More Wandering Stars

by Jack Dann (ed)

  He kept staring at the glass. “No one. We can try, but I doubt that it’s worth the effort. Not with Hartford fighting for its life. Its corporate life.”

  “I know lots of pilots we could get, cheap.”

  “Pilots,” Chaim said without too much respect.

  I ignored the slur. “Yeah. Hartford programs the main jump. Nobody’d get a jump to Rigel.”

  We sat in silence for a while, the too-sober pilot and the Martian-Russian Jew who was the richest person in the history of mankind. Less than too sober.

  “Sure there’s no other ship on Faraway?”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “Took me a half day to find someone who remembered about the Bonne Chance.”

  He considered that for a minute. “What does it take to build an interplanetary ship? Besides money.”

  “What, you mean could they build one on Faraway?”

  “Right.”

  “Let me see.” Maybe. “You need an engine. A cabin and life-support stuff. Steering jets or gyros. Guidance and commo equipment.”

  “Well?”

  “I don’t know. The engine would be the hard part. They don’t have all that much heavy industry on Faraway.”

  “No harm in finding out.”

  I called Faraway. Talked to the mayor. He was an old pilot (having been elected by popular vote) and I finally reached him at the University Club, where he was surrounded by other old pilots. I talked to him about engineering. Chaim talked to him about money. Chaim shouted and wept at him about money. We made a deal.

  Faraway having such an abundance of heavy metals, the main power generator for the town, the only settlement on the planet, was an old-fashioned fission generator. We figured out a way they could use it.

  After a good deal of haggling and swearing, the citizens of Faraway agreed to cobble together a rescue vehicle. In return, they would get control of forty-nine percent of the stock of Mazel Tov Corporation.

  Chaim was mad for a while, but eventually got his sense of humor back. We had to kill two months with six already-read books and a fifty-bottle case of gin. I read War and Peace twice. The second time I made a list of the characters. I made crossword puzzles out of the characters’ names. I learned how to drink gin, if not how to like it. I felt like I was going slowly crazy—and when the good ship Hello There hove into view, I knew I’d gone ’round the bend.

  The Hello There was a string of fourteen buildings strung along a lattice of salvaged beams; a huge atomic reactor pushing it from the rear. The buildings had been uprooted whole, life-support equipment and all, from the spaceport area of Faraway. The first building, the control room, was the transplanted University Club, Olde English decorations still intact. There were thirty pairs of wheels along one side of the “vessel,” the perambulating shantytown.

  We found out later that they had brought along a third of the planet’s population, since most of the buildings on Faraway were without power and therefore uninhabitable. The thing (I still can’t call it a ship) had to be put on wheels because they had no way to crank it upright for launching. They drove it off the edge of a cliff and pulled for altitude with the pitch jets. The pilot said it had been pretty harrowing and after barely surviving the landing I could marvel at his power of understatement.

  The ship hovered over Mazel Tov with its yaw jets and they lowered a ladder for us. Quite a feat of navigation. I’ve often wondered whether the pilot could have done it sober.

  The rest, they say, is history. And current events. As Chaim had predicted Hartford went into receivership, MTC being the receiver. We did throw out all of the old random bastards and install our own handpicked ones.

  I shouldn’t bitch. I’m still doing the only thing I ever wanted to do. Pilot a starship; go places, do things. And I’m moderately wealthy, with a tenth-share of MTC stock.

  It’d just be a lot easier to take, if every ex-bum on Faraway didn’t have a hundred times as much. I haven’t gone back there since they bronzed the University Club and put it on a pedestal.

  HOWARD SCHWARTZ

  The Celestial Orchestra

  Howard Schwartz writes: “Beginning with Ezekiel’s vision of the chariot in the heavens, the chariot has been one of the key motifs in Jewish literature. In the Talmud it is said that no more than three may discuss the mysteries of the Chariot (Ma’asch Merkavah) at one time. This was because such discussions were a form of mystical contemplation that the rabbis feared, based on the story of the four who entered Paradise (Hagigah 14b): ‘Four sages entered Paradise, Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, Elisha ben Abuyah and Rabbi Akiba. Ben Azzai looked and died. Ben Zoma looked and lost his mind. Elisha ben Abuyah cut the shoots (became an apostate). Only Rabbi Akiba entered in peace and departed in peace.’ It was reasoned that if three of the greatest Talmudic sages were destroyed by mystical contemplation, it was too dangerous for the masses. On the other hand, there was an esoteric sect that attempted to duplicate this journey into Paradise. The resulting texts are called Hekhaloth (palaces). In these texts journeys to Paradise took place in one of several ways: by journeying heavenward in the Merkavah, by using a magical amulet, or by climbing up Jacob’s ladder. The chariot was the most common method.”

  In the story that follows, Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav, the great Jewish mystic, journeys through the crack in the cosmos to hear the letters of revelation.

  *

  ONCE IT HAPPENED that Reb Nachman woke up in the middle of the night, and instead of the deep silence that usually pervaded, he heard something like a faint music. At first the sound was no more than that of an approaching wind, but soon he could make out that it was actually a kind of music. What could it be? He had no idea. But he continued to hear that music, ever so faintly, sometimes present, sometimes about to disappear. Nor did it grow any louder, so he had to strain to listen. One thing was certain, though: Reb Nachman felt drawn to this music, as if it were a message he was trying to receive, that was coming to him from a great distance.

  Then Reb Nachman got up and went into his study and sat down by the window. And yes, from there the music seemed slightly louder, as if he were a little closer to its source. And now it did not disappear, but it remained very faint. Nor was he able to identify it with any instrument with which he was familiar—it did not sound like a violin or a flute; not like a bass fiddle and not like a drum. Nor did it have the sound of a voice or voices. If only he were able to hear it better, he thought, he might be able to identify its source.

  Then Reb Nachman left the house and walked outside. He walked out into the field beyond the gate, under a sky crowded with stars. There he had no memory, except for questions that concerned the origin of the mysterious music. And while his eyes were fixed on the heavens, the ground remained unknown beneath his feet. And for that time he did not impose patterns on distant stars or imagine the life they might sustain. Nor did he count the gift of the stars as riches. Instead he listened for a long, long time.

  At first Reb Nachman thought that what he heard was seamless, and was coming from a single instrument. But after a while he was almost able to separate the instruments that wove their music together so well. Yet this new knowledge did not satisfy his longing and curiosity; in fact, it only served to whet it. Where was this distant music coming from? Surely it was not drifting there from any orchestra in Bratslav, or from anywhere else in this world, of that Reb Nachman was certain. No, this was some kind of celestial music, music of the spheres.

  It was then that Reb Nachman realized how much he wanted to follow that music and discover its source. And this longing grew so great that Reb Nachman became afraid that his heart might break. Then, while he was staring up into the stars, he saw a very large star fall from its place in the heavens and blaze across the sky like a comet. And he followed that first star to fall, and shared its last journey. And somehow it seemed to Reb Nachman that he was falling with that star, and was caught up in that same motion, as if he had been swept away by an invisible current, and he closed his eyes and
let himself be carried.

  That is how it happened that when Reb Nachman opened his eyes again he found himself seated inside a chariot of fire that blazed its way across the heavens. And he did not have time to wonder how this had happened, or what it meant, but only to marvel in awe as the wonders of the heavens passed before his eyes. Before him he saw two kinds of luminaries: those which ascended above were luminaries of light; and those which descended below were luminaries of fire. And the luminaries of fire did not cease flowing like rivers of fire. And it was then, when his eyes had become adjusted to the sudden illuminations that crossed his path, that Reb Nachman became aware of a presence beside him, and he began to perceive a dim body of light.

  That is when the angel who drove the chariot first spoke to him, and said: “Welcome, Reb Nachman. I am the angel Raziel, and I will serve as your guide in this kingdom. You should know that your calling and your prayers have not gone unheard in Heaven. This chariot has been sent to bring you to the place you long for, the source you are seeking.”

  And with each word that the angel Raziel spoke, the light that surrounded his ethereal body grew brighter, until he appeared to Reb Nachman as a fully revealed being. This was the first time that Reb Nachman had ever been face to face with an angel. And yet, strange to say, he did not feel the fear he would have expected, but rather felt as if he had been reunited with a long lost companion.

  It was then that Reb Nachman saw the chariot approach some kind of parting of the heavens, which resembled a line drawn across the cosmos. As they drew closer, he saw that it was actually an opening through which an ethereal light emerged. Raziel recognized the question taking form in Reb Nachman’s mind, and he said: “We are approaching the place where the Upper Waters and the Lower Waters meet. This is where the Upper Worlds are separated from the Lower Worlds, and what belongs to the spheres above is divided from what belongs to the spheres below.”

  No sooner did the angel finish speaking than the chariot approached close enough to that place for Reb Nachman to catch a glimpse of what lay on the other side. And what he saw was a magnificent structure suspended in space! And from that glimpse he knew that whatever it was, no human structure could begin to compare with it. But then, before he had time to question the angel, the chariot passed through that very aperture, to the complete astonishment of Reb Nachman, for it was no higher than a hand’s breadth. It was at that moment that Reb Nachman grew afraid for the first time, for he realized that he was flying through space at a great height, and he did not dare to look down. Then he said to the angel: “How is it possible that we have passed through that place which is no more than three finger-breadths?”

  Raziel said: “In your world of men, Reb Nachman, it is possible to contain a garden in the world. But in this kingdom it is possible to contain the world in a garden. How can this be? Because here, whoever opens his heart to the Holy One, blessed be He, as much as the thickness of a needle, can pass through any portal.”

  Even as Raziel spoke these words Reb Nachman had already been captured by the radiant vision that loomed ahead. And again, without his having to ask, Raziel replied: “The place you are about to be taken to, Reb Nachman, is the very one you have been seeking. But since even this chariot is not permitted to approach much closer to that sacred place, you must soon depart from it and remain suspended in space, like the Sanctuary you see before you.”

  And without any other explanation, Reb Nachman realized that the wonderful structure he saw must be the Celestial Temple, after which the Temple in Jerusalem had been modeled, and with which it was identical in every aspect, except for the fire that surrounded the heavenly Sanctuary. For the marble pillars of this heavenly miracle were surrounded by red fire, the stones by green fire, the threshold by white fire, and the gates by a blue fire. And angels entered and departed in a steady stream, intoning an unforgettable hymn to a melody Reb Nachman heard that day for the first time, but which he recognized as if it had been familiar to him all the days of his life.

  It was then Reb Nachman realized that he was no longer within the chariot, but was suspended in space without hands or feet for support. And it was then, with his eyes fixed on that shimmering vision, that Reb Nachman was able to distinguish for the first time the Divine Presence of the Shekhina hovering above the walls and pillars of the Temple, illuminating them, and wrapping them in a glowing light that shone across all of Heaven. It was this light that he had seen from the other side of the aperture, before the chariot of fire had crossed into the Kingdom of Heaven. And so awestruck was Reb Nachman to witness the splendor of the Shekhina, that he suddenly experienced an overwhelming impulse to hide his face, and he began to sway in that place and almost lost his balance. And had it not been for the angel Raziel speaking to him at that instant he might have fallen from that great height. And the angel said: “Take care, Reb Nachman, and know that the Temple remains suspended by decree of the Holy One, blessed be He. And you must remember, above all, to keep your eyes fixed on its glory, if you are not to become lost in this place. For should you turn away from the Temple for as long as a single instant, you would risk the danger of falling from this height; even a mere distraction would take you to places unintended, from which you might never return. So too you should know that no living man may enter into that holy dwelling place and still descend to the world of men. For no man could survive the pure fire that burns there, through which only angels and purified souls can pass.”

  And it was then, when he had regained his balance, that Reb Nachman finally discovered the source of the celestial music that had lured him from his house in a world so far removed, and yet so close. And when he followed that music to its source in the Celestial Temple his eyes came to rest on concentric circles of angels in the Temple courtyard. Then he realized that the music he had been hearing was being played by an orchestra of angels. And when he looked still closer he saw that each of the angels played a golden vessel cast in the shape of a letter of the Hebrew alphabet. And each one had a voice of its own, and one angel in the center of the circle played an instrument in the shape of the letter Bet.

  And as he listened to the music, Reb Nachman realized it was that long note which served as its foundation, and sustained all of the other instruments. And Reb Nachman marvelled at how long the angel was able to hold this note, drawing his breath back and forth like the Holy One Himself, who in this way brought the heavens and the earth into being. And at that moment Reb Nachman was willing to believe that the world only existed so that those secret harmonies could be heard. And he turned to the angel Raziel, who had never left his side, and once more the angel knew what he wished to know, and said: “The score of this symphony is the scroll of the Torah, which commences with the long note of the letter Bet, endless and eternal, and continues with each instrument playing in turn as it appears on the page, holding its note until the next letter has been sounded, and then breathing in and out a full breath.”

  And when Reb Nachman listened to that music he arrived at a new understanding of the Torah, and realized that among its many mysteries there was one level on which it existed only as pure music. And he was also aware that of all the instruments in that orchestra, it was that of the letter Bet which spoke to him and pronounced his name. Then the angel Raziel turned to Reb Nachman and said: “The souls of all men draw their strength from one of the instruments in this orchestra, and thus from one of the letters of the alphabet. And that letter serves as the vessel through which the soul of a man may reveal itself. And your soul, Reb Nachman, is one of the thirty-six souls that draws its strength from the vessel of the letter Bet, which serves as its Foundation Stone, and holds back the waters of the Abyss.”

  And then it happened that when the angel Raziel said the word “Abyss,” Reb Nachman forgot all of his warning for one instant, and glanced down at the world so far below. And the next thing he knew was that he felt like a falling star. And that is when he realized that he was still standing in the field beyond the gate,
following the first star that had fallen, which had now disappeared. And the celestial music, though faint once more, still echoed in his ears.

  JACK DANN

  Camps

  In five years the Nazis exterminated nine million people. Six million were Jews. The efficiency of the concentration camps was such that twenty thousand people could be gassed in a day. The Nazis at the camp Treblinka boasted that they could “process” the Jews who arrived in the cattle cars in forty-five minutes. In 1943 six hundred desperate Jews revolted and burned Treblinka to the ground. These men were willing to martyr themselves so that a few might live to “testify,” to tell a disbelieving world of the atrocities committed in the camps. Out of the six hundred, forty survived to tell their story.

  As I write this, The Institute for Historical Review, a California-based organization, is mailing copies of their journal to unsuspecting librarians, educators, and students. On the journal’s masthead is an impressive list of names, which includes an economist, a retired German judge, and various American and European university professors. The purpose of the institute and its journal is to deny that the Holocaust ever happened.

  The story that follows is an attempt to “testify.” It is a transfusion of the past into our present….

  *

  AS STEPHEN LIES IN BED, he can think only of pain.

  He imagines it as sharp and blue. After receiving an injection of Demerol, he enters pain’s cold regions as an explorer, an objective visitor. It is a country of ice and glass, monochromatic plains and valleys filled with wash-blue shards of ice, crystal pyramids and pinnacles, squares, oblongs, and all manner of polyhedrons—block upon block of painted blue pain.

  Although it is midafternoon, Stephen pretends it is dark. His eyes are tightly closed, but the daylight pouring into the room from two large windows intrudes as a dull red field extending infinitely behind his eyelids.