Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Book 1: Hell-bent (Shooting Eros Series)

by Benjamin Laskin

  Grace made a slow perusal of the room, casually examining various books and artifacts. “And this place, you say it was once full of studying cupids, like at the Academy?”

  Volk said, “Long before the establishment of the Cupid Academy, we studied at places just like this and trained on the grounds outside.”

  “Which I can’t see, of course,” Grace said, picking up a silver candlestick that dated back to the 5th century BC.

  “Not unaided, no,” Volk said. “This hall and others like it bustled with sages sitting among the cupids discussing the texts, engaging one another in debates, building their emuna, and learning how to best serve the Almighty. It was a very different system than that which the Academy uses today. At the Academy, the students sit like zombies as the professors fill their minds with all sorts of revisionist history and propagandistic nonsense, paving over their true essence. The students’ genuine identities end up covered with a foot of poured cement.”

  “How do I know that what you are doing here now isn’t exactly how the Anteros rebellion got its beginning? They too were a secret movement.”

  “The error is in your timeline,” Volk answered. “The Anteros rebellion occurred long after most of these schools had already been destroyed—many by Anteros himself, may his name and memory be obliterated.

  “The Anteros insurrection,” he continued, “the Civil War, was the culmination of centuries of spiritual degradation. It had nothing to do with the few remaining sages who carried on the lost traditions. The rebellion ended with the destruction of the remaining underground schools, except for this one. Captain Cyrus and I are the only living cupids to have known the sages’ teachings. Only we can remember what it was like to study under their guidance.”

  “‘Living cupids?’ You aren’t suggesting that Captain Cyrus could still be thinking of himself as an angel, do you?” She sniggered at the possibility.

  “Clearly, he is no longer an angel,” Volk acknowledged. “He is a man of flesh and blood.”

  “Well, good,” Grace said, replacing the candlestick she had been waving around like a baton. “At least we agree on something.”

  “But,” Volk added with a sly grin. “A man can rise higher than an angel.”

  “What? That’s absurd,” Grace said, insult in her voice and disdain across her face. “Those lowly creatures rising higher than us? I’ve never heard of anything more preposterous in my life.”

  “It used to happen quite a lot,” I said. “Not so often today, as, spiritually, the humans have sunk considerably over the centuries. The possibility still remains however, and occasionally some humans do rise to the call. Perhaps more of them than we might imagine.”

  “But how is that possible?” Grace said, now picking up a 3rd century BC silver wine cup. “They are human, gentlemen, flawed in a thousand ways.”

  “It is precisely because of their flaws,” I said, “or rather, their overcoming of them, that makes them potentially superior to us. There is nothing more awe-inspiring and beautiful below Heaven than the courage and determination of a human being overcoming his or her yetzers, and following a path of righteousness through a valley of darkness.”

  Grace squinted, still unconvinced. She set the cup down and crossed her arms.

  “I find your lack of respect and appreciation for your fellow cupids appalling. Your comrades risk their lives every time they transport down to that human hellhole to fight the fear demons and help the human ingrates find their matches. The cupids demonstrate great and thankless bravery every day, never receiving a moment of appreciation from the people they assist.”

  Volk said, “We are not detracting from any cupid’s heroics, Grace. But it must be remembered that it is not about us. We are not here to garner thanks from the humans. We serve HaShem, and it is Him alone we seek to please.

  “This is not a nine-to-five job,” Volk continued, “though that is how it is treated today. Once, before we lost our way, we were so eager to please the Almighty that to be called back to base was met with groans of sadness. The cupid angels would spend months at a time on Earth ceaselessly battling for His Name’s sake. We didn’t wait for orders from some bureaucracy. We scoured the world looking for persons we might help. We listened for their prayers, and flew to them, thirsting to serve HaShem above; not for a cold beer at one of the many stripper bars that now line the streets around the Academy premises.

  “I remember warrior cupids coming back after months of battle, wounded and exhausted, but never complaining. Upon reaching Heaven, they would break into songs of praise, hymns of thankfulness to HaShem. A healing light would descend upon them, bathing them with HaShem’s glory, bringing these tough, mighty soldiers to tears of divine bliss.

  “Today there is no healing light,” Volk continued, “because there is no joy among us. We are smug, cynical, and narcissistic. A cupid soldier beams down in a disgronifier, whacks some yetzers, gives the intended couple a jolt of the latest elixir, and calls it a wrap. If he returns wounded, we send him to the hospital where he’s cared for by a leggy celestial like yourself, and then give him a medal. A medal! There was a time when the very idea would have been considered ludicrous.

  “Today we serve no one but ourselves. We couldn’t care less about the humans or God, Whose existence goes completely unacknowledged today. The centuries ticked away and now, suddenly, we wake up to find that we are facing extinction, for when love goes, we go.

  “And so what do we do?” Volk went on. “Do we put on sackcloth and ashes, hit our knees, and beg the Almighty to turn His face back to us? No, we scramble to invent bigger, badder weapons with which to fight the yetzers. We concoct newer, stronger potions. Yet, at the same time, we conduct back channel peace accords with an enemy sworn to our annihilation.”

  “But, Captain,” Grace said, “say you’re right. What difference could one angel make? Mighty though you are, you are but one.”

  “Two,” I said.

  “Three,” Virgil added.

  “Four,” Captain Volk said.

  “Hey,” Grace said, “Don’t be including me in your lunacy.”

  Volk grinned. “No, Grace. You would make five.”

  “Five?” Grace said. “Who’s missing? Who is four?”

  Captain Volk, Virgil, and I all looked at each other, and then back at Grace. In one voice we said, “Captain Cyrus.”

  46

  Buddy

  Grace threw up her hands. “But a minute ago you told me that he is not an angel, but a man of flesh and blood.”

  “That’s right,” Volk said. “But now we have a man on the inside, someone who knows the score.”

  “Knows the score?” Grace laughed. “He may not even know his own name! The only news we’ve gotten is that he was in jail with amnesia. Some help he’d be. He’s neither an angel nor a man. He’s useless. I’m sorry, but he’s probably even dead by now.”

  “He’s not in jail, Grace,” I said. “And he’s very much alive.”

  “How could you possibly know that? I’ve had no word on him, and if anyone would know, it would be me.”

  “We found him. Virgil and I went down and checked on him. He’s alive, all right.”

  “Very, very alive,” Virgil chimed in.

  “But how?” Grace said. “You don’t have my sources.”

  “You’re not the only one with sources,” I said cryptically, raising my arms as if to indicate the vast archives around us.

  What had happened was that after I had left Virgil on the floor of the Midrashic Cave to recover, I went back to the file we had been looking at, the one of the young lady. I thought I had noticed something, or rather, someone, when I was flipping through her six degrees of separation. There are no coincidences.

  I knew I had seen that face before. It was the face of Ellen Veetal, and she was only one degree of separation from Malkah, the young woman we had just been observing.

  Although the Veetal woman’s records were mysteriously missing, there was
enough information about her attached to Malkah’s to be of help. Once Virgil had recovered, I gave him the coordinates of where to meet me, sent him to the disgronifiers, and then twirled down to Earth. We paid a visit to Ellen Veetal, and to our immense delight, found a very healthy Captain Cyrus introducing himself to her.

  “He’s in a book?” Grace said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “All humans are in a book of sorts,” I said. “The Book of Life. But, you’re right; you won’t find this book on any of these shelves.”

  “Captain,” Grace said, “what is he talking about?”

  “Maybe another time, Grace,” Volk said. “You’ve seen quite enough for one day. The important thing is that Cyrus is not only okay, but as far as we can tell, he knows exactly who he is.”

  “He hasn’t cracked up? They always crack up.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “But how is that possible?”

  “We don’t know yet, exactly. But clearly Cyrus had a few tricks up his sleeve, and possibly some outside help.”

  “Outside help? You mean, from here?”

  Volk shook his head. “None of us, no.”

  “Quit playing games with me, Captain. I’m no longer in the mood. Who?”

  “We’re not sure. But it had to be someone who could get to him on his level to jump-start his human soul.”

  Grace said, “You spoke about other angels—angels more powerful than us. Maybe one of them did it.”

  “Unlikely,” Volk said. “They have specific jobs to do, and don’t interfere with the work of other angels, even losers like the Cupid Corps.”

  The truth was, we were pretty sure who had interceded. In fact, it was Virgil who gave me the idea. As my new chavruta, or study partner, he came across the person of Eliyahu haNavi, Elijah the prophet, from the Bible’s Book of Kings. It triggered a recollection from deep within the recesses of Virgil’s angelic memory, and he began to softly sing the ancient lullaby:

  Eliyahu haNavi, Eliyahu HaTishbi, Eliyahu HaGiladi, Bimehera Yavo Elaynu, im Mashiach ben David.

  Elijah the Prophet, Elijah the Tishbite, Elijah the Giladite, May he soon come to us, accompanying the Messiah, Son of David.

  Virgil had a lot of questions about the great prophet, and as I began to tell him all that I knew of him, I realized that Eliyahu was the most likely source of Cyrus’s miraculous recovery. It was a wonderful discovery, and I leaped from my chair and ran to Captain Volk to share the possibility with him.

  Grace wasn’t capable of understanding such things, however, and that’s why Volk decided to dodge her question. She knew nothing about the Bible, and so lacked the requisite adaequatio for understanding what we were talking about.

  “Okay,” Grace said, clearly annoyed by our evasiveness. “Perhaps you can tell me how the five of us could possibly stand a chance against the Academy, the Anteros Brotherhood, the yetzers, and the bumbling, clueless humans?”

  I said, “Some twenty-two hundred years ago, in 164 BC, a man named Judah Maccabee and his four brothers took on and defeated Antiochus IV, ruler of the Seleucid empire, the most powerful empire of that time.”

  Virgil quoted from the Book of Leviticus, “‘And five of you shall chase a hundred, and a hundred of you shall chase ten thousand; and your enemies shall fall before you by the sword.’”

  “Fables and empty swagger,” Grace said, unmoved. “Should Cyrus even be in a position to do anything to help—which I seriously doubt he is—how do you intend to inform him of your plans? We know that a cupid can’t converse with humans.”

  “We’re working on it,” Volk said.

  “There must be a way,” I added. “I’m sure of it.”

  Grace shook her head in derision and stepped up to Captain Volk.

  “So this is it, Captain? Some superb special effects, a couple of gung-ho cadets, a library of musty books, and a fallen angel on Earth you can’t communicate with? You call this the makings of a revolution? I call it a circus act. Leave me out, and take me home—now.”

  “All right, Grace,” Volk said.

  Grace lifted her arms in preparation for being hoisted over Volk’s shoulder. “And no funny stuff,” she added.

  Virgil and I exchanged frustrated looks. Virgil’s disappointment was mixed with concern.

  “Grace, Ma’am?” he said.

  “What is it, Cadet?”

  “Are you going to go to Judge Minos about us?”

  Grace lowered her arms and set her hands on her hips. “And tell him what? That I had a picnic on an invisible lake, twirled through thin air on Captain Volk’s shoulders, visited an ancient archive filled with manuscripts and artifacts that no one can find, and uncovered a plot to overthrow him by two nerdy junior cadets, a has-been cupid, and a human amnesiac? It wouldn’t be you who gets the boot. It would be me.”

  Put that way, I thought, it did sound farcical. None of us blamed Grace for her hesitancy. We understood well the power of cognitive dissonance.

  “Now, Captain,” Grace said, satisfied that she had put us in our places and injected some much-needed sanity into our plans, “shall we go?”

  She raised her arms once more and Captain Volk scooped her up into a fireman’s carry and spun off.

  Virgil sighed. “That didn’t go so well,” he said. “She thinks we’re nuts. We really needed her on our team too. She’d have been able to give us cover and be our fly on the wall of the Academy’s inner sanctum. Why didn’t Captain Volk tell Grace about the Swerver? Maybe that would have persuaded her.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but maybe because he felt she already had heard and seen too much for one day. Or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Or that he’s still waiting for confirmation.”

  “Confirmation that Ellen Veetal is the Swerver?” Virgil asked. “But she has to be. She has all the signs. You said so yourself. Everything points to her. Her lineage, character traits, what we learned about her yetzers, and the most conspicuous items of all: the disappearance of her records from the Midrasha, and that Anteros also believes she’s the Swerver.”

  “I know, I know,” I said. “But something doesn’t add up, and I think that Captain Volk has similar reservations. As for the disappearance of her records from the Midrasha, if we are right about Eliyahu having visited Cyrus, then it is equally likely that he had a hand in that too.”

  “Are you saying that there may be no Swerver now? No Swerver at all, anywhere?”

  “It’s possible. We’ve gone centuries without one before. A generation does not necessarily mean a specific time frame. When we say the Swerver of the generation, it could mean an era, not decades.”

  “If there’s no Swerver, then we are really in trouble. How can we possibly hope to defeat the yetzers and forces of despair without the hope a Swerver would bring?”

  “I don’t know, Virgil. But an angel without hope would be a pretty crummy angel, don’t you think? Emuna is only real when it is tested. It’s easy to have faith when things are good. It’s when life gets hard and messy that the true quality of our faith becomes known. We cupids have fallen, we have sinned, and we have shunned and disgraced our heavenly Father. Words are meaningless. Absolution comes after being tested.”

  “It would sure help if we could communicate with Captain Cyrus,” Virgil lamented. “Do you think he knows we haven’t forgotten about him?”

  “You saw the way he looked at us in Ellen Veetal’s office after her dog came sniffing over. He couldn’t see us, of course, but he was clearly hinting that he knew some cupids were standing there, though he had no way of knowing for sure that it was us.”

  “So, maybe he is looking for a way to contact us as well.”

  “It’s possible,” I said. “But doing so would be even harder for him than it is for us. Plus, he’d have to be very careful not to give himself away to the Academy. He wouldn’t want them to know what he’s up to. He also wouldn’t want to do anything that might raise too many human eyebrows.
”

  “So, what do we do now?” Virgil asked.

  “You have to keep attending the Academy and not let anyone know about your extra-curricular activities. I want you to keep your eye out for other possible recruits. But be very careful, and don’t approach anyone without consulting with Captain Volk or me first. We will need to do a background check on him. Okay?”

  “Got it,” Virgil said. “When are you going to teach me to fly solo?”

  “Such decisions are up to Captain Volk. And don’t pester him. I learned that the hard way. He’ll let you know when you’re ready, I promise.”

  “And those other things you learned? The fighting techniques, the weapons, the invisibility, all that cool ninja-like stuff?”

  “I can teach you some of it. We’ll start tonight after evening prayers. Now, you had better get back to the Academy. You don’t want anyone asking questions.”

  “Man,” Virgil said, “I wish I could train here full-time with you, Kohai. It’s fun and interesting, and…I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Empowering?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Every day I feel stronger, better…purer. I don’t see anything the same way anymore. I feel different.”

  “You’re uncovering your true essence, Virge. You’re realizing who you are—that you truly are an angel of God, and that there is divinity and holiness in you.”

  Virgil smiled big and proud. “You know,” he said, turning reflective, “I wonder how I ever got along without Him.”

  “He was always there, Virgil, just waiting for you to ask Him in.”

  “Yeah, I know that now, but I still feel stupid.”

  “You didn’t know any better, and neither did I. Just be grateful that He sent the Captains to wake us up.”

  “I am,” Virgil said.

  “Good, because with gratitude you’ll be able to proceed to the next level. Now get going. You don’t want Sett wondering where you’ve been.”

  Virgil patted me on the shoulder and I walked him to the edge of the forest, to the path that would lead him back to the cupid compound. His eyes having been opened, he no longer had any trouble finding his way to and fro.