Fare Forward (2 page)

"I'm simply interested in the archaeological aspect of this dig. Uncovering layers of the past. Finding things. I want to learn about a civilization that no longer exists. Like piecing together clues from a mystery. A puzzle," I answer.

It sounds so trite and impersonal to minimize why I am here into this small, inaccurate sentence, so very far from the truth. If anything it was quite the opposite. I was returning to a place that had shaped the lives of generations of family who had come before me, my own ancestors, some of whom I knew had occupied these very caves, searching for the answers that he was alluding to.

He looks right at me as if he knows the lie in what I have said, forgiving its necessity. Understanding why.

I can hear voices coming from outside the cave and realize that the others have begun to gather and prepare for the ride back to Jerusalem. The light coming from above has changed to an orange color, and we need to hurry to be out of this zone by the mandated curfew imposed by the British, before sunset turns into the blackest darkness of the desert, a velvet sky filled with stars.

"I need to go. I think we need to get back now," I say but don't mean it.

As my eyes meet his, I know that I want to talk more. There is something fascinating about him—the way he seems to anticipate my thoughts and the things he said about this place. Yet I push past him, down and out into the late-afternoon sun.

"Sophie! There you are!" a friend shouts as I run back to join the group. I am relieved to be outside of the cave, meeting up with the other students at the end of the long day. My head is hurting, in that way it often does: when I have the dreams. when I see things.

"Are you all right?" another friend asks me. I realize that I have knelt down and am squeezing my temples together, trying to push away the dreaded, familiar sensation.

"Yes, yes I'm fine. I just was talking to—" I stand up and realize that he has disappeared.

"Who?"

"Actually, I don't know his name."

I squint my eyes in the direction of the narrow road that follows the edge of the salted sea toward Jerusalem. As I turn back around to gather my belongings, I notice the sun completing its western arc, disappearing behind the iconic mountains of the Judean desert.

“I
T'S SO BLOODY COLD when the sun goes down."

I pull the inadequate sweater around my shoulders and try to straighten my dress and backpack at the same time. The hot days in the desert are always followed by a seemingly impossible drop of temperature, when the stars come out to light our way. I had fallen asleep on the ride back up to Jerusalem, exhausted from the day's activities and emotions. I stumble out of the vehicle onto the plaza in front of the Grand Hotel. I feel chilled and want only a warm bath and bed—but that, I know, is impossible. I have less than an hour to get ready for the evening and I need to navigate past the crowds of people in the lobby.

"Come, join all of us for dinner?" a friend asks me.

"I'm sorry but I can't." I hate myself for turning down another invitation. "My parents have just arrived from the Far East. I haven't seen them in months but I promise, another time." I hope that my constant refusals will not be misinterpreted as disinterest. "They sent a telegram; their ship will be into port in Haifa. Today."

"Righhhht." My friend raises her eyebrows as she stretches out the word, nodding her head as she remembers who I am, my family name.

"They are traveling with
him,
aren't they?"

"Yes," I answer softly, wondering exactly how everyone seems to know the private details of my life—things I have never spoken of to the other students.

A large crowd is gathering in the hotel, and it seems to be a curious mix of locals, press, foreigners, and the ever-present military. The desert light and quiet has given way to a new energy, and I am in no mood to navigate the crush. I only want to think back to the cave and the conversation with the fascinating stranger.

"Looks like his contingent has already arrived. Sophie, look!"

I remember suddenly where I am and why. Everywhere are signs of celebration. There is loud music and food being passed on silver trays by white-gloved waiters. A festive atmosphere of jubilation animates the usually reserved hotel, the fortress on the hill that overlooks the Old City: a witness of time.

"The Nobel Prize! 1921—that's when it happened!" I hear an awestruck man behind me say.

I stand on my tip toes and try to see a clear path through the lobby. Any hopes I had of stealing through the space and up the grand staircase quickly evaporate.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say to my friends as I back away from the group and consider my few limited options for escape.

"Good-bye, Sophie."

I know there is a back staircase and I press out through the crowd, against the magnetic tide drawing everyone toward the middle of the room to see the small, white-haired man. I need to hurry, to prepare for the reunion with my parents and the evening ahead. what we have all been waiting for: the chance to meet Albert Einstein.

"The Jerusalem air agrees with you; we've missed you terribly."

I am folded into my father's embrace, the warmth of my mother's arms are behind me as I inhale her familiar scent. It is so good to be with them. Their eyes sweep over me as they look for any changes—those that would be visible. I try to stand up straighter, hoping that the way I feel on the inside, touched by the amazing spiritual energy I feel in this place, will somehow be reflected in my face. within an hour, we are catching up on everything that has taken place in the last few months: my academic life and their trip to the Far East. We walk the short distance from the hotel to the elegant house where the party is being held, and I stop in front of the tall iron gate, stunned by the location and the amazing view of the Old City below.

As we approach, I notice the torches that line the path to the entry, and the yellow glow cast on the stone walls. This is Jerusalem stone, the golden-white limestone that covers every surface and wall of the city below, much of which was built by Suleiman the Magnificent in the 15th century. I know that generations have come here and passed through the ancient gates. People from all over the world, from every major religion, all on very different pilgrimages, but all looking for answers to their prayers.

Voyagers.

"Come inside. The host of the party is a friend of ours. Someone quite interesting." I feel my mother squeeze my hand in encouragement, as if she senses my hesitation.

"I wish we could just be together tonight as a family, Mother. I'm not really in the mood to socialize. I mean, it feels like forever since we've been alone."

She takes a deep breath before she answers me. Her eyes seem to soften with the familiarity of the circumstance, my hesitancy to partake in these types of situations. "Tonight is special, Sophie. I promise. You won't be disappointed. After all, you never know who you might meet." Behind the lighthearted words is a seriousness I don't expect.

The large wooden doors of the home swing open, and we are swept into a grand room. The back wall is composed of tall arched windows that frame views of Jerusalem's Old City. Everywhere I look are paintings by artists that I have only seen before in museums. My parents introduce me to their colleagues, many of whom have traveled to the Far East with their entourage: artists, scientists, and academics who had collected money for the establishment of the university in Jerusalem. I politely answer questions about my activities on the archaeological dig, the findings in our cave, and the strict restrictions of the British Department of Antiquities. Yet, I try to focus, to push away the strange, wonderful, familiar recognition. Like the sensation I experienced earlier in the cave with the stranger. The feeling that I have been here before.

The room suddenly becomes quiet as a wave of electricity passes through the crowd.

"Sophie, look—it's
him.
Einstein."

He is smaller than I expected, recognizable by the shock of white hair and mustache. I realize the great scientist is preparing to speak.

"Welcome, all of you. I appreciate you gathering here tonight at this beautiful home." His words are heavily wrapped in the distinctive German accent. "I want to thank Dr. Landsman for his hospitality." He turns and raises his glass to someone behind him, hidden by the many people standing in front of me.

I want to know who is fortunate enough to live in this place, in the company of all the art I have been admiring. The host.

"Many of you have come here tonight to celebrate the honor I received of the Nobel Prize. But tonight is not about past accomplishments, it is about the future."

Everyone in the room strains to catch each word the great man speaks.

"I consider this one of the greatest days of my life. Today I have been made happy by the sight of this people learning to recognize themselves as a force in the world. This is a great age, the age of liberation, and with it the growth of the university here. In the search for knowledge, we must learn about more than mathematical formulas. We must understand people, how we treat each other. This is how we will understand this world and perhaps others. Through words, thoughts, science, and art. Astronomy, action, and energy—we will prove that everything is connected."

People are listening, nodding, stunned at the truth they feel in his words, acknowledging the dream that is about to be realized. I recognize something else, however. Albert Einstein is identifying the key concepts of the secret mystical tradition my grandparents had taught me.

The fundamental recognition that everything is connected.

I suddenly feel dizzy, overwhelmed, and I need air. With everyone listening to him continue, I know I can escape unseen and am drawn out the doors onto a large stone terrace that overlooks the city. The scientist's words float through my head.

I breathe in the cool, dry air in the garden that is filled with ancient olive trees and roses. My hand skims the surface of their twisted trunks as I walk through them. I feel the night air as it circles around me. I'm drawn to the edge of the tree-lined space, bordered by an ancient stone wall that provides a perfect vantage point to view the Old City below. I sit down at a small table and close my eyes.

It is so quiet that I can hear the wind.

Then, voices, low at first then louder.

"He's going to do it, isn't he? Reveal the proof of the ports? He's been waiting for twenty years."

"He will not; he cannot. He has
agreed,
Sydney, the world is not ready yet."

There is a powerful urgency in the first voice, a concern that frightens me. The other voice sounds strangely familiar. It's that unidentifiable accent. I look carefully but can barely make out the two forms as they walk through the trees back toward the house, away from where I am trying to conceal myself. I catch fragments of what they are saying.

"Yes, I understand, Dr. Landsman."

"Good, Sydney. It is critical that you do. It has been decided."

I try not to breathe, in or out.

I am aware of the crushed stone beneath my feet and am afraid to move. Even though I don't understand why, I can sense the importance of what I overheard. I exhale slowly, realizing that I have been holding my breath and search for a way out of the garden. I can see a long, narrow stairway that leads back up to the party, but it is too well lit, and I know returning this way is no longer an option. I try instead to move in silence to a path cloaked in darkness created by the shadows of the house. I carefully place each foot down with a softness that defies my mass and step deeper into the shadows. Finally, I find a door that leads into the lower level of the building.

As I enter, I feel that I can touch time, the centuries upon which this city is built. A place where the ruins of one generation form the foundation for the next. I am led forward by a familiar feeling I don't stop to question. I seem to know where I am and where I'm going. I climb up a small staircase, move down a narrow hallway, and try to find my way back to the party. I realize that I've found a private wing of the home, it is dark and still, but the sounds of the party are getting louder. This must be the way back; I'm almost there.

Einstein's words flow through my head.

"We will understand the world . . . through words, thoughts, science, and art. We will prove that everything is connected."

There is something about what he said. I know that I have been told these very things many times before. The pounding in my head returns, and I force my palms up into my temples. I try to push away the pressure, the sensation that seems to always come before. Then I stop. I have to bend over and wait for the pain to pass.

Suddenly, I know that I am not alone.

"Sophie."

It's the voice. The one I had overheard in the garden and earlier in the day—in the cave. The unmistakeable eyes, looking at me with an amusement and interest I can't explain. As if he had been expecting me.

"I'm sorry, I was outside. I needed some air. The garden is so beautiful." The words are falling out of my mouth. "I just was trying to get back to the party and to my parents."

I turn my face away, afraid to meet his eyes. My arms wrap across my chest as I grab onto my shoulders and try to prevent myself from shaking, cover my pounding heart. He reaches his hand out toward me.

"I'm so glad you found my garden; I knew you would like it. Come with me."

I follow him down the narrow hallway, which is lit by the moonlight. I marvel at the strange coincidences of the day and, now, seeing him again in this place.
One, two, three, four,
I count as I try to distract myself and steady my breathing.

"We didn't finish our talk earlier today. In the cave."

"Yes, I'm sorry that I ran out." I do not continue. I realize that I have no explanation that makes any sense.

We stand together in a small room filled with books, a large wooden desk, and art. He turns away, and I quickly look around at more of the paintings by artists I recognize. All the questions I had not had a chance to ask him earlier begin to enter my head. Who he is, how he knows my name, his presence on the archaeological dig and, especially, how he is connected to Einstein.