by Merry Jones
Lynne chewed, nodding. ‘The war will come after Satan is thrown into the pit and stays there for a thousand years. But it might not seem that way because, to God, ‘a thousand years is as a day, and a day as a thousand years.’ So it’s not for us even to try to understand the timing of it all.’ Lynne reached for her bag, pulled out some aloe, globbed it onto her neck.
‘I saw your pastor speaking before.’
‘Yeah, I saw you there. No big deal. We were just praying. Reviewing signs of the Apocalypse.’
No big deal? The Apocalypse? Harper nodded as if Lynne made sense and sat back, looking out the window.
The bus roared past a field of sunflowers, an orchard. A truckload of soldiers. Everyone waved. The bus filled with chatter. A few rows up, Lowell dozed beside an attractive woman with red hair. Peter laughed loudly with a man Harper hadn’t met. Pastor Travis was plugged into his iPod. Others slept or chatted. No one seemed concerned about the end of the world.
Outside, the sky was cloudless, the fertile fields serene. Harper watched the scenery, trying to put aside her discomfort. Other people’s religions were none of her business.
Besides, she was Army. A combat veteran. A survivor. Certainly, she shouldn’t be upset by a few syllables. They’d simply been jarred from her memory by talk of the Apocalypse; she should be able to stop repeating them in her head. Gog and Magog didn’t exist, let alone have armies that could wage war and end the world. They were nonsense. Meaningless gobbledygook. Not even real words.
Kind of like Megiddo and Armageddon.
By the time Hank called that night, Harper had almost put aside all thought of Armageddon. She was still vaguely troubled by the church group and its focus on the end of the world, but Chloe distracted her with her fascination with the cats and dogs that wandered the kibbutz, her compulsion to chase each of them relentlessly. Hagit was no help, talking nonstop on the phone, her voice low and intense. Harper wondered if something were wrong at home, realized she hadn’t learned much about Hagit. Didn’t know if she was married or had kids. Didn’t know anything, really, except that Hagit believed in the Evil Eye. Wow. Harper felt insensitive, self-absorbed, embarrassed. She resolved to find out more when Hagit got off the phone. After she rescued a kitten’s tail from Chloe’s eager grasp.
Finally, after dinner, a bath and a story, Chloe fell asleep. Harper joined Hagit on the porch.
‘Everything all right?’
Hagit eyed her. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. You were on the phone a lot, that’s all.’
‘It bothers you that I get phone calls? It didn’t interfere. You were watching the baby—’
‘I didn’t say it bothered me. I just asked if everything was—’
‘Even if you hadn’t been here, I’d have been fine. I can watch her and talk at the same time.’
Oh Lord. How had this become an argument? ‘I just wondered if maybe someone at home had a problem. Your family.’
Hagit crossed her arms, sat back. ‘Nothing’s wrong with my family.’
Okay. ‘I just wondered.’
‘Of course. It’s natural. I’m here with you, watching your baby, so you’d want to know my story. Here it is: my husband is dead. He was killed in the 1973 war.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I never married again; why would I? We have a son, Etan. He and his family – he has three boys – they live near Tel Aviv. They’re all fine. I was on the phone for work, not for personal reasons. Anything else you want to know?’
Actually, Harper had wanted to know why Hagit seemed so annoyed, but she was tired, didn’t want to start a confrontation. She simply said, ‘I’m glad everyone’s okay.’
When Harper’s phone rang, she was relieved for an excuse to leave Hagit and go inside. It was just after eight, so she didn’t expect Hank. It was early for him to call.
‘You watched news?’ His voice was tight.
The news? ‘No. I haven’t seen television since I got here. What happened?’
‘They caught. Guy.’
What guy?
‘From shuk. Killer.’
Oh. That guy. ‘Really? Who was it?’
‘Im. Migrant. Homeless. From Sudan.’
Really? Harper ran a hand through her hair, confused. ‘Are they sure?’
‘Found on him. Dead American’s. Credit card. He tried using. It.’
So it was a robbery? Was that why he did it? ‘He killed them both?’
‘Didn’t say.’
And if he had, why had he marked the bodies?
‘Crazy.’ Hank sounded stressed, hurried. ‘Inspec. Tor Alon was on news. Said. Big illegal im. Migration. Problem here.’
Harper had heard that thousands of refugees from various African nations were flocking to Israel. Probably many of them were desperate. Possibly one was a killer.
‘Wanted you to know. Big relief here.’
‘Thanks, Hank.’ Harper didn’t feel relieved. Too much remained unanswered. ‘How’s the symposium?’ She changed the subject.
‘Same.’ He didn’t elaborate, asked about Chloe, about Harper’s day.
Harper didn’t mention Lynne or her church; instead, she told him about lunch with Ben Haim and Hadar. About Chloe learning Hebrew. About Hagit being snippy.
When they hung up, Harper lay back on her bed, thinking of Hank, missing him. She closed her eyes. Saw not Hank, but a man lying dead in the shuk, a crescent carved into his forehead. And heard a childlike voice taunt, ‘Gog and Magog, Gog and Magog. Gog and Magog.’
The next morning, Lynne was unusually quiet, focused on shoveling and sifting.
After an hour or so, she sat back, leaning against a full bucket, taking a break. Harper joined her, handed her a water bottle. Sat beside her and casually asked, ‘So you think the Apocalypse is imminent?’
Lynne laughed. ‘You’ve been thinking about what I said.’
Harper shrugged. Drank water.
‘Thing is,’ Lynne said as she opened the bottle, ‘to you that sounds nuts. It would to most people. But, believe me, Harper, it’s not. There’s more known about the Apocalypse than you can read in Matthew or Revelation.’
There was? ‘Like what?’
Lynne turned to face her. ‘You sure you want to know?’
Harper met her eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘We mostly don’t talk to outsiders about it.’ She studied Harper. ‘But what’s the harm – we’re partners, after all.’ She grinned, looked like a surfer girl. ‘See, the Bible is like a history book. Except history books are written after events have happened, and much of the Bible was written before. It tells what will happen – like history written backwards. And the key events that will happen are all there, described in code.’
Harper crossed her legs. ‘In code?’
‘Yes. Words are made of letters, and letters are associated with numbers that have meaning, and they can be read backwards or diagonally or vertically. People have known that forever.’
Harper felt like she’d fallen into a rabbit hole.
‘So, the thing is, in the Bible, God Himself told of events yet to come. He wrote these things in code, and He also coded comments about them.’ She leaned closer to Harper, looked around to make sure no one was in hearing distance, lowered her voice. ‘Pastor Travis found and decoded God’s notes. He’s the first one ever to read God’s personal comments.’
Okay. ‘What kind of comments?’
‘All kinds.’ Lynne’s eyes drifted. ‘Sometimes, He’s made notes to Himself to reconsider a decision.’ She took a breath, pulled off her work gloves, folded them. ‘For example, according to Bible code, God was going to bring the fire from heaven in the Hebrew year 5756.’
Harper said nothing.
‘That was coded. It’s not even a question – any scholar of numerology will tell you that.’
Of course they would.
‘Look, it’s common knowledge. By the Christian calendar, the last day of 5756 was September thirteen
th, 1996. And guess what? Mossad – Israel’s intelligence agency – and its military were on high alert. That proved that even Israel takes Bible code seriously.’
It did?
‘But September thirteenth came and went, and nothing happened. Despite what the code said, there was no big fire. No bombs, no conflagration. Nothing. So the code must have been wrong, right?’ Lynne took the elastic band out of her ponytail, hung it on her wrist. Combed her fingers through her hair as she talked. ‘No. That’s the thing. Pastor Travis studied it, and he found that the code had been deciphered correctly, but not completely. They’d missed the hidden commentary. Get this: the code for 5756 also contained the code for,“Will You change it?”’
Wait, what? ‘I’m confused.’
‘It’s all numbers and Hebrew letters in a bunch of different patterns. Way too complicated for my brain. But what I understand is that, thousands of years ago, God pre-wrote history in code. And He coded that there would be worldwide destruction in 1996, but left Himself open to canceling it. Obviously, since it didn’t happen, we can assume that’s what He decided to do.’ She smoothed her hair back and gathered it in her hand, reforming her ponytail.
Harper’s mouth was open. She didn’t know what to say. Apparently Lynne believed in her preacher’s ability to interpret things that hadn’t happened.
‘Honestly? I didn’t believe any of this at first. I thought Pastor Travis was a lunatic. But then, when he was helping us – Pete and me – we began going to his Bible study. And we heard him read dozens of examples – specific events that we’d read about in the paper that were clearly spelled out in the codes and commentaries – including recognizable names and dates. The assassination of that Israeli leader, Yitzhak Rabin? It was coded. The date and even his name. And so was the Gulf War.’
Harper stared, wondered if the second Iraq war had also been coded. Rubbed her scarred leg. Didn’t ask.
‘These codes tell of things that have either happened or almost happened, like that war in 1996. But when they only almost happen, Pastor finds coded words like, “changed”. Or “postponed”.’
Harper blinked.
‘You think I’m insane.’
Harper didn’t answer.
‘Well, you’ll see. Time will tell. Pastor Travis has discovered secrets about things that are about to occur. And things God wants us to do to prove our faith.’
‘Like what?’ Drinking poisoned Kool-Aid?
Lynne’s gaze wavered. ‘We have to comply with His word and expedite His will. Thus, we assure that we will live in His kingdom forever.’
The words didn’t seem to be Lynne’s. She had to be parroting her pastor. ‘So yesterday, when your pastor was talking about the signs of the—’
‘Oh. The signs are all in place. Now, we have to prepare. Before the Apocalypse begins, God has encoded exactly what we have to do.’ Lynne smiled openly, her skin golden and glowing. ‘You know? It’s not too late, Harper. You can still join us.’
Harper forced a smile. ‘I’m good, thanks.’
‘It’s a lot to take in, I know. But, for your soul’s sake, think about it. God promises eternal life.’ She sounded as if she were asking Harper to join her sorority. Lynne stood, stretched. Put her gloves back on, still smiling. ‘Time to get back to work.’
Good Lord. Harper got to her feet, staring across the dig at the pit, the scaffolding, the pairs of volunteers. Who were these people? Harmless eccentrics? Religious zealots? And what about Pastor Travis? What was he planning for them? Was it another ‘postponed’ or ‘delayed’ conflagration? A self-induced Apocalypse? Or maybe something even worse?
For the rest of the day, Harper studied the others, their interactions, their moods. She’d been trained to spot terrorists or insurgents. People with secrets. People with explosives.
She saw none of the signs, though. No unexplained sweatiness. No blank staring, no intense vigilance or stiffness, no silent mumbling or praying, no restlessness or spaciness or disinterest in material objects. No distracted behavior. Just a bunch of American volunteers, yammering and joking as they did grunt work.
Even so, Harper sensed danger the way she’d sensed the presence of insurgents in Iraq. She felt it in the tightness of her lungs, her stomach. Her skin. Lynne and the others seemed talkative and open, but something hid behind the grins, rumbled below the surface. Something unseen, like a snake under a rock.
When the day ended and the bus finally lumbered back to the kibbutz, Harper hurried to the nursery to check on Chloe and Hagit. Then she hurried to the bungalow, for her laptop.
She couldn’t get online. She sat with her computer in the kibbutz’s main office where there was supposed to be wireless access. She logged on, but couldn’t connect to the Internet. She asked the woman at the front desk for help.
‘Internet’s down. It happens,’ she shrugged. ‘Could be back any time.’
But Harper couldn’t wait. She wanted to find out who Ramsey Travis was, what qualified him to be a preacher, where he’d come from. Whether he had a criminal record. Why he was in Megiddo. And she could do none of that without the Internet.
To make time pass, she examined the pattern on the tile floor. Got up and looked out the window at the valley. Lost a game of spider solitaire. Then tried to connect again. Still couldn’t. Began another game. And heard a familiar voice coming into the lobby, speaking in Hebrew.
Dr Ben Haim was there, talking on the phone.
Harper closed her laptop; it could wait. It was more urgent to tell Dr Ben Haim what was going on at his dig. That a potentially dangerous cult leader had brought his followers there to prepare for Armageddon. For the Apocalypse. She stood to get his attention.
Dr Ben Haim saw her and raised a forefinger, indicating that he’d be off in a minute. That she should wait. Harper sat again, reopened her laptop and tried again for the Internet, but still couldn’t get online. Finally, he hung up and walked over to her.
‘I’m trying to use the Internet.’
He sat beside her. Too close? ‘Good luck. It isn’t always easy here. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. You should wait until tomorrow; use the computer at the site. We have better service there.’
His eyes were soft, connected with hers. His hair glistened silver, reflecting the light. Harper edged away.
‘I hope you enjoyed our lunch.’ Was he flirting? ‘Sorry the students interrupted. For some, this is their first dig—’
‘Dr Ben Haim,’ Harper blurted. She felt clumsy, unsure of his intentions. ‘About the dig – there’s something I need to tell you.’
‘Yes?’
She told him about Ramsey Travis and his followers, that they were preparing for the End of Days. That they believed that only Travis could decode secret messages in the Bible. ‘They think the Apocalypse is imminent . . .’
Dr Ben Haim’s hand landed firmly on hers, startling her. And he was smiling. ‘Dear Dr Jennings. Harper – can we be Harper and Givon?’
Harper nodded, yes. Tried not to stiffen.
‘Harper. I’m happy you came to me. It was wise and even very brave.’
Oh dear. How was she going to get his hand off of hers? And why was he saying that she was brave?
‘You thought you saw danger, and you acted on it.’
Well, ‘acted’ was too strong a word. She hadn’t actually done anything.
‘But, clearly, you are new to our country.’
His hand was warm, meaty. Tanned. Less hairy than Hank’s. And it was squeezing hers.
‘Yes. But I served in Iraq.’ Why had she said that? Was she trying to impress him?
‘Really? You were in the war?’
‘I was. I am not completely naïve about danger.’
‘No, of course not. It was not my intention to imply that you were. What I meant was that this country is not like any other. Certainly not like Iraq. And why is it different? Because this country draws followers of every religion from the whole world. We get everyone: secular,
pious, and fanatic. We Israelis even have our own fanatics – have you seen them? They’ll spit at you or throw stones if you drive a car or operate an elevator on the Sabbath. Even if you show the skin of your arms. But you know what? It’s the beauty of this place. The richness and uniqueness. History, traditions, sacred places and faith. All of it belongs to all of us – even, like it or not, to the fanatics. Here, as nowhere else, we tolerate them. Unless they pose a threat, we let them be.’
Harper felt his breath on her face. He was too close. And he was missing the point. She tried again. ‘But Dr Ben Haim – Givon. What if these people do pose a threat? What if they’re planning more than a few prayer meetings?’
Ben Haim’s eyes probed hers. ‘Do you know this? What kind of threat are you talking about? Because if there is one, tell me. In Israel, we take threats very seriously.’ He waited for an answer.
Harper didn’t know what to say.
‘So? Are they planting a bomb? Planning an attack?’
‘I don’t . . . No. Not that I know of, but . . .’
‘Poisoning each other? Planning mass suicide?’
‘I thought you ought to know. They believe the end is coming.’
‘A lot of people who come here believe the end is coming—’
‘But these people think it will happen at your dig.’
Ben Haim frowned, still didn’t release her hand.
Harper moved it away. ‘Look. I’m sorry if you think I’m overreacting. Maybe they are just another group of harmless religious kooks. You have more experience than I do. So, if you think it’s nothing, just forget it.’ She stood. ‘Well. Good night. See you tomorrow.’ She started for the door, sorry she’d even approached him. He’d completely dismissed her concerns, almost scolded her for bringing them. And what about the way he’d held onto her hand?
