The Broadcast Read online

  The members of the band had a similar musical taste to that of Michael. They chose to play mostly old songs that he knew and loved, songs that he played numerous times before with his high school band. He had to play known solo parts from songs of Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Pink Floyd, Eric Clapton, The Beatles, and more. When he tuned the electric guitar, he felt excited by the possibility that he was about to return to an old love of his, playing music as part of a band.

  But when the band started to play the first song, “Layla” by Eric Clapton, Michael was dismayed to find himself struggling like never before. It was as if his fingers refused to obey him, and there had been an interruption in the connection between his head and his fingers that were playing the guitar. He looked at his stiff fingers, which looked like they belonged to someone else, and attempted to tell them to relax and soften. Still, nervousness engulfed him, probably because he wasn’t used to playing with the experienced band members who knew each other very well, and they also knew the distinct interpretation they gave the songs—that Michael wasn’t used to. He was the new guy, while they were old friends who had played together for many years. At once he became the outsider, the odd one out, like he used to feel as a little child, who yearned to blend in and wondered if he was like the other children.

  The meeting lasted about two hours. From time to time the friends took short breaks, drank beer, and spoke about trivial issues. They didn’t express any resentment or impatience toward him, and Michael wasn’t sure to what degree they noticed his miscues. Only during the last fifteen minutes did he feel that he could let go of the anxiety that struck him; he managed to get into the groove, into the musical rhythm, and he even started to enjoy.

  When the musical gathering was over, the friends patted Michael on his shoulder in a friendly manner and went on their way.

  “It wasn’t my day.” Michael felt the need to apologize when only Walter and he remained in the shed. “Apparently I was nervous.”

  “You were fine,” Walter said, “It is understandable that on the first time it is not easy to blend in with musicians who have known each other for years. And we all noticed that you made a serious effort, and toward the end of the meeting you played beautifully in the song ‘Hotel California.’

  Much to Michael’s surprise, Walter invited him to stay for supper. Walter’s wife, Monica, had just returned from a visit to her sister’s house, not far away, and Walter introduced Michael to her. He said that Michael was a young and promising reporter working on the program Around the Clock, and he was also an excellent guitar player. Walter added he hoped that Michael would become a permanent member of the group because for quite some time they had felt the absence of a lead guitar player.

  Monica Lindsey cordially shook his hand. She looked like she was in her early forties, a woman of medium height, slightly stocky built, with short brown hair that emphasized her delicate facial features. Monica, who was elegantly and fashionably dressed, said she would be delighted if Michael would stay for the light meal that she was going to prepare.

  It was the holiday season. Walter made use of the time before the meal; he plugged in the electric cable to the large decorated Christmas tree, which now flickered with many tiny colorful lights. He also lit candles in the Hanukkah menorah, which stood next to the tree. “My father was Jewish,” Walter told Michael, “and I like to keep the tradition.”

  Michael always liked Christmas. As a child, he enjoyed the month preceding Christmas day; he would notice the special atmosphere that descended on people, as if the holiday had a spirit of its own. He saw how strangers smiled at one another, and friendly and joyful feelings prevailed in the streets of the suburb where he grew up. The windows of houses and stores were decorated in the holiday tradition and beautifully wrapped gifts were scattered beneath the Christmas tree.

  Michael didn’t know a whole lot about Hanukah, but he liked the combination of the Christmas tree and the menorah. He found he liked the menorah; its candles spread warmth and not just a cold electric light.

  Walter and Monica’s younger daughter, Caroline, joined the meal along with her girlfriend. The two were in their last year of high school; they intended to study together for an exam, and later go out to a shopping mall nearby. Walter told him that their older daughter, Melanie, was a law student at Stanford University in California, and she would come home for a holiday vacation in about two weeks.

  The atmosphere in the house was warm and pleasant, and reminded Michael of the atmosphere at his own home in San Diego, with his beloved family; his parents, and little sister.

  After the meal, Michael parted from his gracious hosts and thanked them for the lovely hospitality. When he sat in his car and went on his way, he remembered Stewart McPherson’s assignment, and a feeling of shame and regret overcame him. Here he’d met good people who treated him with kindness and affection, and he wasn’t honest with them. He was pleased that no secrets of The Broadcast, were exposed to him and that he would not have to betray Walter and his family, who did not hesitate in trusting him.

  Chapter 25

  Jonathan

  Jonathan continued to excavate the site, which turned out to be a source of great excitement for him. During a period of about one year, he tried to come to the mysterious hill as early as possible, so he could use the light hours. It was his project, and he didn’t share it with his wife; but he thought that if she inquired what he was doing in the woods, he would be honest with her. In fact, he didn’t feel like he had to hide the spot from her; it was also hers.

  He worked very carefully, so as to not harm the large rocks, which were gradually exposed to him and revealed the pattern of the site. As he assumed, the big rock—which after cleaning the soil around, was erected to about six feet, with a width of about four feet— was not singular but part of a structure. He uncovered a circle about twenty feet in diameter, composed of big rocks, with regular intervals of about four feet between the rocks, which were well-chiseled on the side facing the center of the circle.

  After he had completed exposing the circle of large rocks, he continued his archeological excavation outside the circle. He discovered another ring, which was composed of smaller rocks of about three feet in height and width that were also chiseled on the side that was facing the center. At that point, the site contained two circles of rocks. The place looked very similar to another site, far away, where he had once visited; Stonehenge, in England, although it was significantly smaller in diameter, and composed of much smaller rocks. Jonathan recalled a magazine article about the mystery surrounding the similarity and parallelism of civilizations from different places in the world, that seemingly have no geographical linking between them; for instance, the existence of pyramids in Egypt, Mexico, and Indonesia.

  ***

  He remembered his visit to Stonehenge. For one of their vacations, Jonathan and Sarah went to England, where Jonathan went to visit the famous site on a day that Sarah chose to stay in London. He told his wife that he would like to continue to follow Chariots of the Gods, the book that captivated his imagination and to visit some of the sites that Erich von Däniken mentioned. Jonathan knew that not all the theories that von Däniken suggested correlated with scientific research and still, the ideas magnetized him. Jonathan was drawn to the mysteries, to the fantastic possibilities derived from the concepts of the Swiss writer. He found himself fascinated by the assumption that some of our religious beliefs stem from ancient encounters with advanced civilizations that came from distant worlds.

  He boarded a bus to Wiltshire, the county where the famous prehistoric site is located. Stonehenge was surrounded by grounds of green grass and contained gigantic, heavy rocks, which were standing in pairs and created a circle of about eighty-five feet in diameter. Above each pair, another rock was laid, also huge and heavy. The entrance to the circle was in the exact direction through which the sun shone on the twenty-first of June, the longest day of the year.

  Jonathan knew that much abou
t Stonehenge was shrouded in mystery—that it was not clear how it was created and to what purpose. How were such massive and heavy rocks brought over there and carried over a distance of about twenty miles? He learned that there were rocks weighing over forty tons. Did the ancient people who created the place, between 3000 to 2000 BC, have the capability for such a complicated engineering operation? And if not, then who helped them? And what purpose did it serve? Was it for the sake of some ancient pagan ritual for the sun god? Or maybe as a huge astronomical clock that would help in predicting lunar and solar eclipses.

  The questions had been on Jonathan’s mind as he walked through the visitors’ center and paid for the admission ticket. He faced disappointment. It turned out that visitors were no longer allowed to reach out and touch the rocks, which are surrounded by a fence, to protect them from getting harmed by humans. Still, he was moved by the enormous dimensions of the pillars, which emitted a sense of power and stability. He tried to imagine the primitives gathering for a ceremony for the god of the sun and recalled they might have practiced human sacrifice. He was not in a hurry to leave the site, and he stayed there until it was dark and the site closed for visitors. There was something about the place that attracted him, engulfed him with a feeling of belonging, a sense that he was part of a whole and not cut off. He tried to grasp what it was that made him feel closer to himself and his concealed destiny.

  ***

  In the glade on the peculiar hill, surrounded by the wall of trees, he felt protected from the harm and mischief of the world. The spot immersed him with a feeling that he was at an extraordinarily powerful location, and it occurred to him that the site was bringing him closer to a destination that was outlined for him. When he was at the glade, he sensed that there was a deep, hidden meaning to his life, which was not merely passing and futile, as he sometimes felt.

  In the site, he experienced pristine and lucid thoughts, and mostly, he was able to look at his memories and see past events with unusual clarity and acuity.

  After he had completed excavating the two circles of rocks, the large inner circle, and the smaller outer circle, he focused his attention on the center of the rings, the navel point of the site. He worked slowly, diligently, and with extra care. He laid down the pickax and the hoe worked with the little gardening spade and his bare hands.

  He was driven by intuition because he didn’t have anything to refer to. Slowly and gradually, one more rock emerged. It was square, with a length and width of about thirty inches and a height of about twenty inches. It had the appearance of a table, or perhaps an ancient altar.

  On the day that he completed excavating the site, he concentrated on cleaning the place, and he spread the redundant soil among the densely growing forest trees.

  Jonathan sat on the rock in the center of the circle, crossed his legs and partially closed his eyes. He, in fact, was not interested in Far Eastern teachings, but here on the rock, it was the most reasonable way of sitting.

  After some time, he opened his eyes and looked toward the west, and he saw the sun setting over the distant mountains… But how was it possible? Didn’t the trees block the view? He watched intently and perceived a tiny, straight strip that the trees opened; it was a minuscule groove that for some reason he never noticed before, and now the sunrays could penetrate through the narrow gap. He looked in the opposite direction, eastwards, and perceived another strip clear of trees, and he understood that, had he been there in the early morning hours, he would have seen the sunrise. He remembered the date, the twenty-first of June, the longest day of the year. The tiny space that the trees opened up was completely incomprehensible. He thought that it was highly unlikely that someone has recently visited the site and cut the branches with electric pruning-shears.

  The sun continued on its way and left a golden trail in the sky. Usually, he headed home when it started to get dark, but on that day, he decided to stay a little longer. The strange occurrence aroused him. He wasn’t scared of the dark, and he knew that he wouldn’t get lost on his way back home, as he was very familiar with the land.

  The sight of the sun setting between the trees was an unexplained wonder. He sat on the rock at the center of the site and waited. He sensed that something was going to happen and he didn’t know what it was. The sound of birds flapping their wings was heard behind him, between the forest’s trees, but he didn’t turn his head to watch the birds.

  An old memory flashed and passed through his mind, passed on its way like the sun. But unlike the sun, over which he had no control, he was able to stop the memory; observe it attentively, with inconceivable lucidity and acuity. He saw it as if he was there at that moment—the most important event of his life: the accident.

  He saw himself as a small child, sitting in the rear seat of the car, buckled in his toddler seat. He looked forward and saw the heads of his parents, who were sitting in front of him. His father drove the car, and his mother sat alongside his father. She had long and slightly wavy blond hair. The ride was smooth. And then things happened rapidly, in a split-second. His mother screamed. In the past, when he had run the event in his mind, there were times when he thought he heard her frightened scream, but this time her yell was close, chilling, and paralyzing.

  “Robert watch out!” That’s what she had yelled, and his father tried to dodge the big truck approaching fast in front of him, but he didn’t succeed. And then there were horrible noises of clashing metals and shattered glasses, and there was a sharp pain, and after that, he didn’t remember anything; he might have lost consciousness.

  Jonathan stood up in his place at the center of the spot and walked slowly to the perimeter of the glade. He then left the site with a feeling of veneration. He walked down the hill at a moderate pace and had no difficulty in navigating his way. It was as if his body knew the trails so well that he could have made his way with his eyes closed. At the bottom of the hill, he was happy to find that Pearly, his faithful dog, had waited for him during his time at the site. “Pearly!” Jonathan joyfully called; he bent and hugged his loyal dog. The two crossed the creek while the moon reflected from the water.

  “Where were you?” Sarah asked when he arrived home, and she immediately saw that he was immersed in a storm of emotions and that he had undergone a profound experience.

  He told her.

  Chapter 26

  The Broadcast

  Greg called.

  “Greg, how’s it going in San Francisco?” Michael was glad to hear from his old friend.

  “Pretty cool,” answered his pal from his time at the university. “I’m on a short visit to New York, and I thought of meeting with you if you’re not busy.”

  “I’ll have time after work,” Michael said. “I could meet you at seven o’clock at Sullivan’s Place, like in the good old days.”

  “So it’s a date,” Greg laughed. “And it wasn’t so long ago.”

  Michael was fond of Greg, who was an easy-going person, who never strived to change the world, or himself. Greg used to acknowledge that he was a lazy and uncompetitive person, and he didn’t like to exert effort into anything unless he had no choice. Michael felt that Greg had a good heart and that he was one of those people who wouldn’t turn their back on their friends.

  “So what brings you to the cold of New York?” Michael patted Greg’s shoulder when they met at the bar next to the university.

  “A situation of no choice,” Greg sighed. “My old mother is hospitalized after she fell and broke her leg as well as her reading glasses.

  “And she’s OK?” Michael was concerned.

  “She’ll be fine,” Greg answered. “But you know, I’m wondering if it’s worth it to get old.”

  Michael smiled. “As you know, there are some things over which we have no control.”

  “OK, let’s leave the heavy stuff,” Greg said, “How is it at TXB? Do you like working there?”

  “I do,” Michael answered. “I think I made the right decision when I left university.
”

  “Tell me,” Greg was interested, “do you have any connection to the program The Broadcast?

  “Not really,” Michael responded. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, come on,” Greg said. “It is the most interesting thing on TV. The program amazes me, and I’m riveted to it, even though I don’t know if it’s authentic or fabricated.”

  “Incidentally, you came here on the day of the show,” Michael said. “If you’d like, you could come to my house later, and we’ll watch the show together.”

  “Great idea,” Greg said. “We could order pizza and drink beer.”

  “And if you don’t feel like driving late,” Michael said, “you could crash on the sofa in the living room.”

  “Sounds good,” Greg agreed. “I think I’ll accept the offer. I’ll come to your place before the beginning of the program.”

  ***

  “Good evening.” The host, Susan Riley, looked directly into the camera’s eye. “As we’ve promised, this evening we will continue our journey back in time, and we’ll watch some of the principal events of the nineteenth century. First, I would like to introduce our guests in the studio.” The camera zoomed out, and viewers could see the small and somewhat intimate studio and those who were sitting there.

  “This evening, we have two special guests in the studio. From the prestigious Yale University, we have Professor Stanley Baker. Good evening, Professor.”

  “Glad to be here,” the professor nodded.

  “And Professor Natalie Péllissier,” the host continued. “who came here from the Sorbonne University in Paris. Good evening, Professor Péllissier.”