The Celestial Gate, Avital Dicker [best inspirational books txt] 📗

Anise couldn’t stop staring. It took her several seconds before she realized that the boy from the dream she dreams practically every night was standing right in front of her and holding his hand out.

“Good morning,” said Mor, who had suddenly appeared next to her. It was clear he’d just woken up. He was tucking his shirt into his pants as he was speaking.

“Couldn’t find your comb?” Anise smiled at his rat’s nest, grateful he’d finally come downstairs.

Mor pulled his fingers through his stubborn hair. “I’m hungry,” he announced, sizing up the guy in front of him. Unconsciously, he tilted his head a fraction to the left, an involuntary motion whenever he sank into thoughts.

Mor’s presence gave Anise confidence, which could not be said of the weird sensation this Yam character was causing her to feel.

“I’m Yam,” said the person from her dream to Mor.

“Mor,” said Mor and gave him a friendly smile. “Have you guys eaten? I’m starving.”

After a brief pause, Yam answered, “Yeah, I could eat.”

“Looks like we’re in the right place then,” Mor laughed, slapping Yam on the back. “Come with me. I know the best parts of the buffet. After all, I live here.”

“You live in the consulate?” Yam gaped.

“Yeah. Me and Anise both. My dad is the consul,” Mor explained as both of them moved toward the beautifully arranged spread.

Anise dawdled behind, frowning. Yam’s presence unsettled her. That’s all I need right now, she thought, wondering if he, too, dreamed the same dream she did. The very idea made her blush and she was happy that the two boys were intently examining the buffet and had their backs to her.

Meanwhile, the boys were busy heaping their plates. Anise made do with a croissant. They looked for a place to sit, but all the seats around the tables were taken by the guests.

“We can go up to the roof. It’s closed to visitors today,” Mor suggested.

Anise wanted to kill him. It was bad enough that he and his new buddy were ignoring her and seemed to have totally forgotten about their plans, but now he was inviting this unsettling Yam dude to their private corner.

Mor started up the stairs, still talking to the blond kid, oblivious to her feelings.

They’d almost made it to the roof when Mor heard Sual calling their names from below. He stopped. But Anise demonstratively ignored her mother and continued walking. The look of disappointment on Sual’s face pained him. He’d have to talk to Anise about her behavior, but this wasn’t the right moment. He’d find the right time later.

Unlike the auditorium downstairs, the roof was empty and silent. The three found a sunny spot and sat down to eat. Yam could not stop exclaiming over the beautiful view of the Old City. The domes of the mosques glinted in the sun and the narrow alleyways teemed with traffic. It was a breathtaking sight.

Anise closed her eyes, giving herself over to the pleasant sunshine, hiding the disquiet Yam stirred in her. Mor was deeply intent on his plate, focused on inhaling every last molecule of pasta.

A few minutes later, Anise opened her eyes and sipped at the cola she’d brought. “Your dad is the painter, right?” she asked. Yam nodded.

“Next to the drawing of you, there’s a painting of a gate,” said Anise.

“Yeah,” Yam smiled. “My dad has an interesting story about that, a sort of legend he always tells about that painting,” he said. He then went on about the lost culture of the Mayans who’d disappeared and the gate to heaven that had once been open, a gate that allowed humans to enter and exit heaven until God got angry with them and stopped it up with rocks. “According to the legend, the gate is located here in Jerusalem, but nobody has ever found it,” he finished.

Anise wasn’t really able to concentrate on the story because her hand had accidentally brushed against Yam’s shoulder, sending an electric current all through her body. As if scalded, she drew her hand back sharply.

Mor was staring sadly at his empty plate, trying to decide whether to go downstairs for another helping. He finally decided against it. “So that’s the gate your father painted?” he asked, finishing his meal by eating what was left of Anise’s croissant in a single bite.

“No. That’s a real gate, one of the gates in the wall around the Old City, not the gate from the legend,” he answered. “I don’t remember its name, but the Jews believe that when the Messiah comes he’ll come through there. They even buried this famous rabbi and kabbalist – Ba’al Haleshem – on the mountain across from it. This kabbalist was considered the greatest Judaic scholar of his generation, and the Jews think he’ll be the Messiah. When the Muslims found out that Ba’al Haleshem was buried across from the gate the Messiah is supposed to enter, they built a cemetery right in front of it where they buried forty brave fighters who would fight the Jews’ Messiah when he rose from his grave and tried to enter the city.”

“Idiots! Fighting even in the grave,” Mor laughed.

“You know, that story makes me want to go look for the gate,” said Anise, who’d been deep in thought throughout Yam’s recitation. “I’ve got a thing or two I’d like to tell God. Or three or ten,” she said, thinking about the father she’d never met and didn’t even know she existed.

“Yeah, I think we all have something we’d like to say to Him,” said Mor and rose to his feet. He liked this Yam fellow. “Anise and I were planning to walk through the Old City. Feel like tagging along?” he asked.

The last thing Anise wanted right now was to spend more time with Yam. He made her feel clumsy, and it bugged her. “But we’ll be coming back late at night. Your parents will worry,” she said, vexed.

“The truth is that I don’t really give a hoot how my parents feel. In