Fare Forward (34 page)

"Gabriella." I feel his mouth brush across mine slowly and sensuously.

He gently disengages himself from the lock I have him in and discretely kisses the inside of each of my wrists.

"What is it?" I am not ready to separate.

"Look around." He laughs at my enthusiastic need for him as he reminds me of where we are.

"Oh." The center of the Orthodox world. "Sorry, I forgot that this sort of public display of affection is not exactly appropriate here."

I look around at the modestly-dressed worshippers. I really don't care anymore what is right or wrong, appropriate or not. I'm having a hard enough time controlling the incredible range of emotions I am feeling.

"Just wait," he laughs.

I feel the most insane electricity coursing through my body. Trying to blend in with the other normal people who have come to the Old City at this sacred time seems impossible.

Normal
is one thing I know we are not.

"Benjamin, I want to thank you."

"Really—for what?"

"For the beautiful piece of music you wrote for me—the piano composition. For my birthday." I look at his profile.

"Do you like it?"

"Of course."

"Well, you almost ruined the surprise." I know he is teasing me again.

"What, why?"

"That night you overheard our rehearsal in the cathedral—you were not supposed to be there."

"What do you mean?" I remember the promise I had made to Emily, that I would go straight home and then the overwhelming force that had drawn me into the cathedral as I reversed my direction, a completely out of character move for me.

He takes a step closer and pulls me into him. His eyes become dark. "I thought of you—I thought of
everything
I love about you when I put the notes together. That music is the sound of my heart. My promise to you."

I can't understand what he means, how it could be. "But, we hadn't met yet."

"I wanted to give you something, to store away in your heart and your mind. It's what Einstein said—that he
thought
in music. That it was music that composed his dreams. Remember, no one can ever take that away."

"Benjamin." I reach up for him.

He catches my wrist in his fingers and encircles it, as if he is measuring its size, looking at it from all sides. "I will know every inch of you so I could build you if I needed to. My own private replica."

I look right at him. It's as if I can feel his heart beating inside of me. "I don't understand." I feel confused, overwhelmed by what he is saying. "You have me."

He steps away and points to the limestone ruins of an ancient wall. Changing the conversation. "Look, Gabriella, look at what Herod built."

He takes my hand and turns me around slowly, framing a view back toward the City of David, the many structures on the hill that overlook the area of the Temple Mount and the hills of Jerusalem beyond.

"Are we talking about
architecture
now?" I am incredulous, but the topic of architecture is probably the only thing that can take my mind off of him. For the moment at least.

"The Romans allowed Herod complete autonomy and made him King of Judea. His building projects are seen everywhere across the region," he says it softly as he turns to look at me.

"Well, he was a terrible tyrant."

"Gabriella." He laughs at my frustration at this topic change.

"Those
are the people who get their projects built." I fold my arms across my chest in dramatic resignation.

"You have everything it takes to be a great architect. You understand what it is that will make something last, the timeless qualities. What is unchanging."

I'm not sure if he's talking about architecture—or something else. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"Making the world a better place, through your actions. Your choices."

"My choices?"

"Yes."

One of the most fundamental ideas of Kabbalah.

I feel a new power, a courage I never knew that I possessed. I know that I need to trust myself in this moment. The door is open, and I feel myself walking through it, transitioning into everything that has been waiting for me. I want answers from him. "And what about your choices?" I challenge him.

How could I define the multitude of questions I had for him?

"Gabriella." He expertly avoids the directness of my question, moving the discussion back to the story of Jerusalem. "There are other secrets about Herod. Things that are not known."

"Oh, and you know them?" I am frustrated.

He is quiet and looks down at the uneven stones of the street we are walking on. I can see the ruts and marks left from the generations that have crossed through this very place—all on their own very different journeys. I feel that what I said has struck a nerve in him, and a flash of fear that I am conditioned to returns. I want to touch him. I look at the back of his head, the way his hair curls over the top of his collar, the softness of his skin. I am worried that I have said the wrong thing and I stop walking in the middle of the street. He turns to look at me.

"I'm sorry, Benjamin."

"Yes, I do know the secret about Herod," he practically whispers.

There is something about the way he says it.

He takes my hand, and we continue to walk in silence. We travel back through the Arab market and toward Jaffa Gate. We cross over the newly built complex by the architect Moshe Safdie and reconnect to the modern city. The project is a brilliant preservation and restoration of historic structures, with the design of new buildings, hotels, and parks. A combination of ancient building materials and contemporary technology, housing stores, restaurants, and outdoor cafes.

"Let's sit down here." He points to a cushioned settee at a busy cafe, with a view of the wall that circles the Old City, beautifully illuminated for the night.

We have moved out of the traditional religious observant world to the secular one, and I hear live music being played and end-of-week celebrations occurring. His arm is over the back of the seat waiting to hold me, and as I sit down his fingers move through my hair. There is a desire in his eyes that I have not seen before—matching what I am feeling. "We have much to celebrate." He smiles.

"I know." I'm worried that the urgency of my questions might have broken the spell of the evening.

"I have been waiting for this night for a long time."

"So have I."

"Gabriella, I told you that we will have to find a way."

I feel his words in my heart. Wine is brought to our table. He pours me a glass and raises his to me. "To finding your way."

"To finding everything you've been looking for," I whisper.

I want only him. To know everything about him, to be with him. I look out at the view then at Benjamin, wanting to seal this image in my mind. The perfection of it. The evening moves quickly into night, and I feel the cold, the many stars in the sky, and his eyes everywhere on me.

"Dinner is waiting for us." His green eyes shine. "Let's go back."

He doesn't need any reason for me to return to the house with him.

W
E STAND ON THE terrace of his house together; the light of the moon is on his face, and I remember.

I remember the night he had stood in the doorway of the cathedral, the way he had looked at me, the promise he made.

I know.

I realize that the desperation I have felt, the waiting and hoping and willing this moment to come, is finally over. The answers I have sought my whole life are right in front of me, and Benjamin is at the center. It is all meant to be, an amazing perfect inevitability. I feel it, deep in my heart. I am sure. I am no longer afraid. I know I need answers from him, and so I ask.

"Benjamin, I saw the letter—the one my grandmother wrote so many years ago. She predicted
you.
She said this would happen."

He touches my cheek.

"How could she have known?"

"It's because we have always been together, Gabriella."

"What do you mean?"

"We were together, in another place and time."

"Another place?"

"Yes." He turns away from me suddenly, and I see the pain that distorts his face.

"What is it?"

"I thought I was going to lose you, that night on the beach. I couldn't let it happen, I couldn't—"

"I thought I was going to die," I whisper as the memory of that moment overtakes me. "I thought I had."

"I'm here with you now. We are together. In this world."

"This world," I repeat slowly.

"We were made for each other, Gabriella."

I know that what he is saying is true, that for every person, every soul, there is only one other that completes them—two lost halves created for the singular purpose of being united. We had found each other. Again. It was written in the
Song of Songs
thousands of years before, predicted by my grandmother, and confirmed today in the poem given to me.

"I need to be with you; I only want to live in a world that makes us eternal."

From the very first time I had seen him, to the night when he pulled me out of the icy Gloucester water, this was how I felt. I want to be inside of him, under his skin, in his blood, pushing through his veins toward his heart.

"You are the one, Gabriella. It's always been you." He is so close to me, whispering the words, pouring them into me, filling me. I take them in, drinking in the moment, learning every detail of what he is saying, how he stands, the way he breathes in and out. Loving everything about him.

"No more secrets," I say.

I desperately want to, but do not let myself touch him. I need my eyes to focus on his, but feel his power drawing me in, connecting into me and through me. He pulls me into him. This time it's not in a gentle way but in a passionate crush, as if he has waited a lifetime for this moment. He sweeps his arms under my legs and lifts me, carries me up to the house and into the room I had slept in the night before, now filled everywhere with flowers. As he carefully lays me down on the bed, he stops to look at me.

He waits.

I reach out, I am unwilling to delay any longer the realization of this moment. I need him to join me. He bends down, and I feel his lips cover my skin, as if he is learning every part of me, confirming for himself what he already seems to know, igniting a fire in me I did not know I possessed. And I feel that finally, there are no more mysteries, no more secrets. I have found the truth I had always known somewhere in my heart. A complete and perfect order out of the chaos that I have endured.

I don't take my eyes away from his as he slowly takes off my clothes. He pushes me onto the bed so that I am under him and lifts my arms up over my head and back into the pillows. I feel his mouth drawing slow patterns into the shapes of my body—exploring—as he discovers his way back to my face. He marks my fingers, my elbows, around my shoulders and up into my neck, claiming every part of me.

"I will know all the beautiful space that is inside of you," he says.

"I need you, to be with you. Always."

I surrender completely into him, the incredible sensation of him touching me.

"Gabriella." He stops and looks up at me. "Please—light the candles, now. I want to see your face. I need to see you."

The moonlight is not enough.

And I know that this is the melting of our worlds. I want to stop time, to savor every sensation. The taste of his fingers in my mouth, the way his skin feels pressed against the length of my body. The sounds he makes.

"Benjamin." I need to know that I have his attention, there is something I want him to hear.

"No words now, Gabriella." His powerful, urgent kisses silence me. He covers me with his body, and I feel him everywhere, every part of us intersecting.

But I need to say it, so I do. "I love you." I fill the words with everything I have stored in my heart for this moment and say it again, "I love you—where there is no space or time."

He smiles. "I know."

Then his mouth covers mine as he swallows my words, as he drinks them in.

I feel him everywhere. He uncovers every part of me with his desire. He pulls me over so that I am directly underneath him and undoes me, slowly and deliberately. I use all the strength I have to pull him toward me.

"I believe it now. I believe all of it."

"Gabriella," he exhales as he turns and lifts me. I hang above him, suspended, my hair is in his face, my breath is everywhere on him. His mouth moves up the side of my neck and his lips stop in my ear. "I found you."

I close my eyes and then . . . there is only him. We become one.

In our lovemaking I find everything.

All the answers, my future.

The entire world ahead of us.

The Infinite.

Like the pull of the tide by the moon, the rain pushing through a storm-filled sky, the plates of the earth shifting, this is the pleasure I feel as I submerge into him. It pulls me up as my desire is met with everything he offers. The endless, eternal gift—of him.

Later, I wake to a powerful storm.

The rain slams the shutters against the windows of our room. The candles have all burned down and there is only darkness and him. My face is against his heart, and I wait. For the sound of each beat, the perfect lullaby that I had dreamt of. I reach out and touch him. My fingers trace the line of his nose down to his mouth. We live in each other's arms as we always have, as we always will.

He opens his eyes and looks at me, and I see something I don't expect.

"Is that a tear?" I lift it off his face and into my mouth as I swallow the salt of his body. I need to make sure it's real.

He pulls me onto him. "Yes," he says.

"I love the way you taste. I love everything about you."

"Were you dreaming, Gabriella?"

"I was."

He kisses me again. "I knew you were."

"I could see you, Benjamin. In this house, with my grandmother. She was here that night, when she met my grandfather. You knew him then didn't you, you were all here—with Einstein?"

"Yes."

"Did he know about you, where you were
from?