Merkabah Rider: Have Glyphs Will Travel by Edward M. Erdelac Read Free Book Online Page B

the Rider would have to get him ready.
Already Kabede was very far along in his wisdom— probably farther along than
the Rider himself. But he lacked practical experience. No doubt he would be
getting a great deal very soon.
    Genesis came into his mind then.
    And
Joseph called the name of the first-born Manasseh: ‘for God hath made me forget
all my toil, and all my father’s house.’
    It was the passage Rabbi Belinski
came upon when he had renamed the Rider at his mother’s request, to avert an
ailment he’d had as a boy.
    “Kabede,” he said. “What’s to stop
me from renaming myself?”
    “You propose another shinnui shem —a renaming ceremony.”
    “Yes.”
    “I had thought of that, but you have
no name at all now. It’s a strange circumstance. We cannot hold a proper brit milah and name you, as you are, I
presume, already circumcised.”
    “Yes,” said the Rider, rather
quickly.
    “We would need the Orit ,” Kabede said. “I don’t think a simple
bound chumash copy would do either.
We would need a living Sefer Torah ,
in scroll form, and a minyan for the
blessing . Not easy to find in these
parts.”
    A living Torah scroll, and a prayer
quorum of ten Jews.
    “Not easy, but not impossible. There’s
a town called Tombstone…I passed through it some time back. There were Jews
there,” the Rider mused. He had only been there briefly, but he had seen Jewish
graves, and a few Jewish stores. He knew that Josephine Marcus had gone there.
The town had sprung into his mind when he’d needed a place for Professor Spates
to send the translations of Sheardown’s letters to Adon. Perhaps HaShem was
guiding him yet.
    “Then there’s hope,” Kabede said.
    The Rider lay back down and watched
the candlelight flickering on the walls, his eyes growing heavy.
    “Yes,” he said. “Some. Gut Shabbes ,” he said, rolling on his
side.
    “ Shabbat
Shalom ,” said Kabede.
     
    * * * *
     
    In the blue light of predawn the
Rider awoke to the sound of shoveling.
    He rose sleepily and went to the
cell door. Trooper Davies, who had apparently relieved Armendariz at some point
while they slept (for the Mexican was nowhere to be seen) was out on the parade
ground a few yards out from the guardhouse door, digging a small hole with a
short entrenching spade. The dirt scraping against the metal was the only sound
in the stillness.
    The Rider watched Davies through the
door. He was on his knees, excavating. A small object sat alongside him,
waiting to be buried, it looked like. What it was, the Rider couldn’t tell. Why
was he burying it in the middle of the parade ground before reveille?
    Then Belden blurted something
unintelligible from his cell, and the Rider heard his breathing, harsh and
fast.
    “Dick?” the Rider called.
    “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright. Just…just
a crazy nightmare. Bugs. Any of that wine left?” Belden asked, rolling over in
his cot.
    The Rider frowned. Nightmares he
knew, were not to be ignored. But what was Davies doing?
    “I’m joking,” Belden said, when he
was met with silence.
    “Davies is digging a hole,” the
Rider informed him.
    There was the sound of Belden’s cot
creaking as he rose, and his boots scuffed the hard floor. Then the Rider could
see his fingers curling around the bars of the next cell.
    “Davies!” Belden hissed.
    Davies made no reply, and did not
even turn to look at them.
    “What the hell is he doing?” Belden
wondered aloud. “Trooper Davies!” he called.
    No answer.
    “Crazy kid. Where the hell is
Armendariz anyway?”
    “I assumed Davies relieved him.”
    “This early? Guard’s not supposed to
change till after reveille.”
    Kabede joined them at the door of
his cell, rubbing his eyes.
    All three of them watched Davies dig
in silence for. In a little while, he set aside his tool and took the object
beside him and put it into the hole. It protruded out halfway. It was difficult
to see clearly in the shadow, but it looked like a small barrel.
    Davies got