Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3

by Benjamin Laskin

  Instinctively, Virgil reached behind his back and unsheathed a ruby-edged, Zweihänder great sword. In a blink of an eye, the sword was slicing through the air on its way towards lopping off the yetzer’s head.

  “Virgil, no!”

  The blade stopped a millimeter from the yetzer’s neck.

  I threw a handful of ground wasabi powder into the yetzer’s Cycloptic glowing green eye. It howled in pain and retreated back into Malkah Stern’s person.

  “Whew,” I said, quickly switching back to thought mode. “That was close.”

  “Sorry,” Virgil said sheepishly. “Habit.”

  “Oh crap.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” Virgil grumbled.

  “I’m not talking about you,” I said. “They are on to us.”

  “They are? How do you know?”

  “A few weeks ago, that thing was just a baby, remember? They don’t grow up that fast without help. Also, unlike the sonar probes of the Academy’s demon detectors, our palm probes don’t incite the yetzers like that. That’s why we use them.”

  “Unless they already know we’re here…” Virgil said, gathering himself and turning his eyes on our surroundings.

  “Exactly. The yetzer’s belligerence was a provocation. Someone wanted you to attack it because doing so would have disqualified the Swerver.”

  “Does that mean she’s the Swerver then?”

  “No, but someone isn’t taking any chances. If she is, our interference would have ensured that she isn’t anymore.”

  “So what do I do about it?” Malkah said. “My yetzer, I mean. I can’t just reach in, grab it by the scruff, and pitch it in front of a bus, can I?”

  “No,” Gideon said. “You overcome it by acknowledging it. Sunlight is the best disinfectant. Acknowledge, understand, rinse, repeat.”

  “Huh?”

  “The yetzers are tricky bastards. They know our minds better than we do. If one beastie is discovered and gains your attention, another quickly rises to distract you from the discovery. We have to understand they are all part of the same underlying fears.”

  “Fears?”

  Gideon nodded. “All those demons I listed, one thing they have in common is fear. And yet, ironically, most of our fears are either self-induced or completely unfounded. In fact, many are intended to keep you from fearing what is truly worth fearing.

  “To compound matters,” he continued, “the world is full of yetzer-possessed people who, although oblivious to their own infested natures, understand the power of fear, and use it to frighten, browbeat, and enslave the unwitting masses. We are so susceptible to these boogeymen because fear has become second nature to us. I’d argue, in fact, that it has become first nature. Acknowledge, understand, rinse, repeat.”

  “What is the rinsing part?” Malkah asked.

  “Faith.”

  “Emuna?”

  Gideon cocked his head in surprise, wondering why she’d know such a term. He said, “I bet you were an excellent student before you dropped out.”

  “4.0, baby.”

  “Yes, emuna. Elevated faith. Not just thinking so—knowing so. As the psalm says, ‘Be still, and know that I am God.’”

  “Well,” Malkah chuckled, “that’s certainly not going to play well to today’s audiences. Waist-deep into the 21st century that we are, it’s going to get you a call from an ACLU lawyer, a snarky TV commentator, or a government bureaucrat telling you that some congressional committee requests your appearance.”

  “Pretty much, yep.”

  “Look, everything you’re telling me is way out there—”

  “Or in there,” Gideon slipped in.

  “Whatever,” Malkah said. “Kooksville. No one, and I mean no one, is ever going to consider that what you are saying is anything but the result of your insanity.”

  “True enough, but it’s not my business to convince people of a damn thing. You’re the first person I’ve ever spoken to about any of this. And, I have a feeling, the last.”

  “Like I said, I’m still here.”

  “Well, it is a long walk back to town,” Gideon rejoined drolly.

  “Furthermore,” Malkah said, “I’ll have you know that you are not the first person to speak of such things to me.”

  “Oh, so, I guess when you said ‘no one but no one’ would ever consider such things, you meant no one but someone and you?”

  “No normal person.”

  “And who is the abnormal person you seem to keep mentioning without mentioning? I’d like to meet him.”

  “No way,” Malkah stated flatly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because…I…promised him.”

  “Promised?”

  “Okay, a little more than promised. I swore an oath.”

  “I see,” Gideon said. “Well, far be it from me to ever ask you to break a sworn oath. That’s serious business.”

  “That’s what he said!”

  “And he’s right. I think I like this fellow.”

  “Two peas in a pod,” Malkah said, and then added dryly, “cracked peas. But how did you come to formulate your, whatever it is, thesis?”

  “That,” Gideon said, “is another long story, and it’s getting late.” He nodded towards the creeping, engulfing shadow being cast from the surrounding mountain. “Let’s head back.”

  “You can tell me in the car,” Malkah said.

  “Oh, great,” Gideon groaned, getting to his feet. “Haven’t you had enough romancing for one day?”

  “Hey,” Malkah said, folding the target and putting it into her purse, “if a first date is meant to be memorable, at least you succeeded on that account.”

  Gideon snorted. “If someone asks a woman how was your date, and she replies, ‘memorable,’ that’s typically not a very good sign.”

  “No, I suppose it isn’t,” Malkah agreed.

  “Right, so, that said, will my memorable date earn me a second?”

  Malkah slid him that sly smile of hers that he had already come to adore. “Rinse, repeat?” she said.

  Virgil and I got up to follow them, and then froze in our steps.

  “Uh-oh,” Virgil said.

  “Run!” I yelled.

  We took off across the open meadow, but Virgil didn’t get far before a heavy net dropped on him from above, sending him sprawling. I was already halfway across the meadow before I noticed that he wasn’t right behind me. I turned to run back to help him.

  “No, Kohai! There are too many of them! The Swerver, you must protect the Swerver!”

  “Virgil…!”

  “No, Kohai! The Swerv—!”

  18

  Real Sport

  Gideon held open the car door for Malkah as she stepped into his white, mint-condition, vintage 2016 Toyota SUV.

  Malkah watched him as he circled around the front to the driver’s side. He looked distracted, and took a moment to cast an eye back towards the picnic area that they had just left. She saw him put a hand to his holstered Kimber .45 ACP, cast another observing look around, and then walk over to the driver’s door and get in.

  “Something the matter?” Malkah asked.

  “No,” Gideon said, starting up the vehicle and backing out of his parking space.

  “Are you sure? It looks like your spidey-senses are all atingle.”

  Gideon smiled at her and turned the wheel and headed across the gravel parking lot to the shooting range exit.

  “They go off like that now and then,” he said, his eyes darting between mirrors.

  She turned in her seat and looked back on the shrinking picnic area.

  “You’re not expecting company or something, are you?” Malkah said, suddenly wishing she had a gun too.

  “Everything is fine,” Gideon answered. He turned out of the shooting range and onto the main highway. “As we were leaving the picnic area I just got a weird vibe, that’s all.”

  “I did too,” Malkah said. “I thought it was just the drop of temperature as the sun
blinked out over the mountains. It became suddenly chilly. But now I wonder…”

  “Would you like me to turn on the heat?” Gideon said, reaching for the dashboard.

  “No, I’m fine now.” She looked admiringly about the car. “They don’t make ‘em like this anymore,” she said. “It seems so big and muscular compared to all the other plastic putt-putts on the road.”

  Gideon patted the dashboard like it was a faithful dog. “You can only buy these things used now, if you can even find one, and even then you have to pay a stiff penalty tax. New ones are only produced for government officials, the military, or people who qualify for a special permit.”

  “I read somewhere that once upon a time, SUVs were among the most popular vehicles. Hard to believe now, eh?”

  “Not really,” Gideon said bitterly. “Freedom is now whatever the federal nannies deem permissible.”

  Malkah sighed and said, “Do you ever dream about what it would be like to have lived in our grandparents’ generation?”

  “Used to,” Gideon admitted, “but I found it to be a waste of imagination. I envy the relative freedom they enjoyed compared to today, but to be honest, they and their parents piss me off. Far too many were too self-absorbed to give a damn about those after them who had to pay for their excesses and fatuous schemes.”

  “But things could be a lot worse, right?” Malkah said, hope in her voice.

  “Things can always be worse.”

  Malkah slumped into her car seat and looked out the side window.

  Gideon grimaced, sensing her frustration. He scolded himself under his breath.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Things aren’t so bad—better every day.”

  Malkah turned to Gideon, fury in her eyes. “You listen,” she snapped. “I can put up with a lot of things, okay, but patronizing isn’t one of them. Copy that, soldier?”

  Chastised, Gideon said, “Coming in loud and clear, ma’am.”

  “Okay,” Malkah said, sitting up straight again in her seat. “We have an hour and a half drive ahead of us, so back to how you came to formulate your little yetzer theory.”

  “Why are you interested?” Gideon asked, honestly puzzled. “I know how ridiculous it sounds. How do I know you’re not patronizing me?”

  “You don’t,” Malkah said. “Now, out with it.”

  Gideon frowned, palmed chin and cheeks, and blew a burst of air through pursed lips. “It all goes back to my Grandpa Shimon of blessed memory,” he began. “When I was a kid he was everything to me. He was a learned rabbi with a congregation of one—me.

  “Grandpa was a walking anachronism where I grew up. With his long payot that flowed into his white beard, black hat, and tzitzis that he wore dangling untucked from under his shirt, everyone in my small rural town knew of him. He was a simple and honest man, and kind almost to a fault. Never a sour word for any one, not even those who mocked him. His gentle, marble gray eyes smiled upon everyone and everything he met. Grandpa Shimon saw holiness in all of God’s children and works.

  “He taught me Torah and Talmud, and regaled me with stories of the patriarchs, the kings and prophets, and the great sages. No one could tell a tale like he could. While other kids immersed themselves in the pop culture of the day—sports, music, movies, TV, social media, computer games—I sat at my grandfather’s feet and let him sweep me to the distant past, to a time of spiritual giants, courage, and heroism. It was Grandpa Shimon who taught me about the yetzer hara.”

  “The what?” Malkah interrupted.

  “The yetzer hara, the evil inclination. Grandpa Shimon said that in the Talmud it is written that the yetzer hara has seven names. HaShem calls it ‘the evil one’; Moses referred to it as ‘the barrier’; King David, ‘the defiled’; Solomon, ‘the enemy’; the prophet Isaiah, ‘the stumbling block’; the prophet Joel, ‘the lurker’; and the prophet Ezekiel called it ‘the massive rock.’

  “Grandpa Shimon told me that I must constantly be on alert for its presence, and battle it daily. He didn’t try to spook me or give me nightmares. Nothing like that. He was always about motivating me to be my best. He said, ‘Gid’on—my Hebrew name—we are all born originals, but too many of us live as copies.’

  “Grandpa believed that by combatting one’s fear demons was the surest way to stay original. He wanted me to succeed at anything I should decide to undertake, and to do so with integrity and self-awareness. He wanted me to conquer my fears and insecurities—to overcome my lower nature and the pressures of society.

  “He told me to imagine every fear or negative feeling or desire as a particular yetzer, a demon that needed slaying. He told me to acknowledge it, isolate it, and starve it. ‘Pound it with prayers to HaShem,’ he would say with a swing of his clenched fist, ‘and kick its tokhes!’” Gideon chuckled at the memory.

  Malkah smiled and asked, “How much yetzer tokhes have you kicked?”

  Gideon laughed. “I asked Grandpa Shimon the same thing. In fact, I often would greet him with, ‘Hey Grandpa, kick any yetzer tushies today?’ He would smile, stroke his beard reflectively, and say, ‘Three or four. How about you?’ Yetzers found him especially tempting, he said.”

  Gideon recounted the story, staring straight ahead at the road, as if the car’s headlights were projecting a film of his grandfather onto the evening’s dark canvas. He had a big grin on his face and, Malkah thought, a slight mist in his eyes.

  “And so,” Malkah said, “you took his yetzer analogy and ran with it, is that it?”

  “I never forgot it,” he replied. “And as I grew up it seemed to me to explain a lot about people and myself.”

  “Maybe he was more right than he knew,” Malkah said.

  “Well, I came to learn that he was right about everything else he talked about.”

  “In any case,” she said, “I’m sure he was very proud of your career.”

  “I’d like to think so, but I’ll never know. He was murdered when I was seventeen.”

  “Murdered?” she gasped. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. How horrible. Who would do such a thing to such a decent man?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that question ever since.”

  “They never caught the guy?”

  “The driver of the car that ran him down was found a few days later, dead in an alley with a needle in his arm. The local police believed he was a junky, and that my grandfather’s death was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “No.”

  “But why? Why would anyone want him dead?”

  “Because he was righteous.”

  “Huh?”

  “A hidden tzaddik. A Lamed-Vavnik.”

  “A what?”

  Gideon explained the story of the Lamed-Vavniks: the thirty-six righteous men who kept the world from being destroyed. When he finished he noted Malkah’s mystified expression.

  “I know,” he said. “I only get weirder and weirder.”

  Malkah wasn’t sure what to reply. Cyrus never mentioned anything about Lamed-Vavniks in his tale to her. She said, “But if these Lamed-Vavniks are hidden, and may not know themselves who they are, how would anyone else know?”

  “That’s the big question, isn’t it?” Gideon said. “I’m only surmising. I knew my grandfather well, and he fits the description. Over the years I’ve investigated hundreds of other deaths of people who might fit. Of those, I concluded that a dozen or so passed my screening. But, of course, I can only make such assumptions in retrospect.”

  “If you’re right,” Malkah posed, “and some madman is trying to take out these people one by one, how does he find them?”

  “That’s the big question,” Gideon replied. “Most of these people live very quiet and simple lives off the grid, so to speak. And there are thousands, if not millions of very kind, decent, and virtuous people in the world. How would this guy know who to take out?”

  “He wouldn’t,” Malkah said. “Unless he screens pe
ople like you do, and kills everyone who’s good, just to make sure. But that would be absolutely diabolical, and how could he cover himself for so long? Surely, he’d be caught eventually.”

  “I agree,” Gideon said. “Or, he has help from the other side.”

  “The other side?”

  “From the yetzers.”

  “But you said yetzers don’t communicate with us directly. You said they don’t talk and they don’t think. They just act.”

  “That’s right. But then I remembered what my grandfather said, that they found him especially tempting. A Lamed-Vavnik is a yetzer magnet. The holier and more righteous the person, the more the yetzers want to destroy him. It’s their nature. Maybe my grandfather wasn’t kidding when he said he was kicking yetzer tush every day. Follow the yetzers and find the Lamed-Vavniks.”

  Malkah knitted her brow, confused. “Still, we humans can’t possibly know that. They are invisible to us, and even the Lamed-Vavnik doesn’t know. A thousand of these demons could swarm a person and we’d still never know, right?”

  Gideon chuckled and shook his head.

  “What?” Malkah said. “What did I say?”

  “Can you believe we’re even having this conversation?”

  “No, I can’t. It’s absurd. But we’re having it, so don’t stop now.”

  “You’re a real sport, you know that? Thank you.”

  “And you’re a real nut,” she rejoined. “And you’re welcome. Now go on.”

  “We can’t track them, but maybe an angel can, if one knows what he’s looking for.”

  “An angel?”

  “Perhaps, yeah. What if an angel was tracking yetzer movements and providing intel to the murderer.”

  “But angels are good. They wouldn’t do that…would they?”

  “It would only take one.”

  “But you said angels don’t communicate with us directly, so how would the intel be passed along?”

  “It could be a fallen angel,” Gideon said. “One that had been kicked out of Heaven, so to speak, and now lives among us.”