The Righteous One

by Neil Perry Gordon

  That was his first visit to the library, which he continued to make every few days. These frequent visits fueled his love making dreams with Rebecca, while Rebecca had no clue what Solomon was experiencing. All she saw was a nice old man coming to spend time at the library and who was becoming a good friend.

  Solomon was never happier until after a few months of his erotic dreams a visitor appeared to him in the dream world.

  Solomon was watching his uncle supervise the stone masons as they lay giant slabs of granite for a retaining wall at The Great Synagogue of Warsaw. Solomon was his younger self, maybe ten years old.

  “Solomon, what are you doing here? I told you not to show up on the work site. You can get hurt,” his uncle said.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle,” Solomon said, and ran out through the gate and back onto the street.

  Sounds of children playing caught his ear, and he ran to the park to see if his friends were there. As he entered the park a woman stood before him, blocking his way.

  “Hello, Solomon,” said the woman.

  Solomon had never seen a woman this beautiful before. Her long wavy locks of red hair framed out a delicate face with a pale complexion, and her bright blue eyes froze Solomon in place.

  “My name is Francesa Sarah,” she said.

  “Do I know you?” Solomon asked.

  “I have been watching you.”

  Solomon tried, but was unable to speak.

  “You have violated Rebecca,” she said, her voice echoing in Solomon’s mind.

  “The librarian?” Solomon said, trying to sound innocent.

  “You cannot violate Rebecca,” she repeated.

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  “Solomon, you are the thoroughly wicked son, and destined to spend eternity in Gehenna, where the eternal fires burn,” Francesa Sarah said.

  When Solomon awoke his bed was damp from sweat. He sat up, put on his glasses and reached for a glass of water that he kept on the nightstand. He guzzled it down and pulled the library card out from his wallet. Solomon got up, walked into the kitchen, pulled out a drawer where he kept the scissors and cut the card into pieces.

  In the intervening years he had not thought about Rebecca. Certainly the visit, and the warning by the mysterious Francesa Sarah, had frightened him enough for his decision not to go back to the library. Though Rebecca did appear in a few dreams from time to time, he never acted on his urges to pursue her.

  But there she was, sitting at a table at Charlie’s. It took a few minutes for Rebecca to notice Solomon. During this time, he couldn’t help staring at her. A familiar warmth coasted through his veins, surprising himself that he could still have sexual urges.

  “Solomon Blass, is that you,” she said, interrupting his erotic thoughts.

  “Rebecca, how nice to see you. What are you doing here?”

  Rebecca stood up and walked over to Solomon’s table, leaving her boyfriend behind. He noticed that her auburn hair was longer than he remembered.

  “Chris and I,” she said pointing back to him, “heard about Charlie’s Crab House, and decided to check it out. City Island is such a cool place. Do you live here?”

  “Yes, I live a few blocks away. Is Chris your boyfriend?” Solomon asked.

  “We just started dating.”

  “That’s nice,” he said, trying to sound convincing.

  “Well, I saw you, and just wanted to say hello. By the way, how is your book coming along?” Rebecca asked.

  “My book?” Solomon hesitated, and then remembered his story he told her when they first met at the library. “Oh, that’s still a work in progress. How’s the library?”

  “It’s good. I’ve been there over ten years,” she said.

  “That’s wonderful, Rebecca.”

  “Well, Solomon it’s nice to see you again. Take care of yourself.”

  “It’s nice to see you too,” he said, but was thinking that he would be seeing her again, very soon in the dream world.

  Chapter 55

  The building reminded Moshe of the tenement on the Lower East Side where his family first lived when they arrived in America. But instead of people claiming portions of the public hallway as a makeshift home due to overcrowded conditions, they were all tucked away behind closed doors, in the privacy of their apartments.

  Gray took out his hankie and patted his forehead and the back of his neck when they reached the fifth floor walkup.

  “Here we are,” Gray said, knocking on apartment 5G.

  “This is it?” Moshe whispered.

  “She lives simply,” Gray said, as the sounds of several deadbolts on the front door clicked open.

  “Come in, Gray,” the voice said, as the door opened.

  Gray walked in, followed by Moshe.

  “Is this him?” asked the old woman.

  Gray nodded enthusiastically, and said, “Moshe, this is Noa.”

  He hesitated for a moment, unsure if offering a handshake was appropriate. Noa helped him out by sticking out her right hand and giving a Moshe a healthy squeeze. “It’s an honor to meet you, Moshe. Gray has told me your story. Come, let’s sit, and talk.”

  Moshe smiled, taking in the thin woman with piercing blue eyes who seemed to have maintained a youthful sparkle, despite her elderly years.

  The first thing he noticed as he entered the apartment, besides the piles of aged, yellowed newspapers and books stacked along the narrow hallway, was the chill in the air.

  The old woman gestured to a tiny kitchen table and three chairs set under an opened window. “Can I make you tea or coffee, Moshe?”

  “Coffee sounds good,” Moshe said, seeking something warm.

  “Can I have a cold glass of water?” asked Gray.

  “Of course,” Noa said, with a smile.

  Moshe watched Noa tuck a strand of her long, stringy, silver hair behind her ears. “Here you go, Moshe,” she said, placing his coffee, along with a glass jar of sugar and a ceramic cup filled with milk, on the table.

  “Thank you, Noa,” Moshe said.

  “I have cake, would you like a piece?” she said, unwrapping a piece of sponge cake and placing it on the table.

  “Come, sit, Noa. We need to talk,” Gray said.

  Noa lifted the glasses hanging around her neck and placed them on her face. Moshe noticed a glow of perspiration clinging to her olive-colored complexion.

  “You sweat like Gray?” Moshe said.

  Noa nodded, and said, “That’s why I keep the window open. I love winter, it’s my favorite season.”

  “Moshe, Noa is going to teach you how to live in the dream world. She’s quite good at it,” Gray said, taking a sip of his water.

  “There’s no doubt that life is better in the dream world, Moshe,” Noa gloated.

  Moshe took a sip of the hot coffee. “You make this sound like some sort of an amusement. I was physically attacked in my dream that left me with this bruise,” he said pointing to his leg.

  “My apologies, Moshe. Gray and I were just having some fun. But you’re right, this is serious.”

  Moshe nodded. “I would say so.”

  “I want to be honest with you, Moshe. In all my years of guiding people in the dream world, I have learned what we try to achieve can sometimes result in some form of unintended consequences.”

  “What sorts of consequences?” Moshe asked.

  Noa shook her head. “Hard to say. The dream world, as you probably know by now, is unpredictable.”

  “What do you mean?” Moshe asked, and looked at Gray to express his confusion.

  “Like that bruise,” she said pointing to his leg. “Physical injuries in the dream world rarely manifest themselves in the awakened world.”

  Gray lifted a finger in the air. “I forgot to tell you that Moshe burned his handprint onto Solomon’s arm.”

  “Isn’t that interesting,” she said rubbing her chin. “Perhaps you and Solomon have been destined for this confrontation.”

  Moshe�
�s eyes grew large as he looked over to Gray and said, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Don’t worry, Moshe, Noa has a great deal of expertise,” Gray said.

  Noa patted Moshe on the knee. “I’m a descendant of Francesa Sarah of Safed. I understand you were there recently.”

  Moshe nodded.

  “I love Safed,” she said taking a sip of water. “Anyway, Francesa Sarah is the protector of the dream world. When a disturbance arises, like the activities from Solomon Blass, the dream world is put out of balance and must be corrected. My purpose is to keep the equilibrium in the dream world with whatever means possible. That is why you are here, so I can teach you how to travel in the dream world and take care of this problem.”

  Moshe rubbed the back of his neck as Noa continued.

  “My lineage goes back to the seventeenth century. The women who have come before me have passed on this knowledge. I am the last in the line, what I know will die with me, because I have no daughters. In the meantime, let’s see how I can help you. Do you have any questions?”

  “What happens if we’re working together and I don’t dream?” Moshe asked.

  “You may not remember every dream, but that doesn’t mean you’re not dreaming at all. In fact, humans dream every ninety minutes. Our first few dreams may last only a few minutes, but just before we awaken in the morning, our dreams can last as long as an hour,” Noa explained.

  “Then how does that explain what you told me, Gray?” Moshe asked.

  “That I spend more time in the dream world than the awakened world?” Gray said.

  Moshe nodded.

  “Good question, Moshe,” Noa said. “That’s because each minute in the dream world is about an hour in the awakened world.”

  “Will I start to sweat too?” Moshe asked.

  Noa nodded. “You will, if you’re lucid for more than ten or so minutes in the dream world, then your mind will adjust your nervous system, resulting in the sweats. But it’s not so bad, and you’ll get used to it.”

  Moshe looked at Noa and Gray, who looked comfortable in the freezing apartment, and wondered if this would soon be his life too.

  “Wait a second, what about Solomon. I’ve never seen him sweat, and I’m sure he’s lucid for at least ten minutes,” Moshe said, with some exuberance at asking a good question.

  Noa took Moshe’s cup from his hand, stood up, and walked over to the stove, where she poured some more coffee. “There’s a reason for that, Moshe.”

  Moshe looked at Noa and asked, “Is it because he is rasha?”

  “Indeed,” said Noa.

  Chapter 56

  “It’s her,” Arnold said, as the front doorbell rang.

  “Finally,” Frank said, looking again at his watch.

  Arnold walked from his kitchen, where he and Frank had been drinking coffee for the past hour and a half, waiting for Agnes to arrive.

  “Hi, Arnold,” Agnes said as she entered, while Arnold stood in the doorway for a moment, looking out into the darkness. “It’s fine, no one followed me.”

  “Good, come in the kitchen, Frank is here.”

  Agnes greeted Frank and took a seat at the round kitchen table.

  “How’s it going?” Frank asked.

  Agnes shook her head. “It’s a complete disaster. Myron has no idea of what he’s doing.”

  “I’m not surprised. What’s happening with Mickey?” Arnold asked.

  “It’s pretty much what you expected. Last week the Commissioner of the Department of Consumer Affairs was in the office with applications from Mickey Coppola for parking garage licenses. The mayor told him, after ten minutes of arguing, that he should approve them,” she said.

  Frank nodded. “I heard about that.”

  “There’s more,” said Agnes, as she reached for the sugar bowl on the table. She scooped out a teaspoon and sprinkled some into her tea. “It’s the same with the contracts for garbage collection, and the awarding of major building contracts to mob controlled unions.”

  “So much for our mayor pushing back against Mickey,” Arnold said, looking over to Frank.

  “Disappointing, but not surprising,” said Frank with a smirk.

  “With Carmine Rizzo gone, Mickey Coppola now controls all of Manhattan and the Bronx,” Arnold said.

  “Jesus,” Frank said, shaking his head.

  “Now boys, don’t be so distraught. I also learned some things that might be useful.”

  Arnold looked at Frank and said, “Like what?”

  “Mayor Myron Blass is having an affair with Mickey Coppola’s daughter, Niko.”

  Arnold leaned forward in his chair. “How do you know this?”

  “He told me,” she said.

  “Why would he do that?” Frank asked.

  “He asked for my advice,” Agnes said, with a hint of smugness in her smile.

  “Advice about banging Mickey’s daughter?” Arnold said.

  “Nice language, Arnold,” Agnes said, shaking her head.

  “What did he tell you?” Frank said.

  “Yesterday morning he came into the office looking like hell. He was still drunk from the night before. His eyes were bloodshot, and he hadn’t shaved. I told him he looked like crap, and he should try to clean himself up for the press conference that was scheduled for later on that morning. He walked over to my desk and sat down on the chair next to it. He looked at me with his tired and baggy eyes and said that he was in love.”

  “In love?” Arnold interrupted.

  “More like lust, I’m guessing. He confessed that he didn’t know what to do. If Mickey found out he was secretly seeing his daughter, he would have him killed,” Agnes said.

  “Where are they having these rendezvous?” Frank asked.

  “At Gracie Mansion. The butler sneaks her in and out through the service entrance.”

  Frank clapped his hands together. “We have our leverage back.”

  “Just hold on, Frank, there’s more,” Agnes said holding up her index finger. “Myron also told me in his drunken stupor that he warned Mickey that Carmine Rizzo was planning to murder him at Antonio’s later that evening,”

  “But instead, Mickey took the initiative and shot Carmine,” Frank interrupted.

  Agnes nodded.

  Frank held out his palms. “But how would Myron possibly know what Rizzo was planning?”

  Agnes shared a private look with Arnold who rolled his eyes.

  Frank said, “Well, it seems our mayor is at least guilty of obstruction in a murder investigation. Perhaps we can use this, along with our knowledge of his romance with Mickey’s daughter to our advantage.”

  “Who is going to talk to him?” Agnes asked.

  “It has to be Frank,” Arnold said.

  “I agree. It should come from me. The sooner I do this, the faster we will get some control back,” Frank said.

  “When will you do it?” Arnold asked.

  Frank thought for a moment, then said, “Tomorrow at our weekly lunch meeting.”

  “Wait a second, isn’t he going to suspect Agnes?” Arnold asked with concern.

  Agnes laughed and flipped her hand at Arnold. “There’s not a chance in hell he remembers our conversation. As I said, when he spoke to me he was still drunk from his nighttime frolic with Niko. After we spoke, he lay down on the sofa and passed out. I couldn’t even wake him for the press conference, which we needed to cancel.”

  Arnold rose from the kitchen table, spread his arms like he was addressing an audience, and said, “Our drunken, corrupt, playboy mayor is about to get a wakeup call.”

  Chapter 57

  Solomon watched the snow fall upon the shoreline of the City Island Harbor. He thought of Rebecca, and her soft, young body lying in his bed. She was exhausted after making love many times that night.

  Solomon refocused his vision onto his reflection in the window. He saw himself as a young man. His shirtless, muscular torso was impressive. He touched his chest and felt its hardne
ss. Even his abdomen was displaying rows of muscle. A sight unseen for nearly seventy years. He was a god, and loved his life in the dream world.

  Then she appeared. It was a mist traveling across the frozen waters of the bay. Standing before him was a woman dressed in a long white dress, with a red sash wrapped around her waist.

  “I warned you, Solomon,” she said, without speaking, the words appearing in Solomon’s mind.

  Solomon recognized the image of Francesa Sarah of Safed from his previous dream all those years ago. He reached out to touch her, but she vanished into smoke.

  The voice spoke to him. “You have violated her after I warned you of the consequences. Do you mock my resolve, Solomon?”

  He felt his body being pulled through the wall and swept out above the bay. Solomon found himself rapidly crossing a great ocean until he was looking down upon a land between two mountains.

  The voice returned. “Solomon, this is the Valley of Gehenna. Your destiny, your soul lies before you.”

  Solomon looked out onto the valley from high above.

  “See what awaits you,” the voice said, and pulled him down.

  Solomon glided a few feet above a river of burning sewage. The stench seeped into the deepest parts of his lungs. Along the shoreline, naked men and women were screaming in agony. Their flesh burned and singed. Maggots and worms crawled among the mountainous landscape of human waste.

  “Why am I here?” he screamed.

  The voice said, “Your journey of evil ends here, Solomon. Among the dead, you will endlessly walk, your soul vanquished.”

  “Show yourself,” Solomon demanded.

  The white mist turned gray, then black. It swirled before him into the shape of a woman. Long, straight white hair hung down to her lower back. Her eyes were colorless, almost transparent like glass. Long thin arms were outstretched with palms cupped as if she was capturing the air. She floated before him until her image evaporated into nothingness.

  Henryk sat in Solomon’s kitchen watching the snow fall upon the shoreline of City Island Harbor.

  “Here you go, Rabbi,” Solomon said, placing down a hot cup of coffee in front of him.