Fare Forward Read online

  "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.

  I walk over to look at a large painting on the wall. It is all grays and blacks, different than the others in the room but interesting. Modern.

  "You like my paintings?"

  I turn around to face him. I want to be the one asking the questions. "Of course, everything here is incredible, beautiful. So this is your home?"

  "When I'm in Jerusalem. I travel . . . a great deal." His voice drops down. "Please." He lifts his hand and waves to the space as he invites my inspection.

  I walk around the room and look at everything: photographs, ceramics, and the many shelves filled with books, every subject, many languages. I realize that he has been watching me.

  "Tell me, the archaeology, you seem somewhat disappointed with the lack of findings on the dig. Are you not?" he asks.

  "No. I didn't really know what to expect. I mean, I was hoping to find something. A connection to—" He waits for me to finish, but again, I seem to be uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "I don't know, we haven't found many answers."

  "Well, I have something for you. A gift." He reaches into a drawer in his desk then raises his hand out to me. I watch as his fingers slowly uncurl and reveal a small disk. "Come."

  I take a step toward him and reach out to touch the inside of his palm and take what he offers. My eyes scan the surface of the small object. I see the lines that create seven spaces, the faint ancient letters and shapes. The rough, uneven surface polished in places from touch and time.

  "What is it?"

  "Look closer." I hear the smile in his voice.

  "A Roman coin?"

  I turn the uneven charm over and examine the strange symbols. But as I hear the words come out of my mouth, I realize that I know the answer. What I hold is an amulet. A secret charm believed to contain energy, even mystical power, part of the legend of Kabbalah. None had been found on the archaeological dig, and I catch my breath as I look at every detail.

  My hand carefully cups the coin, protecting the energy I can feel coming from its surface. I know that I am taking my place in a long line of others who have held the amulet in this very way. Yet, more than that, I see it being passed on to those who will come after me, searching for answers to similar questions.

  The sounds of the party filter back into the room, reminding me of the strange day and events. I look up at him and see that he is smiling at me.

  "Thank you so much, Mr.—" I want to say his name but I realize that we have not been introduced.

  "Benjamin Landsman. Very pleased to meet you, Sophie."

  "Well, yes, Mr. Landsman. I really do need to get back. Thank you again—for this."

  I want to hurry. I know that my parents will be wondering where I have been and I need a few moments alone to think about what has just happened. I want to try to put all the pieces together—who he is, his beautiful home, and what the discussion I overheard could possibly mean. As I reach the doorway of the room, I stop and turn around to make sure I have not imagined it all and I see him looking at me. I raise my hand in the beginning of a farewell, unable to speak. He says what I hoped to hear.

  "We will see each other again."

  His words are filled with promise.

  * * *

  My parents seem older. Changed by time or perhaps by the shifting lens of my own eye. These last few months as I searched in the caves of Judea, I found time to think about myself and my family. I had even seen very clear images of my future, the premonitions that were always accompanied by the familiar sensations. The silence and energy of the desert lit places within me that had been dark and undiscovered.

  My own archaeology.

  I seem to love my parents more and understand them better. What they have given me, what I have inherited, and, more, what is to come. As I approach them, I see that they are talking to a young man about my age. My father's hand rests on his shoulder, and my mother's head inclines toward his, taking in his words. I have come from behind and don't want to catch them off guard. My hand reaches into the bent shape of my mother's elbow as the familiar softness of her form welcomes my fingers. My other hand covers the treasure in my pocket. "Mother, I'm so sorry. I—"

  She turns slowly to greet me. "Where have you been? Come here; I want to introduce you to someone."

  I recognize the moment with shock. I have seen it before; in a dream, a premonition. I know what is about to occur, what it means and, more importantly, I know who he is.

  "I want to introduce you to Sydney Vogel. He was traveling on our ship, with Professor Einstein."

  As his eyes lock onto mine, I am sure. I can feel it in my heart.

  I know this is the face I will look into for the rest of my life.

  * * *

  3

  * * *

  GABRIELLA

  FIFTY YEARS LATER

  GLOUCESTER, MA, 1993

  “I SAID NO, SYDNEY—NO!"

  I open my eyes as quickly as I can because it is happening, again— the voices, the arguments, the strange meetings that happen at the house, the ones late at night that I pretend to be unaware of. I strain to hear fragments of what they are saying.

  "Once again, they are reorganizing and have new leadership."

  "The world will soon find out that their deaths were not an accident, that it was murder, who they really are. I'm telling you, it cannot be revealed!"

  "You're wrong. We'v
e worked our whole lives for this moment, we can't keep the findings a secret any longer."

  "No. The information must be kept hidden. We have sworn an oath to protect the secret, as so many before us have. It has been decided."

  I hear a crash, something being thrown against the wall in a room several floors below mine, and I sit up in bed. I have that familiar feeling, not only from what they are saying but the clear images about the past and future, connected to the people downstairs.

  An intersection of time and worlds.

  I try to come back to where I am, into the present and the dark room. I see my books, toys, and the shells we have collected together on the beach, each one a shape and color that touches something in me. They are all here, and so am I, safe in my room at the beach. Tucked into bed, I hear my friends Emily and Lily breathing, their soft sounds of sleep confirming that I was awake. I cross my hands over my eyes as I press them down hard into my forehead and try to push away the pain, the feeling that always comes before—what I see. When I know what is going to happen. I need to separate, close myself off. I don't want to let the images in.

  I had decided that things were going to be different now.

  "You are ready to understand," my grandmother, Sophie, had said, "what we share. It's our special gift, our connection to the future—and past. Come here, Gabriella." I had felt her soft lips on the top of my head. "Always remember that you're different." Her arms circled around me as we rocked back and forth. "Very few people have this ability. It means you are very, very special; I promise you." She smiled. "You'll see."

  That was why it happened; this was her promise. But I didn't want it. I didn't want to be special, or different.

  The waves crash on the beach below my window, and I climb out of bed. I want to see the movement that makes the sound, connect back to something reliable—the rhythm of the sea. I can still feel the icy cold water we play in during the summer days, the way it stings my ankles and makes my skin tingle. I look over at my friends, Emily and Lily, as they sleep peacefully. They were tired from another summer day together running up and down the beach, looking for crabs, building sandcastles, and throwing our small bodies against the tide. Trusting, knowing that the waves will always carry us back into shore. I treasured my summers with them, away from my other world, the life my parents had chosen to lead in the ancient mystical city so far away.