Am I reading this wrong, or do I feel a sense that Kahan has taken this opportunity to strike while my interest is piqued? What a clever man to twist my apology of potential offense of his religion into an opportunity to proselytize me into his religion. Was I dumb, or was he that good?
“Kahan,” I said dragging his name out over three long seconds. “I am a journalist for the World Observer Gazette, I have been the bureau chief in Judea for many years. I report on stories and write articles. It is not incumbent, nor is it judicious for me to become assimilated into the local religion. On a more personal note . . .” His face became more serious, and he leaned even further across the table to hear me. Perhaps he sensed a punch line was coming, or even more hopefully, that I was about to acquiesce to his invitation and request to be added to the Jewish faithful.
“On a more personal note Kahan,” I repeated, almost nervously, because I had to deal with his face being only a few inches away from mine now, “I believe that there is a supreme being, a something that created us, and somehow has some sort of providential handhold on this world, albeit a rather loose one, considering all the grief that is going around. But, I still have time to work on whether I want that to be a personal God, where I would have to sacrifice innocent animals to appease him, or it. I don’t know Kahan. My mind is still working on that one.”
Now he had a madman’s look about him as he pulled back away from my face, but never released the grip he had on my eyes. “Oh, Mr. Stanton, if anyone can uncover truth, it will be you. I trust in you. I also trust in Jehovah, hallelujah. And between the two of you, I trust that both of you will find each other as you search for messiah.” I almost felt that Kahan had pulled out some apple crate and was preaching from it. He was compelling. I was almost drawn in to his animations. Then my stomach said, “Ahem,” and I excused myself from Kahan’s deep stare and glanced down at my plate. I figured that cold whatever’s would be better than nothing at all.
“Kahan, I must get on the trail to Bethlehem, and see Amal. First, I must recharge my energy and eat. Thank you so much for the info. As always I am with great gratitude for your service to my publication.” I’m not sure he sensed it, but my final comment was said in a dismissal tone, “Thank you so much, I have the info I need, and apparently even more, but I’m starved, please leave so I can eat, and think about my next step.” As he stood, his eyes sparkled again, his smirk revealed that he had achieved some inner goal, a victory of some sort that he was keeping to himself. With his hands flailing in the air, he tossed out one final comment, “You are very so welcome, Mr. Stanton. You ask me anything, any time, because woman need falafel money.”
“Yes, Kahan, I hadn’t forgotten that commitment.” What a subtle way of reminding me of the tip I owed him for information.
Horsing down the cold meal, I tossed my napkin on the table, got up, brushed the crumbs off my lap, and headed for the door. Kahan saw my approach and grinned at me. We had developed a keen friendship over my stay here, and it was always nice to see a friendly face such as his. But he had that smirky grin on his face. I bet he thought that he had planted some silly notion of his religion in my brain and that he was going to come in for the kill as a result. I felt almost that I was prey on the lam, and he was now going to pursue me.
“Kahan,” I said on last step up to the podium, while reaching into my pocket, “I left money on the table to pay for the meal, but there are two things I want to assure you of.” As I held up two fingers, his expression slid from a smirk to the look one gets when one thinks they are in trouble. “I have no interest in becoming a member of the Jewish family, or any other religious sect, and secondly, I cherish our friendship. Here is a little something to help the wife cook falafel’s for you and the children. May we always remain friends, and I trust your God will bestow blessings on you and your family today.”
Kahan’s face immediately perked up again. He knew that our friendship was deeper than any slight attempt at proselytizing, and that, because I asked for his God to bless him, he regained that face of hope. That driving petroleum called ‘hope,’ that fuels man’s desire of saving one another from an eternity in a place called hell, and the wrath of a supposed gracious God. If He was so gracious I thought, why are we so scared of going to hell just because we don’t always do His do’s and don’ts? Oh well, I muttered to myself, as I dropped his falafel money inconspicuously on the center shelf of the podium. I didn’t want any one from the hotel management to see me handing him money and risk getting him fired.
“I’m off to Bethlehem, Kahan. Let’s see it’s which way again?” I teased, but he didn’t pick up on it.
“It’s south just of Jerusalem about . . .” He caught himself, “Oh, Mr. Stanton, you joke at me right?” Waving an accusatory finger he continued, “That is not nice of you . . . thank you for the falafel’s, and say greetings to my sister and brother-by-law, Amal.”
“I will Kahan,” I found myself chuckling under my breath. I believe it helped to ease the situation.
Returning to my room, I found the stairs to be a bit more of a challenge. Just as I placed my left foot on the fourteenth floor landing and began my natural left turn toward my room, I saw a figure darting away from the door to my room and quickly bolted down the hallway towards the other staircase.
I tried to pursue him, or it, but it was too fast, and I was too full. My door appeared to be secure. No sign of a break in. I slowly unlocked and opened it. A slight creak that could be heard from Jerusalem to Rome, pierced my ears—well, there goes the element of surprise! An initially quick glance around the semi-darkened room revealed no present intruder. Working my way to the drapes, I was able to retract them in a quick fashion spilling light into the darkness, but I was thankfully alone.
The door had closed by itself as I wandered over to the closet to get my bags when there was a knock at the door. “Not again.” I murmured aloud. “Who is it?” Like I really expected to get an answer.
There was another, more forceful pounding. I sidled up to the hinge side of the door again and called out, “What do you want?” I barked.
“I am looking for Steve Stanton.” By his strong accent, I knew he was a local, but I couldn’t imagine what he could want.
“It depends. What do you want?” I hoped I was convincing him that I was a rough, tough guy even though I wasn’t convincing myself.
“You have forgotten something at the breakfast table; I have brought it here for you.”
I quickly scanned the room trying to imagine what I could have forgotten. “What is it that I forgot?” I asked.
“An envelope with a letter in it,” Was his reply. I didn’t remember taking any letter with me. He continued, “Sorry, I should tell you that it hasn’t officially been handed to you yet, in case you were wondering.”
I was wondering.
“Okay, give me a second.” With that, I slowly opened the door to see a huge, middle-eastern man standing in the hallway, wearing what I would say was the cleanest and the whitest garment in all of Judea. His hair was neatly trimmed, as was his beard, but his face was deadpan serious. “Mr. Steve Stanton?” He asked.
“Yes, I am Steve Stanton,” I replied with words that were dripping with curiosity.
Pulling his right hand from behind his back, it revealed that he indeed had an envelope. I saw no markings at all on the outside of the envelope and questioned, “Are you sure that is for me?” I asked, but not receiving it in my hands.
“Yes,” he said and dropped the envelope in my hand. Immediately he said, “You’ve been served,” turned and walked away.
“What is this, a summons, or a subpoena,” I jokingly asked as he briskly strolled down the hall. Just as he started down the steps, he gave me a quick glance, shook his head and disappeared. I was in the same position I was when he handed it to me.
“Herod