WHEN I GOT BACK to my room I took the pill with water and waited for it to work. Sleep was so important to me now. More important than life. I gazed out the window and even from this distance, in the dark of night, I could see a bearded man on the beach walking his dog.
I dropped myself on the bed and finally drifted off to sleep. I slept for about an hour. When I awoke my eyes were burning. My throat felt hot. It was two in the morning and not a good time to be up.
I had had a dream. In this dream Joan and Ibrahim were at the foot of the bed laughing, mocking me. I knew it was a dream but I also knew that they had been here. I was sure of it.
In his final days, living alone in Philadelphia, my father used to say that people visited him in the night. He wrestled these people. I did not believe him, of course, but the furniture all over the house was overturned.
My father even showed me the bruises of his nocturnal combats. I chose not to believe him because to believe him would have opened up the lower world, and I chose not to believe in a lower world.
Now I glanced around and I sensed the special emptiness of a room that had just been vacated. People had been here, been here and left. In one form or another, Joan had been here. I could smell the fragrance of her perfumes and could see the shadow of her smile. Ibrahim had been here.
Chairs were out of place. The phone was off the hook. Blankets were scattered on the floor. There had been a struggle. Between me and Ibrahim or between me and myself?
Possibly I had rioted in my sleep. But I was tucked in under the covers. I had fallen asleep on top of the covers--or so I remembered. I was in my shorts. I had no recollection of undressing. The second pillow--I knew I had not touched that--was indented from what appeared to be two heads.
I was sure of it--they had been here, been here and made love in my bed as I slumbered. What a perfect touch! The bonus. For the contribution of a million dollars Ibrahim was not about to deny himself this added satisfaction.
But Joan--how could she have taken part? Did she despise me that much? Maybe so. This, this thing that I had done was so low that God Himself had never even thought of it for His ten or even His 613 commandments. He had made provisions against murder, robbery and adultery--but this?--never.
Yes, right here on this bed they had made love. Right here Joan had been vibrating under the cover of another man, the sexual pleasure made doubly intense by the fact of my sleeping presence.
As for Ibrahim--why? I had never done him harm. This was supposed to be a straight deal. Why the mean vengeance? Maybe this was an Arab-Jewish thing after all.
No, I thought, this was no grudge. Kicks, that’s what this was. A billionaire--how does a billionaire get kicks? Since everything is his to begin with, he must be desperate for new pleasures. He must improvise new sensations.
Nothing could be more perfect than to bring Joan here, to my bed.
But how did he know I was here? Well stupid, I said to myself, think! You had them call Sy Rodrigo to get you the room. There’s your connection. To further ingratiate himself, wouldn’t Sy pass the word to Ibrahim that I was here? Of course he would. Sy would have no misgivings. He was part of the deal. In fact, he was the first conspirator.
But Joan--what a reversal of form! What a transformation of character for her to consent to something so utterly debased. Consent? Maybe it had been her idea in the first place. Who knows where passion ends once it begins? Kicks, she was also one for kicks. Once--she believed in trying anything once.
There was only one thing for me to do. Reject the thought. Otherwise I was cut off not only from my people but also from Joan, and Joan was all I had. Joan was my sanity in all this chaos and I had to trust her, trust her goodness, trust her love in the face of this sordid adventure.
There was nothing else to do. To delve further into this conjecture, to believe that Joan was capable of such scorn would leave me with nothing but madness. This time for real. No false alarm, as before. Before had been a warning. Maybe a beginning. Joan was good. Joan was beautiful. Joan, whom I had betrayed, Joan, who had betrayed me--Joan would have to be my savior. Joan would have to restore my soul. She alone could raise me back up--both of us together. Up, up, back to the land of the living. For this was sheol. This was the valley of the shadow of death.
So I had to dismiss the evidence as fantasy, imaginings provoked by guilt.
But somebody had been in this room besides me. I knew that. The eyes were still here. I lunged out of bed. Got dressed. Went to the bathroom. Did not even wash my hands. Did not check myself in the mirror for fear another face would stare back at me.
I dashed for the door, thinking it might be bolted to everlasting. Thinking I might be trapped here for life to spend my days in confrontation against myself.
Then I ran for the elevator. I had to get down to the casino to prove to myself that it was real, that it had not been another set-up to confound me. The corridor was empty. The elevator was empty. Was the entire world a set-up?
But finally--now I knew what I had to do. I had to rush over to Joan and tear her from Ibrahim. That was what I had to do. Now. This was enough. I had to cheat him out of one more screw and deprive myself of my million dollars--for the deal would be broken if I cut him from his full night. That would make it almost right, almost fair, almost bearable, almost forgivable.
I was on the eleventh floor. I pressed the “casino” button. The doors closed and down I went. Then the elevator stopped between floors. I waited. I pushed the “casino” button again. Then I pressed the “emergency” button. Then I picked up the emergency phone and dialed the emergency operator but there was no response. Now I pressed all the buttons and I was on the move again, but upwards.
The elevator stopped at twenty-two, or between twenty-one and twenty-two, and so this was it, I was finally stuck in an elevator and it was like that business in Nineteen Eighty-Four where they find out your worst fear and do it to you.
For Orwell’s guy it was rats, and for me it was this, and I was sure I’d never get out and that Ibrahim was behind all this, and Sy, too, and paranoid was I? Of course.
Worse than stuck, the elevator began to bounce, zooming up and down, changing speeds as if someone, some human, were at the controls and as if the elevator itself were human or had a brain.
For some reason I was not as frightened as I should have been, though I was flustered when the two doors parted an inch or two and clamped shut just as I tried to power them apart, and here I was, here I was, like that time in the Pyrenees, bound by straps inside the tiny rucksack my father carried me in on his back. I was even gagged, some kind of cotton stuffed in my mouth to keep me from crying and alerting the Germans, who were all over the place with their dogs.
Even when I retched nobody knew, they were so busy fighting the wild, almost sixty of them, terrified men and women and their young, branches and twigs snapping in their faces. They had to keep a fast pace behind the guides, who only now and then let them stop to rest. And then it happened, just as I knew it would. My father put me down and when it was time to move on again in the dark, he picked up the two valises he’d been carrying. But in the haste and confusion and panic he forgot the rucksack, he forgot me, and here I was and couldn’t even scream. I watched them disappear.
Now it was the same and the elevator stopped moving. I tried the buttons again for each floor--and nothing. Over and over and no response again and again. I even tried shouting, first Ibrahim’s name and then Sy’s. Then, after I gave up the shouting and sat down and a great deal of time had elapsed, I tried something else, prayer, which I had not done in years.
I said, “Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.”
Hours passed, and I was three-quarters asleep and only half lucid--dozing on the floor of the elevator that was becoming a coffin--and in this stupor I conjured up King David, my very own King David. He came to me in those white robes, his face beautiful and kind and so radiant and so strong, and I said, “You’re not here to reprove me, are you? You’re my guy.”
“You’re my guy, too. Thou art that man just as I was that man.”
“We’re talking you and Bathsheba?”
“No, we’re talking you and Joan--and this Ibrahim. What have you done?--and don’t tell me the woman made you do it. Adam already tried that with the One who is, was and always will be.”
“Oh no. I have sinned a great sin.”
“I know how it is, Joshua. You did it for money. I did it for love.”
“You mean it’s okay?”
“He’s ticked off at you, Josh. Why an Arab? Why an Amalekite? You know He doesn’t like them!”
“I got tired of waiting.”
“He was going to make you rich, legally.”
“He was?”
“Oh sure. You were inscribed in the Book of Wealth.”
“So what was taking so long?”
“You know what my son Solomon said. He said, ‘In the morning sow your seed and in the evening do not be idle, for you cannot know which will succeed, this or that.’ For you, Josh, it was coming in the evening. If only you had waited and trusted your talent as Joan kept telling you. In good time, Josh, it would have come to you in good time. If only you had waited.”
“We don’t have all that time in the world--not like He does.”
“You lost faith, Josh. That’s the biggest sin of all. And an Amalekite?”
“So why make them so rich?”
“You’re judging Him?”
“I’m only asking why give them all the oil and everything?”
“That’s His business.”
“Why does He make them hate us so much?”
“They don’t all hate us.”
“Oh no? Does He watch TV news? Does He read Anthony Lewis?”
“He created Anthony Lewis.”
“Talk to Him about that.”
“We’re here to talk about you. Pick a punishment.”
“How about no chocolate for a month?”
“You’ve read my psalms?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“Funny? Would you call them funny?”
“No.”
“Well this isn’t funny, either. You know the Amalekites stole two of my wives. With Joan that makes it three. This Joan of yours--how could you sell her off like that? That’s never been done before. You almost deserve congratulations. This is not only a great sin, it’s an historic sin. The next time Moses goes up he’ll come down with eleven strictly on account of you!”
“There you go reproving me, David. It’s not like you.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that He liked you so much. He was nuts about Joan, even though she is a shiksa.”
“He did? He liked me?”
“He loved you, Josh. He loved your folks, too.”
“So He gave them Hitler?”
“His schemes are not our schemes, you know that, Josh.”
“But now He hates me.”
“He’s thinking it over, and in any case there’s going to be punishment.”
“What?”
“I can’t say.”
“You’re still my favorite guy, David.”
“You’re okay too, Josh. I forgive you.”
“So bless me before you leave.”
“I can’t do that, Josh.”
“You can’t leave before you bless me.”
“Yes I can and it was only Jacob who could wrestle an angel.”
“All right. But just say this--Joshua Joshua.”
“Can’t do that, either. That’s too much.”
“Come on, David. Just once say it twice.”
“Promise me this--to love the good and hate evil.”
“I promise.”
“All right, Joshua Joshua.”
Now I was awake and it was morning.