The Book of Revelations
Ivan Turner
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2007 by Ivan Turner
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PROLOGUE
There are some things in this world in which people believe.
And they are bullshit.
There are other things in this world in which people believe.
And they are perceived as bullshit.
But they are not.
PAST LIVES
On July 21st, 1934 in Scranton, Pennsylvania, USA, Archibald Pevney died in his bed in his home at the precise hour of 3:48 am while sleeping peacefully. Throughout the course of his life, Pevney had abused and murdered twenty four children and, though he had been questioned as a suspect, he was never indicted on any counts and all of those murders remained unsolved.
On March 15th, 2001, just outside Elephant Butte, New Mexico, United States, police discovered a corpse half buried in the sand on the side of the interstate. They were able to determine right away that the victim had been dead approximately thirty six hours. He was a black man, later identified as Winston Jones, age sixty seven, residing in Tucson, Arizona with his only living relative, his younger sister. Despite the fact that the killer or killers had shaved Mr. Jones' entire body and cleaved off his genitals with a serrated blade before binding him and slicing his arteries open so that he might bleed to death, New Mexico police determined that the killing was the result of racial prejudice. The authorities in Tucson were in full agreement. Both law enforcement agencies, for one reason or another, discounted the evidence of the curled up piece of paper stuffed into the victim's mouth. On it were the words, Rot in hell, Pevney. It was assumed that the paper was used as a gag and nothing more. The words were deemed insignificant.
No arrest was ever made.
It always starts with the little things.
****
“What's your name?”
“It's Lucy. I am a woman.”
“All right. Can you tell me where you are?”
“I am at home.”
“And where is that?”
“Roanoke.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty six.”
“Are you married?”
“Yes and I have two wonderful sons.”
“What are their names?”
“Richard and Devin.”
“Are they with you now?”
“No.”
“Can we go ahead? To the future?”
“No?”
“What? Why?”
“I am already dead and the colony is gone.”
****
“Well known psychiatrist Dr. Simon Palaniewiecz was arrested yesterday afternoon for attacking ten year old Sheila Randolph in Jocelyn, California.
“Just before three o'clock, as the children of Jocelyn Elementary School were leaving the building and boarding buses or being met by their parents, Dr. Palaniewiecz, who has a home in Jocelyn, pulled his car to a stop in the middle of the road, jumped out, and ran at young Miss Randolph. Startled onlookers backed away from the screaming man. Witnesses say that they were unaware that he was specifically targeting the girl until he'd actually reached her. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late to stall his charge.
“Officer Herbert Lowenstein, who spends most of his weekday afternoons directing traffic around Jocelyn Elementary, was the first to take action.
“'It was the weirdest thing,' said Lowenstein. 'One minute I'm directing a line of cars around the buses and the next there's this maniac running across the street yelling, ‘He killed my mother! He killed my mother!’
“Officer Lowenstein went on to tell reporters that Dr. Palaniewiecz' cries were what diverted his attention from the victim. He saw the doctor, but was looking for an adult male target.
“Dr. Palaniewiecz, fifty four, was easily pried away from the girl but not before getting his hands around her throat and causing minor injuries such as skin irritation and a bruised larynx. We are told she is recovering nicely.
“At this time, the attorneys hired by Dr. Palaniewiecz have yet to make a statement but District Attorney Maten Gerrold is expecting a temporary insanity defense.
“Mrs. Sheila Palaniewiecz, the doctor's mother, was murdered twenty four years ago. Convicted killer Randolph Marigold was executed just twelve years ago after a long and arduous appeals process.
“No strong connections have been made between Dr. Palaniewiecz and Sheila Randolph.
“The focus of Dr. Palaniewiecz's work...”
****
SUMMONS
Rabbi Guetterman:
You are no doubt familiar with the circumstances of my incarceration and wondering as you read this how I have come to send it to you. Since the rejection of my insanity plea by the California Supreme Court, I have done much of what you would call soul searching. In the past months, I have come to understand that the courts were right to reject the plea, as I am not insane. I was in full control of my faculties throughout the course of my crime. I don't need medication or the blathering of a criminal psychiatrist. I am an intelligent man, an educated man, and what I need right now is something that I cannot provide for myself. That is why I have contacted you.
Please don't be alarmed. I am aware that we have never met nor spoken nor is there any reason at all why we should know of each other. But I am a man who uses his time wisely and, as my needs have dictated, I have searched high and low for the greatest spiritual leaders these United States have to offer. Of all of the priests, rabbis, ministers, reverends, pastors, televangelists, faith healers, and gurus in this country, I have selected only four with whom I would wish to speak. You, sir, are one of the four.
It is not a distinct honor to be summoned by a criminal all the way across the country for no other reason than to provide some spiritual counsel, however I beg your consideration on this matter not because you should pity me, I am not in need of that, but because I may just be able to teach you something as you help me.
Throughout your service to the Talmud and Torah, you have provided a binding essence to your community which, based on what I've read and researched has proven invaluable to many many people. Your wisdom walks hand in hand with your knowledge of scripture and it is that wisdom upon which I so humbly call. I am also aware that you are not a man of means, as no spiritual leader should be, however I am no spiritual leader and my many years of medical practicing has accumulated me great wealth. I would not dare offer you payment for assisting me; a man such as yourself would be insulted by such an offer. However, I will pick up all the necessary expenses for your trip including airfare, hotel accommodations, and food, all of which to be chosen and reserved by you with no questions asked by me.
I implore you, Rabbi Guetterman, to join me for a discussion as there is much I need to say and even more that I need to hear. The enclosed card has all of the information you will need to get in touch with me should you decide to grant my request. Thank you very much for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Dr. Simon Palaniewiecz
****
“Max?”
She was still pretty, even after all of these years, even after three children. She was still pretty.
He looked up from his reading, staring at her over the flat topped rims of his reading glasses.
“Hmmm?”
“Something wrong?”
And he loved her. How could he not? He could not even remember a time in his life when she had not been there, a part of him as essential as his own heart.
“Nothing. It's nothing.”
She came across the room in seven small steps, the way she always walked, and looked down at her husband sitting in his favorite old recliner with the ripped upholstery and wine stain on the head cushion.
“It's not nothing. It's that letter.”
And her name was Laura.
“Yes, Laura, it's the letter.”
He admitted it. Long ago he had learned that not admitting something to Laura, something she already knew anyway, was a waste of time.
“So? What's in it?”
“It is...”
He hesitated. How could he explain this to her? It wasn't so much that he was getting fan mail from crackpots. It was the fact that he was strongly considering this particular crackpot's request.
“It is an invitation.”
She sat down on his lap and threw her arms around his neck. Then she kissed him lightly on the lips. His fifty two year old bones felt her weight and responded much more slowly than they had at one time. He kissed her back.
“It sounds like you don't want to go.”
“On the contrary.”
He had never been to California.
“What is it?”
She kissed him again. “Is it a party?”
“It is not a party.”
“A dinner? A speech? Do they want you to speak again?”
He smiled at her and said her name. It was his way of telling her not to play the game. He was not in the mood.
She sobered up immediately and got up from his lap. But not before giving him one more kiss. This last kiss was to tell him that she loved, respected, and admired him. The man he was. He appreciated it but it did not bring a smile to his face.
“Will you tell me?”
The question was simple and he could dismiss her if he chose without reprimand not because she was a dutiful wife but because she did, in fact, love, respect, and admire him. Granting him his privacy was part of that.
“Of course.”
But those feelings were mutual and he couldn't very well hit the coast without letting her know where he was going.
That night, as they got into bed, he handed her the letter, rolled over, and closed his eyes. She waited, staring at him for thirty minutes, and then read the words as he slept.
****
Joseph Guetterman was approaching his ninetieth birthday. After Hitler's defeat at the end of World War II, Joseph had been left with no money, no land, and no family. He'd owned nothing but the dirty fatigues he had worn in the camps and the misery that the Nazis had bestowed upon him by murdering his wife, his parents, his brothers and sisters and their families. He had seen horrible things to which no one should ever have to bear witness and they had left deep and permanent scars on his psyche.
Still, as a man in his late thirties, he had come to the United States, met an American girl who was almost nine years younger than himself, and started over. New wife. New children. New life. For a man of almost forty.
His son was a rabbi.
In a world that was teeming with a species guided by its ego, the word of God was becoming a thing of the past.
And Joseph Guetterman had raised a rabbi.
There was nothing in the world that filled him with more pride.
When his son came to see him, as he always did, he was very happy. The people at the rest home treated him well and showed him the respect and the privacy he deserved, but they were not people to him and he was just an old man to them. To his family, he was so much more. As were they to him.
When Max told him that he was going to be traveling out to the west coast, Joseph broke into several verses of California Here I Come. The nurses and orderlies all thought that that crazy old man was at it again. But Joseph wasn't crazy. Most people who are not old are simply afraid of people who are. It seems to be the most ridiculous of life's ironies. Why be afraid of someone who hobbles from place to place, is reliant on thirteen pills daily, and may very well wet himself if given the chance? But the faculties of a ninety year old can be just as sharp as the faculties of a twenty year old. It's not the difference in intelligence, but the gap in generations that causes a rift between the young and the old. And even though people are constantly talking about the Generation Gap (It's the Generation Gap, they'll say), they still don't fully realize its impact.
But parents and children can communicate because the gap between them is totally different than the Generation Gap. Any difference between parents and children is not caused by age. After all, children are taught by their parents. Who they become is directly related to who their parents already are. No that gap is created and determined by the roles that parents and children have to play. And when parents are old and children are still young, those roles are reversed and the gap which was closes because the children are finally able to realize what it was their parents were doing for all of the years before.
So Joseph Guetterman asked Rabbi Max Guetterman, his son, what it was that was taking him all the way out to California and why it was bothering him so much. Bothering him so much. A piece of information the crazy ninety year old man gleaned from just hearing his son tell him that he was going out to California.
So what was bothering him? What indeed! Max beat around the bush for a while. He always did that, fished for opinions. The trouble with helping so many others with their problems is that he didn't really know how to occupy the other side of the couch. He always took the position of the helper rather than the helped. And, as a result, he always worked at getting people to let their feelings out. That wasn't always productive when it came to solving his own problems. But after a while, the back and forth with his father found a mousehole and crawled through to the point. What was bothering him, aside from the fact that he had been summoned by a convict who had assaulted a child, was that this person was not Jewish, yet seeking spiritual advice from a leader of the Jewish community. Very odd indeed.
So his father explained to him that Judaism is the root of Christianity. And, when all is said and done, all religions, well monotheistic religions anyway, were pretty much the same. They all had God in some form or another and they all had a messiah. Religious people were all afraid of the same thing, though some religions took that fear where it was never supposed to go. This Dr. Palaniewiecz who had contacted him, said his father, was probably confused and looking for guidance from religion as a whole. It's not uncommon for prisoners to find God and perhaps the doctor was just exploring his possibilities. What's more Joseph suggested, instructed actually, that his son make the trip to California and meet with Dr. Simon Palaniewiecz not only because he would probably be able to help but because, as had been stated in the letter, he might find that this criminal doctor who had attacked a young girl of ten years and called her his mother's killer might just have something very important to teach Rabbi Max Guetterman who knew little if anything at all about people who did the kinds of things Dr. Palaniewiecz had done.
And the most important facet of Judaism is that a person looks not only to God for guidance and knowledge, but seeks it from everywhere because God is everywhere and in everything.
A wise man never stops learning.
And Rabbi Guetterman was a very wise man.
****
CALIFORNIA
The flight was arduous.
At the prison, they could sit at a table and talk.
They could shake hands.
“Thank you for coming, Rabbi. I imagine it was a difficult decision.”
“Coming to see you was not; I wanted to meet with you. Leaving my family and my community is always a difficult decision.”
“Of course. I'll get right to the point, then. I wanted to speak with you about certain spiritual realities that have me confused.”
“Spiritual realities? That's an odd term, Dr. Palaniewiecz. Do you mean God?”
“No. Actually, I don't believe in God and recent events have convinced me of his inexistence. I see by your face that you are surprised, an atheist asking for spiritual guidance. And maybe offended?”
“You have a right to your opinion, doctor.”
“I appreciate that. Not everyone thinks so.”
Dr. Palaniewiecz was balding and the years had been too kind to him. A mid sized paunch belched from underneath his prison fatigues and his heart beat a thousand beats per second. Perhaps it wasn't the kind years, but prison life that was doing him ill.
“Do you believe in past lives, Rabbi?”
“I don't. I guess that you already know that.”
“That's what Father McIlvane said. So I asked him about Jesus.”
“While it’s not my area of expertise, wasn’t Jesus resurrected?”
“As so stated by the good father.”
“While there are certain allowances and mythos that describe reincarnation, Christianity and Judaism prescribe to the notion of Heaven. If a soul goes to Heaven when the body dies, there is no room for the concept of past lives.”
“There is no room for the Bible in the annals of history.”
The rabbi cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Did you call me here to argue with me, Dr. Palaniewiecz?”
“On the contrary. I called you here to enlighten you.”
“I was under the impression that it was I who was to enlighten you.”
“You are, Rabbi. You are. Just not in the way that you think.”
“I don't think I like the way this conversation is going, doctor, and I'm not sure I want to stay.”
The doctor grew quiet as he thought about what the rabbi had said and what it might mean.
“The priest said that as well. Be assured, Rabbi, that I would not have summoned you three thousand miles to trade insults with you. I'd like, for a moment, if you could suspend your disbelief and accept the possibility of past lives.
“I do believe in past lives, Rabbi. In fact I'm sure they exist. You see, I've done a great deal of work with hypnotic regression therapy and, like many of my predecessors, I have regressed multiple patients into past lives.
“Please allow me to finish. I was a disbeliever at first. For all of my life, the concept of anything spiritual left me empty, infuriated almost that people could be so ignorant as to bow down to a God in our modern era.
“The focus of my work, once I discovered the ability to regress patients into past lives, was to expose these sessions as subconscious fantasy. Essentially, I was hell bent on discrediting those of my colleagues who subscribed to this nonsense.
“I had been toying with a form of therapy during which the psychiatrist could take a more hands on approach with a patient under hypnosis. Let me preface by saying that there is much of our bodies and minds that is wasted in our lifetimes. I've done research and published papers on the emotional links that people develop over time and have concluded that this link is more than just a feeling of love. Love at first sight can be reduced to the simple explanation of two persons' brain waves resonating on a similar frequency. This therapy I spoke of, it is founded on that principle. The therapist puts him or herself into a meditative trance that is akin to the frequency of the hypnosis under which he has the patient. Eventually, I was to apply the method to dream intervention. We've seen all of the movies and we know what the possibilities are from a science fiction standpoint. Realistically, the applications of such work are numerous. With dream intervention, psychiatrists can get to the root of a subconscious problem and actually cure a patient without having to subject the patient to medication that may have harmful side effects.
“But my experimentation went awry.
“Once I was able to share in the patient's hypnosis, I discovered that past lives are not frauds. They are not subconscious fabrications. They are actual memories.”
“And you think this little girl was the man who murdered your mother in a past life?”
“I'm sure of it.”
“Did you hypnotize the little girl?”
“You mock me. As with all techniques, improvements were there to be discovered. The meditative state is extremely malleable. I can detect the resonance of normal brain waves and actually see a person’s memories.”
“Suspension of disbelief is one thing, doctor, but what you're asking me to accept borders on pure fantasy.”
Dr. Palaniewiecz smiled. “That is not the first time I've heard that. Humans know of five senses, Rabbi Guetterman. Sight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell. But there are others. The brain and the body are capable of so much more than we attempt. One of these senses is the ability to translate the electrical impulses of other people's brains.”
“Doctor Palaniewiecz...”
“Please let me finish. Over time, the procedure became more refined. Hypnotism of the subject became less and less necessary until such time as I could actually resonate with their waking brainwaves. Of course, it is easiest to read the minds of those for whom the memories of past lives could be considered recent.”
“In other words, children.”
“Exactly. I was actually on my way back from the maternity ward at the local hospital and decided to pass near the school because they were letting out. The encounter with Miss Randolph was an unfortunate coincidence forcing me into action.”
“You mean you felt compelled to attack her.”
“Yes. And that is precisely why I asked you to visit me.”
“I don't understand.”
“You still don't believe.”
“I won't lie to you about that, doctor. I don't imagine you'll be able to convince me of the accuracy of your claims.”
“Don't be so sure, Rabbi. Given the proper preparation, I could even probably read a past life of yours. But that is not why I brought you here. I brought you here for your learned, spiritual opinion. Randolph Marigold was executed for murdering my mother yet he lives again in the body of Sheila Randolph. Does he not deserve to be punished?”
“She's just a little girl.”
“Don't look so horrified, Rabbi. A killer is a killer.”
“There's no reason to believe she's a killer.”
“Except that she was Randolph Marigold in a past life.”
There was a bit of silence.
“Rabbi, I'm asking you to accept it as fact for a hypothetical moral question.”
“But it's not hypothetical and if I tell you that it's okay to go out and punish the guilty, even if their guilt is from a past life, I'm condoning your actions and encouraging your psychosis.”
“I'll ignore your choice of words, Rabbi. The question is simple. Assuming the reality of past lives, should someone be punished for crimes committed by them during one of those lives?”
“No.”
“Are you saying that because you believe it or because you don't want to 'encourage my psychosis'?”
“Dr. Palaniewiecz, there's a reason we live and a reason we die. If there is such a thing as reincarnation then it is so a person can begin with a clean slate, forget the sins of the past, and try to furnish a good life out of the new opportunity.”
“I'm afraid I disagree with you. Some people commit horrendous crimes and live out their lives without ever being punished. Don't you think justice demands that their crimes catch up with them? Even in the next life?”
“But Randolph Marigold was executed for his crimes.”
“After years of appeal and millions of dollars wasted on trials and keeping him housed.”
“It's not for us to say.”
“For whom then?”
“If we are to have new lives after the old then God decides what lives we are to have. They can be a punishment or a forgiveness. Either way, it is God's decision.”
“I told you I don't believe in God.”
“I told you I don't believe in past lives.”
“You've been brainwashed by the Bible and thousands of years of cowering before the might of a fake God.”
“My traditions are handed down for generations, Dr. Palaniewiecz. Jews do not brainwash like some backwards teenaged cult. I'm leaving now.”
“But, Rabbi, don't you even want the proof?”
“I don't think so.”
“Aren't you curious about your past life?”
“Good luck with your future, doctor.”
“Tomorrow, Rabbi. It takes time to put myself into the proper mental state, but I could tell you who you were. Tomorrow. Perhaps then you would believe me.”
“We won't see each other again, doctor. Tomorrow I'm flying back to New York and I'm going to put this nonsense out of my mind and concentrate on my rabbinical duties.”
“We'll see, Rabbi.”
“Goodbye, doctor.”
****
It could be ten degrees in New York City, cloudy, raining (or snowing more likely) and just plain ugly but in California it's always sunny.
Rabbi Guetterman had, at one time, considered moving to California. That was way back, just after he had met Laura and before they had gotten serious. But that would have left Joseph Guetterman, not a well man even then, all by himself in the big city. Even if the rabbi had been willing to go, his father would have made no bones about guilting him into staying.
New York City is the best city in the world. What kind of a Jewish community are you going to find out in California? It's all drug runners and prostitutes.
Precisely the type of people who need spiritual guidance.
Unlike Dr. Simon Palaniewiecz.
He needed psychiatric guidance.
And if he thought Rabbi Max Guetterman was going to pay him a second visit at the prison that would be his home for quite some time to come, he had another thing coming.
He was thinking this as his cab pulled up in front of the airport.
It was one of those small airports with one airstrip that only catered to charter flights and airlinks. Before this trip, the rabbi had never been on one of those small planes. They only had eleven rows and the last row was all along the back of the plane reminding him of a city bus. The cab driver, a suntanned young fellow who was nothing like the cab drivers in New York, did not help him with his bags. That was the thing about New York. Everyone's under the impression that New Yorkers are rude and nasty people, but his wife had been born in New York and she was the best woman he had ever known, the people of his congregation were there for the Temple and for each other, and the cab drivers always helped him with his bags when they dropped him off at the airport.
****
Some people believe that New York courtesy is a myth.
And that is bullshit.
New York courtesy is simply the best kept secret since Roswell, New Mexico.
And Rabbi Guetterman had never been to California.
So Rabbi Guetterman had already checked in with the plane and checked his bags when it occurred to him that he had let his anger get the better of him. Perhaps Dr. Palaniewiecz had just been testing him. Not like a test from God. Comparing Simon Palaniewiecz to God was like comparing apples and oranges. Palaniewiecz hadn't been testing his faith or his devotion to his chosen lifestyle. He had been testing his sincerity. His integrity. He'd been testing to see how far he could push. Dr. Palaniewiecz needed help. Psychiatric help, surely. Help that Rabbi Guetterman could not provide. But how could a man of God, a man of wisdom, walk away from someone in need?
So he needed to get himself onto a later flight.
No more than three hours.
But we're about to board. Your bag is already on the plane.
A quick conversation that ended with a please and a fee that Dr. Palaniewiecz would surely cover.
And Rabbi Guetterman was on his way back to prison.
****
It was a short visit. It didn’t take the rabbi long to discover the inaccuracy of his own assessment. Apparently he had not been pushed far enough.
Dr. Palaniewiecz looked far more haggard this afternoon than he had the last.
“Did something happen?”
“It’s the meditation. Part of me is practically asleep. I’m actually improving on the effects daily. One day soon, it won’t be evident at all.”
Interesting. Rabbi Guetterman did not doubt the sincerity of the doctor’s words. Whatever he thought of the man, he could not deny his education, his training, or his skill. If he said he was putting himself into a meditative state, then that’s what he was doing. But Rabbi Guetterman believed that this state did not unlock the past lives of those around him. Instead he felt that Dr. Palaniewiecz was, under these conditions, suffering from self induced hallucinations.
But that did not make the consequences any less real.
“Are you ready, Rabbi?”
“If this will help you?”
“First you must answer my question. That will help me.”
“Which question?”
“Should the guilty be punished in the next life?”
“That’s up to God.”
“I don’t believe in God.”
“Doctor, my opinion is my opinion. What’s the matter? You suddenly don’t look well.”
“You...Ahem! You should go.”
“I won’t go. Something’s wrong.”
“Terribly wrong. I would never have guessed.”
“Do you need medical attention?”
“Rabbi, please...no...you must, though... You must answer my question.”
“My answer hasn’t changed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Is this about me? What you’ve seen? What have you seen, doctor? Who was I that you’re suddenly flushed and irritated?”
“You...No. You have to go. I have to think.”
“I’m not going. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please. Don’t do this to yourself. It will be better...”
“What? You’ve seen something you don’t like and you want to spare me. Don’t you see, doctor, that that’s a symptom of your desire to abandon the fantasy. Stop trying to lay blame for all of your anger.”
“You presumptuous prick. I’m not trying to spare you. I’d kill you right here and now if I thought I could succeed. Your past is enmeshed in hate and prejudice. You’re the worst monster this world has ever faced.”
There was silence between them, a departure from vocal communication as their hate and anger built and they took their time to occupy the same level.
“You were Adolf Hitler.”
A race to find the words.
A race the rabbi won.
Other inmates and all of the guards turned to watch and listen as this holy man, this man of wisdom, let loose on the doctor with all of the venom of which a single human being was capable.
There was a lot of How dare you?! And a fair amount of You’re sick. But the rabbi could convey no solid argument; he could barely congregate his thoughts, could hardly articulate.
“You have dragged me three thousand miles only to deal me an insult that cuts to the core of my heritage?”
“I only tell what I see.”
“The state should have accepted your insanity plea.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps this is God’s way of punishing you.”
“Go to hell.”
****
The plane trip from LAX to LaGuardia airport took just over five hours from take off to disembarking.
Rabbi Guetterman was tremendously upset as he entered the cab which took him from the prison where Dr. Palaniewiecz would die to the airlink.
He was entombed in rage and could not coordinate a thought as the small plane took him on a twenty two minute trip into LAX. His bag had gone on ahead on the original flight. It would be waiting for him at LaGuardia when he got there.
As he took his seat aboard the large passenger plane, he found himself becoming less and less angry. He was beginning to realize that his rage was not directed at Dr. Palaniewiecz, whose years of working with those mentally afflicted had left him emotionally withered and even depraved, but with himself for not realizing the extent of the doctor’s mania and his reaction to the ridiculous, almost infantile, accusations made of him.
As he grew calm, he was able to think better. And it became more and more clear that Dr. Palaniewiecz had been setting him up the whole time. If the rabbi had validated the doctor’s beliefs, perhaps things would have gone differently. But since he had held fast to his own convictions and imposed them over Dr. Palaniewiecz’ claims, the doctor had lashed out, using his assertions to belittle his antagonist.
It was the simplest, most rational explanation and its existence in Rabbi Guetterman’s mind lasted right up until the moment he saw his wife.
****
Laura had a way of dragging the truth out of his subconscious just by smiling at him. Maybe it was her love. Maybe it was that the electrical impulses emanating from each of their brains resonated on such a frequency that it was impossible for him, in her presence, to keep secrets from himself.
Regardless, from that moment on, Rabbi Guetterman was unable to fool himself into believing that what Dr. Palaniewiecz had said had not invaded his mind like a disease and taken root. And there was no cure.
****
And the little things grow.
****
LUNCH
Vincent Anthony Macchio was a very powerful man in his own right. He was almost sixty seven years old but still when even the young punks saw him coming, they ceased their mischief, greeted him politely, and went on about their business.
There was never any talk behind his back.
Vincent had grown very accustomed to his importance in recent years, accepting the ease with which he was able to glide through life and feeling that he had earned his place. As a small boy in Italy, he had worked hard to make sure there was food for his Mama and his four baby sisters. They were all dead now. Mama had refused to leave Europe during the war, but had sent him and his sisters to America with their Uncle Vito. He had never heard from her again.
Life in the States had been tough as well. Vito had disappeared shortly after their arrival, his disappearance still a mystery, though a rival family had been wiped out in response. Vincent and his sisters had been adopted by the community, taken in as children of the Castellis. One night, a long time ago, an assassin had broken into the house while they slept and cut the throats of everyone inside from ear to ear. Only Vincent had survived. Richie Castelli, his adopted father's brother, had said it was because Vincent was tough like a bull. Vincent still bore the scar from that attack, a jagged white line that smiled across his neck like an extra pair of lips. It had grown soft and hung oddly as his jowls shook when he walked.
Raised a Catholic, Vincent had always had religion in his life. It was one of those things that buoyed him in the deep waters of turmoil and clothed him during the freezing winters of decisive action. But religion to him meant more than just what was written in the New Testament and what had been taught to him by the vicious nuns who had schooled him. Catholicism was just the avenue on which he walked. Religion was the entire world. And that meant that he believed and spoke of tolerance of all religions. A belief in God, to Vincent Castelli, was a belief in God. Period. God made man, he had been saying throughout all of his life. But faith in God made man great.
So the faithful were among the greatest people ever born. But only the truly faithful. Men who used faith to gain wealth or power were evil men whose casual disrespect for God would haunt their souls throughout existence. Vincent had gained his power through blood and strength and perseverance. Faith had been his armor, his secret courage never to be used as a weapon.
And here he was.
His faith in God and his definition of Faith were why he loved and respected Rabbi Guetterman so much. His favorite day of the week was Tuesday because on Tuesdays he and the rabbi met for lunch at the Kosher deli and ate the best cold cuts known to man and talked about a variety of topics which were of the utmost importance in their facetiousness.
Vincent always got there first. He liked to be seated, his eyes on the door when the rabbi arrived. Most people believed it was because he was an Italian, a mobster. Never sit with your back to the door. But out here in this neighborhood, he had little to worry about. None of his enemies would dare hit him while at a Jewish deli. Too many people to piss off. Including the five guys outside who earned the big bucks to keep their eyes open and, if the need should arise, eat a bullet for him. No, he believed the rabbi to be a very special man. Good of heart. Wise of mind. A saint, if a Jewish saint could have ever existed. And Vincent liked to see him arrive, watch him walk through the door, look around the whole place as if he didn't know that Vincent would already be there at the same table he sat at every Tuesday afternoon. Then he would smile. And Vincent would smile back.
“It's good to see you again, my friend.”
Vincent always said that. As if they saw each other only once every ten years.
“How was your trip?”
“It was awful. He said I was Hitler.”
“Hitler?!”
Now bear in mind that these two men were sitting and having lunch in a Jewish deli. Hitler is not the exclamation of choice for that environment. Even in the proper context, the name is something that turns heads. Even toward Vincent Macchio.
“What are you all looking at? My friend and I are having a private conversation.”
“Vincent.”
“What, Max? I am entitled to my privacy.”
Heads turned away.
A waiter came over and took their order. Vincent ordered a lot of food. He loved Kosher deli. It was the one genre of food the Italians had not conquered. And it was good for them.
“So, Max. He called you Hitler. An odd choice of words.”
“He believes in past lives. He believes he can see other people's past lives.”
“So he actually thinks you are Hitler.”
The rabbi nodded.
Vincent shook his head.
“And this disturbs you?”
“What if you found out you were Mussolini in a past life?”
Vincent laughed. When Vincent laughed it was not the booming, hearty laughter expected of a man of his girth and his station in life. Instead, his expression of joy was a wheezing, scraping sound like the sound of a man afflicted by multiple cancers. It was not a happy sound, not the sound of laughter. But Vincent was not a smoker and for a fat, fat man, he was tremendously healthy.
“Mussolini was still alive when I was born, sir.”
“Well Hitler was dead already when my mother had me.”
Vincent laughed again.
“My friend, all of the saints and angels in heaven could not drain the black from that man's heart. He could never be you as surely as you could never be him.”
“I know that. But Dr. Palaniewiecz was convinced. And when you are faced with the convictions of another, it's difficult to be entirely doubtful.”
“Madness.”
“For you and for me...”
“For me. For you, my friend, I see the madness creeps in.”
Rabbi Guetterman lowered his head.
“I can't resolve it in my head. I may have to fly back and confront him again.”
Nodding, Vincent shoved a kosher pickle into his mouth. There were always pickles and cole slaw before the meal. Food before a meal is like the preview before the movie.
“Then you will be attending his funeral.”
Astonishment.
“What?! Vincent, what are you saying?”
At that table there sat two men who knew each other, two men who respected each other. But their lives never converged except at this point. There were things they discussed and other things they did not.
“I am saying he is dead. And his nonsense dies with him.”
“Dead? How can that be? How could you know that?”
“I have a friend in that prison. A friend unjustly convicted, I might add.”
The rabbi's voice dropped in volume.
“Vincent, I'm disturbed. If this was done on my behalf...”
The food came but Vincent was now too insulted to eat. What was the rabbi suggesting?
“Done? Rabbi, after our years of friendship, you can question my integrity?”
“Moreso when you talk to me like a godfather.”
“My friend and I are in constant communication. Guillermo is his name. I spoke with him yesterday and names were mentioned. He was amazed at the coincidence because several hours earlier your Dr. Palaniewiecz had a heart attack in his cell.”
****
Rabbi Guetterman was troubled after that. He could not concentrate on his prayers or his studies or his life. He knew that Vincent was a criminal. That was the way he told it to himself. Vincent is a criminal. After all, sugarcoating the truth can not justify the lie. So Vincent was a criminal and the rabbi was aware. But they never discussed Vincent’s criminal activities. When there was such illegal activity going on, Vincent would just skirt the issue, change the subject. Because subject changing is the way master criminals get away with the crimes they commit. And who was Max Guetterman to question his good friend when nothing forthright concerning any sort of underhanded circumstances was ever introduced into evidence?
The simple fact that Vincent had outright denied having anything to do with the death of Simon Palaniewiecz convinced Rabbi Guetterman that Vincent had nothing to do with the death of Simon Palaniewiecz.
But a heart attack?
Very suspicious.
An investigator from the prison in California where Dr. Palaniewiecz had died contacted the rabbi at the synagogue.
It was standard procedure. Rabbi Guetterman had been the last person outside the guards and other inmates to speak with the deceased. Several of the other inmates observed strange behavior including reclusiveness and apparent fatigue. Did Rabbi Guetterman notice either of those characteristics? Did Dr. Palaniewiecz say anything to Rabbi Guetterman to indicate that he might be physically unwell? Did Rabbi Guetterman leave the prison with the impression that Dr. Palaniewiecz might have some terrible illness which he was choosing to hide from the community at large?
That’s a lot of questions.
And the rabbi answered no to most of them. The fatigue, he knew, was caused by the meditative state into which Dr. Palaniewiecz had placed himself so that he could allegedly see into the rabbi’s past. Rabbi Guetterman explained that to the investigator, Mr. Cromwell, and also gave him as many details about the two visits as possible. He also recommended that Mr. Cromwell get in touch with the other spiritual leaders with which the doctor had been in contact. Rabbi Guetterman’s impression was that Dr. Palaniewiecz was meeting with frustration and disappointment in his quest for justification and that, coupled with his prison sentence may very well have caused his stress level to rise to an intolerable limit.
Boom.
Heart attack.
Sure, sure, and thanks, Rabbi.
And that was that. Dr. Simon Palaniewiecz was dead, just as Vincent had told him.
****
But his legacy lived on.
****
ROBERT
Laura was on the front porch talking with a nice young police officer. The officer was a woman, maybe twenty four but probably not even so old. She was a rookie for sure and her partner, a portly older man, was leaning on the railing support and giving it a run for its money with his body weight. The young lady officer had blonde hair tied back behind her head in a pony tail. Lots of lady police officers wear pony tails and that makes sense. It keeps the hair out of their faces and allows them to work unfettered. Her uniform didn't do her justice. She was very pretty and probably very thin but between the way the police force tailored its pants and the heavy belt with all sorts of equipment strapped on, you could never tell.
Laura was still pretty.
Even after all these years.
Even with the streaks on her face from where she had been crying.
Laura did not cry often. She was a strong woman, stronger than most the rabbi had met in his years. When she did cry it was never out of fright or shock. She was not prone to uncontrollable emotions. But when there was grief or sadness, she encouraged crying. When she felt that tears could solve problems, Laura called them up to her and used them to soothe not only her own troubles, but the troubles of others.
She was a remarkable woman.
And if she had shed tears it was probably due to the giant red swastika painted on their front door.
****
Enter Robert Falcone.
Eighteen years prior, four boys ages eleven through thirteen who had been raised as good Catholics but steered wrong by hateful influences, had vandalized the Jewish Temple where Rabbi Guetterman held his services. All four boys had been caught by the police and, under the rabbi’s direction, had been given the option of helping to repair the damage they had done or being placed in a juvenile facility.
All four chose the first.
Three did not complete the task.
The first was discovered sabotaging their efforts and immediately sent off to juvenile detention where he made many of the wrong friends and was shot to death during a burglary attempt nine years later.
The second worked hard because he was afraid to go to juvenile hall but got involved in a gang and was knifed by a member of a rival gang. A paraplegic, he was entered, by his parents, into a home for the handicapped where he remained.
The third boy, a scared and mixed up child, was so afraid of his father that being sent to juvenile prison seemed like his best way out. So, despite his choice (imposed upon him by the old man), he slacked off, didn’t show, and wound up having his fears justified when his dear old dad beat him into a coma. Seventeen months later he died and his father spent the remainder of his years upstate in prison.
The fourth boy was Robert Falcone.
Robert was unique in many ways. To begin with, his remorse was sincere and profound. He worked diligently with Rabbi Guetterman to undo the damage that had been done. Though he had become more and more devout a Catholic as the years went by, his respect for the rabbi never waned and he continued to offer his services and his money to the temple whenever it was needed. He had learned a valuable lesson about hate and about goodness and morality issues became very clear in his mind.
Robert was a stock broker, a very wealthy man. His devotion to a second religion seemed odd to most others but Rabbi Guetterman was a progressive man, an open minded man. This relationship made him proud. God did not put billions of different people on the Earth so that they should all remain separate. It was in His plan that, one day, all people should come together and remember all of the traditions of their forefathers while forging new traditions for later generations to remember with pride.
That was why hate crimes such as these disturbed him at his roots. They were in direct violation of what he believed to be God’s will. This vandalism piled up on top of his confrontation with Dr. Palaniewiecz like butterscotch on ice cream. It filled his stomach with dread and it was Laura who comforted him that night until the phone rang and she answered it.
It was Robert.
Robert Falcone.
Speak of the devil.
“Hello, Robert.”
He heard.
Of course. After an hour, everyone had heard.
Robert wanted to know if it had been covered up yet.
“Some paint from the shed. It took five minutes.”
Not good enough. He’s coming over to do the job right.
“Totally unnecessary.”
Totally necessary.
“Robert, please….”
He already has the paint and he’s on his way. You won’t even know he’s there.
****
But they shared some coffee and talked while Robert painted and when Rabbi Guetterman tried to pitch in and help he would hear nothing of it. So, by ten o'clock that evening there was a fresh color on the door and no sign of Hitler's atrocities.
The two men sat together on the porch, sipping coffee and staring out at the street.
Rabbi Guetterman glanced at his watch. “It’s late.”
“It’s ten o’clock. The company can do without me for a couple of hours tomorrow morning.”
“Robert, you didn’t have to do this. You could have at least let me help.”
Robert sipped at his coffee. “Nonsense. You saved my life.”
The two men shared a laugh.
“Now that is nonsense.”
Robert said nothing for a while, simply staring off into space, wondering why his friend would think that.
“Max, have I ever told you about my parents?”
“Only that they were good Catholics.”
“The best. They gave time and money to the Church and were revered by the community.”
“But?”
“But they were filled with hate. They hated blacks and Hispanics and Jews and everyone who wasn’t white and Christian. Where do you think I learned to hate?”
“Robert, you are not a man who hates.”
“Eighteen years ago, I was painting swastikas on Temples. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember. “
“You gave me a choice back then, showed me the man behind the religion.”
“And is that how I saved your life?”
“I was able to banish the hate, Max. Hate breeds hate. It never goes away. Once the hate is inside of you, it travels with you from year to year, even from life to life.
The rabbi looked quickly at his friend. “Robert, do you believe that?”
“I do. I’ve seen so much hate, Max. People hate each other for no reason at all.”
“Don’t you believe in absolution?”
Robert shook his head sadly. “No. It doesn’t go away.”
“What about you? I gave you a second chance and you became a good person.”
“I was always a good person, Max, just like you are. But I had all of the wrong influences until I met you. That’s how you saved my life. I could have been corrupted and once corrupted, you can never go back.”
“Not even in your next life?”
Robert laughed and put a hand on the rabbi’s shoulder. He could see how much this conversation was upsetting him, but didn’t understand why. “Max, don’t take it all so personally.”
“Robert, you know that man I went to see in California?”
“That guy in prison, sure.”
“He claimed to see into my past, my past lives.”
“What did he say?” Now Robert seemed disturbed.
“He said the worst thing anyone could ever say to a rabbi, a Jew, a person.”
The rabbi hesitated, lowering his head into his hands. He couldn’t believe how much the words of Dr. Palaniewiecz had affected him.
“Max, what did he say?”
“He said that I was Adolph Hitler before I was Max Guetterman.”
“Max…don’t…that can’t be true.”
“Of course it can’t be true! But it can be true, can’t it? It’s so ridiculous, but it’s not.”
“Max…”
“I’m sorry, Robert. I don’t mean to shout. You’re my dear friend and you are a guta-n’shoma. Your opinion means more to me than almost anyone’s. That hate from Hitler…if it’s in me…”
But Robert stood up, moving to the porch steps. Now he was upset more than he could control.
“It can’t be, Max! It can’t be!”
“I’m sorry, Robert. Don’t be upset.”
“Of course I’m upset. You’re upset. Who is this criminal? I have half a mind to go out there and confront him myself.”
“He’s dead. He died in prison last night after I left him.”
“Well, good. Good, it’s settled then.”
“But the swastika…”
“It’s nothing, Max. Vandals. Jew haters. You’ve dealt with them before. The police will catch them.”
He looked at his watch.
“It’s late.”
Grabbing the paint tray and the roller, he moved down the steps and threw them into the outdoor garbage can.
“Keep the paint. It’s the color for your door.”
“Okay. Thank you, Robert.”
“Good night, Max.”
As Robert walked off down the street, Rabbi Guetterman stared after him, confused now more than before and suddenly afraid. This “nonsense” was becoming anything but.
****
TEXAS
Hitler.
Hitler on the mind.
Hitler in Texas.
There was a man in Texas who went by the name of Jebediah Ewing. His real name, the name given to him by his mother on the eve of his birth, was Herbert Knowlan but he never ever mentioned that to anyone and when his mother had died, he had gone to the hall of records, had his name legally changed, and forgotten that Herbert Knowlan, named for his grandfather, ever existed.
Fine.
So Jebediah Ewing, who lived down in Texas, was the leader of a struggling group of Nazis. They held meetings every week during which a bunch of shaven headed dopes would show up, drink beer, and dance around singing the praises of the master race. And Jebediah Ewing, who believed in Hitler's preaching with all of his righteous heart, considered them to be exactly what they were. Uneducated, ignorant trash who wouldn't know the master race if it started in their bedrooms and ended at their toilets.
He wanted more.
In his group there was one young kid with great potential.
“Stay in school, Kevin.”
“Don't ever forsake your education.”
“It's your brain that will triumph, not your brawn.”
Kevin didn't come to all the meetings. In fact, he showed up at a very few. His parents were liberals (well, liberals for Texans anyway) and they were raising him to be a liberal even though he had seen the truth through his own experiences. Fourteen years worth of experiences.
Kevin had met with Jebediah Ewing through one of the kids in the group that went to the same school. This boy was nineteen, still a junior in high school and unwilling to give it up. Bully for him. Too bad they couldn't cram a novel's worth of knowledge into his comic book sized brain. Jebediah Ewing was sometimes amazed the bastard could read. But this boy, Razor, had started his relationship with Kevin by attempting to bully him out of some money once or twice a week. Kevin was smart and he was ruthless and after two months of planning and waiting, he sprung his trap and made Razor look like the dullard he truly was. But in so doing he had tipped his hand and even Razor was smart enough to realize that Jebediah Ewing would love to meet him.
At sixteen Jebediah Ewing had dropped out of high school. It had been his first opportunity to do so and he’d taken it like a beggar takes a dollar bill. For six years, he did nothing constructive, drinking beer and doing small jobs. He was a loser, a waste of life. But a Protestant Pastor had given him the Bible and though Jebediah Ewing was religious only in the sense that he believed in God and he believed in God's will, he was not the praying type. But he read that Bible because it was the only book he owned. And he found, much to his delight, that reading was something that he could enjoy and it was something that made him a smarter person. A better person. It took him almost another eight years to realize the full potential of his intelligence and he didn't want Kevin, who could have the world at his fingertips, to lose that time.
When he had first heard about the Jury, Jebediah Ewing had dismissed it as zealot crap. Whoever heard of a group of fanatics running around punishing those who were guilty of crimes in their past lives? Nonsense. But this was a movement that was growing. Even Kevin was a believer and Kevin was no fanatic. In fact, he had stated on various occasions that a belief in God was a belief in primitive tribalism and it was something the human race would ultimately be forced to abandon or face its own demise.
Pretty heavy thoughts for a fourteen year old.
So, past lives? Maybe bullshit. Probably not. There could be any number of scientific explanations for the transmission of a soul into another body. Those were the explanations that people like Kevin, were they to subscribe to the past life notion to begin with, were likely to accept. But Jebediah Ewing, though not religious, not religious at all, did believe in God. How could you not? There was evidence of God in every walk of life. God had created man in his own image. But in so creating, God had erred. Sure, it was blasphemy to think that God could fuck up, but hey, it was a tough universe and accidents happen. In His quest for the perfect reflection of His greatness, God had experimented. And like all experimentation, this had met with some failures. The blacks. The Jews. Pretty much all of Asia. And the diaper heads. They were the worst. And it was the job of the master race to eliminate the failed experiments and cleanse the Earth so that it would be the way God intended it.
And this was the thought process of Jebediah Ewing.
But the whole idea of the Jury and what it represented troubled him. Especially the part concerning Rabbi Guetterman.
Rabbi Guetterman.
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