First Trip: Get Up and Walk the Land 18
So, this is the last chapter of the First Trip. We’ll have a little downtime and go back to posting chapters soon. Thank you for reading! I really hope you’ve enjoyed the book so far and will like the next chapters too! If you have any questions or suggestions, now would be a good time to voice them.
In case you’re joining us right now, here’s a big button leading to where it all began:
Absurd as it was, the humans were looking down on the giant. Waffle carefully caressed the giant’s brow and whispered something in Arabic. The others just stared.
“What happened?” Yaniv asked once the giant’s sobbing subsided. Her blank eyes, two pearls in a sea of oil, turned in his direction.
“My temper flared like lava erupting from a mountain.” The giant sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Long have they waited for a cause to cast me out. Now such a cause has been given and I am likened to a rolling stone, doomed to revolve with the Earth instead of standing steadfast opposite Eden.”
She sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. This made her only twice as tall as a human (provided he was the tallest human who ever lived). “When a mother sins it is her children who must be punished and so I am doubly crushed. Truly, I have despaired of living.”
Eran didn’t know what to say. A few years ago, he had gone to the funeral of a distant relative who’d shot himself while on leave from the army. After the guy was buried and the soldiers fired their salvos and the Rabbi bleated his blessings, a queue of mourners had formed to express their condolences to the parents. Eran had desperately wanted to escape this terrible queue but his father wouldn’t let him. When he had reached the man’s parents, he had seen in their eyes that it wouldn’t matter what he said. This moment was too momentous, too terrible for words. He had mumbled, “I’m sorry… may his memory be a blessing…,” and shuffled away. He hadn’t been sorry for their loss. He hadn’t known them or their son. He had been sorry for having nothing to say.
“I’m sorry,” Eran said.
Yaniv looked toward the distant sea. “Will the sun kill you?”
Red Shawl looked toward the sea as well. “If it is so kind.”
“Okay, listen!” Dor shouted. “This is insane! Okay? This is crazy! You are free now! You are free to search for your children anywhere you want and to ask for help from anyone you want. That old schmuck did you a favor. God has nothing to do with this. God has nothing to do with anything! It’s just an excuse people use to be shitty to one another.”
“That’s right!” Eran picked up Dor’s speech. “We can go where you can’t. We have the technology. We can help you more than a hundred giants!” Provided you make sure no one squashes us in the process…
“Yes!” Tamar chimed in. “If those idiots in the cave don’t appreciate you, it’s their loss. I promise that if you stick with us, you and your children will be the biggest celebrities on the planet! You’ll be rich and famous!”
“So? What do you say?” Eran asked hopefully.
The giant nodded slowly, her hair jingling like a box of toys moved by a delivery company that didn’t give a damn.
“Your faith consoles me. Perhaps no ill befell my children save a bout of the same foolishness which afflicted me when I was a maiden.” She blotted her tears with the hem of her shawl. “A mere drop of blood is no cause for alarm. They may be lost or else toying with my heart as children are wont to do. You speak sagaciously; mayhaps I have weighed pumice like gabbro.”
“Right…” Eran said, not knowing what pumice or gabbro were.
“I can try to follow their tracks,” Dor said. “Um, kinda. My dad taught me. I mean, they’re literally giant!”
“Surely, God will reward your charity.” The giant got up, dusted herself, and indicated Dor should lead.
“Is it okay if we call other people?” Tamar asked. “Do you know what journalists are?”
The giant looked at the girl. “If you have compassion for me, do not call other Sons of Enos for my shame is great.”
“Oookay… we’ll talk about it later,” Tamar muttered.
Despite the pre-morning brightness, following the giant tracks proved harder than expected. Hardened by the sun and fortified by rocks and roots, the ground did not yield easily. However, Dor was true to his word and the party was soon following, albeit at a snail’s pace, in the footsteps of giants.
Red Shawl followed, more silent than a creature her size had any right to be.
Eran slowed down to walk beside her. “Excuse me!”
“What for? You have done me no evil.”
“Um, nothing… Can I ask you a question?”
Red Shawl stared at him with her strange milky eyes. Eran took it as consent. “I don’t understand what happened yesterday.”
The giant considered the statement carefully. “That is not a question. That is an admission of ignorance.”
Tamar slapped her thigh with laughter. “Oh my god! He does it allllll the time!” She made her voice nasally and brittle, “Children, I want only intelligent questions.” She switched to a low voice with a Spanish accent. “Um… the English test… will it be… um… in English?”
“He also can’t throw rocks very far,” Dor said while examining a displaced branch.
“He’s always late for everything…” Yaniv sighed as he joined Dor in studying a suspicious indentation.
“Oh, and he makes funny noises when he falls down!” Tamar cried. “Remember the trip to Nahal Tze'elim?”
“I almost died there!” Eran glared at his friends. Alas, since he was yet to master the art of shooting lasers from his eyes, their assault on his dignity proceeded unchecked.
“Why are we keeping him around anyway?” Dor asked while indicating the party should climb an ancient terrace whose few remaining stones made it resemble a crone’s toothless smile. For the giant it was a single step. For the humans, it took some scampering.
Yaniv turned on the flashlight to help Dor examine a stone that was recently moved. “Technically—”
“Technically, shut up,” Eran growled. “Now let the grownups talk.” When did I become the group’s lightning rod of hate? Wasn’t this always Yaniv’s job? At least Waffle didn’t join the dogpile. He looked at the girl. She smiled back then quickly looked away. Eran wondered if she was the silent, stoic type (every party had one), or just insecure because of her poor Hebrew. He remembered his days as the only, lonely Spanish-speaker in school and vowed to be nicer to her than the sabras had been to him.
“Children! Behave!” The giant cut short the escalating battle of dimwits. “Those who speak ill of their friends are likened to shedders of blood.”
“Thank you,” Eran said. “What I meant to ask is, what are placeholders and what were those things scratching at the stones and what did your children mean when they said you’re not there during the day?”
The way the giant looked at him before speaking reminded Eran of the loading screen of an old video game. Then again, it was possible that the cause of her delay wasn’t slow thinking but sheer amazement at his stupidity.
“We do not go anywhere. We are as steadfast as the firmament which divides the water above and the water below. It is the dome of heaven that shifts like an ever-turning wheel. When the sun is below, we serve God as custodians of His placeholders, which He had wisely placed to hold the world in order. When the sun is above, we are the solace of Cain in his garden. Of that which transpires in the garden, no Child of Enos may know.
“Angels come when we’re at the garden to deface our placeholders for the placeholders remind them of the shame of their brothers whose loins were inflamed at the sight of Cain’s wild daughters.” Red Shawl waved a dismissive hand. “Their violence is as feeble as grains of sand against mountains.” She sighed. “I may no longer strive to ease the burden of Cain for I now turn with the earth and where it faces, so must I. However, I may yet bring others solace through charitable deeds. It is a comforting thought, is it not?”
“You’re a good person!” Tamar shouted. “Um… what is your name?”
The giant smiled. “Are there many giants you consort with that you must have a name to separate me from them? I do not merit a name. I’m just a basket weaver.”
“That is logical.” Yaniv nodded.
“No, it is not!” Tamar cried. “You’re one of us now. We all have names. Is it okay if we call you Red Shawl?”
“Call me what you like, just help me find my children.”
“Okay, Big Potato,” Dor said. “Here’s the thing. They walked to this ridge we’re standing on right now. Then they went down to the valley and ran back up. See?” He pointed at some ground that looked like any other ground: ground-like. He walked to the edge of a grove that smelled of bad meat and pointed with his flashlight at a different spot. “And here, their footsteps just disappear.”
“How is this possible?” Eran asked.
“A very big bird?” Yaniv suggested.
“They jumped very far!” Tamar cried.
“Jinn?” Waffle offered.
Dor snorted. “I’m flattered by your faith in my ability but I probably just lost their tracks. I’m not a pro, you know, and it’s pretty dark…”
“Red Shawl,” Eran asked. “What is in this valley?”
“I do not know. I never had cause to ponder it. I do not like how it smells. There is something ungodly about it.”
“Yeah…” Dor frowned and stroked his imaginary beard. “So they went toward that hill over there, maybe in search of something pretty to put in your hair, then something scared them, so they ran back through the grove. Hmmm… We should search the caves in this area.”
Red Shawl trilled again, showing the birds how it was done. “They do not answer,” she said, “but they must be near. Should the rays of the sun catch them dislodged, an evil fate will surely be visited upon them.”
“They’re probably in a cave.” Dor said, “I fear we’re gonna have to take a break and reconvene tomorrow, though. It’s almost morning.”
Eran looked around, surprised that sunrise had nearly snuck up on him. The hills were indigo beneath the brightening sky. Birds that woke up too early sang their obnoxious songs, competing with crickets over who was the most annoying animal. A bus grumbled beyond the hills, carrying sad and sleepy people to sad and sleepy jobs.
“Do you have somewhere to go?” Tamar asked the giant.
“I can go anywhere.” Red Shawl said. “My stumbling block is where to stay.”
“Well, we can’t search for your children without you,” Dor said, then added in a whisper, “anything that can harm her children can atomize us…”
Silence enveloped the party. Obviously, they couldn’t invite her to town. On the other hand, it felt wrong to leave her alone in her state—
“I stay with her.” Waffle pointed at the giant with her thumb like she was no more than a pile of rocks.
Eran frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the police—”
“No,” the girl said curtly. “No police. No family. I stay with her.”
“But—”
The girl raised her hand palm outward like a Jedi using a mind trick. “There are things you not know. I tell you later. No worries.”
Dor narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”
“Later!” the little Bedouin barked. “We have girl talk. Go sleep. Return with sweets and, um, Coca Cola. I tell you things make you famous. Promise. No police.” Then she added softly, “I talk to giant for you. Tell nice things about you.”
“Fine.” Eran sighed. “Let the hill people go to the hills and the town people go to town.”
“Your slogan for school elections?” Tamar asked.
“No, that would be ‘Yahli is a dick, let’s stone him.’”
“You have my vote,” Dor said. “We don’t want to waste time walking that we could use doing homework…” (a phrase he had never uttered before and would never utter again). “I wonder if we can get a ride. Yaniv, your mother is a bit of a vampire, no?”
Yaniv yawned the kind of yawn that made dentists happy and insects terrified. “Checking…” he pulled his phone and deftly typed a message. “Um, she says ‘okay, but hurry.’”
And so goodbyes were mumbled, hugs were exchanged, and ways were parted. Waffle and the giant (and all the food and water the party had left) settled in a nearby cave that didn’t smell of anything. The rest walked down toward the road to be picked up by Yaniv’s mother Hanit Franckenschwerdt-Winterschweig’s (née Bar)
The march to the road wasn’t difficult, but to Eran’s overloaded brain it felt like a timeless journey where talking, walking, and thinking all mixed into a single feverish landscape.
Yaniv’s mother Hanit waited for the party in her messy Kangoo by the side of the road, listening to old Israeli rock with a wistful tilt of her head. An aging ballet teacher, Hanit looked like a Norse goddess from a distance. From up close, she looked like someone meant to be seen from a distance. She grinned and slid the door open, revealing a space so overloaded with ballet equipment it barely left any room for passengers.
For the entirety of the trip home, she fired off question after question in such rapid succession that none of her passengers had a chance to even begin formulating a reply.
“Oy, you look so tired, poor things. Are you tired? Of course you’re tired, just look at the state of you! Why, I don’t know why you abuse yourself so…? Just because you can doesn’t mean you should… You need to take care of your knees, you know…”
A cough. “Well, did you take any nice pictures? Yanivush brought such nice pictures from his school trip to Latroun last month… Young people today take pictures of everything, even of their breakfast. My generation went to the moon and took one picture, you go to the bathroom and take forty…” a hiccup. “Oh, pardon me.
“...Tammy, how is your mom doing? How is her shoulder? Oh, she’s in Austria right now.... Or is it Australia? Which one is in Europe?” A giggle. “We are also planning to go skiing this year… aren’t we, Yanivush?”
Another hiccup. “Oh my, are you drinking enough? Did you hear about the man who went missing in Ma’ale Ma’alot…”
And so it went. Not the best lullaby, but good enough to lull a tired boy into sweet, sweet carsleep…