Who was this man? Surely not Yosef Kobinski, the gentle tzaddik Aharon had seen in a photograph, the saintly martyred rebbe who faced down the Nazis! Aharon didn’t care what the natives here believed or didn’t believe—they were animals. If this place was terrible, then they must deserve it. But he did care about getting home.
Aharon made an expression of surrender. “Listen, you’re right; I shouldn’t complain. We have it good compared to this place, obviously. But tell me—what does that have to do with my not getting home?”
Kobinski gave him a brittle smile. “Let me tell you where you are, because it is better that you suffer no illusions. You have met your destiny a little early is all, Aharon Handalman. This is the place where you would have come upon your death. This is your judgment.”
Aharon stared at him, too shocked to even be offended. “Why would I belong here? You don’t even make sense!”
“You went through a hole in space-time that took you into the fifth dimension. Or rather, it detached your energy from the lower dimensions of space and time, the physical dimensions. It was detached only for a fraction of a second, but in that fraction of a second your energy, your ‘soul,’ if you will, went to the place in the fifth dimension most like you. Because the fifth dimension is outside of space and time, do you understand? In the fifth dimension, there is no ‘here’ and ‘over there’; there’s only one way data is organized, like to like. That is the law. After you went through the hole, your energy was reattached to the physical dimensions. But when it was reattached, you were linked to the physical location closest to where your soul had gone in the continuum. And the place where it linked you was here.”
Aharon’s mouth was hanging open. “You’re crazy!”
Kobinski growled. “This world is gevorah-chochmah. This is its physical reality. It is the embodiment of you, Rabbi Handalman. So you see, it’s not such an easy matter, ‘going home.’ You are home.”
Aharon was furious. He had never been so angry before in his life. He didn’t believe a word, of course, but that this person, whom he had never wronged, should utter such filthy lies and blasphemy!
“Then why are you here? Eh?” he demanded. “Reb Kobinski? If that hole does not come directly here, then what about you?”
Kobinski’s face went so blank it was as if he had put back on the mask. “I? I chose it.”
“You are evil to say such things!”
Kobinski shrugged, more an expression than a gesture. “Think what you like. But as for how you act—that is another thing. Your behavior endangers me as well as yourself. One of the Fiore, Argeh, he is my enemy. He is also high priest. He would be eating you this night for supper if I hadn’t intervened.”
Aharon knew of whom he spoke—the Fiore with the flattened face, the one in the square black cassock who had been arguing with Kobinski in that room. “But who do these…” he almost said “people,” “who do these animals think you are? I am? What did you tell them?”
Kobinski closed his eyes, as if he didn’t want to talk about it. “This place is governed by superstition and fear. I told them I came from the heavens and they believed me. I am a messenger from Mahava, their god. Today I told them you were also sent from the heavens, as a messenger for me. To bring me, as it turns out, my manuscript.” Kobinski said this last with irony.
“You told them that?”
“Would you rather be roasting over a fire?”
“But… what am I supposed to do? What can I say? How can this go on?”
“The first thing you must do is build up your strength so that you can move in this atmosphere. Right now you’re completely vulnerable. In front of the Fiori, you must appear calm and assured. If you’re hysterical, if you show fear, it will go badly for us. As for what to say, the only one who can understand your Hebrew is my servant, Tevach. Say as little to him as possible.”
Kobinski eyed him appraisingly. “You’re fat. I was starved when I arrived. If I adjusted, so can you. You must eat the food. It is vile, but it will build muscle. You need a great deal of muscle to move in this atmosphere. And remember: if you do not play your role convincingly, you will die. If they don’t kill you, I will. I won’t let you endanger me. Be warned.”
Aharon could only stare, unable to believe Kobinski would treat him in such a way and still in shock, also, about Kobinski’s lies. The man called loudly for Tevach. The rodent-faced creature scurried into the room, and Kobinski leaned his weight on the creature’s broad shoulders.
“You’re going?” Aharon asked. “Wait. Let’s forget all this… all this craziness for an instant. There’s something else.”
“I can’t help you.”
“No, listen. There’s this whole thing I have to tell you about a weapon. Your manuscript. I… Parts of it have fallen into the wrong hands. That’s why I’m…”
He was going to say that’s why he was here, but it wasn’t, and at this point he wasn’t sure he would have come willingly to such a place even if he’d known he’d find Kobinski. The man was watching him, his face registering something other than disdain for the first time. He looked alarmed. He turned his face away.
“—listen to what I’m saying!” Aharon pressed, trying to raise himself up. “They’re going to make a weapon, a terrible weapon. It’s in the Torah code. You must return; you must help, somehow, to prevent a tragedy!”
Kobinski remained with his face turned from Aharon. He was utterly still. At last, Aharon thought, at last he had gotten through to the man!
But when Kobinski turned back to look at Aharon, his face was set hard as a stone. “I knew this would happen if the manuscript was found.”
“So? We must do something!”
Kobinski shook his head. “The dead cannot go back,” he said with flat finality, “and we are the dead.”
15
God has framed you differently. Some of you have the power of command, and in the composition of these he has mingled gold, wherefore also they have the greatest honour; others he has made of silver, to be auxiliaries; others again who are to be husbandmen and craftsmen he has composed of brass and iron… And God proclaims as a first principle to the rulers, and above all else, that there is nothing which should so anxiously guard as of the purity of the race.
Plato, The Republic, fourth century B.C.E., translation by Benjamin Jowett, 1871The condition of man… is a condition of war of everyone against everyone.
Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, 165115.1. Forty-Sixty Calder Farris
Pol 137 and his partner, Gyde 332, pulled up beside the armored riot vans. There was no riot in progress. There hadn’t been a riot in this city for a hundred years. But there was clearly some state crisis, as witnessed by the gathering of manpower and the presence of a Gold official.
As the two detectives got out of the sedan, Pol 137 saw the cause of the commotion. On the marble walls of the Hall of Justice someone had painted graffiti three feet high:
THERE ARE ALIENS AMONG USBelow the words was a simple signature rendered in broad swipes: an open circle with a bar across the top.
The wind was subzero this morning, chilling Pol through his thick wool uniform. Even so, it was reading the graffiti that made him shiver. His eyes shifted to Gyde, wondering if he had the same reaction. But what he saw on Gyde’s face was patriotic outrage, the appropriate response to effrontery to the state.