Jews vs Zombies by Daniel Polansky, Adam Roberts, Sarah Lotz, Ofir Touché Gafla, Rena Rossner, Shimon Adaf, Benjamin Rosenbaum, Anna Tambour Read Free Book Online

finger is black as a scorched bone. There’s no cradle. No bed for a child. The kitchen is infested with shadows.
    Shlomo asks her what else she knows. All of a sudden she’s indignant. It’s not his business. It’s not your business, she says. He lifts the lamp he brought with him and lights it. It’s requied. The night fell quickly, unnoticeable. His expression is a mix of curiosity and alarm. A rage builds inside Sultana. She says, Hosea, and begins singing, a song her mother sung, when she cradled her son who wasn’t named yet, in his firsts days on this land –
    Stahit ana me’a momo lilah fi lilah
    Wal’am he’tata yiduz geer fehal ha lilah
    Lochan ma tenzar shams, ma tedwi gemara
    Geer didlma fi kulal rachan
    Wunbit ana wu-momo, geer sehara fi laman... 3
    She sings, hums to herself. Shlomo lowers his head. In the lamp light his hair is anointed with glamour. Someone is knocking on the door, beating with urgency.
    22.
From: Tiberia Assido
To: Doron Aflalo
RE: Rose of Judea
We’re having a little crisis here. It has nothing to do with the Israeli writer inquest. Akko resolved that matter. Something else. I started working with the new linguistic module yesterday. This time I was cautious about getting attached. I typed simple indicative sentences. Something happened at night. It’s not clear what. In the morning I sat in front of the screen. Ozymandias (yeah, maybe such a ridiculous name will prevent me from developing feelings) didn’t react at first to the sentences I fed it. After several minutes words appeared on the screen: ARRGGG, GRRRR, ARRGGGG…
Funny, right?
But then the computer started emitting sounds. The other computers in the lab present similar symptoms. Akko lost his temper. At last he was able to show rage. There’s a good side to it, to see him in a human moment.
I’m scared.
T.
    23.
    The door fell.
    In spite of the lamp in Shlomo’s hand, the outside seemed more lit.
    The glee of autumn stars in Morocco’s sky, apparently.
    The shining heaven above Essaouira.
    Against the glare of the busted door a small figure shows.
    Its stride slow.
    The organs rigid, mechanical.
    And still its face is unseen yet.
    Shlomo takes out a small chain from his galabia’s pocket.
    It shimmers. It has a certain glow.
    He throws it. It wraps around the figure’s neck.
    Shlomo cries: Shma De-Marach Alech! 4 Shma De-Marach Alech!
    The figure continues to advance, oblivious to Shlomo’s cries.
    Shlomo retreats.
    He puts the lamp on the floor and takes a stool from next to the wall.
    He raises it.
    His silence releases Sultana from her short paralysis.
    She bends to have a better look.
    Now she screams.
    24.
From: Tiberia Assido
To: Doron Aflalo
RE: Rose of Judea
I left Akko alone with his codes in the lab for several days and went on walks in the institute’s grounds. Akko suggested I take the laptop he prepared for me, with all the insane amount of security he put on it. Before I left he asked if the laptop was connected to the lab’s intranet. I haven’t turned it on since he gave it to me. There was enough computing for me with the computer that ran Malka’s module, may she rest in peace, and Ozymandias’s module, curse it.
Akko also said, strangely, that the programs’ codes in the cemetery cloud were corrupted. That they’re full of inexplicable characters. He said, “As if they’ve rotted somehow.”
I was hoping to have my spirit lifted by the gnaw marks autumn left on the trees, the seasonal decline in temperature, the pressure of coolness against the skin, and the architecture, by which I was enthralled when I first got here. Instead, I think of Israel, on my tongue the syllables of the month Tishrey are rolling. Before Rosh Hashanah we called our mother to congratulate her for the New Year. Akko was choked with excitement. He was stricken by longing. Then we called our father. I mean, I called. Akko still refuses to speak with him. Who would have thought we’ll all be here, in 2011, some