First Trip: Get Up and Walk the Land 13

A haggard giant sat on a chiseled throne cushioned with tires. His tattered frond cloak and mottled skin gave him the appearance of a collapsed sukkah that no one bothered to dismantle after Sukkot was over. He held a boulder in his gnarly claws and pressed it to his ear as if trying to ascertain its medical condition. As the party approached, he shook it irritably, perhaps hoping the boulder would do something. 

Eran gulped. His fate was to be decided by a senile monster with a pet rock. Then again, was it really different in real life? Yeah, it kinda was. The geriatric idiots Eran had to deal with weren’t the size of garbage trucks.

Red Shawl’s children prostrated themselves before the elder. The Jews remained huddled behind. Waffle retreated until her back pressed against Eran. He brushed her ticklish curls from his face before they made him sneeze into her head. They smelled like a bonfire before sunrise. 

The decisor’s attention didn’t stray from the rock he was trying to revive. After some time, Red Shawl’s son tapped on the cave floor to attract the elder’s attention.

The old giant narrowed his pustulent eyes. His glare reminded Eran of Vice Principal Liat, who was thankfully a fat, little woman and not a behemoth who could juggle boulders, presumably after he finished discussing current events with them. 

“Keep your head down and your manner humble,” he said in a voice like a goat bleating over a megaphone.  

Red Shawl’s children pressed their foreheads to the ground.

“Good,” the old giant murmured. He noticed the humans and a look of revulsion twisted his already twisted face. “What?!” he bellowed. “By what right?!”

“Rabbi!” the boy cried. “One of them is the daughter of a priest! We didn’t—”

The decisor raised a claw, silencing the child. His disgust was so visceral it seemed to interfere with his cognitive abilities. “We respect… King Solomon’s treaties,” he spat. “Even though… spillers of blood… thieves of wisdom… oathbreakers!” A phlegmy coughing fit interrupted the cascade of picturesque insults. 

After it was over, the ancient seemed to have regained a small portion of self-control. “Bah! It is not my concern with whom your whore mother mingles. Priests!” he croaked in derision. “If these are the priests of the Lord in our time, then truly far we have fallen.”

Red Shawl’s daughter lifted her face from the ground. “Mother is not—”

“Shut your mouth, you slut begotten of sluts!” the elder hissed. His cry was like the opening chord of a death metal concert that really meant to kill you. Not content with shouting at the cringing child, the geriatric titan hurled his pet rock at her. She yelped as the stone skipped off her gray skin, leaving an ugly bruise where it hit.

“I am sorry!” the girl whimpered as she all but dug her face into the dust. “I did not mean to insult you!” Her brother’s breathing took on the tempo of a speeding locomotive. His hands curled into fists that cracked the cave floor.

The elder’s lips cracked into a wry smile with the sound of hinges in desperate need of lubrication. He settled back into his throne and licked his lips with an oily black tongue. His milky eyes were now on the humans. “I see no Keys upon you and yet you stand before me not like emanations but like stones. Since our paths crossed in this crooked way, would you like to hear wisdom, O ‘priests’?” 

Tamar boldly strutted forward, chin raised and chest inflated. “We have traveled far and wide to drink deeply of your wisdom!” 

Eran feared the elder would squash the lippy human for speaking out of turn but he seemed pleased with her response. He wet his lips again and cleared his throat, making his voice slightly less sickening. “Good… Know that just as the Lord speaks to His chosen among the Sons of Enos through prophets and angels, so do we, the Sons of Cain, Custodians of the Placeholders and Builders of Temples, whom you insult with the name Nephilim, discern His law through the shifting of rocks and whisper of stones. 

“Listen now, O daughter of,” the elder rolled his eyes, “‘priests’ and relay my words to your father and your children and their children until once again rites are observed in the Temple of Solomon, which our sons and daughters will construct with no expectation of reward!” There was a lot of resentment in his voice, as if the humans had asked him to work for free. “For we are all begotten of Adam and slaves of the Lord.” 

“One second…” Tamar mumbled and quickly turned on the recorder on her phone. “Yes, please. Go on.”

The elder leaned forward and began to speak. “This I can read in the stones: An enemy will extend a hand in peace, but a friend will slap it away. Shifting smoke will woo a heart as hard as granite. If the heart does not soften, the smoke will harden. A tzadik will turn a rock to keep the world from turning.” 

“These guys sure like stone metaphors…” Dor whispered.

“Actually,” Yaniv raised a finger, “these aren’t metaphors. These are similes.”

“Shut up, both of you!” Tamar hissed. She turned back to the decisor and spoke in the sort of flowery accent common in memorial ceremonies. “I have recorded your prophecy near to my heart.” She pressed her phone to her chest. The boys sniggered. “With your blessing, we’ll rest here before we return to illuminate the Sons of Israel with your wisdom.”

“See that you do not alter or omit even a single syllable of what I have spoken… For it is a great transgression.” The elder waved his hand languidly, excusing the petitioners from his odious presence. “Go in peace, daughter of Enos.”

Red Shawl’s children got to their feet. The elder’s tongue flickered, leaving his lips coated in slime. “And you, do not be empty and reckless like your mother… Bah! Sooner limestone will cut diamonds than reason will penetrate your skulls… Go!”

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