“You’re… You’re human, nu?”

No answer.

“Yosef Kobinski?”

The figure gasped in surprise, drew back. There was only that mask and, behind it, what?

“Yes. Now do as I said. Hurry!”

“In the back. Inside my jacket.”

The figure reached over him and sought the place—felt the stiffness of the rolled-up manuscript and pulled it free. The bound pages were thrust into the air in triumph as the figure stood. The assembly roared.

Aharon felt paws on his arms and legs. He was being lifted. The terror came back in a rush.

“Reb Kobinski!”

The figure had its back to him, still raising the manuscript for the crowd.

“Reb Kobinski!”

The mask turned. Aharon had the strange idea that those eyes, those human eyes, glared maliciously at him. But he only saw them for a moment before he was carried away.

Aharon was taken to a room that, while dark and smelly, was private. It had a bed that, while rough and scratchy, was still a bed. There was warmth under the covers, filthy as they were. These small comforts, after a day of horrors, were like manna from heaven. Exhausted, he slept.

He was abruptly awoken—shaken from sleep by the paw of one of those creatures. He looked up to see a delicate rodentlike face and intelligent eyes set atop a huge torso and surrounded by a mass of brown fur. The creature bore a torch, its fire thick and low, barely illuminating the dark room. It moved back when Aharon’s eyes opened, bowing its head subserviently.

Behind it was the figure in the gold mask, sitting on a chair beside the bed.

Aharon tried to sit up and speak and was reminded that he could not sit up. This had the immediate effect of depressing him, as all that had happened came back and he realized that he was still lost. So it was not over. He lay weighted against the cushions, eyes on the figure, and said nothing.

“That will be all, Tevach. You can go. Make sure no one disturbs us.”

The masked figure spoke in Hebrew and the animal grunted something back that sounded like “My Lord,” in Hebrew, which Aharon found extremely offensive. The creature shuffled to the door.

When they were alone, the figure took off the mask. Underneath was the face of an old man—but not as old as Aharon had expected. The man in the chair looked fit, muscular, even muscle-bound, like those men in magazines, something that Aharon couldn’t help thinking was anathema for a Jew. The old man leaned forward and used both hands to straighten out first one leg, then another, his face lined with pain.

“My joints. They’re disintegrating. They weren’t built to withstand the gravity on Fiori.”

“Fiori?”

“That’s the name of this accursed rock. That’s what the natives call it. I call it Gehenna. And I—I am the king of Gehenna.” There was dark irony in his voice.

“It really is Hell?” Aharon asked tremulously.

“One of the many. Charming, isn’t it?” The man oozed an aloofness, a cold disdain, that Aharon couldn’t understand. He studied the face.

“You’re not Yosef Kobinski. You must be his son, Isaac, nu?”

An expression of outrage flickered in the man’s eyes. “I am Yosef Kobinski. How did you know about my son? Or about me, for that matter?”

The words were threatening. Aharon chose to ignore the tone. “That? That is a long story. But, if you don’t mind my saying, you don’t look so bad as you should, for a man of one hundred and five.”

Kobinski’s eyes narrowed. “Two thousand five?”

“Yes.”

Kobinski sat contemplating. His eyes were far away, as if he was doing equations in his head. “Einstein showed that gravity bends light. It also bends time. It’s been thirty years here, sixty on Earth.”

“Even for thirty years—how could you survive a place such as this?”

“Did I survive?” Kobinski asked bitterly.

“You never tried to go back?” Aharon asked.

“No.”

“You didn’t try? I can see that Auschwitz was not much of an option. But you must have thought, after some years had passed, that maybe—”

“Be silent,” Kobinski commanded, in the voice of a man who expected obedience. He put a hand to his mouth. “You said you were from Jerusalem.”

“Yes. Israel is a country now—a Jewish nation. Eretz Israel—it exists!” It was a blessing to say this to a Jew who had no idea. But if he was impressed, Kobinski didn’t show it.

“However,” Aharon added, “just to prepare you—it might not be what you’d expect. There’s much secularism—you see it everywhere. You could hardly believe we fought so long for something and, the younger generation especially, they don’t have any idea what it means. Not like you and I. At the wall—”

“And Auschwitz?”

“Auschwitz? It’s a memorial now. They call it the Holocaust. Six million died.”

Kobinski’s hands on the arms of the chair tightened until his skin was white with the strain. “Six million,” he whispered. “And when did it end?”

“Nineteen-forty-five. The Americans and the Russians liberated the camps.”

Kobinski looked away, was silent for a moment, then said, “It was only a matter of time. Even we knew that. But it was too late for six million. And too late for…”

“Yes?” Aharon frowned. “Listen—isn’t it a simple matter of finding the gateway again, the hole thing, and stepping through? You’ll come with.”

Kobinski didn’t even look at him.

“For the love of God! Listen, I’m glad to have found you. God has His reasons, and I suppose He sent me here for this very purpose, but we must go back at once. I don’t belong here, and neither do you!”

Kobinski laughed. “For the love of God? You’re in the wrong place for that, my friend.”

Aharon pressed his lips, growing more irritated at this man, who was not responding as he should to anything Aharon said.

“What do you think?” Kobinski asked, almost sneering. “Do you think it’s some kind of magic door that will take you back home? Something out of a fairy tale?”

“Listen—”

“What do you imagine would happen if you found that spot again? If you stood in just the right place and waited?”

“I would return to Earth, naturally!”

“Naturally? Let me tell you what nature dictates: you would stay right here. At best you might get dizzy for a moment, then find your feet planted back on the very same ground on which you were standing.”

Aharon scowled at him. “What are you talking?”

“You came here because this is exactly where you belong.”

“What are you saying?” Aharon whispered, angry now. “That thing—that clearing near the camp. It came directly here.”

Kobinski motioned a hand dismissively, his face bored. “Why should I bother? Men like you never understand. I can see it in your dress, in your eyes. I can hear it in your voice. Israel! You have the nerve to complain to me about secularism? About the younger generation? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is in this reality, in this place?”

Kobinski pushed hard on the arms of the chair and rose from his seat with a great groan of pain. He stood at his chair resting, hand propped against the back of it.

“Let me tell you about this world. These people, the Fiore, they believe… it is their religious conviction that they are the feces of God. Can you fathom that? Can you fathom their self-loathing? It’s the only way they can explain why life is so relentlessly cruel. They eat each other because this planet provides almost nothing to sustain them. And you—making it a life-and-death issue to eat or not eat pork! You make me sick.” Kobinski growled deep in his throat and spit on the floor. He had taken up some of the native gestures and facial expressions and Aharon was deeply offended.