An Unexpected Afterlife

by Dan Sofer

  Afternoon sunlight warmed his arm on the windowsill of the passenger door. He should follow through on Shmuel’s advice and buy that Barbie doll and cake. With one week until the wedding, he had no time to lose. But a numbing inertia had set in. Over the last few days, he had poured his energy into escaping slavery and finding shelter, leaving little bandwidth for Galit. All his attempts at reaching her had hit the same brick wall. Would today be any different? His thoughts drifted to the growing checklist of tasks for the new non-profit.

  They reached Shimshon Street at 1 PM. Moshe scarfed down his lunch of reheated Hungarian treats.

  “How long can I keep up this diet,” he said at the table, “before I have another heart attack?”

  Rafi laughed. Rabbi Yosef smiled. Irina didn’t respond. They hadn’t spoken since she had skipped out of the house yesterday afternoon.

  Before he could ask what was on her mind, the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” he said.

  He checked the peephole for angry best friends, murderous Arabs, and slave drivers. The stranger at the door belonged to none of the above.

  “Moshe Karlin?” the old man asked when the door opened. He wore a pinstriped shirt, baggy gray trousers, thinning white hair, and a lost expression. He peered past Moshe and his face brightened. “Shmuel!” he exclaimed, and he hurried past Moshe.

  Shmuel wiped his mouth and embraced the visitor.

  “Back from the dead, you old bastard.”

  “Everyone,” Shmuel announced. “This is Eran. A friend from the old days at Yediot.”

  “Channel Ten, now,” Eran said. “Producer. Documentaries, mostly.”

  Moshe shook his hand. “Pull up a seat and have some lunch.”

  “Don’t mind if I do. Is that nokedli?”

  Eran sat between Shmuel and Moshe and piled food on his plate. With Moshe’s permission, he pressed Record on his iPhone. He asked questions between mouthfuls and listened while he chewed. Moshe described all that had happened since he had awoken last Tuesday morning on the Mount of Olives. Rabbi Yosef added the scriptural references and religious dogma.

  “Incredible,” the reporter said. He had wiped his plate clean. “This changes everything. Had I not known Shmuel here, I would never have believed it. Channel Ten hasn’t had a groundbreaking report like this in… well, I don’t think anything comes close. This is historic. Epic.”

  “When will the story air?”

  “I’ll need to come back with a camera crew. Interview a few more people. Dig around. You know—more perspectives to round the piece off. Then there’s editing and scheduling. On the fast track, I’d say a week or two.”

  “Perfect.” Moshe should have things ready by then. He pulled out the sheet of paper with his checklist.

  Rafi leaned in to get a better look. “What’s our next stop?”

  “Bank account.” Moshe glanced at his watch, then remembered again that he had pawned the Rolex on Pierre Koenig Street. He found the time on Eran’s iPhone. “Two PM. Banks are closing already. We’ll continue tomorrow. Not bad for our first day.”

  Savta Sarah entered from the kitchen, undoing an apron and trailing a pensive rabbanit, with pen and notepad at the ready. “When it boils,” Savta said, “put it on low and mix in salt, pepper, and paprika. Lots of paprika.”

  “How much?”

  Savta shrugged. “As much as it needs. I never measure anything. Rafi, let’s go. Time to rest. I’m not as young as I look.”

  She embraced Moshe. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She sent a meaningful glance at the rabbanit, who tensed as she prepared to object, then relented. The list of recipes ran very long and Savta had started with the slow-cooking dishes. The rabbanit would require a long internship to learn Savta’s culinary expertise. Moshe and his crew had won another night under the rabbi’s roof.

  Moshe escorted Savta and Rafi to the taxi and then cleaned up the dining room table. He stacked the dishes in the meat sink and soaped the sponge, his mind afloat with strategies for the week ahead. Their campaign should highlight their plight to create sympathy. They needed contacts in the Ministry of the Interior and National Health Insurance. Other resurrectees might have connections. How many wandered undiscovered on the streets? He stacked the last dish on the drying rack. They should buy the rabbi a dishwasher, too.

  Irina huddled on the couch in the living room, her knees pressed to her chest.

  “Where is everyone?”

  She avoided his eyes. Was she crying?

  He sat beside her. “What’s going on?”

  She wiped her eyes and forced a smile. “Who is Sivan?”

  The name caught him off guard. “She works at Karlin & Son. Or used to. Why?”

  Irina looked him in the eyes. “Did you sleep with her?”

  “No. Of course not. She was my employee.”

  Irina emitted a nervous laugh. “I didn’t think so. But Galit does.”

  “Galit?”

  “I spoke with her last night. She teaches Zumba on Emek Refaim.”

  Zumba. Galit had signed up years ago but missed every class. Moshe had always returned home too late from work. With him out of the way, she had trained as an instructor. Good for you, Galit. He turned his attention from his past failings to the first part of Irina’s revelation. Sivan.

  “Dear God,” he said. He leaned forward on the couch. The facts clicked together like falling dominoes. “She must have thought… Or Avi must have told her that…”

  Zohar the Hairdresser’s voice rang in his mind. I know your type.

  The room pitched and tilted around him. Everything made sense. Galit’s refusal to speak to him. Avi’s threats. Even her choice of Avi.

  “I have to tell Galit.”

  Irina sniffed. “She won’t believe you. She even thinks that we’re together now.” Her red eyes held his, searching for an answer to her own silent questions.

  “Then I’ll have to convince her.”

  CHAPTER 56

  Eli rolled down the polished corridor of the hospital. He slapped the wheels with unnecessary force. Tomorrow morning, come what may, he was out of here. He had mapped the route to the exit—fifty meters from his room to the elevator, seventy meters to the exit of Emergency Care on the first floor, and fifty more uphill to the taxi rank.

  He had managed to go to the bathroom without assistance; they couldn’t hold him against his will. He’d hire a private nurse if he had to. With Noga out of the picture, what was keeping him there?

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid to open up to her. Stupid to think she would believe. They never believed. You could rain down fire from heaven, but the moment the embers cooled, their faith fled.

  He pressed the button for the elevator. The doors of the large metal box opened at the speed of the continental drift. Eli rolled inside and parked beside a large wheeled bed and a male nurse in blue fatigues. He pressed the button for the fourth floor.

  He had no time to twiddle his thumbs while his muscles strengthened. He had places to go, people to anoint. A Final Redemption to announce.

  Or did he?

  As the doors closed, one millimeter at a time, another explanation for his miserable situation rose in his mind, like a distant ripple on the ocean: The Boss had deemed this generation, like all earlier generations, unworthy. In the last minute, the balance of merit had shifted, and He had aborted the nascent redemption.

  The Boss had pulled the plug before. King Hezekiah had come close. Bar Kokhba had crashed and burned. A handful of saintly souls throughout history had shown promise but fizzled out. But each time, the Thin Voice had whispered the verdict in Eli’s third ear. Why the accident? Why the torment of human pain and helplessness?

  If the Divine Will had postponed the End, surely Eli would have known?

  A third explanation arose. This one accounted for all the facts. His accident. The lengthy recovery and missing powers. His wonky intuition.

  This theory was no ripple on the horizon—it was a tidal w
ave! Ominous. Inescapable.

  There would be no Redemption. Not today. Not ever. The Boss had heeded his advice, finally, and given up on humankind.

  And with no hope of Redemption, there was no longer any need for a harbinger. The Boss had abandoned him to the whim of Nature. He would never regain his former strength and powers. He would remain trapped in this mortal coil to live out the rest of his, now numbered, days.

  No. No!

  The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor. Cold drops of sweat dripped down his forehead. The walls of the corridor swayed before his eyes.

  He made for the kitchenette, pulled a plastic cup from the dispenser, and poured water from the cooler. He gulped the clear liquid and gasped for air. Take it easy. Relax. That’s it. He poured another glass.

  A familiar voice giggled in the corridor. One of the younger nurses. Liora.

  Eli placed his cup between his legs and inched his wheelchair toward the doorway. Liora leaned against a wall, paper cup in hand. She smiled up at a man. Eli saw only the back of his head but knew him at once by his wild, carrot-colored hair and baggy, motley clothes.

  The nurse giggled again.

  Love is in the air. Oren had not been wrong about body language. He rolled to the edge of the doorway.

  Liora sipped her drink and grew serious. “Don’t you get depressed? All those poor kids?”

  Moti the Clown gave his head a shake. “The kids are brave. Resilient. Distract them a little and they’ll have fun like any healthy kid.”

  The bastard could speak after all. His voice was deeper than Eli had imagined.

  “What really gets me down,” the clown continued, “are the adults. They won’t let go. Not for a second.” He lowered his voice. “Like him.” He nodded toward the end of the corridor.

  “Who?”

  “The nut case. The Messiah.”

  Liora tittered. “You mean Elijah the Prophet.”

  News traveled fast.

  “Whatever. How do you help someone like that? He’s trapped in his own world.”

  Eli rolled back an inch. So that’s how they saw him. Nut case. Trapped. Let them jeer. They were the pitiful ones. Or were they?

  A week in the hospital. A week as a cripple. A week without The Magic. Would he even recognize the Thin Voice if it spoke again? Had it ever truly spoken?

  He waited for them to leave. He rolled down the corridor. Nadir glanced up from the nurses’ desk as he passed. He avoided her eyes. Would he ever be able to look any of them in the eye again?

  In his room, Eliana stripped the sheets off his neighbor’s bed and made to leave.

  Eli paused halfway to his bed. “Eliana,” he said, “has he checked out already?”

  She paused at the door. “Who?”

  “You know. Oren. Older guy. Nosy. Many progeny. That was his bed.” Oren would surely have said goodbye. Any excuse to talk.

  Eliana straightened. “No one told you?”

  “What?”

  “He passed away. This morning, during surgery.”

  The world swayed again. Oren was dead.

  Never delay, Oren had said. Wise words. They seemed all the wiser now that he was gone.

  The touch of a hand on his arm jolted him from his reverie.

  “I’m sorry,” Eliana said. “Life is short.” The beefy nurse gave him a long, compassionate glance and left.

  He wheeled the chair around the empty bed, put his hands on the armrests, and heaved his body onto the edge of his own mattress. He lay down. He turned his head toward the naked, empty bed. Then he stared, long and hard, at the thick manila folder on the table.

  CHAPTER 57

  The hostess ushered Moshe and Irina to a corner table in Kaffit, a coffee shop on Emek Refaim. The pockets of teatime patrons didn’t give them a second glance.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to meet at the house?” Irina asked, when they settled at their table.

  Moshe had wondered the same thing. “Maybe she’s more comfortable meeting in a public place,” he said. “Fair enough. Until a week ago, I was dead.” Sivan had not sounded surprised to hear his voice on the phone, but had hesitated at his request for an urgent meeting.

  A waiter in a black T-shirt and matching apron approached and Moshe ordered a jar of water while they waited. If Sivan stood him up, at least he wouldn’t waste precious shekels.

  Irina bit her nails and sent glances over her shoulder at the street traffic. She avoided his glance. A silent storm seemed to rage within her. Did she believe his innocence? Had he lost her trust? He didn’t ask. Soon he’d clear his name—again—and open a back door to Galit.

  Would his wife ever welcome him back? He had always thought his marriage strong and good. The past was not what it used to be. He had neglected her, pouring his energies into Karlin & Son, while the void he created at home had filled with suspicion and distrust. In the last few days, the void had widened. Was Zohar the Hairdresser right? Did she deserve better?

  Moshe and Irina didn’t wait long. Sivan walked in at a brisk pace, clutching a handbag. He almost didn’t recognize her. The feisty young girl had traded her trademark torn jeans and T-shirt for a business suit and Louis Vuitton. She spotted their table. Her eyes flitted to Irina and her hand loosened on the bag.

  Moshe stood. “Sivan, thanks for coming.” His arm hesitated at his side. She didn’t offer her hand either. A friendly kiss on the cheek would be a bad idea. Best not to feed the rumormongers.

  The awkward moment passed. She sat in the empty chair and brushed a strand of blow-dried hair from her face. “I got your message Saturday night,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t return your call.”

  He had wondered about that, and now her apology gave him pause. Should he be offended? “Did you know—?” he began.

  “Mathew told me,” she said, interrupting him. “After all that had happened, I thought you hated me.”

  Moshe felt he had stepped into the middle of a conversation. “What do you mean? Why would I hate you?”

  She looked him straight in the eyes. “After you passed, Avi called. He said you had wanted to fire me.”

  Just when Moshe thought he had a handle on things, everything he knew flew out the window. Avi had conspired to take over his life before his dead body had cooled. “I didn’t know that,” he said. “I thought you were laid off a few months ago, when the company ran out of money.”

  She studied the tabletop. “I was depressed for months. Then I pulled myself together. Got a job in customer service at a hi-tech company in Malcha. Got promoted a few times. Now I’m VP Marketing.”

  “No kidding? I mean, congratulations. That’s fantastic.” She smiled and flicked her hair behind a shoulder. Don’t lay it on too thick. But lay it on. He was about to ask a lot of her.

  “A VP in under two years,” he added. Leaving Karlin & Son had been a wise career move for two of his employees. The fact made his ego twinge a little. “I didn’t want to fire you at all,” he continued. “And you’re not the only one Avi lied to. I think he told Galit that we’d had an affair.”

  “You and me?” Her eyes widened.

  He nodded. “He moved in with her—into my house. They’re getting married next week.”

  “But now that you’re back…?”

  “She won’t speak to me. I tried. Avi attacked me in the street and threatened my life. And on top of it all, we’ve both been struggling to survive with no home, no job, and no money.”

  Sivan looked to Irina. “So you’re also… like Moshe?”

  Irina nodded.

  Moshe breathed in deep. “I’m really, really grateful that you came to see me today. We don’t have many friends.” His chest tightened. He’d been fighting every step of the way since the day he was resurrected. He’d been deceived and cheated and beaten up; slandered and enslaved. He could really do with a hand up.

  Sivan glanced from Moshe to Irina and back. She said, “How can I help?”

  CHAPTER 58

  Dusk se
ttled over the German Colony as Moshe, Irina, and Sivan walked down Emek Refaim. They crossed the defunct train tracks to Shimshon Street and paused a few houses down from the Karlin residence. The slatted shutters sealed the windows but Galit’s white Kia Sportage hugged the curb outside.

  “You should go alone,” he told Sivan.

  “What do I tell her?”

  “The truth. There was nothing between us. Nothing romantic. If she responds well, I’ll be right here.”

  She nodded and set out down the street, her heels echoing off the stone houses. Moshe’s stomach churned. After all the failed attempts, he had almost despaired of ever breaking through the barriers to Galit’s heart. Finally, he understood why she had locked him out. Finally, he held the key. But would the door open?

  And if it did, would he come face-to-face with his deepest, darkest fear—that Galit simply did not want him back? He felt his cheeks drain of blood. In the next few seconds, one way or another, he’d find out.

  Sivan climbed the three steps and knocked on the front door. She waited and cast a smile in Moshe’s direction. After a few moments, she pressed the buzzer.

  The shadows deepened as the light faded.

  Any moment now, the door would open. Galit would appear at the threshold. From her reaction, Moshe would know his fate. Sivan shifted on her feet and jabbed the buzzer again.

  She put her ear to the door. Then she turned and abandoned her post.

  “Nobody’s home.”

  “Her car’s outside. It’s seven o’clock.”

  Sivan shrugged. “Do you have her number?”

  Moshe knew that one by heart. Sivan dialed the number on her phone. “Voicemail. Maybe they went out to eat?”

  “And turned off her phone?”

  That didn’t make sense. Had Avi flown her overseas to escape his advances? A deep pit of dread opened at the base of his stomach. The ground had disappeared beneath his feet. Any moment, he’d fall.