Cursed Days

by J. M. LeDuc

  She pushed all his hair back, so she could get a better look at his eyes. She then ran her hands which were callused by years of hard work over the contour of his face. “To most people, they look like brown. . . how you say in the US, bedroom eyes.” Her directness and touch made Brent blush, though he tried hard not to show it, “But,” Alana continued, “there is a depth to them that I have never witnessed before. It is as if you have been touched by the hand of God.

  “You are as David was. A man after God’s own heart. You give off warmth that is captivating, but you are also a very dangerous man. Your wife should count her blessings,” Alana said as she broke contact with Brent.

  “I am the one who counts his blessings to be married to such a wonderful woman, as I’m sure Caleb is also.”

  Alana looked at her husband and rolled her eyes as if to say, if only it were true.

  “So,” Brent said, “What questions of yours can I help answer?”

  “Let me begin by saying that I am not if favor of you or anybody else searching for, or finding The Ark of the Covenant. It is where God wants it to be, or it would have been found a long time ago.” Brent opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Alana’s continuance to speak. “So, why do you go in search of it?”

  Since she was direct in her communication, Brent responded likewise. Leaning forward in his chair, he looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Because God has asked me to.”

  Alana liked Brent’s openness and the way he didn’t try to talk his way around the truth. Wetting her pouty lips, she smiled and asked, “Why you, and why now?”

  “You’ll have to ask Him yourself why us, and as far as why now, that is not something I am able to answer.”

  Taking another approach, Alana said, “There have been others in the past day or so, who have been on this same quest. They too, said that they were doing God’s work. Why should I believe you and not them?”

  Hearing that there had been others, Brent knew that time was of the essence. Before asking who these men were and when they came through the area, he had to gain Alana’s trust. “You said yourself, that you felt as if I was touched by the hand of God, did you not?”

  “I also said that your eyes told me that you are dangerous, did I not?”

  Brent lowered his head and inhaled deep and slow, absorbing all the odors of the kitchen as well as her scent. She had the upper hand and he knew it. He needed to turn this ‘tug of war’ back to his favor. He exhaled slowly and raised his head so his eyes met hers. “Pull your chair closer to me.”

  Now Alana began to feel vulnerable, “Why do you ask me this?”

  “So I can answer your question and dismiss any distrust you have.”

  Tentatively, she pulled her chair forward, so she was sitting knees to knees in front of him. Trying to hide her vulnerability, she pursed her lips in a stern expression. “How is it you propose to do that?”

  In response, Brent closed his eyes and prayed a silent prayer. Lord I need Your help. Please allow Alana to see whatever it is that she needs to, in order for her to understand. He again looked deep into Alana’s eyes and asked her to look into his.

  Her heart beat hard and fast as she brought trembling hands up to his face. Again she pushed his hair back and let her hands wonder over his facial features. This time when she looked into his eyes, she truly knew that she was touching one who was very close to God. As she continued to stare at Brent, she saw past the anatomy of the eye and into darkness. This void began to manifest itself into images that flashed through her subconscious. They were so fast she didn’t have time to comprehend them all. When she was finally able to turn her head away, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who she was sitting in front of.

  “Hhah,” she gasped, pulling her hands away.

  “Are you alright?” Caleb asked.

  “Y—yes,” she stammered, “I’m fine, just in need of a drink of water. That’s all.” Crossing the kitchen to get a drink, Alana could not take her eyes off Brent or shake the images from her mind.

  “Now,” Brent said, “I am the one with the questions.”

  Alana just nodded as she brought the glass with trembling hand up to her lips.

  “You said that there were others that have come in search of the Ark. When did they come and do you remember how many there were?”

  Swallowing hard, she said, “It was not yesterday, but the morning before, in the marketplace.”

  “How many of them did you see?”

  “Like you,” Alana said, placing the glass on the table before she dropped it, “they numbered three. . . ”

  Interjecting his thoughts before she could continue, Seven said, “They even know how many to send. That can’t be good.”

  “. . . but I think that there were more,” Alana said.

  Brent stood up from the chair and walked over to where she was standing. Not taking his eyes off of hers, he reached down and picked the glass up off the table, lightly touching her hand with his own. Feeling his touch, emotional electricity ran up her arm. Unknowingly, she pulled away. Seeing once again the vulnerability in her expression, Brent asked her why she thought that there were more than three.

  “Because,” Alana answered, as she watched Brent take a sip of water. He placed his lips on the same spot that hers had touched moments ago, “there were other strangers in the marketplace that same morning. Once the three left, the others were no longer there.”

  “The market seemed to be a very busy place. What makes you sure that they were strangers?” Brent said.

  Hoping to win back the advantage in this weird, almost sensual chess game, Alana took the glass out of Brent’s hand. Tracing her tongue over her lips to moisten them, she drank again from the same place on the rim of the glass. “I have lived in this village since birth. I know every face and every voice as well as you know the smell and feel of your wife’s body. If they were not strangers, I would have known them.”

  Brent took a step back in order to disengage himself from this ‘dance’. “What can you tell us about them? The three that made themselves known? It would be a big help to us if we had a description of them.”

  Not quite ready to end the dance, Alana took a few steps closer to Brent, saying, “And the Ambassador? Would he be thankful also?”

  “Any information that leads to a quick and successful completion of this mission would please him. Yes.”

  “In that case, I will tell you.”

  Taking a seat at the table, she started describing the three men. As she spoke, Bishop Jessup wrote fast to keep up. Seven sat and listened. Brent on the other hand moved away from the group and squatted down in the far corner of the room. Slowing his breathing and heart rate, he put himself into a trance like state. For inexplicable reasons, he started moving his hands as if he was picking up dirt or sand and began sifting it between his hands.

  He thought back to a lesson Seven taught during his training.

  The trainees were in the all too familiar squat position; head down, eyes closed, they listened to the man whom they respected more than any other.

  “Expect the unexpected,” Seven said as he paced the empty airplane hangar. “You must be able to divide yourself in two. One part needs to stay on task—always. The other must stay alert to what doesn’t belong. Be it a sound, smell or touch. Any of these will mark danger. The quicker your mind registers the sound, sight, smell, or touch, the more imminent the danger.”

  Seven turned to the three men listening, packed his lip with tobacco, spit into his ever-present cup and stood mere inches from the group. “You can pretty much rule out touch because if the danger is close enough to touch you, you’re done. At that point you have failed the mission and have put your squad in grave danger. Unless you can master a sensory familiarity with your environment at all times, you’re of no use to me, no use to the squad.”

 
He again turned and started to pace. Continuing to talk, his free hand moved to his side. With blinding speed, he drew his knife, spun and threw it towards Brent. With the slightest of head movements, Brent leaned to his right and felt the blade sail past his head.

  Seven smiled, as he walked back towards the group. “Pick that up and hand it back to me, soldier.” Doing so, Brent realized that the knife was real. Keeping his emotion in check, he handed it back.

  “What tipped you off?” Seven said.

  “Your walk sounded different. I could tell your hands were down by your sides. Not your normal position. Your gait changed just before I heard the metal slide from its sheath.”

  Seven put his hand up, cutting him off. He had heard enough. He stared at the others. “I wouldn’t have tried that exercise with anyone else. You’re not ready.” He looked back at Brent, sucked the inside of his bottom lip, spit and said, “Good job.”

  As Alana continued to speak, she couldn’t help watching Brent make these strange movements. Alana and Caleb’s attention shifted to what Brent was doing and she stopped talking.

  “What is this that he is doing?” Caleb asked.

  Without looking, both Bishop Jessup and Seven knew what Caleb was talking about. “Forming a mental picture of the three men,” they both said in unison.

  “Your leader, he is a strange man; no,” Alana said.

  “No, not strange, just. . . special,” the Bishop said, putting his pen down. “I don’t know how you knew, but you were right when you said that he is like David. A man after God’s own heart.”

  Alana continued to stare, mouth slightly open and nodding her response. “But,” Bishop Jessup continued, “like David, he is only a man, and as such, he has his limitations and his flaws.”

  Cutting him off, Seven rose from his seat, packed his mouth full of tobacco, and dramatically spit into the same glass that both she and Brent had been drinking out of. “And,” he drawled, spitting once more while he looked at her with the eyes of a killer, “he is dangerous.”

  Brent continued to stay in a trance like state while the others spoke around him. “How so?” she whispered.

  “I have seen him kill men in ways I never knew existed,” Seven said. “And he did so without emotion and without remorse. Once he goes into that state you see him in now, he will do anything . . . anything to successfully complete his mission. He cannot be stopped.”

  Both the Bishop and Seven were being overly dramatic in order to stop Alana from pursuing her seduction. Though they both knew Brent to be strong enough to avoid her temptation, neither of them had ever seen him drawn into someone else’s game before.

  Alana turned away from the table and walked over to the counter. With deceptive movement, she picked up the carving knife, spun and lunged toward Brent before any of the men could react. As if he was able to see through his eyelids, Brent leaned to his left with the speed of a cheetah and with cat like agility, he grabbed Alana’s wrist just before the tip of the blade was to strike. A split-second later, he was kneeling on top of her, knife in hand, blade resting on her carotid artery. She looked up into his eyes, but this time she saw—hell.

  Breathing heavy, she spoke with a delicate awareness of exactly where the blade was, “It is true what your friends say about you. You are more than even I thought you to be.”

  With a snap of his wrist, Brent let the knife fly and it quickly found its new home embedded in the wall across the room. “The next time you want to be sure—ask,” he said with coldness in his voice.

  Rising to his feet, he reached down, taking Alana’s hand in his, helping her off the floor. Doing so, he pulled her into him. She knew he could feel her breasts heaving into his chest with her every breath, and she knew he could feel the warmth of her breath, but his expression did not change.

  She leaned her head even closer to him and whispered, “I am sorry, Ambassador.”

  The rest of the day went on in a more ‘normal’ way. The three men spoke privately about the next step in their mission, while Caleb and his family went about their day. As the afternoon wore on, Brent broke from the men and went into the kitchen to speak to Alana. He found her standing next to where the knife was still stuck in the wall.

  She seemed to be praying, so Brent did not make himself known until she was finished. He approached in complete silence. He reached around her and gripped the knife and pulled it from where it was embedded. Startled, Alana turned around, finding herself face to face.

  “You move around like a spirit,” she said.

  “I’m just a man, nothing more.” He took a step back and placed the knife back on the counter and continued to speak. “You’re the Knight, not Caleb, is that correct?”

  Nodding, Alana asked how he knew.

  Brent shrugged his shoulders. “Just an observation. I watched as you were praying. You blessed yourself with the sign of the cross. Are you are a believer?”

  “I am a Jew who has moments when I feel that Christ is the Messiah and times when I don’t know.”

  “And now?”

  “What I saw in your eyes made me want to pray. The sign of the cross, just—happened,” she shrugged.

  Brent could feel her uneasiness. He wanted to drop the subject, but God seemed to prod him forward. “Is your faith an issue between you and Caleb?”

  “He is a man with little or no faith in God, so it is a non-issue.”

  “Back at the rendezvous, he called out to Hashem, so he must have some faith in God?”

  “Only when it suits his needs.”

  Sensing a sadness he had not felt before, Brent leaned back against the counter. “There is a sadness about you that worries me,” he said. Alana averted her eyes and lowered her head. “I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  “Caleb is a good provider, but he is not the source of my happiness. I read my Bible and Torah and find solace in God’s word.”

  Brent faced her and took his cross off of his neck. “I’d like you to have this. It has always helped me in my walk and provided me with solace and comfort in times of my life when I didn’t think it was possible.”

  Alana’s eyes misted over as she lowered her head. Brent placed his arms around her neck and fastened it as she lifted her hair out of the way.

  “I hope it won’t be a problem between you and your husband?”

  Rubbing the cross lovingly between her fingers, she looked up with a tear in her eye. “I will put it in a place where he is sure not to look.” With those words, she opened the top button of her blouse and let the cross fall between her ample bosoms.

  “I’m sorry,” Brent said softly, as he wiped her tear away.

  Finding an inner strength, Alana took a deep breath and said, “We all have our crosses to bear, Ambassador. Mine are but a few, yours are many.”

  Reaching into his back pocket, Brent handed her a card. On it was just a phone number. “If you ever need anything, you call that number. Your needs will be met.”

  She smiled and combed her fingers through Brent’s hair, “Will you be leaving us soon?”

  “Tonight. That’s why I came looking for you. I need to know how far Kiryat Yearim is from here.”

  “It is not close. I will arrange transportation for you.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I just need to know how many kilometers it is from here and in what direction.”

  “It is almost ten kilometers. Without transportation, how will you get there?”

  “With God’s help, Alana. With God’s help.”

  She just stood there, leaning against the wall and again rubbed the cross between her fingers. She watched him walk out of the kitchen and mumbled, “We will meet again, you and me.”

  While Brent and Alana spoke, the Bishop and Seven were also busy in conversation. “What is going on with the colonel?” B
ishop Jessup said. “I’ve never seen him act like this before.”

  “I have,” Seven answered. “I have seen him draw close to women in order to get the information he needed. It’s just a tactic.”

  “But,” the Bishop added, “that was weird. I felt as if I was a peeping tom, looking into someone’s bedroom window.”

  Seven breathed a deep sigh, and then spit into the cup he was holding. “Yeah, there were sparks flying between the two.” There was a momentary uneasy quiet, before Seven said, “It doesn’t matter, we’ll be out of here in a couple of hours, and—those sparks allowed Brent to get the information that we needed.” Seven slapped his friend on the back. “Let’s get some rest. It’s going to be a long hard night.”

  “Oh,” Bishop Jessup said sarcastically, “and last night was a piece of cake.”

  “Comparatively, padre.”

  The Bishop rose from the table and said, “I don’t remember any of this in the priest handbook.”

  Brent joined them as they were ending their conversation. “Well,” Seven said, “When do we bug out and how far do we have to go?”

  “A little farther than I thought, I’m afraid. We have almost ten kilometers to travel, so we’ll leave as soon as the sun sets. That gives us about an hour to rest and get ready.”

  Doing the math in his head, the Bishop said in alarm, “That’s six miles. Please don’t tell me we’re going on foot, and where is it we’re going exactly?”

  “Six miles is about right, padre,” Brent said with a smirk. “So get whatever rest you can, now. We’ll wake you in plenty of time to leave for Kiryat Yearim.”

  Bishop Jessup’s eyes opened wide. “Kiryat Yearim? That’s the ancient resting place where King David brought the Ark.”

  “That’s why we brought you,” Seven said, “to state the obvious.”

  Brent laughed as he shut off the only light in the room and lay down on the floor to catch a few winks.