He felt comfortable speaking and listening to Gul, and he understood why Gul was the one to stand in front of him this day.
Gul concluded with a big grin, “How was my answer?”
“It was good, very good. Thank you.”
Gul bowed, “You are most welcome.” He raised himself, and as he slowly rose, his smile surprisingly disappeared, replaced with a look of concern.
Gul lifted his hand and whispered, “If you please…do not move.” Simultaneously, he bent down, and his other hand cautiously reached down to his ankle.
“What?” he whispered back. He wasn’t sure what Gul was doing, but he was already willing to trust him.
Gul withdrew a knife from its sheath. As rays of light pierced through the trees, the broad shiny steel of the knife effortlessly reflected its surroundings. The blade came to a sharp glistening point that promised a precise incision.
Slowly, Gul cocked back the knife, as he held the tip of the blade.
A snake, black and dark brown, long and slender, was unwinding itself from the dead branch above. As it further unwound, its head raised and curved up, forming the shape of a hook, suspending from the branch. Its diamond-shaped head revealed the characteristics of a venomous snake, with glands of venom on either side of its jaw. From the slit of its mouth, its tongue flickered at a hand’s distance away from the ear of the longhaired man.
Gul eyed his target.
The snake reared back, ready to strike.
With a release as quick as lightning, Gul flung his knife.
The knife’s steel flashed and spun as it sliced through the warm air. It pierced the snake just below its head and the momentum of the knife carried the snake forward, as the blade plunged into the tree trunk.
The snake was inescapably pinned onto the tree. Its mouth opened wide, and its tongue flickered in a silent scream. Soon, its body loosened from the branch and flopped down with its tail reaching the ground. Within a moment, life departed from the snake, its muscles relaxed, and its limp body and head hung from the knife.
When the goateed man heard the muffled thud of the knife on the trunk, he immediately turned. For a moment, he was surprised. When he saw the result of Gul’s skillful aim, he exclaimed, “Nice shot!”
Gul walked forward. Extending his arm, he reached for the knife and released the snake. The snake fell on the ground. Then, Gul bent down and sliced off its head, ensuring its death. Afterward, he cleaned the knife by wiping both edges down on the ankle of his pant leg. Before returning it to its sheath, Gul inspected the blade.
“Hey, cool knife. Can I see it?”
“Of course,” Gul smiled, offering it on opened palms. “She is beautiful, yes?”
Carefully, he lifted the Mesopotamian-styled knife by the handle. The blade was made of polished, sleek, black, stainless steel.
Etched at the bottom of the blade, on both sides, was a scorpion with its stinger raised and ready to strike.
Along the length of the blade, a phrase was etched in stylistic Arabic lettering. A different phrase appeared on the other side.
The handle of the knife was dark brass with a form-fitted grip in order to securely imbed one’s fingers.
“Yes, beautiful,” he finally said, rotating the knife to gaze at both sides of the blade. “What does the inscription say?”
“Ah, that I will tell you when…” Gul began to say.
The goateed man completed Gul’s sentence, “…when the time comes.”
Gul laughed, “Yes! You are understanding.”
He grinned and shook his head, while Gul finished his laughter. Then, he commented, “You know you’re just too smiley and too perky. There’s just something wrong with that.”
Opening his arms and sporting a large smile once again, Gul exclaimed, “Yes, I love life, and I love my life with God! I wish no other!”
As he handed the knife back, he said, “Well, from now on, I’m gonna have to call ya ‘Smiley.’ Do you mind if I do that?”
Gul put the knife back into its sheath at his ankle. “Of course not, my friend, I would be honored to answer to any name you give me.”
“Cool. Smiley it is then.” After a pause, he added with a sly grin, “But you know, I read somewhere that people who smile too much shouldn’t be trusted.”
Gul looked at him, with his own grin. “Yes, I think I wrote that.”
He shoved Gul’s shoulder, “Dude, you’re too funny.”
They walked a little further out.
Soon, Gul sighed and said, “Well, my friend, I must return. If not, they will suspect something is not right.”
“You said it’s becoming dangerous for you. How bad is it? Do you still want to stay?”
“Our leader, Jalel, is suspicious of everyone except his closest men. There is something important - how do you say - going down. Yes?”
“Yes,” he responded, while shaking his head in disbelief that Gul knew the phrase.
“Something will happen soon. I need to stay to find out what it is and when it will happen. There have been shipments coming in and out during the night. And only Jalel and three other men are attending to it. I and the other men are only on guard. I believe parts are being delivered. Then they assemble some of them together, and then they are shipped out again.”
“Hmm.”
“So, please pray for me, my friend. And God will see to the rest.” Gul clasped his hands together and said, “There is one more thing. May I please have back my, uh, bang-bang shoot-them-up?”
With furrowed brows, he asked “You mean, shoot ‘em up, bang-bang? Your gun? Do you guys sit around and have American movie night in that cave or something?’
Gul smiled and joked, “Only every Tuesday and Thursday nights.”
* * * * * * *
The San Diego November day was warm, but the night was cool.
A few days after seeing Gul, the goateed man had opened the one and only window in his apartment to let the cool breeze in, and he lay down on his couch with eyes closed, waiting to fall asleep. The gold picture frame that kept the photo of him, his wife, and son in front of the Eiffel Tower rested facedown on top of his chest.
On the coffee table, next to him, were his keys and nothing else. The kitchen counter was also clean.
While he listened through the earbuds to music playing on his phone, the television tuned to a news station, with the volume on mute. Images of the destroyed bridge and buildings in Los Angeles appeared on one side of the screen with the news anchor on the other. Then, a reporter interviewing a law officer replaced the image of the anchor. Afterwards, a dual composite sketch of Samuel Ian Kessian appeared on the upper right. Then, the sketch expanded, to fill the whole television screen.
The news footage had already run several times, and he had previously seen the photo of Sik.
He thought of the things Gul told him: about his nemesis, about God giving him his abilities, and about his name. And yet even with those answers, there were still open questions.
Opening his eyes, he lifted his wrist and stared at the symbol.
He said, in a whisper, “God, what is my name?”
He felt the smooth skin at his wrist.
A moment later, he crossed his arms over his chest and breathed in deep. He closed his eyes and listened, as the song finished and another one followed. When that song ended, another one played. By the next one, he was in the twilight of his sleep.
Images of his meeting with Gul flashed: the two of them walking across the mountain, the snake, the knife, the inscriptions on the knife. Seconds later, the scenes changed. He saw the Paris apartment door once again, with the upside down 17 hanging from it. Then, once more, the inscription on Gul’s knife flashed before him.
Soon, his eyes began to dart back and forth, under their closed lids. He had fallen asleep.
Later, he began to dream.
In a vineyard in Saint-Emilion, France, there was a dark haired woman and a little boy inside their family chateau, franticall
y gathering their belongings. She was his wife and the little boy was his son.
It was some time during World War II, after he had departed and given the leather attache case to his son. Hitler’s army moved like a ravenous swarm of locusts into their region, and now his wife and son gravely needed to leave.
As his wife hurriedly packed a large suitcase, their son knelt in front of the worn, brown, leather attache case. In his tiny hands were pictures the family. The boy gazed into the image of his father. A moment later, he carefully set the pictures back in the case. Then, he retrieved a piece of paper from within. Turning the paper right side up, he studied a sketch of an object his father had made. Soon, his eyes moved to try to read the notes his father had written on the paper.
Still feverishly packing clothes, his mother said to him, “Hurry. Let’s hurry.”
The boy put the paper back into the case and wrapped its strap over his little shoulder.
His mother felt her son approach and stand behind her. She paused, and then turned. Noticing the attache case hanging from his shoulder, she smiled at him warmly. She drew him in close and kissed his forehead. “You are such a good boy,” she said. Looking into his eyes, she added, “Always keep this with you, my son. You will see your father again. He will keep his word.”
The obedient boy nodded.
The dream faded, and then another began. The next one was also, unequivocally, an event from his past.
It was intended to warn him of one who would come.
The loud churn of a car engine startled his ears, and in his deep sleep, he twitched his head to the side. The car’s spinning, grinding wheels spewed up dirt and stones into the warm disrupted air, caused by the frantic escape of the man behind the steering wheel. As the driver - a middle-aged jeweler - raced his vehicle through the streets of World War II Berlin and into the city’s outskirts, he could feel the hot sweat fall from the back of his neck down to his collar. Panting, he hurriedly loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of the white shirt of his black suit. Peering through his silver oval-rimmed glasses, he glanced up at the rearview mirror and watched his pursuers quickly gain ground.
Three black vehicles trailed behind, on the straight two-lane road, displaying flags of the Schutzstaffel - the Nazi SS. As the city buildings and roads diminished in the distance behind them, open fields gradually blended into short brushes and stalwart trees, in front of them. In the lead car, an SS Major leaned back, almost in a reclined position, in the front passenger seat. With his window rolled down, his arm rested over the door. The form of his face was hidden from view.
As the lead SS vehicle soon closed in, soldiers at either side of the rear seats extended their bodies out of the car, and began to shoot their rifles at the escaping vehicle. Their rounds glanced off the side of the metal body, ricocheted off of the roof, and shot through the rear window.
Sweat now dripped down the cleanly shaved bald head, and then down over the brows of the frightened jeweler. As the bullets crashed through his rear window and out through the windshield, his shoulders and head jerked and recoiled away from the terrifying sound of his fate closing in.
Suddenly, with a pop of the rifle behind him, a bullet pierced the left front tire of the jeweler’s vehicle, heralding his demise. The life breath of the tire immediately escaped, through the torn and frayed rubber. Shocked by the jarring ping of the bullet ricocheting off the metal rim of the wheel, the panicking jeweler jerked the steering wheel to the left. Instantly, his car began to spin counterclockwise, its rear tires skidding over the hot asphalt. The jeweler quickly yanked the steering wheel to the right. But he dramatically overcompensated. Immediately, the car spun clockwise.
The damaged front rubber tire peeled away from its metal rim and flew underneath the car. Instantly, the bare rim lodged itself into the melting black road. The rear of the vehicle lifted completely into the air, flipped over the front, and slammed into the road. With the sound of crunching and grinding metal, the car rotated to its side and tumbled off the left edge of the road. A moment later, the car slid to a wheezing halt, rocking and teetering upside-down.
Disoriented, the jeweler blinked then blinked again. He realized he was upside-down within the car. As he attempted to quickly right himself, a tremendous pain shot throughout his body, centered at the lower part of his right leg. The leg was broken below the knee. Gingerly, he positioned himself to begin to crawl out of the car. With the wheel of his car spinning above him, his arms pulled himself through the shattered door window and onto the dirt and grass.
The black boots of SS soldiers were already surrounding him. With rifles and pistols drawn, the soldiers watched him crawl to a nearby tree.
There, the jeweler cringed in agony, as he pushed himself up to sit and lean against the tree. Grimacing through the rims of his glasses, he watched the slender Major casually open the door of his lead car.
Carefully closing the door, the Major took measured steps in the direction of the jeweler. Each step of his polished black boots crushed loose dirt into the heated road. Momentarily, the Major stopped, directly in front of the jeweler.
The jeweler turned his gaze up. With the blazing afternoon sun immediately above and behind the Major’s head and hat, he was unable to see the Major’s face.
Looking down, the Major said in a calm, emotionless voice, “My poor dear man, your rash flight has reaped you greater misfortune than I have intended to give you.”
The jeweler panted through the shooting pain from his lower leg.
The Major slowly bent down on one knee, next to the injured right leg. Still with a calm, measured voice, he said, “I’m not quite sure, but I believe your leg may be broken.” His right hand inched patiently down and touched the jeweler’s pant leg just above the broken bone. Slowly, he began to lean his weight down on the fracture.
The jeweler screamed in utter agony. His tortured voice flung out into the dry, hot air and far over the fields and trees. With the shocked vessels of his veins constricting, blood fled away from his face and head.
Feeling the bones sink under his hand, the Major’s lips almost formed a grin on his otherwise unaffected face. As he enjoyed the scream ring in his ears, he slowly eased his weight from the jeweler’s leg.
The jeweler’s face became a pale white. He had almost completely fainted. But as the pain eased, his eyes rolled, while he regained his senses.
“I only wished to pose such brief and precise questions to you, but you did not let me,” the Major explained. “If I were an emotional man, I would have shown you anger. But instead, I will simply ask those questions to you now.”
Without glancing behind him, the Major casually pointed back to his vehicle. Immediately, one of his soldiers dashed to it, stopped at the trunk, and opened it.
As the jeweler winced and panted, the Major continued in a monotone voice, “Esteemed and honored sir, you are a most upright and respected gentleman, in both your business and your community. And as such, you have gained much praise from many. And not merely praise but trust…deep trust.”
As the Major looked up to the sky and breathed in deep, the soldier returned to his side, standing in complete attention.
“It is a trust I envy,” the Major said, “That is, if I were one to envy. I know for certain that traitorous people have given you their trust. They have trusted you to accomplish such evil and awful deeds. They have trusted you to keep within your heart such evil and awful schemes. I believe you know of what I speak, yes?”
The jeweler quickly shook his head, and then quickly regretted answering.
“Oh, kind sir, yes you do,” responded the Major, disappointedly shaking his head. “But perhaps, it will become much clearer if I just ask the questions.”
The SS Major reached from within his black coat a dark handkerchief. Leaning a forearm over his bent knee, he extended his other arm out toward the jeweler’s head. Then, he carefully wiped the sweat from the wretched man’s forehead and dabbed the man’s glis
tening bald head. Slowly, he retracted his hand and placed the handkerchief back within his coat.
Leaning in once again, the Major quietly posed his questions, “So, honorable jeweler, I will ask you my questions, and then I will patiently wait for you to carefully and cautiously craft your answers; and afterwards I will patiently listen to your ever truthful words.”
As the Major paused, the jeweler nodded very slightly.
The warm breeze stopped blowing, and the air became still.
The questions came in a whisper, “When will the traitorous assassin attempt to harm our illustrious Fuhrer, and where is this devilish act planned to occur?”
A stinging, searing pain sparked from the jeweler’s broken bones. He reared his head back and gasped loudly. As the pain subsided, he gulped and panted his answer, “If I am an honored man, then in my honor, I say I have not been part of any such terrible schemes against our wonderful Fuhrer…and, Major, I am deeply sorry that I ran away, but I so gravely and wrongly thought these men were going to rob me. I did not know you were with them and that you merely wanted to ask me questions. I have been robbed before, you see. But of course not by your honorable men.”
The Major kept his word to patiently listen. After the jeweler finished answering, he breathed in deeply, and then slowly stood. He took off his hat and black leather gloves and handed them to the soldier standing at attention by his side. Then, he extended his right hand out; the soldier laid in it a heavy, thick, solid iron rod. It was just more than two centimeters thick and under a meter in length.
The jeweler’s heart fainted. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the heavens.
With both hands, the Major squeezed the iron rod. His forearms felt its weight, and the skin of his palms clenched its grittiness. He circled around the jeweler’s right leg to reach the side of his left leg. His head gestured to his men. Quickly, one took hold of the jeweler’s left foot and two others gripped and stretched out each of the poor man’s arms.
RB 01 Through Flesh & Bone Page 37