"He has always known that this reality, the one that we can see and feel and comprehend is not the only, let's call it 'truth.' As a scientist, his goal was to find the evidence."
"So, he has spent his life looking for the proof, the existence of other dimensions."
He looks at me cautiously, protectively. "He is completing the task that others before him began."
"Benjamin, I know it's you. You found him when he was young and you helped him. Isn't that right?" I try to retain my composure but feel the tears coming down my face. "And Einstein, right? Who else? How many others have there been? How many others have known?"
He turns to face me. "Many others."
"Then why, why did they not reveal the proof?"
Benjamin looks at me with a sadness I have not seen before.
"Gabriella."
"It has something to do with you, doesn't it, Benjamin?"
"Yes."
"Please tell me why; I need to know."
"I was sent here—to stop them."
"What?" I am not expecting this.
"In every generation events happen. Circumstances arise where people are tested. Throughout time we have come and observed how your world would handle these situations. What choices they would make. We needed to see whether your world was ready." He walks over to the wall of windows that overlook the city and stands there, his arms crossed, his back to me.
I climb out of bed and pull his shirt around my bare body. As I come up behind him, I slip my arms through his and step into him. "Benjamin, please."
"Your grandfather planned to continue the work of Einstein and—reveal everything. But he needed to understand, just like Einstein did. We had to tell him why he could not."
"We? So there are others, like you?"
"Yes. Our task is to monitor the rules of the universe, the laws of nature you might say. Otherwise." He looks out the windows and shakes his head as if he is remembering a scenario just like the one he is describing. "Otherwise, Gabriella, terrible things happen."
"Do you mean things that we cannot understand? That simply make no sense at all?"
"Some scientists have tried to measure what may not be measurable. Others have looked for reasons to explain things that there simply are no answers for."
"Like natural disasters, tsunamis, the Holocaust."
"Some of those are inflicted by nature but others like the systematic destruction of people are caused by—"
"Man," I say.
"That's right. There is a difference between destruction and death by unavoidable natural occurrences and those that are intentionally committed by human beings against each other. Those are the rules we are talking about, the ones that involve choice."
"Like choosing our fate?"
"Gabriella, I have broken the rules."
"You? How, Benjamin, could you possibly—"
"By changing your fate. And mine." He shakes his head. "I was not supposed to help your grandmother, to take her through."
"My grandmother knew about everything, didn't she?"
"Your grandmother was a very brave woman. She knew everything about his work and she understood about the ports."
"She knew she was going to die."
"She wanted to try to cross over, to go through the tunnel with me. So she—"
"Could live in your world."
"Free of illness and subject to very different laws of time."
"But she died."
"Her soul was able to go but not her body, Gabriella."
"He would never have let her go, so he blamed you, but not anymore. You heard what he said. He forgives you; he forgives her. He understands now."
"I knew he would."
"And you, Benjamin?" The question I have been afraid to ask. "What about you?"
There is silence for what seems like an eternity. He strokes my hair, his lips touch the top of my head as he pulls me into him. "Your grandfather always thought that he needed me to help prove his theory. But he does not. He's found the proof, all of the answers, and he's done it on his own. He knows this. But I'm afraid—"
"What is it?"
"If your grandfather chooses to reveal the proof, then I can't stay here. It is impossible."
I need to calm myself, to fight back the panic I am feeling and control my own selfish needs—somehow process the information and consider whatever limited options I have. I look at him and feel as if for the first time in my life, I am pleading. Begging.
"Benjamin, I can't, I won't live in this world without you. If you cannot stay here, then please, please let me go with you."
"Our worlds are not meant to intersect. It cannot be."
"Benjamin—"
"No matter what happens, you must always remember how much I love you. Promise me that, Gabriella. Always remember."
"Yes. I will." As the words come out of my mouth, I barely recognize my own voice.
* * *
64
* * *
I STAND ALONE ON the terrace and look out over the Old City. I wait for Benjamin to come back with the car and feel a certain resolve. I understand now. Everything has become perfectly clear. I will accept what he has told me, because it is bigger than anything I could have imagined. All the things in my life have led me to this moment: my grandfather's life's work, everything he has sacrificed and worked so hard for. All will now be revealed as it must.
And I will lose Benjamin.
I feel the space between us growing, marked only by the silence. He drives quickly, and we descend over the road on the way out of Jerusalem, down through the Judean Hills toward the Dead Sea. There are no words, only his hand held tightly to my heart, my head turned away as I look out the window. The sun is behind us and lights up the hills that are dotted with vegetation and the occasional Bedouin flock. It is an overwhelmingly beautiful sight, and I lean back onto the headrest of our Jeep, the warm air all around me. I turn my body back toward his and move my hand slowly up his arm and around the back of his head. Even though I try not to, I need to look at him. He takes his eyes off the road for a second and, as his eyes meet mine, I feel the power of the connection between us.
"Benjamin." I want to tell him that I feel like I'm going to vanish without him. Dissolve. "I want to remember all of this."
"You will."
"I've decided that it's safer to live in the past."
"No," he says. I can hear the pain in his voice.
I pull my hand away from his. I need to be strong. I look out at the mountains and the Dead Sea. "I used to love to come here with my family when I was a little girl and I want to remember."
"You do remember though."
"I want to remember what it felt like when things were simple. When my life approximated some semblance of normalcy."
"Do you know where we are?"
"The lowest place on earth. There." My finger points to a dark opening in the limestone hills. "The caves of Qumran."
"Where the Dead Sea Scrolls were discovered."
I remember the amazing story of how in 1947, a Bedouin shepherd boy was searching for a lost goat near Qumran on the shores of the Dead Sea. He entered a cave and stumbled upon one of the most significant archaeological finds ever made. I know this is where Benjamin met my grandmother.
"This is where you found her isn't it? She was on the archaeological expedition under the British Mandate."
"1943."
"Where were you?" I ask.
"At the top of the mountain. In the cistern."
There is so much more I want to know about that time when they were together, so many years before I was born. I question him as I feel the backs of my fingers brush lightly along his cheek.
"Masada."
"For many generations the story of Masada was considered only legend." He seems relieved to move the conversation to something less intimate.
"When you were with her then, in 1943, it wasn't known yet?" I ask.
"It wasn't until 1963, when the area was ex
cavated by a large international expedition that proved the legend to be fact."
"But you knew."
He turns his head to look at me, to make sure that I will understand what he is about to say. "Masada is one of the most enduring examples of the determination of individuals. To be free. To choose their fate through their own actions."
Of course, I knew the story very well, both from visits to the mountain and the incredible legend of the place, the story that was told to me over and over as a child: the mountain that rose in the solitude of the Judean Desert.
"Look, there it is." I point to the flat-topped mountain in the distance. "It's ironic, don't you think? The ancient history that has taken place in this small part of our world and now, the group of scientists gathering to propose the theories that will change all our futures, forever."
"Another link between two thousand years ago and today," Benjamin says quietly.
"For very different reasons."
My eyes move away from his burning gaze to the mountain that is the site of so much bravery and death. I see the ruins of Herod's palace on the north face. The mountain is odd in its architecture—perfect for a fortress and geographically isolated from its surroundings by deep gorges on all sides.
We step out of the car, and I slam the door and wait for him to come around and stand behind me. I need to collect myself. I don't want my grandfather to see me like this.
"They were all here, Gabriella, so many have stood in this very place."
Seventy-five years after Herod died, a group of rebels and their families fled Jerusalem after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE. They established a large camp on the top of the mountain and began their resistance to the Roman Empire. In my mind, this had always been our story of David and Goliath. For two years almost one thousand people survived.
"What is it about this place, Benjamin? Why? Ten Roman camps, unlimited wealth and funding, the greatest army in the world, and they couldn't conquer those few at the top of the mountain. Men, women, and children? It just doesn't make sense."
I knew that in 73 CE the Roman governor, Flavius Silva, led an attack on the mountain with almost fifteen thousand militia. This time, the Romans were determined to quash the rebellion, knowing that escape from the summit was absolutely impossible. With sophisticated weapons and massive fires they broke through the defenses and prepared to take all their prisoners.
"The Romans did not anticipate the spirit and conviction of the defenders up above. Almost one thousand men, women, and children, who had other ideas, ready to face the Roman Empire." He looks at me.
"What do you mean?"
"They decided that rather than being taken alive they would choose their fate. So they took their own lives. They burned everything but left all of their food. They wanted the Romans to know that they had chosen this."
I look up again at the northern edge of the steep cliff. I can see terraces connected by rock-cut staircases. I know that above there are living quarters, a small private bathhouse, a synagogue, store rooms, throne rooms, and cisterns to collect and store water. All covered in frescos of multicolored geometric patterns, mosaics, and cut marble. It would have been a remarkable construction project anywhere and at any time. But it was accomplished two thousand years ago, on the top of a mountain, in the middle of a desert.
"The bravery of individuals, to push forward into the unknown."
"To choose freedom," he says.
"To fare forward." The words slip out of my mouth. I remember the poem from Four Quartets, and my grandmother's encouragement to not be burdened by the past, nor fear the future. Something I needed to keep with me always. A good luck charm and reminder, a link to my own past. "She wrote 'we have far to travel.' My grandmother, so many years ago in the inscription."
"I know." He smiles at me. "She always said that."
"The poem is all about time, the ideas seem illogical, yet—completely coherent. It is so personal, almost prophetic."
"You have done as she predicted."
I can see the new structure that has been built at the base of the mountain. The magnificent museum and visitor center where the reception is being held is completely surrounded by armed guards and security barricades. Soldiers stand still with their weapons at their side, and there are hundreds of press vehicles everywhere.
"Oh my God." I catch my breath at the sight of the massive security. "This is insane."
Benjamin is completely unfazed by the activity in front of us. "Gabriella, there is something else, about the poem. You know the third chapter, the 'Dry Salvages?'"
"Why are we talking about this now?" I don't want to talk anymore; I can't think straight.
"Because, it's named after a group of three rocks that are very close to your home in Gloucester, right off of Cape Ann, where I found you in the water. Did you know that T.S. Eliot wrote his poem there before he left and moved to England?"
"No, actually, I didn't."
He takes both my hands in his. "You are the music, while the music lasts."
I recognize the words from the poem and I don't know what to say; I'm numb.
"Benjamin." I fight back my tears. "Maybe it was enough just to know that the possibility of you existed." I turn my head away from him but feel like I can no longer breathe. "When this is over, all I will have left of you—will be words."
"Just promise me, Gabriella, that you will remember what I told you. There were families and children on the top of that mountain, and they had to choose while the Roman soldiers surrounded them. There are moments in history when the correct order of things is so violated that—"
"Fates must change," I cut him off.
"That's right, there are rules."
* * *
65
* * *
I FEEL THE SACRED MOUNTAIN.
The familiar sensations I have experienced ever since I was small of the unmistakeable energy, a layered knowledge of the souls and hearts of those who have been in this place before. The density of those experiences somehow floating in a zone that I have access to, as if there is no space or time separating that moment from this one. I am sure that it is with my heart that I understand an essential part of my own history and who I have become. The many secrets of my world, all finally being revealed.
I hold tightly to Benjamin's hand as we approach the building. It contains all the modern elements of a comfortable tourist destination. A museum, theatre, reception hall, gift shop, and even a cable car that brings visitors to the summit. I try to imagine this place before any of that existed, two thousand years ago.
"Here, Gabriella, put this on."
Benjamin hands me a laminated badge that has my photograph on it, a barcode, and other numbers and symbols.
"Where did you get this?"
"Always so many questions." He smiles but doesn't answer. "We can go through the other door with this pass. Come this way."
The reception hall is bursting with people, and I hear many languages being spoken. A wall of cameras and international press photograph everyone who comes in through the door in a blinding, continuous burst of flashbulbs. There is the undeniable sense that this group of people is at the forefront of something that will change everything—and my grandfather is at the very center of it.
"Look, there he is."
A large group of reporters surround my grandfather.
"Yes," Benjamin says. "Go to him, Gabriella, I will find you after."
I am relieved to finally see my grandfather. The familiar shape of his shoulders from behind are slightly bent forward. In one hand, he holds a stack of papers and the other hand rests on a colleague's back, steadying himself, allowing him to place his ear close to the speaker's mouth. He never wants to miss a word. His hearing had been declining in the last few months, and this, along with several other physical changes that I had noticed, was disconcerting. I promised myself that we would have him visit his doctor when we returned to New York. Seeing him again in his element h
elps to alleviate the worry I have felt about his well being since we had been separated on the ground in Istanbul.
I run to greet him.
"Gabriella." He tries to disengage himself from the bear hug I have him in so that he can look at me.
I stand and wonder if he can see the invisible but dramatic changes in every part of me. "I've been so worried about you," I say as his eyes meet mine. He reaches for my hands and kisses them both in the way he has always done since I was small.
"You are a sight for sore eyes." He takes my arm and loops it through his. "Come, I want to talk to you."
We push our way to the back of the room, stopping briefly to acknowledge the many who are attempting to speak with him. The flashing lights of the cameras are making me dizzy, and I feel overwhelmed by everyone pulling at my grandfather. I keep looking around hoping to see Benjamin, but he is nowhere.
"Quite a group," my grandfather whispers into my ear.
Suddenly, a young woman dressed in military fatigues has both her hands on him. "Dr. Vogel, come with us. We need you at the front of the room. Now."
"Yes, yes." He pries her hands off of him. "I will be there in a moment."
He ignores her request and continues to push me in the opposite direction toward the back of the room. Clearly, he wants privacy.
"Papa, where are we going?"
"Look at you, so grown up." He moves a stray hair away from my eyes. "So much is happening more quickly than I ever imagined and now, Benjamin and you."
I feel myself blush deeply, but he continues, "You must listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you."
There is an urgency to what he is saying. Even though the program for the evening has started, he leads me out the doors and away from the auditorium into the hallway.
"Of course, what is it?" I ask and force myself to push away the growing anxiety I feel. "Shouldn't we go back in? Can this wait?"
"All this." He ignores my questions and points to the other room."Is very gratifying. However, you are the one who has shown me many things."
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