The Death of Baseball

by Orlando Ortega-Medina

  “Not in first class.” He points at the stairs. “Now, go.”

  “Yes, your highness.” Raphael bows to the flight attendant with an exaggerated flourish and heads for the stairs.

  “I don’t want to see you up here for the rest of the flight,” the flight attendant calls out to him. “Is that clear?”

  Raphael registers the comment without responding and descends the stairs.

  “Hello again,” Joanie says as Raphael slips back into his seat.

  Raphael lifts his hand at her, and his mouth pulls up on one side into a half-smile. “Hey there.”

  “So,” Joanie says, “I’ve been wondering…”

  “Wondering what?”

  “Whether you’re a completed Jew?” Joanie flashes a broad smile, her braces glinting in the overhead light of the cabin.

  “Sorry,” Raphael says. “What exactly are you asking?”

  “I’m asking if you’re completed?”

  “I don’t understand the question.”

  “You’re Jewish.”

  “Obviously.” Raphael points again at his kippah.

  “Right. So, what I’m asking is whether you’re a completed Jew.”

  “Again, I don’t get what you’re asking. Completed how? Are you asking whether I’m circumcised? Or whether I’m a bar mitzvah?”

  Joanie reddens and waves her hand. “No, neither of those. I meant, have you accepted Jesus, or Yeshua, as I think is what your people called him in Hebrew, as your Lord and Saviour.”

  “My people?”

  “Jewish people.”

  Joanie pulls up one leg and beams a smile. “Our Lord Jesus was Jewish, too. Did you know that?”

  Raphael looks at her with a deadpan expression. “I don’t mean to be rude. But, are you really going to do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “The proselytising?

  “We’re here on earth to spread the good news of Jesus to everyone. That’s our mission. So, yes, absolutely. That’s the reason the Lord placed us here together.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I truly believe that.”

  “OK, fine. So, in answer to your question, yes, I do know that Jesus was Jewish. What about it?”

  “We Christians believe he was the Jewish Messiah.”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  Joanie lets out an exasperated sigh and continues, “So, when a Jew accepts Jesus as their Lord and Saviour, and as their Messiah, we consider them to be completed.”

  “You believe that Jesus is God, right?”

  “Yes, we do. God the Son.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “What do you mean?” A deep crease appears between Joanie’s yellow-red eyebrows.

  “You said, Jesus is ‘God the Son’. How many other Gods are there?”

  “Well, there’s God the Father, and there’s Jesus, who is God the Son, and there’s God the Holy Spirit.”

  “So there are three of them?”

  “There are three, but they’re also one.”

  “Yeah … you know, that’s the thing about us Jews. We’re only allowed one God. So this three-in-one thing doesn’t work. That’s sort of blasphemy for us.”

  Joanie stiffens and shakes her head. “It’s not like we’re polytheists, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Also…” Raphael holds up his hand. He pulls a granola bar out of his pocket and tears open the pack, saying a quick blessing and munching on it.

  Joanie crinkles her brow at him as he finishes his snack.

  “Sorry for being rude,” he says, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “I was totally starving.”

  “You were about to say something…”

  Raphael suppresses an internal scream. “Oh, you mean, you want to keep talking about religion?”

  Joanie nods. “Yes, please.”

  “OK, fine. So what I don’t get is why your people would worship someone who practised a completely different religion from yourselves, and who, obviously, had different beliefs from your own.”

  “What do you mean ‘different beliefs’?”

  “Jesus was perfect, right? According to you.”

  “According to the Bible.”

  “Yes, OK. But, I mean, you hold to the idea that everything Jesus did, everything he said, and everything he believed was perfect, right? He was infallible.”

  “That’s what the Bible says.”

  “So then it logically follows that first-century Judaism is the only true religion, including all its beliefs and practices, if—as you believe—that was the religion Jesus followed. Right?”

  Joanie narrows her eyes at Raphael.

  “What did Jews in the first century believe, Joanie?” Raphael waits a moment for his words to hit before pressing on. “What books did they study? How and when did they pray? What did they eat? What did they avoid eating?”

  Joanie glances across the cabin at her tour leader and back at Raphael. “I’m not an expert in first-century Judaism, sorry.”

  “Why not? If that’s the religion your god followed, why don’t you know more about it?”

  After a moment of silence, Joanie smiles tightly and shakes her head. “I didn’t mean for things to get heated, sorry. Let’s call a truce, OK?”

  “Sure,” Raphael says with a slight lift of his shoulders. He looks back at the flight attendants who are pushing the meal cart up the aisle. “It seems like they’re starting the food service anyway.”

  Joanie touches him lightly on the leg. “I’ll be praying for you.”

  Raphael flashes Joanie a thumbs up.

  After the meal service, the captain dims the overhead lights, and the cabin is plunged into near-total darkness. Raphael stretches out as best he can in his cramped seat and falls asleep. When he next opens his eyes, he finds Joanie resting her head on his shoulder, softly snoring. Glancing at his watch, he realises he has been out for nearly two hours.

  Gently manoeuvring Joanie’s head back onto her headrest, he unbuckles his seat belt and seeks out the lavatory at the back of the cabin. When he emerges, he glances around the corner into the galley, which is empty, and steps into it to poke around the snacks, inspecting the random packs of crisps, biscuits, nuts, raisins, and pocketing anything that bears the U kosher symbol.

  As he is about to return to his seat, he spots a suit coat draped over the back of one of the seats the flight attendants use when they are relaxing in the galley. He glances over his shoulder, pulls on the lapel to look at the nametag, which says Uzi Shaked, and spits out the word mamzer under his breath. Shooting another quick look over his shoulder, he slips his hand into the inside pocket, his heart hammering in his chest, and lifts out Uzi’s wallet. He swiftly replaces it with a square pack of Kit Kats and smoothens down the coat before stepping out of the galley. Strolling as nonchalantly as possible up the aisle opposite his, he crosses over at the front of the cabin and glides back down the other side.

  When he reaches his row, he checks on Joanie to make sure she is still asleep. Then he pops opens the overhead compartment, unzips the side flap of her suitcase and, looking both ways to make sure nobody is looking, slips the wallet underneath a wad of socks. Realising he’s been holding his breath for far too long, Raphael exhales, clicks shut the overhead compartment, returns to his seat and closes his eyes

  Just then the plane lurches violently, tossing screaming passengers, flight attendants, serving carts, dishes, and drinks about the cabin. Joanie wakes with a start and grasps Raphael’s thigh, digging in her fingernails, and Raphael jerks away his leg. He glares at Joanie, who is hyperventilating, her face drained of colour. Raphael looks about the cabin and takes in the chaos unfolding around them.

  “What’s happening?” Joanie says.

  Raphael glances at her and shakes his head. “Probably just bad turbulence.” He passes his hand through his wet hair. His head and face are dripping sweat, and his c
lothes have soaked through.

  A milkshake-smooth voice from the flight deck floats out of the public address system, confirming they have hit a rough patch and instructing the passengers to return to their seats. The plane continues to bounce over air pockets for several minutes before stabilising long enough for the flight attendants to attend to the general mess. They circulate through the cabin and verify there are no injuries.

  Raphael dries his face and body with his bandana, then places it on the seat next to him to air dry. He checks his watch and, noticing it is already 7 p.m. Los Angeles time, pulls out his prayer book and flips the pages to the evening prayer service.

  “Is that Hebrew?” Joanie points a trembling finger at the open book.

  Raphael nods and holds it up. “Are you OK now?”

  “I think so.” Joanie looks away for a moment. “I really thought we were going to die; that was totally scary.”

  Raphael closes his prayer book. “Are you afraid to die?”

  “Well … yes. Aren’t you?”

  “Let’s talk about you.”

  Joanie glances across the cabin at the leader of her group, who is engaged in an intense conversation with his neighbour, then looks back at Raphael. “I guess I’m afraid of what happens afterwards. I mean, I believe and all that. But, still…”

  “Still what?”

  “There’s still a lot I haven’t done yet. I wouldn’t want to go too soon, if you know what I mean.”

  “Like what?”

  Joanie shakes her head and waves her hand at Raphael.

  “What haven’t you done yet?”

  Joanie looks out the window. “Never mind,” she mutters.

  “Are you talking about sex?” Raphael whispers.

  Joanie whips around in her seat. “Of course not. What’s wrong with you? How can you even ask that?”

  “How old are you?” Raphael asks calmly.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Seventeen, really? And you’re still a virgin? That’s unbelievable.”

  “It’s a sin to have sex before you’re married. And I was saved when I was really young.”

  “You mean, you’re waiting to get married before you have sex?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s what the Lord wants; it’s what the Bible teaches.”

  “Oh.” Raphael opens up his prayer book to the evening service again.

  “What about you?” Joanie asks after a few moments of silence. “Have you, you know, had sex?”

  Raphael shuts his prayer book. “Yes.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m sixteen, nearly seventeen. But I’ve been having sex since I was fifteen.”

  “Seriously?” Joanie says.

  “Yes, seriously. Loads and loads of it. But that’s all we’re going to talk about since we don’t really know each other that well. Plus, you know, you’re a girl.”

  “It’s not a sin for a Jew to have sex before he’s married?”

  “It’s complicated. Not as black and white as for you guys.”

  Joanie chews on her lower lip and nods her head tentatively.

  Raphael holds up the prayer book. “I have to pray now. And I can’t be interrupted once I start. Sorry. That’s the rule.”

  “OK, I promise. But, I’d like to talk more about this with you, if that’s all right. I’m interested in comparing Christian beliefs with Jewish ones. Maybe we can meet. We’re going to be in Israel for three weeks.”

  Raphael shrugs. “We’ll see.” He points at his prayer book.

  Joanie nods and pantomimes zipping her mouth shut and tossing aside the key.

  Raphael turns back to his evening prayers and reads them to himself. As he reaches the last couple of passages, Uzi pulls up next to his seat accompanied by a massively built bearded redhead man in his mid-forties dressed in dark cotton trousers and a short-sleeve white button shirt.

  “This is the one,” Uzi says, pointing at Raphael.

  The large man moves Uzi to one side and says, “Raphael Dweck?”

  Raphael holds up a hand, turns the page in his prayer book, and starts in on the final blessing.

  Uzi opens his mouth to say something, but the large man raises a hand and Uzi backs down. They wait until Raphael finishes and looks up at them.

  “Raphael Dweck?” the large man repeats.

  “What it is?” Raphael says.

  Joanie peers out at the men from behind Raphael, and a hush descends over the cabin as all eyes focus on the unfolding scene.

  “Come with me, please.”

  Raphael slides the prayer book into his seat pocket, unbuckles his seat belt, and follows the two men down the aisle into the galley.

  “I’m Gideon Vered, head of Security,” the tall man says, drawing the curtains.

  “If it’s about sitting in first class,” Raphael says, “I already apologised to him for that.” He points at Uzi.

  “Don’t get smart, kid,” Uzi says.

  Vered looks sharply at Uzi, who immediately shuts up.

  “Mr Shaked here claims you stole his wallet.”

  “You were seen here in the galley,” Uzi says.

  “Again, you talk when you’re supposed to remain quiet,” Vered says to him.

  “Sorry,” Uzi says.

  Vered points at the curtain, not taking his eyes off Raphael. “Wait outside, please.”

  Uzi shakes his head and exits the galley.

  “I didn’t take his wallet,” Raphael says. “Now, may I please return to my seat, after you’ve embarrassed me in front of the whole world?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that,” Vered says.

  “Why not? Because that prick said so?”

  “His wallet was definitely stolen.” Vered holds up a packet of Kit Kats. “Someone replaced it with this.”

  Raphael bursts out laughing when he sees the packet of Kit Kats in Vered’s hand. “That’s hilarious!” he says, once his laughter has subsided.

  “I’m glad you’re amused,” Vered says, “All the more reason for searching you, the area around your seat, and your bags once the rest of passengers have deplaned.”

  “I’m telling you, I didn’t take it. That guy’s had a hard-on for me ever since I boarded this flight, and now he wants me to take the fall for this.”

  “I’ll need to pat you down.”

  Raphael raises his arms and spreads his legs. “I’m going to expect a full apology from that guy after this is all over.”

  “Is everything OK?” Joanie asks when he returns to his seat.

  “That flight attendant got it into his head that I stole his wallet,” he responds. “I’m going to have to stay behind once you all get off so they can search my bags.”

  Once the plane has rolled to a stop, Vered reappears at Raphael’s side and asks him to wait. Joanie slips past them, grabs her suitcase, and joins the rest of the passengers as they make their way down the aisles toward the exit.

  When the last passenger clears the cabin, Vered orders Raphael to step aside, and he searches all around Raphael’s seat and inside the seat pocket. Uzi hovers in the background, chewing his thumbnail.

  Finding nothing, Vered asks Raphael to pull his backpack out of the overhead compartment and proceeds to empty the bag of all its contents onto the aisle seat, some of it bouncing onto the floor, and sifts through it all. After a couple of minutes, Vered straightens up to his full height and shakes his head at Uzi, who storms into the galley.

  “You see,” Raphael says, “No wallet! Are you satisfied now?”

  “Pick up your things, kid,” Vered says through clenched teeth.

  “I know you’re only doing your job,” Raphael says in a lowered voice. “So, no hard feelings.” He offers Vered his hand. “Just make sure Her Majesty over there apologises to me, personally.” He points at the galley. “Otherwise, I’m lodging a complaint.”

  Chapter 5

  Raphael grabs his backpack and camera and speeds down the aisle toward the exit door. The
blistering heat of the afternoon radiating into the cabin forces him to step back for the briefest of moments. Then, setting his face, he lowers his head and steps out of the plane. He rushes down the stairs, runs past a young soldier standing at attention at the foot of the stairs holding his Uzi diagonally across his chest, and sprints across the tarmac to the white stucco terminal building.

  Once inside, he swiftly clears immigration as a returning citizen and tracks down the luggage carousel that corresponds to his flight. Seeing that it hasn’t yet started to circulate, he positions himself next to the chute and waits. Ten minutes later, the carousel makes a grinding noise and begins to turn.

  Raphael recognises some of his fellow passengers approaching from the immigration hall. They congregate not far from him next to the luggage carousel. A few minutes later, a contingent of flight attendants passes through the luggage hall on their way to the exit. Raphael spots Uzi among the group, closely followed by Vered. Uzi glances toward the luggage carousel and, catching sight of Raphael, touches his index finger to his nose and thrusts it at him. Raphael responds by grabbing his crotch with one hand, pointing at it with the other, and winking at Uzi. Noticing the exchange, Vered shakes his head and urges Uzi toward the door with a push from behind. Raphael holds his ground until they’ve cleared the luggage area and turns back in time to see a few more bags drop onto the conveyor belt.

  Joanie’s tour group emerges en masse from the immigration hall, led by their tour guide, who marches them in holding high in the air a stick topped by a red-and-white striped ribbon. Joanie breaks away from the group and runs toward Raphael, pulling her roller behind her. She throws her arms around him and gives him a bear hug, briefly lifting him off the ground.

  “Jeez,” Raphael says once she’s released him. “You’d think we hadn’t seen each other in years.”

  “I was worried about you.” Joanie searches Raphael’s face.

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “Did they find the wallet?”

  Raphael shrugs. “Hell if I know. I didn’t have it.”

  “What do you suppose happened to it?”

  “Someone stole it, I guess. There were over three hundred passengers on board. Could have been anyone.”