Still With Me (17 page)

Jeremy told his story with precision. For him, it had taken place over the last few days, and every detail still had the sharp edge of recent events. Emotions still vibrated at the surface of his skin. Confusion undermined many of his words, and at times he couldn’t build a clear narrative. But Abraham Chrikovitch’s attention motivated him to go on. Occasionally the man’s eyes wandered into the distance, as if to pin down a specific point in his thought process, before they settled back on Jeremy’s face.

When he finished, Jeremy relaxed, sighed, and returned Abraham Chrikovitch’s gaze. The gabbai remained motionless, as if he hadn’t realized Jeremy was done talking. Then he sat up, pursed his lips, and seemed to grope for words.

“Why did you call me?” he said finally.

Jeremy had hoped for an opinion, not a question. “You’re the only religious person I know.”

“I mean, why seek out a religious person?”

“Because I think human logic can’t answer my questions.”

“You’re comparing logic to faith?”

“Well, no—”

The gabbai interrupted. “I can’t help you. I’m not a mystic. I’m a man of the Law. I try to base my life on the solid foundation that is the Torah. I’m not some visionary Kabbalist overflowing with his wealth of knowledge and thinking he holds keys beyond those given to us by the Law.” He searched for more words and then shrugged his shoulders to express his helplessness. “I’m very troubled by your story.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I’m not doubting your story. In this world, a lot of things are possible. I’ve heard many stories that could be taken for delusions, and I’m convinced that some of them are true. But I’m not the man you require.” He paused for a moment, passing his hand over his beard slowly, as if to retrieve more words from his mouth. “Why do you think the answer is a religious one? You were never overly concerned with your Judaism, correct?”

“It’s a feeling I have. Every time it happens, my story seems to have religious elements: the man who prays, the Psalms…”

“Is that enough? They could just be dreams or some kind of trance.”

“No. These things really happened to me. I’ve seen this man. I heard him. He was saying Kaddish. And then, there’s this battle between the man who’s destroying my life and the one who wakes up sometimes and sees the damage. It’s a battle between different sets of values.”

“But what are your values? You tried to end your life, and that shows you lack the essential value—respect for the life God gave you.”

“It was a grave error, I know. The actions of a desperate child.”

“Okay, very well then. But I’d still prefer you find specialized scholars for this avenue of thought. I know some. I can put you in touch, if you want.”

Jeremy felt the situation slipping away from him. The man he’d called, at first interested, now seemed like he wanted to escape.

“I don’t have time,” Jeremy cried. “I don’t know what I’ll become tomorrow, or when I’ll get my current awareness back. So how can we meet again? Please do something. Help me. Please.”

Abraham Chrikovitch seemed annoyed. Jeremy’s plea upset him. What more could he do? He knew too well the value of words for those trying to maintain a precarious balance of reason.

“Listen, this is what I can recommend. I’m going to ask a few questions to clear some things up. Then when I leave, I’ll call a religious scholar who specializes in this sort of thing. Then I’ll call you.”

“But what if you can’t reach me?”

“Yes. It’s possible I won’t be able to find you.”

“If that happens, I’ll be stuck. I’ll lose myself in this other skin without ever hearing from you again,” Jeremy lamented.

“That’s true. But no matter what, and I don’t want to upset you, but I think nothing I can say will change the situation in a few hours. Furthermore, you have to consider the possibility that he won’t want to reply. Or at any rate, not right away. But it’s the only offer I can give you.”

The firmness of the gabbai’s statement clashed with the softness of his face. Jeremy fell silent for a moment.

“I don’t know when I’ll regain this level of awareness again. If I don’t have a reply by tonight, how will you be able to find me next time I…wake up?”

Abraham Chrikovitch let his eyes drift into infinite space beyond the wall. He started stroking his beard again, and after a few seconds, he answered. “Here’s my proposition. The day you come back to your current state of awareness, contact me. I’ll be ready. I’ll ask two or three likely rabbis to answer my questions and give me their opinions.”

“Okay. But don’t forget that time is against me. I’m begging you, try to get as much information as possible before tonight.”

“I’ll do everything I can. For now, so I can faithfully reconstruct for my colleagues the story of your…adventure…I want you to tell me about this man and his prayers.
What does he look like? What prayers does he recite? You said something about the Kaddish.”

“He’s an old man. He must be between seventy and eighty years old. His face is gaunt, with a thin white beard. His eyes bulge. They’re sad, lifeless. Like his face, actually. His mouth is the only thing that moves. His voice is horrible. Like he’s grieving. I heard him recite the Kaddish, one of the few prayers I can recognize. My father recited it every year on the anniversary of my sister’s death.”

“When does this man appear?”

“At night, as soon as I start to fall asleep.”

“Has he spoken to you?”

“Yes, the first time. He said a prayer and then leaned over me. He said, ‘It doesn’t have to be.’ Then he repeated several times, ‘Life,’ with a lot of sorrow.”

Abraham Chrikovitch was captivated by Jeremy’s words. “Did he say anything else?”

“No. I went to sleep.”

“You said something, too, about this strange feeling that comes over you when you read certain psalms.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, it seems to be one of the only constants in my life. A link between me and the other. I
know because my wife told me that my other personality was attracted by a little book of psalms in a window on Rosiers Street. Attracted in a way that was so unusual, my wife bought the book and gave it to me on one of my lucid birthdays. When I opened it, I felt uncomfortable. Reading a few words made me weak again. I was upset, terrified, without knowing why.”

“What psalms were they? Do you remember?”

“Yes, I read Psalm ninety. When I woke up again, six years later, I found the book again but with a few pages torn out. The pages that I’d read, but also Psalms thirty and seventy-seven. Maybe there were others. All I know is, it reveals a common torment shared by me and this other person I am most of the time.”

Abraham Chrikovitch sat in silence for a moment. “Thirty, seventy-seven, ninety,” he repeated softly.

“Does that mean anything to you?”

The gabbai didn’t reply. “What has your relationship with God been like so far? When did you stop practicing your religion?”

“I never really practiced. At home, my parents never placed much importance on that aspect of our identity. My
father had lost a lot of his family in the camps. He wanted me to become a little Frenchman, freed from the weight of the past. It was his father who changed the family name, trading Wiezman for the more discreet Delègue. But still, we made an effort to celebrate the two or three biggest holidays every year. I believed in God, in my own way. I talked to him sometimes. I talked to him on the day I tried to commit suicide. A lot. It was sort of an intimate conversation that was also violent. Today, however, I realize I saw him more like a man with supernatural powers, who I expected things from. Like a magician.”

“You say you spoke to him during your suicide. Did you realize the religious importance of your act?”

“Not really. Suicide was like a revolt against the genie who refused to fulfill my last wish, the most important one of all.”

“You tried to commit suicide to punish God?”

“In some way. I think dressing my act up as an act of rebellion gave me the courage I needed to go through with it. I’m still confused about the whole thing in my mind.”

Abraham Chrikovitch lowered his head and placed both his hands on his forehead as though he were avoiding
Jeremy’s eyes. His lips were moving, barely. Jeremy wondered if the gabbai was thinking out loud or praying. He stayed quiet, hoping for a verdict. But Abraham Chrikovitch stood suddenly. Looking worn, he waved his hand in the air to indicate that the conversation was over.

“I’m going to go. We’ll stick to our agreement.”

Jeremy interrupted him. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Abraham Chrikovitch turned away. He seemed lost. He stumbled and sought out the guard with his eyes.

“You’re hiding something from me!” Jeremy exclaimed. “You thought of something that upset you, didn’t you? You have an idea, I know it. Talk to me.”

The gabbai tried to appear nonchalant. But the slight movements of his mouth and his tense smile betrayed his emotion. He took a step toward the door but turned back to study Jeremy, who had gotten up to try to keep him from leaving.

“Divine punishment? That’s what you think?” Jeremy asked.

“I…I can’t say right now. I’ll call you. I’ll make contact with you again. I made a promise.”

“But good God, give me your opinion!
Your
opinion!” Jeremy panicked. This man might have discovered the key
to his situation, the one that would free him from his nightmare. But he was going to leave without saying anything. Jeremy was desperate.

Abraham Chrikovitch had turned away. He waited in front of the door that would open for him. A guard entered. Jeremy fell back in his chair. He stopped yelling. He was tired of this foolish quest. Tired of begging, crying, thinking, wondering. Tired of hope.

Night was falling, and he hadn’t found any answers. He stared at the man dressed in black as he left the chamber. He was Jeremy’s last hope. The door closed behind him. Jeremy saw only his neck and hat through the little viewing screen. Then Abraham Chrikovitch turned around and stared at him for one or two seconds before nodding slightly. Was it to say good-bye or to give an affirmative reply to his last question? Jeremy didn’t know. But he was sure of one thing: Abraham Chrikovitch was crying.

Back in his cell, Jeremy found Vladimir lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“So, who’d you see?”

Jeremy wished he didn’t have to reply. But without any means of escape, he had to act out his role. “My mistress.”

“Not planned ahead of time, this hot date?”

“No. I’m the one who asked for it this morning. Something I had to do.”

“You better be careful with that guard. He’s too close. He might be in on the ring, but don’t forget, you’re nothing but a con to him.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Okay, and when do we get ready for our appointment?”

“Not now. I need to think,” Jeremy answered firmly.

He let himself fall on his bed and covered his head with his hands. He waited a few seconds, hoping to discourage Vladimir from pursuing the conversation. From the hallway came a few dull sounds and more noises that meant it was time to eat.

Jeremy suddenly had the distinct sensation of his body lying there on that bed. He felt the world’s hard edges sweep over him, touching his skin. Only his mind was absent. It floated somewhere in the room, examining his earthly flesh, absorbed in the mystery of his presence in that place.

He thought again of Abraham Chrikovitch. The man had glimpsed an explanation that frightened him. Jeremy went through the ones that came to mind. But he had to stop, depressed by the absurdity of most of his ideas. Yet he somehow knew that he couldn’t find the answer without losing himself in the labyrinth of mysticism. If it was divine punishment, what was the goal? Vengeance? A means to repentance? And what was Jeremy’s true nature? The one in command now or the one that would soon manifest?

They had eaten in silence. Jeremy barely touched his food, and Vladimir gave him a puzzled look before seizing Jeremy’s tray.

“Why aren’t you talking today?” Vladimir suddenly asked.

Jeremy bit into an apple, hoping to let a new silence settle or at least to give himself time to think. This time, however, Vladimir expected an answer. He figured he’d been patient enough. Their tacit conventions dictated that Jeremy speak his mind now.