There was a moment of silence. Benny was completely absorbed with himself. His impromptu speech was not directed at me or Oved. It was a monologue to an audience of one.
“There’s this concept called ‘will power,’ and to have will, you need power.” He waves his fist to emphasize the word, creases his brow, and stresses the ‘pow’ in ‘power,’ as if trying to powerfully push it out of himself. “You need power to have the will to do something, and if you don’t have the power, you can’t have wanted it badly enough.” He grows silent for a moment, then adds in a faint voice, “What I wanted, more than anything, was to run away.”
It was indeed emotional and touching, but the threat of bulldozers hangs over the house, and I need answers. I have no intention of making any allowances for him now.
“But it’s over, you’re dead. You no longer have to run away from anyone. What keeps you from wanting to leave now?”
Benny doesn’t reply, only shakes his head. Now, I am getting angry, and the words flow out of me even before I think them through.
“What bothers you is the fear of what others will say about you. It’s your fear of dealing with all the people you disappointed and hurt, and you don’t dare to face them. It frightens you that they could learn you were wrong, that you messed up. So, I have news for you—they already know. All of them know it, and as things stand, it makes no difference to them, and you’re not as important in their eyes as you think you are. Almost no one remembers you. No one except my father and a few friends of his, who refuse to admit that the ’70s weren’t as exciting as they would like to believe, and they don’t even remember your name. What do you have to lose?”
“My mother remembers my name,” he said quietly, refusing to look at me and Oved, who luckily succeeds in holding his tongue and not making any stinging remarks.
“So, perhaps the time has come to meet her again,” I suggest.
Benny doesn’t reply. He shakes his head and goes out of the room, leaving Oved and me to cope with the heavy silence.
“You think you know everything better than anyone,” Oved says, “but you don’t understand anything.”
Maybe he is right. I allowed myself to unleash my tongue at Helen and Leah, and even Benny, after he has always spoken so candidly to me. I decide that I will look for him in the morning and apologize. But, when morning comes, Benny is no longer in the house.
***
Milka did not hear the conversation between Noga and Benny because it took place in the living room, and Milka could not listen to what was said there. But she did not doubt that such a conversation had taken place. Whatever was said, the girl’s voice resounded on Benny’s defenses, weakening them and making them more vulnerable. Milka could feel that. She was able to sense souls, and this was the third time in the same week that she came down from her attic in search of one of them. It was not a gesture of courtesy or a sincere desire to reach out and help. It was curiosity that pulled her in. That same damned curiosity that always drew her to those dubious realms that held both secrets and revelations.
Benny was the only inhabitant of the house with whom she had never exchanged a word, but Milka knew much more about him than he knew about her, perhaps even more than he knew about himself. He was surprised to see her, but, unlike Helen, he did not fear her. He had spent his whole childhood beneath a cloud of silent souls from the past.
“You heard our conversation,” he says to Milka. “What Noga thinks of me isn’t true. She thinks I care what they say. I don’t.” He shakes his head as he turns toward a random spot in the middle of the room. “What is there to say about me that they haven’t already said, ha? They told everything they knew about me. At first, they said that I was just a pretty face, a second-rate impersonator, a worthless actor. They said I was corrupting the youth and that my films had no depth. Then they criticized me for not remembering from where I came. And, when I returned, all they had to say was ‘here, look at him, the guy who thought he was a star; see how low he has fallen.’ The police interrogations, the trial, stealing from my mother… they wrote about all of it. So, what is there left to tell that can frighten me?”
Milka is silent. He did not direct the question at her, so what was the point of answering. Benny continued.
“But I disappointed them. Do you understand?”
He doesn’t look in her direction when he asks, and he still gazes at that obscure point in the air.
“I made a promise to them, to my father before he died, and to my mother. I swore that I would show them what was what. No one believed me. You know, before the war, my father was a singer. He appeared in clubs and at wealthy people’s parties. They all knew him. When the Germans came, all his Polish friends wanted to save him, to send him to America, but he didn’t think anything would happen. Who could have believed that they would murder all of them? But, after the war, who knew him? The neighbors would applaud him from their balconies but later laughed behind his back, at the drunk who worked as a janitor at the school where Esther Romem and her Israeli-born, Sabra friends taught the ‘right’ songs. I promised him that I would show them. I would appear on the most famous stages, for him. But what did I do? I ended up even worse off than him. At least he had his family, albeit a small one, with him when he died, but it was something. I had no one with me. No one.”
Milka is happy that they no longer have the ability to weep. Had it been possible, Benny would be in tears now, and crying always makes her feel uneasy. Many times, she witnessed those who came to her for her services weeping, and it was one of the reasons she preferred to leave them alone with their spirits after calling them up.
“So, how can I face them?” Benny asks with a tremor in his voice, and to Milka’s great horror, looks straight at her. “What will I tell them now?”
“Tell them that you forgive them,” Milka says. Benny stares at her, confused, wondering if she understands what he is saying, if she is listening to him at all, but Milka doesn’t allow him to explain himself a second time.
“They failed you no less than you let them down. Your parents are just as filled with shame as you are, and will be awaiting you with their apology. All you have to do is accept it.”
When Milka returned to her attic, Benny was no longer in the house. Noga will, of course, come to her in the morning, as soon as she discovers he has left. Milka fears the girl; so does Oved, who until now, always scoffs at her fears, but now looks increasingly concerned.
“Let’s just get out of here tonight and make an end of it. Noga can stay here alone and wait for the bulldozers,” Oved snarled as he paced the attic back and forth nervously. Milka knows that he is right. There is no point in remaining in a house which is going to be pulled down within days, perhaps even tomorrow. After all, it would be better to leave at night and not by day. But something more substantial than that makes her stay. She will wait for morning, listen to the girl, and then let Oved lead her to the next place, where she can hide for a few more centuries.
***
I was quite upset when I went up to Milka in the attic.
“Don’t you see what is happening here? There must be a reason for it. For years Helen, Leah, and Benny were stuck here, and in a single week, the three of them have left.”
Milka and Oved just stare at me without a word and are obviously hiding something. They don’t look surprised when I enter and inform them that Benny has also gone. I feel they have been expecting me. Milka looks perturbed, and Oved is jumpy and impenetrable. They have all the answers. I know they do, but I don’t understand why they are so determined to hide them from me. I have to share the thoughts and questions racing around in my mind, even if it is a waste of time, so that I can put them in some kind of order.
“It’s the matter of the demolition of the house. This house protects us, doesn’t it? Leah explained that we are souls without vessels to contain us, and this house has served as our co
ntainer so that we don’t feel nebulous and detached. So, if they pull down this house, the soul must seek another container. They succeeded in leaving now because they felt that their container is about to disappear,” I tell them. It is just one of the theories I have been rolling around in my head over the past few days, and even though it doesn’t quite convince me, it is some kind of direction, some way out.
“The soul is you, and you are the soul,” Milka replies. “It is all that remains of you, now. Don’t disconnect things.”
From the corner of my eye, I see that Oved isn’t at all pleased with the fact that Milka has chosen to join the discussion, but sometimes I get the feeling that she cannot control it.
“But that still doesn’t contradict what I say. Is it possible that the ability to leave this world depends on the amount of confidence we have in the vessel we find?” If that is the case, then the reason Oved is not affected by the situation can be explained as an immunity he has developed over many years of roaming around at night. The only explanation I can think of for not being affected by the imminent risk of demolition hanging over the house is my shameful inability to notice danger in real-time. As to Milka, her approach to the threat is something I cannot venture to try and understand.
Milka does not react this time. It seems I haven’t pressed on the right spot to get a response from her.
“So, what else could it be? It’s clear there is a connection between the events, and the only common factor between these recent events is that they are going to demolish the house.” This time, I have managed to put my finger on the right spot, because Milka again responds despite Oved’s threatening glances.
“That’s not the only change that has taken place lately in this house,” Milka tells me.
“So, is it me?” I ask cautiously. “Was my arrival what changed the house? Did I upset the delicate balance that protected you here for all those years?” I do not doubt that I am right, and the way they glare at me is both accusing and frightened.
The words Benny said to me after Helen’s departure from the house come back to me now. I was the last person who spoke to Helen before she disappeared. I was also the last person who talked to Benny before he departed. Did I say something that made them leave? All the accusations I hurled at them arose mostly from my frustration. When I try to recreate my remarks in my head, I discover that I don’t entirely agree with most of the things I said. The thought that what I said caused them to cross the divide between the worlds should excite me, but considering the shallowness of those same remarks, the feeling was mostly depressing. Worst of all, it didn’t tell me how I could make the crossing I wanted so much.
“So, do you think it’s because of me?” I press them.
Oved loses his patience.
“I’ve already said that you were trouble from the moment you arrived.”
“Trouble? What is troublesome about them leaving? Anyway, you said you were planning to move to a small house in the north,” I say. Oved stares sharply at me. It is the first time that I get a glimpse of the cold, ruthless robber, peeping from behind the light-hearted cynical façade he always takes care to hide behind.
“Are you saying it’s my fault that they’re going to demolish the house?”
If he weren’t so angry, I would think he was teasing me. How can he blame me for something beyond my control? It’s just a coincidence that the tourism entrepreneurs decide to advance their plans right after my failed escapade with the pot plant. I turn to Milka to get some support from her that isn’t to be had, of course.
“So, do you also think it’s my fault? Is that what’s going on? Do you think that I bring bad luck or something like that? It’s ridiculous,” I cry.
“Everything has a cause,” Milka says quietly.
“How can you think I am to blame?”
Milka’s reaction is still balanced and calm.
“I don’t say that you are the cause.”
“Lovely. So now we’re starting with crossword riddles.” And before he has a chance, I dare Oved to ask me what a crossword is.
But it seems Oved is not concerned with unfamiliar words. He is too busy transmitting warning and meaningful stares at Milka, who, for her part, takes care to ignore him and leave the focus of her attention on me.
“So, what are you trying to say?” I ask Milka. It is, perhaps, the most direct question I have asked her until now, which assures me of not getting an answer. But Oved doesn’t fully trust Milka’s system of releasing information.
“Don’t answer her,” he says firmly—or in fright. I already find it difficult to tell.
“What do you care? Anyway, you’ll leave soon.”
“And I won’t be taking you with me,” he threatens.
“I don’t plan to go with you. I am hoping to leave this world, if only you’ll agree to tell me how.”
“Why should we do that?” Oved asked defiantly, but mostly to anger me.
“Because you seem eager to get rid of me, and if you help me, I’ll disappear a lot faster.” It is frustrating. We are going round in circles.
Oved doesn’t respond immediately. He looks at me suspiciously, as if to examine whether I am trying to trip him up. For a moment, I am unsure whether my impression is correct and whether or not he is so keen to get rid of me. The situation is becoming intolerable. I feel like a cat tied to a pole, turning around its tail.
And then, the noise of motors is heard from outside. Of course, Milka does not join Oved and me when we go down to the front door and discover a gigantic crane accompanied by two trucks, one large and one smaller with an open crate. Neither of us is surprised to see the black jeep accompanying the fleet of vehicles. Workers pour out of the trucks and begin offloading fencing from the small van and spreading it out on the ground in front of the house, while the colossal crane unloads a small portable structure and positions it at the edge of the site.
“They won’t start today,” Oved says, after silently observing the activity outside.
“Then, you should both leave tonight,” I say. Oved nods. My time is running out. “Why are you and Milka so afraid of the transition?”
For a few seconds, Oved contemplates whether to answer my question or perhaps considers what he wants to say to me.
“It’s not about ‘us,’ it’s just me. Milka is frightened because she dreads anything connected to the world of the spirits. I am simply not ready to move on yet.”
“Not ready? How much time do you need to prepare? You have already been here for more than a thousand years.”
“I still have things to finish,” Oved repeats what he has already said in the past.
“Like what? Learn more languages?” I can’t disguise my disdain when I ask this question, but Oved doesn’t take offense.
“Learning a language is only a means to an end,” he replies in a specific tone of self-importance.
“And what end are you aiming for?”
Oved doesn’t tell me. He only mentions that Milka has to be calmed, and goes up to her, with me following right behind him. I am not going to let them be now that the monstrous crane is threatening the house.
Milka does look like someone who needs soothing. Even after Oved tells her that the demolition won’t get started until tomorrow, she continues to appear tense and distressed. At the point when Oved can’t bear it any longer, he says he is going down to keep track of what is going on, adding a promise to keep her informed of any significant developments.
It is not a time for well thought out considerations and a careful choice of words. It is a time to come out with all the heavy ammunition and start bombarding Milka, who remains open and vulnerable without Oved’s close protection.
“What business does Oved have to finish before he can leave?”
My onslaught achieves its surprise effect. Milka is not expecting such a question. And, per
haps because I succeed in confusing her, or maybe because the question distracts her from other matters that are bothering her, she answers me.
“He is looking for his treasure.”
It is not the answer I expect to hear. Though, to be honest, I haven’t given much thought to what I am likely to hear.
“His hoarded treasure was stolen from him,” she says as if she is explaining something straightforward to understand.
Of all the insane things I have heard in this house since I arrived, this is, without doubt, the craziest.
“So, is this what Oved does each time he goes out? Does he go in search of his lost riches? Plunder that which was stolen from him two thousand years ago? Does he still believe he can find it? It’s completely insane.”
Milka nods in agreement.
“What does this treasure consist of?” I ask.
Milka shrugs as if this is entirely irrelevant.
“Gold, jewels…”
“And haven’t you tried to convince him that his search is pointless?”
Milka absent-mindedly stares into space. “Each person has a road he must travel. Oved’s is to search for his treasure.”
The House of Lost Spirits: A Paranormal Novel Page 19
