by Katz, Yoram
They looked at each other for a while and then burst into laughter simultaneously. Luria regretfully acknowledged that all his games would not alter the fact that this woman could bend him any way she chose. He let go of the mask he had been putting on and felt greatly relieved. “OK,” he said, “we continue as usual.”
“This is much better,” said Jeanne. “Now, what was it that you wanted to tell me?”
Luria was silent. ‘Well,’ he was thinking, ‘let’s see how you are going to handle this one…’
“Yossi?” he found the way she pronounced his name with that French accent of hers absolutely devastating. Very few people addressed him by his first name.
Ella did.
“Yes,” he said. “I do have something to tell you. I know who this Rivka, who captured the heart of Pascal de Charney, was.”
“Really?” Jeanne straightened up in her chair, alert.
“Aryeh, my cousin, lives in Safed and has a thing for family trees. He has his resources and we now have a good idea who she was.”
“So who was this mysterious Rivka?”
Luria gave her the whole story as he had heard it from Aryeh, but left out Rivka’s marriage and pregnancy.
Jeanne was greatly impressed. “Well, what a girl! And what a family! Pascal did have an exquisite taste. What did you say her full name was? Rivka Bakri?”
“Yes,” replied Luria. “That was her name before she was married.”
“So she married later. Do you know whom?”
“Yes,” replied Luria, “her husband’s name was David Luria.”
“Luria? Really? Same as your name?”
“Yes, indeed.” Luria tried to appear indifferent. “Actually, Aryeh claims that he, as well as I, are both descended directly from David and Rivka Luria.”
“I don’t believe it!” Jeanne called out, exhilarated. “What a coincidence! We could have almost been relatives… This… this is simply amazing!”
“Just a moment,” said Luria. “There is more.” He now told her about the feeble-minded Yeshiva student and about Eliyahu, the only son of the couple, born less than seven months into the marriage.
Jeanne listened open-mouthed and did not utter a word. For a moment, Luria thought she did not get the point. She sat frozen for a long time and then raised her hand and placed it over her mouth.
“Good Lord,” she muttered.
“Good Lord indeed,” said Luria. “I have not yet fully recovered from this story myself.”
“We are related…” said Jeanne feebly. “We are relatives… I cannot believe this… Do you have the documents to support this story?”
“I am working on it,” answered Luria, “but I am sure this is true. This is truly an incredible coincidence.”
“And to think we were together… and that I was on the verge of falling in love with you…”
Luria was alarmed. “Hey, wait a minute. We are talking about more than 200 years ago. It is not like we are brother and sister or something even remotely close to that…”
“Aren’t we? Have I not told you how much you resemble my cousin Louis?” said Jeanne in a quivering voice. “And you two have the exact same gray-blue eyes… I had no idea… I am so confused…” She started crying. It was a quiet sort of sobbing that came from somewhere deep inside.
Luria got out of his chair and approached her. He tried clumsily to embrace her shoulders, but she avoided his touch and went on weeping for a minute or two. “I am so confused…” she mumbled after she had calmed down a bit.
“Me too,” said Luria. “I know how you feel.”
Jeanne straightened herself. She wiped her tears with tissues that Luria handed her, took a small mirror from her purse and looked at it. “I look terrible…”
Luria thought she looked as smashing as ever.
“OK,” she said, having dried her face, “sorry for falling to pieces in front of you. This story got me by surprise. I need time to digest and understand the meaning of all this. For the time being, I am going to set it aside, and as you put it, ‘continue as usual’…” Luria smiled, but she quickly added, “that is, at least as far as our business agreement is involved; as for the rest of it… I don’t know.”
With a heavy heart, Luria nodded his approval.
“Well, then,” she said, “now that we have put this behind us, and that you have achieved your initial goal, it is my turn. You were right, of course; I did not tell you the whole story. We can now move to the main task, the principal reason for my being here. As I said before, had you not completed your first task, I would not be pursuing the next phase with you, so there was really no point in letting you know everything in advance. But from now on, I am showing you my hand, the whole of it.”
She fumbled through her purse, produced an envelope, and handed it to Luria. “This is the full English translation of the letter of Pascal de Charney.”
17. The de Charney Letter Revisited
Luria opened the envelope, took out of it a few sheets of paper and placed them on his desk. He then walked to the safe behind his chair and opened it. He retrieved the copy of the letter Jeanne had previously given him and returned to his desk.
“As you are going to find out,” said Jeanne and raised her eyes to meet his, “your analysis was quite accurate. I must be a lousy forger.”
Luria spread out the two versions side by side on his desk and started reading. While reading, he marked the paragraphs that were missing in the former copy.
Germinal 30th, Year 7 of the French Republic,
(April 17th, 1799)
Tiberias.
Dear Papa,
The events that have taken place here since the last time I wrote to you, could fill volumes.
…
Two days later, on Germinal 10th (March 30th), I left east toward Safed under General Murat. Yes, Papa, this is the same Safed which appears in the list you gave me a year ago.
…
But before I proceed to describe the events of this journey, I want to share with you a report that we have just received and which illustrates the nature of our enemies - a bunch of savages with no dignity and honor, exactly as they were 500 years ago, when our ancestor Philippe de Charney, in whose footsteps you have asked me to follow, was fighting here.
* * *
Luria raised his head. “So Pascal’s task had a Templar link.”
Jeanne nodded. “It seems like it.”
* * *
The Jewish women stayed inside their homes, but there was a young Jewish woman named Rivka, who was part of the delegation, thanks to her excellent command of French. She was dressed very modestly, but her beauty shone through and could not be ignored. Papa, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her French was indeed excellent, and she translated and mediated between us and her people. During the conversation, I realized that her intelligence and wit matched her beauty. Something in my heart went out to her, and I knew my feelings were reciprocated.
But I also remembered my mission and wondered whether she could help me with it.
…
Papa, for the first time in my life I found in myself real feelings for a woman, not just the infatuations I had experienced before. And of all women, a Jewish one… how strange! The week that ended on Germinal 17th (April 6th), was the happiest of my life.
But with all this going on, I never forgot the task you had assigned to me. I asked the girl to inquire into this business. I knew by then already how sharp and seasoned she was, but I was, nevertheless, surprised, when within two days she came back with information. She confirmed the existence of an artifact which could fit in with your narrative. She said that this artifact was also revered by the Jews! She could not tell exactly why, but claimed that its mere existence was a secret and refused to investigate where it was hidden.
On Germinal 16th (April 5th), we received news by a mounted courier that thousands of Turkish cavalry and infantry had arrived from Damascus and were now crossing the Bnot-Ya
akov Bridge on the Jordan River, only one day away from Safed. We had very little time to prepare for battle. It was obvious that we could not defend the whole city with 200 soldiers and a few cavalry, so Captain Simon decided to retreat to the old fort and prepare for a siege. Panic spread among the inhabitants, as we could not guarantee their safety.
To my shame, I used the opportunity to pressure the girl into revealing the place of the said artifact, under the pretext of saving it from the Turks and with a promise to protect her family. Rivka had serious misgivings but eventually relented. She managed to find out that it was hidden in one of the Jewish synagogues. I only hope, Papa, that the good which will come out of it, can justify my shameful betrayal of this innocent girl.
However, I was true to my word and made sure that my Rivka’s family, along with some other local inhabitants, retreated with us to the fort. We probably saved them from a woeful fate. These Jews are still paying for their ancient sins, and it seems they are destined to live forever between the hammer and anvil.
During the hasty retreat into the fort and the panic throughout the city, I seized the opportunity to acquire the said artifact. I had no time to check its contents before we got to Tiberias. I did that today and found two old-looking parchment scrolls written in a strange language. I will keep them safe and make sure they get to you.
…
The following day, we moved on southwards and on Germinal 28th (April 17th), we reached Tiberias. Tiberias is surrounded by high walls and since we had no artillery, we would have faced difficulties capturing it. Here again, the cowardly Turks, having heard how their brothers had been defeated on the previous day, simply deserted their positions and ran away, before we even got there. In the city we found storehouses full of provisions. Like you had told me a year ago, we found here a big Jewish community, and they gave us a warm welcome. However, by now, my work is done, and I will not need them.
…
Long Live the Republic,
Your loving son,
Pascal de Charney
* * *
Luria looked at Jeanne. “So, our gallant officer was combining business with pleasure.”
“Perhaps,” said Jeanne, “but I believe he was really in love. I suggest you start thinking more positively about him. After all, we are talking about one of your ancestors.”
Luria hastened to get away from this sore subject. “It makes no difference to our business right now. The important point is that I now know what we are after – two ancient scrolls.”
“Yes,” agreed Jeanne. “This is our real goal. I wonder what secrets will be unfolded if we find them.”
They fell silent for a while.
“Well,” said Jeanne eventually, “it is time I showed you another letter.”
She fumbled through her purse and handed him an envelope. Luria stared at her, annoyed, and she laughed. “This is the last one. There will be no more surprises for you.”
Luria took the envelope from her hand and opened it. He retrieved a few sheets of paper and started reading. Immediately, he raised his head. “Gaston de Chateau-Renault? Isn’t he…”
“Yes; just read on.”
Luria took his time. When finished, he folded the papers and put them back in the envelope. He then looked at Jeanne. “What did Roland de Charney do with this information?”
“I’ll tell you the whole story in detail later,” she said, “but it turned out to be a dead end.”
They fell silent again, the two of them trying to assess the situation. “Where do you suggest we go from here?” asked Jeanne eventually.
Luria thought this out for a while. “First, I am going to ask my cousin Aryeh to look for clues regarding Jewish documents which were supposedly lost in Safed in 1799,” he said. “Then, there is a historian I know at the University of Haifa, whom I wish to consult. He may be able to give us some direction.”
“Well, it’s a start.”
Their gazes crossed and then they smiled at each other.
18. Gaston de Chateau-Renault – Cairo, June 28th, 1799
Cairo,
Messidor 10th, Year VII of the French Republic,
(June 28th, 1799)
To the honorable Monsieur Roland de Charney,
Sir,
By the time you are reading this letter, you must have already received the dire tidings of the fall of your son, Pascal, in the battle of Acre, a few weeks ago.
My name is Gaston de Chateau-Renault, Captain of Grenadiers in the division of General Jeanne Baptiste Kléber, in the army of General Napoleon Bonaparte in Egypt. It is a great honor for me to introduce myself to you as a close friend of your late son, Pascal.
Pascal was like a brother to me. He was a true friend and an outstanding officer. He had in him the gift of the born commander, and his soldiers were prepared to ride with him to hell and back. He was a natural leader, something he must have inherited from you. He had extraordinary courage. He was destined for greatness and had we been spared this tragedy, I am sure he would have become a great man. I know for a fact, that even General Bonaparte was very much impressed by him.
But, my good sir, war is a terrible business. For a shot at glory, we are prepared to pay a frightful price and must live with the pain, grief, horror and nightmares, which may well stay with us to our last day.
And nobody knows this better than I!
I am now lying in bed, in a field hospital in Cairo, suffering excruciating pain after having lost my leg. I lie between sweet oblivion, made possible by a blessed dose of opium, and agonizing wakefulness. I am trying to get used to the fact that I am destined to limp for the rest of my life on one leg and bless my good luck for having survived. Two cousins of mine, both beloved friends and capable officers, were killed in Acre. One died while storming across the enemy walls at the head of his grenadiers. The other, an emissary for the General, delivered a message to that damned Mamluk butcher and was executed by him. The savages shoved his body into a crate and cast it into the sea, which brought it to us. It fell to me, of all people, to open the crate with its ghastly cargo.
But I must not complain. I survived. I saw many good friends of mine fall in battle or badly hit, much worse than myself. I must confess to you that of all these tragedies, the fall of Pascal, my best friend and soul mate, is the deepest cut of all.
My honorable Monsieur de Charney,
I want to tell you how this brave son of yours met his death. It was the death of a soldier, an honorable death. Pascal was a cavalry officer, and the penetration battle of Floreal 21st (May 10th, 1799) was a battle of foot soldiers headed by my grenadiers. Pascal started that day performing some peripheral defense assignments with his cavalry, but this was not enough for him.
Our casualties that day were staggering. Many were killed, including quite a few officers, senior commanders and even two generals. This carnage caused a shortage in combatants, and General Bonaparte asked other units to send more soldiers to reinforce the attack. Pascal volunteered immediately and joined the battle at the head of a company of his men as foot soldiers.
Looking back, I am afraid this must have been a hopeless, desperate attack. My opinion is (and the people around me are not happy when I express it) that we fell into a trap set for us by that foxy old butcher of Acre. We breached the outer walls almost effortlessly. In hindsight, it was too easy and should have made us suspect a deception. Once we were in, we encountered two diagonal lines of fortifications we had not known about, and became trapped in the funnel-like path they formed. Hellfire was directed at us from both sides, many times reinforced by the guns of the British flotilla from the port. Almost every Frenchman who broke through was hit. Pascal charged unwaveringly through the breach at the head of his men and entered this valley of death. He was hit almost immediately. It was a direct hit of a cannon ball. He died instantly and painlessly.
How are the mighty fallen!
Now, there is something else I must tell you. It is about a message your son communicate
d to me on the eve of the day he died, and which I was to deliver to you in the event of his death. I will now deliver it accurately, the way Pascal expressed it, and hope you can make sense of it.
On Floreal 20th (May 9th, 1799), the eve of Pascal’s last battle, the two of us were talking about what was going to happen on the next day. We were both confident in our victory and assured that we were going to take Acre. Then Pascal turned to me. “Gaston, My friend,” he said. “I have something important to ask of you. We are both front line officers and while we believe we will win tomorrow, we know that the fighting will not be easy, and that we may not make it through. Now, if all goes well for us, and I survive the battle, I will be most obliged if you forget everything I am about to tell you and pretend it has never been said at all. If, on the other hand, I do not return, and you survive, there is something I must ask you to do for me.”
Needless to say that upon hearing this, my curiosity was aroused.
“Listen to me Gaston,” said my good friend. “I have a package which must find its way into my father’s hands, whatever the circumstances. Of course, I hope to present it to him myself upon my safe return to our beloved France. But, meanwhile, I have entrusted it in the hands of our friend at headquarters, Bernard Moreau. I asked him to deliver it to my father if the worst happened to me.”
Bernard is a good friend of Pascal’s and mine. We became a trio of inseparable companions during those innocent and happy days, which seem so distant today, when we were all cadets at the Paris Military Academy. We were united again in Toulon last year, when we arrived to serve in General Bonaparte's expeditionary force. Together, we spent merry times in the Toulon bars before boarding our ships en route to Egypt. While Pascal and I were assigned command of battle units, Bernard was appointed aide to the General’s chief of staff. As such, we estimated his chances of survival to be the highest among the three of us.
“Well, then,” I said, “it seems that you have taken good care of your business. How can I help?”
