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“Well, no—”
The gabbai interrupted. “I can’t help you. I’m not a mystic. I’m a man of the Law. I try to base my life on the solid foundation that is the Torah. I’m not some visionary Kabbalist overflowing with his wealth of knowledge and thinking he holds keys beyond those given to us by the Law.” He searched for more words and then shrugged his shoulders to express his helplessness. “I’m very troubled by your story.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’m not doubting your story. In this world, a lot of things are possible. I’ve heard many stories that could be taken for delusions, and I’m convinced that some of them are true. But I’m not the man you require.” He paused for a moment, passing his hand over his beard slowly, as if to retrieve more words from his mouth. “Why do you think the answer is a religious one? You were never overly concerned with your Judaism, correct?”
“It’s a feeling I have. Every time it happens, my story seems to have religious elements: the man who prays, the Psalms…”
“Is that enough? They could just be dreams or some kind of trance.”
“No. These things really happened to me. I’ve seen this man. I heard him. He was saying Kaddish. And then, there’s this battle between the man who’s destroying my life and the one who wakes up sometimes and sees the damage. It’s a battle between different sets of values.”
“But what are your values? You tried to end your life, and that shows you lack the essential value—respect for the life God gave you.”
“It was a grave error, I know. The actions of a desperate child.”
“Okay, very well then. But I’d still prefer you find specialized scholars for this avenue of thought. I know some. I can put you in touch, if you want.”
Jeremy felt the situation slipping away from him. The man he’d called, at first interested, now seemed like he wanted to escape.
“I don’t have time,” Jeremy cried. “I don’t know what I’ll become tomorrow, or when I’ll get my current awareness back. So how can we meet again? Please do something. Help me. Please.”
Abraham Chrikovitch seemed annoyed. Jeremy’s plea upset him. What more could he do? He knew too well the value of words for those trying to maintain a precarious balance of reason.
“Listen, this is what I can recommend. I’m going to ask a few questions to clear some things up. Then when I leave, I’ll call a religious scholar who specializes in this sort of thing. Then I’ll call you.”
“But what if you can’t reach me?”
“Yes. It’s possible I won’t be able to find you.”
“If that happens, I’ll be stuck. I’ll lose myself in this other skin without ever hearing from you again,” Jeremy lamented.
“That’s true. But no matter what, and I don’t want to upset you, but I think nothing I can say will change the situation in a few hours. Furthermore, you have to consider the possibility that he won’t want to reply. Or at any rate, not right away. But it’s the only offer I can give you.”
The firmness of the gabbai’s statement clashed with the softness of his face. Jeremy fell silent for a moment.
“I don’t know when I’ll regain this level of awareness again. If I don’t have a reply by tonight, how will you be able to find me next time I…wake up?”
Abraham Chrikovitch let his eyes drift into infinite space beyond the wall. He started stroking his beard again, and after a few seconds, he answered. “Here’s my proposition. The day you come back to your current state of awareness, contact me. I’ll be ready. I’ll ask two or three likely rabbis to answer my questions and give me their opinions.”
“Okay. But don’t forget that time is against me. I’m begging you, try to get as much information as possible before tonight.”
“I’ll do everything I can. For now, so I can faithfully reconstruct for my colleagues the story of your…adventure…I want you to tell me about this man and his prayers. What does he look like? What prayers does he recite? You said something about the Kaddish.”
“He’s an old man. He must be between seventy and eighty years old. His face is gaunt, with a thin white beard. His eyes bulge. They’re sad, lifeless. Like his face, actually. His mouth is the only thing that moves. His voice is horrible. Like he’s grieving. I heard him recite the Kaddish, one of the few prayers I can recognize. My father recited it every year on the anniversary of my sister’s death.”
“When does this man appear?”
“At night, as soon as I start to fall asleep.”
“Has he spoken to you?”
“Yes, the first time. He said a prayer and then leaned over me. He said, ‘It doesn’t have to be.’ Then he repeated several times, ‘Life,’ with a lot of sorrow.”
Abraham Chrikovitch was captivated by Jeremy’s words. “Did he say anything else?”
“No. I went to sleep.”
