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  Her brother and sister, who stood next to her around their father’s bed, could not stop their tears, and she just wished that it would all be over. She badly needed fresh air, to leave the hospital; the place that immersed her with a feeling of dejection and reminded her of the difficult experience in the hospital in Phoenix, when her son was taken away from her.

  She went for a walk in the neighborhood near her parents’ house, looking around and recognizing the familiar and the changed, allowing old memories to fill her, to flood her until it hurt.

  It was a cold, cloudy, and windy day. She sat in the park. This was the place, she knew—from here it all started, from here her life was changed, fell apart—and that most significant event of her life, she couldn’t remember. Had she suppressed the memory? She got up and started to walk in the direction of her parents’ house, on the trail where she used to walk as a young girl. She walked slowly, assuming this must be the path she took on that faraway day. A sudden cold gust hit her face and blew the baseball cap that she was wearing off her head. She turned back and took a few steps toward the hat that lay on the edge of the pavement, next to the street, as if hinting at something that escaped her. As she got close to the cap, the wind once again picked it up and tossed it further and further. Sarah ran after the hat, amazed at the naughty wind’s play. Panting, she finally managed to reach and pick up the disobedient hat, when suddenly something started to appear in her conscious mind. It didn’t materialize immediately. It was a primary flicker, crude, shapeless, and intangible, but a vague sensation told her that she was on the brink of a breakthrough. She could perceive an occurrence that had eluded her all those years. What was it? She stood on the desolate pavement, on the edge of the street, and closed her eyes, trying hard to concentrate. A car passed. Yes, there was a car. Not now, but then, on that distant day. A car was following her; it slowed down, and the driver rolled down his window. He then turned to her, spoke to her, and she wasn’t afraid of him. She started to tremble. Who was he? What did he look like? Was he a teacher in her school? A friend of her parents? A relative? She knew him; he was part of the environment where she grew up, someone who conveyed friendship, someone she could trust. But the memory went dim until it faded away.

  At the funeral, Sarah allowed the tears to flow. She stood by the open grave and wept. She cried about her childhood and youth that had gone, about times that wouldn’t return, about her life that was passing without her realizing her heart’s desire, to become a mother.

  On the following day, Julie and Edmond prepared for their return to California. Sarah, in a last-minute decision, said she wouldn’t be going with them; instead, she would make her way back in a rented car. Edmond looked surprised, but Julie nodded in agreement and sympathy. Her sister, who had known her better than anyone else, understood. Julie saw how Sarah went through a storm of emotions following their father’s death and returning to her childhood’s scenery—to the complicated and charged memories. She saw that Sarah needed time to relax, to collect herself and think about her plans.

  “Take care of yourself,” Julie whispered as she warmly hugged her.

  The next day Sarah rented a car, a mid-sized Chevy that seemed comfortable and suitable for the long journey. Saying goodbye to her mother and brother didn’t arise any particular emotions, except for a feeling of relief. She called Jonathan to tell him about her plans, and he sounded supportive and told her not to worry; he waited for her return, and understood she needed time for herself.

  She went on her way, ascending onto the freeway. When she got out of her hometown and saw St. Louis in the rearview mirror, she breathed with relief and felt that a heavy load was lifted from her shoulders. At once she was freed from the troubles of the world, and a positive feeling started to fill her heart. She tuned the radio to a station playing old songs and was delighted when the song “Born To Be Wild” had just started playing. She turned up the volume and sang along with the radio,

  “Get your motor runnin’ / Head out on the highway / Looking for adventure / And whatever comes our way / Yeah, Darlin’ go and make it happen / Take the world in a love embrace / Fire all of your guns at once / And explode into space.”

  She drove on Route 44, heading southwest, and spent the night at a road motel near Tulsa, Oklahoma. She woke up the following day feeling eager to continue the excursion she had entered. After Oklahoma City she took Route 40 westbound. The smooth ride calmed her agitated spirit; she drove at a moderate speed, not in a hurry to get anywhere. She intentionally didn’t turn on the GPS, thinking she should let the road lead her. Route 40 took her through Texas and continued to New Mexico. When she saw a signpost pointing to Santa Fe, she spontaneously turned the wheel onto Highway 285, despite the fact that Santa Fe was not in the direction she needed to take in order to head back to California. In Santa Fe, she rented a room in a small hotel, where she rested and pampered herself with a relaxing bath. In the evening, she went for a walk in the picturesque streets. Sounds of music attracted her, and she entered a small club where a band of four players played lively salsa music. She ordered a Mexican meal and a bottle of beer. A guy sitting by the counter smiled at her, but she ignored him. She felt light and free, as if she had cast off, even temporarily, the burden of the years that had gone by since her childhood.

  At night she lay in bed and continued to look at the revelation that came out of oblivion—that distant memory, the car driving next to her and the driver…. He had talked to her, maybe asked something, and she had answered him without fear because apparently she knew him. But what had happened after that? Did she get into his car? Did he force himself on her? Did he take advantage of her innocence? There was something about him that inspired her trust, she remembered, but what? She felt that she had maximized her remembering ability, and she must let go, let her mind rest so she could fall asleep.

  The following day she got up slowly, had a light breakfast and continued on her way. Again she drove on the highway, this time listening to relaxing music, engrossing herself with the sense of freedom, with the possibility that she could go anywhere she’d choose to turn the wheel. She could cross the border to Mexico and disappear….

  After the city of Albuquerque, she returned to Route 40 westbound, which took her to the state of Arizona. When the signpost appeared showing a left turn toward Phoenix, she knew she had to go back there, to that embracing yet terrible place where she stayed so many years ago. Twenty-two years, she calculated in her head, meaning he was already twenty-two years old, older than she was when she had given birth to him. That was the place where she arrived as an innocent young girl, and she had left older, more mature, and injured; that was the place where she had lost her naivety and her trust in human beings. She felt tired, and navigated the car to a small hotel. She had dinner at a restaurant near to the hotel and went to sleep early.

  The following day she got up early, entered the car, and turned on the GPS. She remembered the name of the convent, Sisterhood of Holy Mary, and typed it in. The system announced, “Drive safely, turn right.” She turned on the car and followed the directions. She made a right turn and a left turn, she passed through traffic lights and roundabouts, and after about half an hour she reached her destination. She recognized the place and saw that the main gate was closed, but a little door next to it was open. She parked the car.

  Now what? she asked herself. She had no idea what she was looking for. Would she enter? Would they recognize her? She stepped out of the car, walked through the open door, and entered a beautiful and well-maintained garden. A long time ago, she had worked there, gardening and cleaning. She found a fountain that she didn’t remember being there. Fountain of Blessing read the engraved sign on the rockery. She sat down on a bench and listened to the trickling sound of the water. The place immersed her with a feeling of peace and calmness.

  A young nun passed by. “Do you need help?” she asked in a friendly manner.

  “I’m OK, I just came for a visit,” Sarah answ
ered.

  The nun smiled and went on her way.

  The thoughts and the memories engulfed her. Would I be happy if I’d stayed her? It is certainly a protected environment, although the nuns are required to lead an austere and ascetic life.

  She recalled a distant memory, from the time when she thought this life might be right for her—the time when she prayed with utmost devotion and called Jesus into come to her heart. One night, a few weeks after she arrived at the convent, she was exposed to an exceptional Christian experience.

  All of a sudden, she awoke in the middle of the night and opened her eyes. A few seconds passed before she was able to grasp the astonishing scene that was revealed to her. She saw a big cross; an intense, blinding light radiated from the cross, which dazzled her eyes.

  And then she knew. I am in the presence of the divine; God has revealed himself to such a weak-faith person as myself.

  Her heart was pounding fast. Fear filled her mind and soul, and she felt her hair bristling; thoughts ran through her mind at lightning speed. I didn’t believe it could happen, and here it’s happening…. So what does it mean? Do I have to become a nun for my entire life?

  She didn’t know how much time had passed, perhaps twenty seconds that felt like an eternity. Then the picture cleared and she understood the reason for the spectacle; her eyes got used to the light and the vision faded. It was… an optical illusion, that’s what she told herself. She relaxed and felt relieved. Now she saw things as they were. There was an electric light post standing in the monastery’s yard, on which there was a powerful lantern. The strong light that the lantern projected penetrated the room through the window, hit the metal cabinet locker next to her bed, and from there, the light reflected straight into her eyes. It was a standard window divided by a horizontal and a vertical divider, which created a cross. The light that was reflected into her eyes was blocked only by that cross, and that created the vision she saw before her eyes managed to focus.

  Sarah understood that it was an optical illusion, a mirage, and still, she contemplated on all the unique components that had to come together for her to experience that magic.

  She wondered if living in the convent was a way to escape the challenges of life. And really, would she find interest in life without men? They could be unbearable, true, and still, how is it possible to live without them? And isn’t it a waste to go through life without sex? Making love? Isn’t it a natural, God-given energy?

  Sarah recalled the time that came after her son was taken away from her, when anger and thoughts of heresy filled her. When she lay in her bed, she used to look at the statue of Jesus on the wall in front of her and wondered who Jesus really was. She assumed he was a human being, a Jew, and he probably didn’t look like the many paintings and statues that decorated the monastery. He probably looked Jewish and had black, curly hair. But was he righteous? Honorable? Or maybe his status made him go astray from the path he preached. Did he become corrupted like the mother superior? Did he have a lover? Mary Magdalen?

  Now she looked back at her feelings during those days in a more mature perspective and wondered about her attraction to Jesus’s magnetizing image. Maybe it was ‘transference?” Sarah was a professional psychologist, and she knew that in the field of psychology there is a phenomenon of unconscious transference of emotions from one person to another. She wondered whether the nun’s love for Jesus, and even for the Virgin Mary, stemmed from repression of natural urges.

  She heard the nuns sing in harmonious voices and knew that she wouldn’t be able to find harmony in this life. She remembered the mother superior and her secrets, and how the head nun cooperated with robbing her of her son. Sarah understood that she wouldn’t find what she was looking for in this place, only painful memories, and she should go back home, to the challenges of life.

  Chapter 23

  Jonathan

  About two weeks after Jonathan and Sarah discovered the site—that strange glade, on the hill with the densely growing trees— Jonathan made his way back to the place. Pearly, the big dog, was glad to accompany him on his way through the forest. Jonathan crossed the creek, leaping on rocks that protruded above the water while Pearly happily paddled in the cold water right behind him. But when they arrived at the bottom of the hill the dog stood in his place, appearing apprehensive, and Jonathan continued by himself. This time he carried with him a hoe, a pickax, and a shovel, which he had purchased at a garden supply store, and in a small backpack he had a water bottle and a small gardening spade.

  Jonathan wasn’t one of those people who sees and feels energies. He didn’t tend to connect to new age teachings, and he didn’t hug trees, as his wife could. He didn’t believe in God or any pagan faith. Still, he was immersed with strange reverence and felt his heart pounding when he removed the last branches out of his way and stepped forward into the protected site. Inside the circle, he felt the stillness that prevailed in the spot, like he did in his previous visit when he came with Sarah. It was an unusual quietness—powerful, like the silence in the eye of a storm.

  He heard a tiny hiss, spinning through the surrounding trees, although he didn’t notice any wind. The sun shined from above in a clear sky.

  He knew what purpose had brought him to the site. His curiosity, as well as a gut feeling, attracted him to explore and excavate the place. However, at that stage, he kept his plan secretive and didn’t share his intentions with Sarah. He thought that the site might have served the early inhabitants for some ancient rituals; perhaps it served as a prehistoric astronomical clock, or maybe as a star observatory.

  Strangely, he felt he had to ask permission before starting his work. Whose permission? He didn’t know. He sat on the earth and turned his face toward the partially chiseled rock, which protruded about four feet above the ground. The rock reminded him of a similar rock that he had seen in the past, though he wasn’t sure if it was at the Incan site of Machu Picchu, or at Stonehenge in England.

  He sat on the ground and tried to connect to something, to feel the energy of the place, as his wife would probably do. He sat, and didn’t manage to sense anything out of the ordinary. His ears caught the sound of a flock of birds coming from the forest. He stood up and laid both palms on the massive rock. The rock was warm to the touch, probably because it absorbed the sun’s rays. There was something unusual about the rock’s texture; Jonathan wasn’t sure if he connected to something, or perhaps he just imagined it. According to his intuition, the rock was just a part of a much bigger structure, like the tip of an iceberg that had gotten covered by topsoil over many years. Jonathan wanted to discover the hidden compound; he felt that the structure was calling him to uncover it.

  From the three tools he brought with him, he chose the hoe. Carefully, even gently, he started to dig around the rock. The soil was hard and required him to exert effort while trying not to harm the rock. He progressed slowly, in a manner uncharacteristic of him. Jonathan had never studied archeology, but he had watched several documentaries on TV that showed the excavation of historical sites. When he got close to the rock and almost touched it, he changed the hoe for the small gardening spade. It slowed him down, but he wasn’t in a hurry, and he felt calm and even enjoyed the challenge that he had taken upon himself.

  After a few hours of rigorous and meticulous labor, in which he only paused occasionally to drink water, he managed to expose two feet of the rock, which now stood erect at the height of about six feet.

  With the shovel, he removed the soil and scattered it among the dense forest’s trees.

  The trees had already blocked the sun, and the place cooled off rapidly. Jonathan left his tools in the glade, arranged next to the edge of the circle, and made his way back home. The dog waited for him at the bottom of the hill.

  Chapter 24

  Michael

  On Friday, Walter called and invited Michael to come to his house on the following day, Saturday, at 4:00 p.m. to meet his friends and see if he could participate and fit i
nto the band’s playing. “We decided not to be professional musicians, and not turn music into our source of livelihood,” Walter said, “but we are not amateurs. We treat music with utmost seriousness and also as a source of great enjoyment.” Lindsey sounded unofficial when he lightly added, “come and play with us for fun, and we’ll see if we’re good enough for you.”

  On Friday evening and Saturday morning, Michael practiced rigorously. He’d never been to an audition, because the high school band was his band, which he’d founded. This time it was going to be different, and he didn’t forget that if he wanted to investigate the films of The Broadcast, he probably wouldn’t get a better chance. He was excited and somewhat nervous, anticipating the upcoming meeting.

  Michael arrived at the producer’s house at the allotted time, using the old car that his parents had given him when they’d purchased a new one. On weekdays he didn’t drive the car, and used public transportation instead. That way, he avoided the heavy New York traffic and having to deal with finding a parking space.

  Walter Lindsey’s house was in Scarsdale, a quiet suburb, which was a wealthy and respected community north of New York City. It was a nice-looking house, large and spacious, but not extravagant, and not much different in size to Michael’s parents’ house. The band gathered in a wooden shed in the backyard of the house, and Michael noticed that the walls were covered with a special noise proofing material, so as to not disturb the neighbors.

  Walter introduced Michael to his friends, who were all there, and they greeted him in a friendly way. He met Julian, the TV director who was the lead singer and played rhythm guitar; Alex, the high-tech expert who specialized in animation and played drums and percussions; and Eric, the literature and history professor who played bass guitar. Michael brought with him the acoustic guitar he had received from McPherson, but it turned out that Walter had prepared a quality electric guitar for him.