“If you please, Stephen,” Tobias said. “Let her know that I find Razon to be a very brave man.”
I repeated the words.
“And why is that?” Monica asked.
“To be both a scientist and religious is to create an uneasy truce within a man,” Tobias said. “At the heart of science is accepting only that truth which can be proven. At the heart of faith is to define Truth, at its core, as being unprovable. Razon is a brave man because of what he is doing. Regardless of his discovery, one of two things he holds very dear will be upended.”
“He could be a zealot,” Monica replied. “Marching blindly forward, trying to find final validation that he has been right all along.”
“Perhaps,” Tobias said. “But the true zealot would not need validation. The Lord would provide validation. No, I see something else here. A man seeking to meld science and faith, the first person—perhaps in the history of mankind—to actually find a way to apply science to the ultimate truths of religion. I find that noble.”
Tobias settled back. I flipped the last few pages of the book as Monica sat in thought. Finished, I stuffed the book into the pocket of the seat in front of me.
Someone rustled the curtains, entering from economy class and coming into the first-class cabin. “Hello!” a friendly feminine voice said, walking up the aisle. “I could not help seeing that you had an extra seat up here, and I thought to myself, perhaps they would let me sit in it.”
The newcomer was a round-faced, pleasant young woman in her late twenties. She had tan Indian skin and a deep red dot on her forehead. She wore clothing of intricate make, red and gold, with an Indian shawl-thingy over one shoulder and wrapping around her. I don’t know what they’re called.
“What’s this?” J.C. said. “Hey, Achmed. You’re not going to blow the plane up, are you?”
“My name is Kalyani,” she said. “And I am most certainly not going to blow anything up.”
“Huh,” J.C. said. “That’s disappointing.” He settled back and closed his eyes—or pretended to. He kept one eye cracked toward Kalyani.
“Why do we keep him around?” Ivy asked, stretching, coming out of her nap.
“Your head keeps going back and forth,” Monica said. “I feel like I’m missing entire conversations.”
“You are,” I said. “Monica, meet Kalyani. A new aspect, and the reason we needed that empty seat.”
Kalyani perkily held out her hand toward Monica, a big grin on her face.
“She can’t see you, Kalyani,” I said.
“Oh, right!” Kalyani raised both hands to her face. “I’m so sorry, Mister Steve. I am very new to this.”
“It’s okay. Monica, Kalyani will be our interpreter in Israel.”
“I am a linguist,” Kalyani said, bowing.
“Interpreter . . .” Monica said, glancing at the book I’d tucked away. A book of Hebrew syntax, grammar, and vocabulary. “You just learned Hebrew.”
“No,” I said. “I glanced through the pages enough to summon an aspect who speaks it. I’m useless with languages.” I yawned, wondering if there was time left in the flight to pick up Arabic for Kalyani as well.
“Prove it,” Monica said.
I raised an eyebrow toward her.
“I need to see,” Monica said. “Please.”
With a sigh, I turned to Kalyani. “How do you say: ‘I would like to practice speaking Hebrew. Would you speak to me in your language?’”
“Hm . . . ‘I would like to practice speaking Hebrew’ is somewhat awkward in the language. Perhaps, ‘I would like to improve my Hebrew’?”
“Sure.”
“Ani rotzeh leshapher et ha’ivrit sheli,” Kalyani said.
“Damn,” I said. “That’s a mouthful.”
“Language!” Ivy called.
“It is not so hard, Mister Steve. Here, try it. Ani rotzeh leshapher et ha’ivrit sheli.”
“Any rote zeele shaper hap . . . er hav . . .” I said.
“Oh my,” Kalyani said. “Tat is . . . that is very dreadful. Perhaps I will give you one word at a time.”
“Sounds good,” I said, waving over one of the flight attendants, the one who had spoken Hebrew to give the safety information at the start of our flight.
She smiled at us. “Yes?”
“Uh . . .” I said.
“Ani,” Kalyani said patiently.
“Ani,” I repeated.
“Rotzeh.”
“Rotzeh . . .”
It took a little getting used to, but I made myself known. The stewardess even congratulated me. Fortunately, translating her words into English was much easier—Kalyani gave me a running translation.
“Oh, your accent is horrible, Mister Steve,” Kalyani said as the stewardess moved on. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“We’ll work on it,” I said. “Thanks.”
Kalyani smiled at me and gave me a hug, then tried to give one to Monica, who didn’t notice. Finally, the Indian woman took a seat next to Ivy, and the two began chatting amicably, which was a relief. It always makes my life easier when my hallucinations get along.
“You already spoke Hebrew,” Monica accused. “You knew it before we started flying, and you spent the last few hours refreshing yourself.”
“Believe that if you want.”
“But it’s not possible,” she continued. “A man can’t learn an entirely new language in a matter of hours.”
I didn’t bother to correct her and say I hadn’t learned it. If I had, my accent wouldn’t have been so horrible, and Kalyani wouldn’t have needed to guide me word by word.
“We’re on a plane hunting a camera that can take pictures of the past,” I said. “How is it harder to believe that I just learned Hebrew?”
“Okay, fine. We’ll pretend you did that. But if you’re capable of learning that quickly, why don’t you know every language—every subject, everything—by now?”
“There aren’t enough rooms in my house for that,” I said. “The truth is, Monica, I don’t want any of this. I’d gladly be free of it, so that I could live a more simple life. I sometimes think the lot of them will drive me insane.”
“You . . . aren’t insane, then?”
“Heavens no,” I said. I eyed her. “You don’t accept that.”
“You see people who aren’t there, Mister Leeds. It’s a difficult fact to get around.”
“And yet, I live a good life,” I said. “Tell me. Why would you consider me insane, but the man who can’t hold a job, who cheats on his wife, who can’t keep his temper in check? You call him sane?”
“Well, perhaps not completely . . .”
“Plenty of ‘sane’ people can’t manage to keep it all under control. Their mental state—stress, anxiety, frustration—gets in the way of their ability to be happy. Compared to them, I think I’m downright stable. Though I do admit, it would be nice to be left alone. I don’t want to be anyone special.”
“And that’s where all of this came from, isn’t it?” Monica asked. “The hallucinations?”
“Oh, you’re a psychologist now? Did you read a book on it while we were flying? Where’s your new aspect, so I can shake hands with her?”
Monica didn’t rise to the bait. “You create these delusions so that you can foist things off on them. Your brilliance, which you find a burden. Your responsibility—they have to drag you along and make you help people. This lets you pretend, Mister Leeds. Pretend that you are normal. But that’s the real delusion.”
I found myself wishing the flight would hurry up and be finished.
“I’ve never heard that theory before,” Tobias said softly from behind. “Perhaps she has something, Stephen. We should mention it to Ivy—”
“No!” I snapped, turning on him. “She’s dug in my mind enough already.”