, tossed the bag, and fled down the sidewalk towards us. The shocked bystanders stood frozen in disbelief.

  “Swine,” Virgil said. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  “Not us, no,” I said as a guy on a racing bicycle glided past us and casually dismounted. He looked to be around thirty, and wore a dark suit and red tie under a long, black overcoat, a daypack on his back. He continued to walk the bike straight ahead. Then, a moment before the two hoodlums were about to sprint past him, he grabbed up his bike and swung it like a baseball bat, clotheslining both men at once, dropping them flat onto their backs.

  “Ouch!” Virgil said. “Nice move!”

  One thug was out cold, but the other unsheathed a knife.

  “Drop it,” the bicyclist said, pointing a .357 Magnum Desert Eagle in the hoodlum’s face. “On your stomach, hands behind your head!” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed as nearby pedestrians cheered his heroics.

  “Well,” Virgil said, “that’s not something you see every day.”

  “It gives you a little hope, doesn’t it?”

  Virgil and I continued walking.

  “Kohai, do you think Anteros could be prowling these streets with us right now?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “I’m ready,” Virgil said, indicating the small arsenal strapped to his body.

  “I see that, but I don’t think they’d try anything in the open like this.”

  We continued for another couple of blocks and stopped.

  “Here we are,” I said. I cupped my hands to the window and peered into Saul’s Deli. “I don’t see her.”

  “Maybe it’s her day off.”

  “Maybe…wait, I think I see her. Yeah, it looks like she’s leaving. Yeah, she’s coming now.”

  “We got here just in time,” Virgil said.

  The door to the restaurant opened and Malkah Stern exited onto the sidewalk. The last time we saw her was when I introduced Virgil to the Midrasha. She was but a teenager then, as we had only viewed her record through high school before Virgil had passed out.

  Ms. Stern wore blue jeans, a baggy white sweater under a black parka, and a daypack around her shoulder. Athletically slim and with a helmet of thick, shiny black hair, a petal-smooth complexion, and azure-blue eyes, she was even prettier in person.

  “Boy,” Virgil commented. “She could be a celestial.”

  The woman headed down the sidewalk with a swift gait. We followed her for a number of blocks, then into the graffiti-covered, trash-littered subway, and a change of trains. We popped back out onto the streets above where she stopped at a corner flower shop to purchase a bouquet with some of her tip money. At last, she arrived at the Sinai Nursing Home.

  Inside she greeted both workers and residents with smiles and kind words. Everyone seemed immediately buoyed by her charm and vivacity. At last she knocked on door number 16 and entered without waiting for a response. We followed her inside.

  The small room held a mirrored dresser, a single-sized bed, a desk, a couple of old chairs, and an outdated television in the corner of the room, which was turned on to a game show.

  “Hey, Bubby,” Malkah chirped to a frail, white-haired woman in a wheelchair.

  The woman’s face lit up immediately upon seeing her granddaughter, her arms reaching out for a hug. Malkah strolled over and kissed her on the cheek. She set the bouquet on the blanket that covered the woman’s lap, swapping the flowers for the TV remote. She switched off the TV and tossed the remote onto the bed.

  “How are you feeling today?” Malkah asked as she opened her grandmother’s dresser and pulled out a red-checkered woolen shawl.

  “I can’t complain,” her bubby answered.

  “And no one would listen if you did, right?” Malkah said smiling, putting the shawl around her eighty-nine-year-old grandmother’s bony shoulders. She grabbed the handles to the wheelchair and rolled her out of the room.

  Virgil and I trailed behind them through the nursing home and outside to a spacious garden patio where, except for us, they were alone.

  “Are you sure it’s not too cold?” Malkah asked.

  “No, no. I like it.”

  “Okay, but only for a few minutes.”

  She parked her grandmother in front of a bench, made sure that the shawl was wrapped snugly about the old woman, and sat down opposite her. Malkah took her grandmother’s thin, mottled hands in hers. Virgil and I joined Malkah on the bench, I on one side
, Virgil on the other.

  “Tell me, what’s new?” her grandmother asked. “Are you going on another of your mysterious trips soon?”

  “No plans right now. Money is a little tight.”

  “Even traveling on a shoe string is hard these days, I imagine,” Bubby said. “I wish I could help, but…” She lifted her thin arms, intimating that she had nothing but her humble surroundings.

  “Don’t worry about it, Bubby. I’m fine.”

  “Have you spoken with Ellen recently?”

  “Last week. Did you know that she was engaged?”

  “If I don’t hear it from you, how would I?”

  “Yes, well, she was engaged to a professor in her department. They had a big fight, and the wedding is off. She was a mess, I’m sorry to say. I tried to cheer her up, but coming from me I’m afraid it did little good.”

  Virgil and I exchanged glances. “Whoa,” Virgil said. “Kohai, you called it!”

  “That’s too bad,” the old woman said. “But it’s probably for the best. Still, it would be nice if one of my girls could find the right man for once. I have three daughters, and among them seven ex-husbands and only two grandchildren. And out of this entire mishmash, you are the only person I ever see. Things sure have changed since I was a girl. I grew up surrounded by loving parents and grandparents, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews. It breaks my heart to see you so alone.”

  “I’m fine. I have you.”

  “No, you don’t know what you’re missing. I blame myself.”

  “Oh stop it, Bubby. It’s not your fault your daughters all married jerks.”

  “They weren’t all jerks,” her grandmother scolded. “That’s your mother and her sisters talking. Blame everyone but yourself; that’s what people do today. Your grandfather and I, may he rest in peace, could have done better. The world just began moving so fast. We couldn’t keep up. I think we handed over too many responsibilities to others, putting our faith in schoolteachers, the government, and so-called experts in the papers and on TV. It was so gradual and easy. We made ourselves obsolete, unnecessary…dispensable.”

  “Bubby, you’re being way too hard on yourself. You guys didn’t know.”

  “Oh, yes we did. Especially your grandfather. He saw the writing on the wall. When we were growing up we had nothing, and yet we had everything. We had had a code to live by, and generations of traditions that worked. We managed. We were happy. But, gradually, I allowed myself to be convinced that all of that was old-fashioned. Go along to get along, you know? Now I don’t think it was worth it. I shouldn’t be here.” She looked off into the distance and said softly, “I should be at home, with family, telling stories to my great grandchildren.”

  Malkah rubbed her bubby’s hands between hers. I saw that her eyes were moist with sadness and sympathy.

  “Virgil,” I said, getting up and walking behind Malkah. “Come here.”

  Virgil joined me. “Yeah?”

  “Do you know how to check for yetzers?”

  “Of course,” he said, reaching for the demon-gauge on his utility belt.

  “No, not with that. Manually.”

  “We can do that?”

  “Put your hand over the girl’s head.” Virgil did as instructed. I put mine on top of his, acting as his training wheels. “Clear your mind and try to merge it with hers as you move your hand in a small figure eight above her head…that’s good…feel something?”

  “Yeah, kinda like when two magnets are placed with their like poles together. Weird, but I don’t see anything.”

  “Concentrate harder,” I said. We increased the speed and intensity of the figure eight we were drawing. Finally, we were able to detect a small nest of baby yetzers.

  “Cool,” Virgil said, “but that’s it? That’s all she’s got?”

  “Unless she’s packing a Clueless Yetzer deep down there somewhere.” I handed Virgil a gauze mask, put on mine, and said, “Stand back and get your sword ready.” I took out a ketoret stick and lit it, waving the smoke around Malkah Stern. After a minute I said, “All clear.”

  “Wow,” Virgil said re-sheathing his sword and removing his mask. “She’s a rare one.”

  “Indeed.”

  “What about the little yetzers,” Virgil asked. “Do they mean anything?”

  “No, not yet anyway. A human has to have some yetzers. They act much the same way as microbes or bacteria in the human body. They keep the spiritual immune system healthy, allowing it to remain on guard for infection.”

  “What about you, Malkah?” her grandmother asked, sniffing the bouquet of flowers.

  “Me?”

  “I haven’t asked for a while because I know how much you hate it when I do, but have you started seeing anyone?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re pretty, you’re smart, you’re charming.”

  “I’m also picky.”

  “Would you know the right fellow if you met him?”

  “I hope so, but I doubt I’m that wise.”

  “But you must get a lot of offers working at that restaurant, right?”

  “If you’re asking if I get hit on a lot, the answer is yes. But I’m not interested in such men.”

  “Without even giving one of them a chance? Most young ladies—”

  Malkah shrugged. “I just know.”

  Her grandmother nodded in understanding. “You’re right, dear. You are not most people. That’s something only you can decide.”

  “What?”

  “I said you are not most people.”

  Malkah chuckled. “That’s funny. Some weeks back a customer said the exact same thing to me. It wasn’t about boys, but about me having left school. He was a tad odd, but not in a bad way. Quite nice, actually. A real gentleman, I thought.”

  Malkah’s grandmother perked up. “Was he ugly?”

  “Actually, he was quite good-looking. He had a nice build, thick, curly dark hair, and these amazing blue eyes.”

  “But strange,” her grandmother said, anticipating Malkah’s objection.

  “Well, it’s hard to explain. He wasn’t—”

  “Most people?” her bubby interjected, arching a teasing eyebrow.

  “We only spoke for a minute or two, but yeah, maybe he was different.”

  “And did he ‘hit’ on you, too?”

  “Not at all. He was older.”

  “Oh,” her grandmother said, deflated. “Like forty or fifty…?”

  “No,” Malkah said. “Early-thirties, if I had to guess. He was a little scruffy and tired looking, like maybe he had had a long day. He wore a funny jumpsuit too.”

  “He wasn’t drunk or anything like that though, right?”

  “No, no. Like I said, he was a gentleman.”

  “So, what’s the problem? Your grandfather was ten years older than me.”

  “Bubby, he was my customer, that’s all. He didn’t seem the least bit interested in me romantically. He was just being friendly.”

  “Hmm,” Bubby said, not caring to hide the hope in her voice. “Well, maybe he’ll come in again some time.”

  “I doubt it, but if he does, he does.”

  “And if he asks you out…?”

  “Bubby, enough fantasizing for one day. I don’t spend my life wondering when I’ll meet Mr. Right.”

  “Well, I do,” the old woman said with a smile. “I dream of having at least one family member married under a chuppah. I want to dance at your wedding.”

  “In a wheelchair?” Malkah chuckled.

  “One miracle would deserve another,” Bubby said with a wink.

  4

  Judges

  “There you have it, Your Honors,” Grace said, switching off her presentation and turning to face the bench of five Academy judges.

  The judges sat on a raised platform behind a long, crescent-shaped table constructed from ivory and marble. At the center of the table sat Supreme Judge Minos. To his right was
the sickly-looking and narcoleptic, second-ranking judge, Danaos. Next to Danaos slumped Judge Pelops—bald, corpulent, and gaseous. On Minos’s left was the oldest of the magistrates, the ever-surly and formidable Judge Laban. And to Laban’s left, looking typically bored, doodled the youngest of the cabal, Judge Busiris, affected and effete.

  At the entrance to the chamber, leaning with arms crossed against a wall beside the double-doors, stood Commander Sett.

  “Madam,” said the pink and fleshy Judge Pelops, “would you mind telling us why you produced this little documentary for us?”

  Pelops, like most of the judges, was an academic with no experience in the human world. He had never observed a human first hand, nor met a yetzer face to face.

  “Your Honor, I thought that after watching my presentation, it would be self-evident. We are facing a crisis of Biblical proportions.”

  “Of what?”

  “A major crisis, Your Honor.”

  “Let me rephrase my question,” Pelops said. “Why would you feel compelled to research a report based on human sources? Have you a problem with the assessments compiled by the Academy’s own Ministry of Human Affairs?”

  “No, Your Honor. I have the utmost faith in the Academy’s work. My intention was simply to get the humans’ own perspective on things.”

  Judge Laban, the crusty, white-haired curmudgeon who had been around longer than anyone could remember, said hoarsely, “The humans’ perspective is of no consequence to us. Their knowledge of reality is constricted to the size of a pea.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Honor. But it seems to me that any extra light on the subject might be beneficial.”

  Grace smiled, hoping to draw out a sympathetic face from the group of joyless magistrates. And, indeed, dressed in a form-fitting, black pantsuit and white satin blouse, Grace’s alluring feminine presence did not go ignored by the relatively young Judge Busiris; a slight man with dark, deep-set eyes and a carefully manicured beard who had to spend most of his time around a bunch of cranky old cupids. The judge responded to her subtle gesture with an unconscious lick of his lips.