Golublog: An Anthropology Blog

(this was originally going to be the ‘Special Atonement Edition’ but I didn’t get the plot to where it needed to be ’til now. Let he who has ears hear…)

I found myself in the interior of a largish horse-drawn coach. My head was still dazed with pain as I watched a tall, gaunt man with a briefcase handcuffed to his hand stretch over me and get out of the carriage.

“That’s right, boychick – go get ‘em. We’ll see you in a bit.”

My hand reached instinctively to my shin as I began trying to massage it back to life. I took in my surroundings in one drunk swallow – a dark, leather interior, over-stacked bookshelves stuck on the walls, two incongruous mini-fridges, one with a huge ‘F’ on it, the other labelled merely ‘M’. As strange as my surroundings were, my company was even more bizarre. Across from me sat a red-faced, round-cheeked jovial-looking man in a dark suit and hat. He had those long braid things that I always associated with super-religious Jews – you know, like those Quaker version of Jews.

“Aleksa!” shouted the round-cheeked man, banging on the roof of the carriage with a cane he held in one hand, “Onwards! Onwards!”

I felt the carriage jerk forward into motion. The man now fixed his attention on me began bubbling over.

“Annle! Oy, what sweet little girl you are! Look at you!” He wiggled my chin and pinched my cheek before turning to rummage around in a plastic bag besides him, producing a small object wrapped in aluminum foil.

“You must be hungry. How about a nice cornbeef sandwich?” he half unwrapped it and waggled it enticingly in front of me.

“I’m ok, thanks,” I said uneasily, still trying to figure out what was happening.

“How about some nice cholent,” he said, smiling widely and gesturing to a huge pot balanced precariously on a hot plate that shifted uneasily from its place on top of one of the refrigerators as the carriage drifted back and forth.

“Cholent?”

“It’s been stewing all shabbes,” said the man, winking broadly as if this were an obvious selling point.

“Thirsty? Celery soda maybe? I got Dr. Browns. No? But look at you all skin and bones. I bet that Rex never cooks for you. Here take a knish. Take it, take it! It’s a mitzvah for me to give. Is it the end of the world you should have something to eat?”

He thrust a round, warm, pastry ball of some sort and looked at me expectantly. I looked down at it and – just to please him – bit into it experimentally. On the inside it was full of potato. After I’d taken another, less tentative bite the man beamed with obvious pleasure and started in again in with his yiddish-accented, babbling-brook locquacity.

“But I’m being rude. I should introduce. I’m Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, the Baal Shem Tov. But you can call me Rabbi Izzy. And you’re Anne Kwaharu. What a pleasure to meet you. A real pleasure. The famous Anne Kawharu. Incredible.”

“I… you… who… were… how do you know who I am? And, er, do have have any more of those potato things?” I said, looking down and realizing I had completely consumed my knish. Fighting had in fact made me ravenous.

Nothing could have pleased Rabbi Izzy more. The next thing I new I had three more knishes in my hands and Rabbi Izzy was – against my strenuous objections – attempting to get me to try some celery flavored soda.

“You want, I got,” said Rabbi Izzy, “Tell you what darling, you eat and I’ll talk. We’ve got a little bit between stops.”

“Biftwhin shtps?” I asked, my mouth knishified.

“We’ve got to pick up one more person before this meeting can get underway. And as for how I know you – who doesn’t know you? The Jedi Master who holds fate itself in her hands. The power behind the influence behind the plan. Of course that’s a little in the future for you, I know. But me, well, let’s just say I have extensive travel experience. Are you going to eat this corned beef do you think? Because I already unwrapped it. No? Sure? Well there’s more knishes if you want them. You should try the cholent too. Well anyway, I know it’s very bad form to be bringing all of this up – what with the temporal collapse possibilities and all – but since you’re already a bit of the time traveler I thought it wouldn’t hurt. And anyway we need to have a little heart to heart abou – ”

Something caught Rabbi Izzy’s eye out of the window of the carriage and he began pounding furiously on the roof of his carriage again.

” – Aleksa! Stop! Stop! Stop at this corner!”

The carriage drew to a halt and Rabbi Izzy popped the door open. A thin black man dripping with necklaces and rings and dressed in a light pink leisure suit with a purple shirt and socks hopped in next to Rabbi Izzy and shut the door. Without missing a beat he whipped off his enormous tinted sunglasses and socked Rabbi Izzy familiarly on the arm.

“Hey hey the big BST!” enthused the man, “hows it hanging brother? Good to see you baby!”

The man saw me, stopped as if thunderstruck, and then slowly took my hand and kissed it chivalrously without his eyes leaving mine, which I have to admit I found pretty sexy even if totally overdone.

“And who is this lovely young morsel of female pulchritude that graces our presence this evening, BS? Could this possibly be Anne Kawharu?” he purred, oozing warm machismo, “But she’s even more beautiful than I had imagined – and I’ll tell you baby I can imagine an awful lot. A pleasure indeed to make your acquaintance. I’m Sammy Davis Jr. and I just want to say what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.”

Rabbi Izzy began banging on the roof of the carriage again and urging ‘Aleksa’ – his driver, presumably – to get going.

“Look I’m very happy to meet the two of you and that you’re both were so, uh, happy to meet me. And I’m glad you saved my life and everything but I’ve got to get back. Rex needs me – Andrew needs me. They were in big trouble. Those evil Shaolin monks are tough to beat, even for real Jedi and I’m afraid…”

“BS, is this true?” asked Sammy, sympathy for my plight welling up in his eyes, “you didn’t leave Rex in the lurch did you?”

“Don’t worry Sammy, don’t worry. I sent The Diamond Dealer to help things out. If worse comes to worse, we’ve got a couple of Assault Golems stashed just outside of town.”

“Well that should be ok then shouldn’t it,” said Sammy, patting me on the knee to console me, “they weren’t using blunt weapons, were they? No? Well there you go.”

“The Diamond Dealer?” I asked, now totally confused, “Assault Golems?”

“The Diamond Dealer’s a friend of mine – a real macher – he sometimes helps us with otherwise unresolvable issues. He got out when you got in,” said Rabbi Izzy, winking, “don’t worry – your friends won’t mind if we have a little chat. And anyway we should get started. We’ve only go a few more minutes before dawn and I’ve got to get back to Lvov before the turn of the century.”

“Ok ok but just one moment my friends,” said Sammy, reaching into the refrigerator marked ‘M’ and taking out a bottle and an enormous glass goblet filled with crushed ice, “before we get started I’ve just got to relax. And what better way to relax than a tall cool goblet full of Manischewitz Cream Black Cherry Cordial.”

Sammy poured a thick, cream-in-coffee colored liquid from the bottle into the glass with the sort of relish you normally only see in people doing commercials.

“Mmm mmm mmm – that pleasant mouth feel and smooth finish, that smooth cherry flavor with hints of black currant and almonds,” said Sammy, licking his lips in obvious relish, “Man oh Manischewitz what a drink! BS you want to try some?”

“Please Sammy,” said Rabbi Izzy, clearly distressed as he turned to shield his corned beef sandwich with his body, “I’m with the fleischig over here.”

“Oh ho ho, sorry about that,” guffawed Sammy, sipping his drink and shifting it to his other hand so that Rabbi Izzy could return to a normal sitting position, “Well perhaps we should get started.”

* * *

“You see Anne,” said Sammy, “the Baal Shem and I represent a sort of special interest group if you will. We try to make sure that certain of our co-religionists are well looked after, if you see what I mean. Assure that their destiny goes according to plan. Kapish?”

“Me, Sammy, Harris The Space Jew, a few others. Elijah’s our main go-to-guy since it’s easiest for him to move about. Just to keep an eye on things, you know?”

“Let me guess,” I said wearily, “and you call yourself Section 13?”

“It does sort kinda mysterious, doesn’t it?” enthused Rabbi Izzy.

“But what do you want with me?” I asked.

“Well Anne,” said Sammy, “We’re a little worried about Rex.”

“Rex? What’s wrong? You just said that – ”

“Oh he’ll get past those evil monks just fine,” said Rabbi Izzy, waving off my concern, “we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“We can’t see so far into the infinity of possible futures and pasts as you can, Anne. Or at least not as far as you will be able to. Everything that we know, though, tell us that 99.995% of the time Rex leads a basically happy life, careens from one adventure to another, helps keep the forces of evil at bay, and dies happy at a ripe old age.”

“But lately,” said Sammy, taking up where Rabbi Izzy had left off, “lately things seem to have gone wrong. Rex’s soul is clouded in darkness. He seems sad, angry.”

I thought for a second and nodded slowly, “I know what you mean. He seemed positively bloodthirsty a moment ago – and this whole thing with Kathy is getting him really down. I’ve never seen him so sad.”

“That’s what we mean. Something is wrong – very wrong. And we think you’re the only one that can help. You’re the most powerful Jedi to be born in a millennium, Anne. Surely there’s something you can do.”

“Help? Me? But I’m not a powerful Jedi – I’m just a padwan. I’m just sixteen years old! I don’t know anything about anything! I don’t know what you think I’ll become or who I’ll be but I – I mean I can’t…”

Rabbi Izzy looked at me, suddenly cool.

“Three years a bas mitzvah and you don’t want to take responsibility for what you’ve done?”

“Done? What have I done? I haven’t done anything.”

“Time’s been out of whack lately Anne, and I think everyone in this carriage knows whose responsible.”

“It wasn’t me! It was the Codex. The Codex of Lost Souls! And the Pool,” I said desperately, trying to convince them that I wasn’t guilty, “this is the Pool of Lost Soul’s fault.”

“The ‘Pool of Lost Souls’?” scoffed Rabbi Izzy, “Come on, Anne, we all know that that pool doesn’t exist. The pool of lost souls is you – and Cinnamon, and Andrew. You’re the people responsible for the Codex and what it’s done – the people whose fates are intertwined with it.”

“Wait a sec,” said Sammy, now confused, “the Pool of Lost Souls is a pool – the eldritch sea of energy that surges to the surface of the planet once a century.”

Rabbi Izzy shot him a look.

“Are you meshugganah? ‘Eldritch Pool’? Who told you that? Did they have a bridge to sell?”

“No it’s right here – ” said Sammy, reaching over me to pluck a thick tome from the bookshelf behind me. He muttered a brief prayer, then opened the book, flipped through it, and pointed to a passage in it.

“What do you think this is about?” he said, crowing triumphantly.

Rabbi Izzy looked over it briefly and looked at Sammy with eyes full of weary skepticism.

“That’s about how to dredge out a mikva without making it ritually impure.”

“Well… yes,” said Sammy impatiently, “on the surface. But look at what it says here…”

He took another volume down from the wall and pointed to another passage.

“The Shulhan Arukh?” said Rabbi Izzy, “For proof of an eldritch pool you go to the Rambam? Please! That guy thinks food taboos are about hygeine! Rabbi Gamliel said in the name of… just a second…”

Rabi Izzy pulled down another book and opened it.

“See here! Right there! There’s an etymology of ‘pool’ for you.”

“Rashi? Your source is Rashi? You’ve got to be kidding me, BS! Pace that insane Frenchman, that reference to the Pool isn’t mishnaic no matter what he does to it!”

“GUYS!” I yelled, “what are you talking about?”

“She’s right,” said Rabbi Izzy, turning serious, “and time is running out – we’re almost back to Bukhara. Look, Anne, whatever interpretive difference my friend and I may have, the fact remains that something has gone wrong. Seriously wrong. The universe is out of whack, and as far as we can see, the only person who can get it back into whack is you.”

“Things are coming to a head, Anne. Important decisions will have to be made soon – and you’re going to be the one who will have to make them.” said Sammy.

“But I…”

“No ‘buts’ Anne. When the time comes, you’re going to have to do the right. You won’t have a second chance.”

The next thing I knew Sammy was kissing me on the cheek and wishing me good luck and Rabbi Izzy was banging on the top of the carriage. The door flew open, and I winced involutarily at the sudden sunlight. I felt Rabbi Izzy push me out of the cariagge as someone else – The Diamond Dealer, presumably – climbed in over me. And then I was back on the ground. The dust of Bukhara invaded my senses, obscuring my vision and filling my nose with old and ancient smells. By the time I stood up, the carriage was just fading away into the distance.