First Trip: Get Up and Walk the Land 11
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“Stop throwing pebbles!” the taller one cried in Hebrew with an Aramaic accent. Its voice was deep and thin at the same time, like an elephant-sized mouse.
“We have permission,” whined its shorter companion. They were both as loud as megaphones but without the unnatural distortion. “Can you not read the rocks?”
“Who are you?” Eran shouted. Dor’s chokehold kept him pilloried in an undignified position which prevented him from facing his interlocutors.
“I am the second son of the night giant who wears a red shawl and puts color on rocks,” said the taller figure and pounded on his chest with a sound like a traffic accident. “I can throw a rock over the hill three out of three times even in bad weather. One time I threw a rock so far it was gone from the training grounds.”
Eran was shocked at how little he was shocked. He felt more as if he encountered a rare animal than something from the Monster Manual. Then again, he did see a blue werewolf with cuttlefish eyes and was chased by crazy fireflies just a few hours ago, so why not giants? At least they were mentioned in the Bible.
“I am the first daughter of the giant described by my brother,” the second figure said. “Our mother is stunning. She is a mistress of color. I still throw rocks far only two out of three times. We must practice and you do not let us.”
“What the azazel is a night giant?” Dor cried. Eran winced as spittle splashed on his face… or maybe it was the words themselves that made him wince. Maybe not the best idea to swear at people who throw stones like catapults?
“Maybe you know us as Cainites,” the shorter giant said before digging her toe into the earth. “Some people call us Nephilim but we don’t like it. It sounds like we fall all the time…”
The taller figure picked up another stone ball off the ground and pressed it to his chest like a basketball player about to attempt a long shot. “This is our range. We marked it clearly.”
“Wait!” Eran shouted. “Please! You almost killed us with your rocks! We’re leaving. Okay? We’re gonna go. Just give us a few, um, ten minutes, okay?”
The shorter giant dropped her stone. “Killed?”
“No, no!” Eran cried. “No one was killed. Just hurt his foot a little. Sorry we didn’t read your rocks. We’re fine! Just fine!”
The giants jumped from their hillock with the elegance of ibexes and the silence of caracals and ran toward the party. Eran would have attempted to flee, but Dor held him like a chain with balls.
Waffle whimpered. Either she was begging the giants to spare her life or she was already negotiating with Allah for a nice spot in heaven. Yaniv made like a tree and stared at the oncoming duo with unblinking fascination. My God, Eran thought. I’m surrounded by lemmings. Tamar was behind him. Smart girl.
After crossing the wadi in a series of mighty leaps, the giants loomed over the humans like skyscrapers over cottages. Their skin resembled concrete and their eyes were the white-on-white of blind witches. Both wore loincloths made of painted fronds and had the plump frames of healthy children. There were faded chalk marks on their skin, like on old blackboards. Both held large baskets filled with colorful rocks.
Eran looked up with his pleading puppy eyes. It was a look he reserved for situations in which he felt his parents might decide he was not worth the trouble and take him behind a barn and shoot him. He prayed to God the others were doing the same.
Dor, particularly, was an expert at landing Eran and Yaniv in greater trouble than what they were originally caught for. When they had been caught stealing mezuzot to build a literal holy armor, instead of apologizing, Dor had gone on a polemic against the ultra-orthodox Haredi community. When they had been caught painting over school election posters to make everyone look like Hitler, Dor had called the teacher ‘Hitler’s successor’ for confiscating his spray can…
Eran never feared teachers though. What could they do? Give him a three-day vacation? These guys though… Eran didn’t want to be splattered just so Dor’s ego could remain intact.
“We are sorry.” The female giant lowered her gaze and traced lines in the ground with a toe the size of a banana. “We did not think we could hit you.”
Eran released the breath he was holding.
The female bent down and pointed at Waffle with a finger as long as Eran’s forearm. “Did we hurt the little one? She looks sad.”
The male shook his head. “No. She is marked by charcoal, can you not smell it? It is the fat one that is injured. See? He cannot walk without aid from his friends.”
“We did not mean to hurt you.” The female produced from her basket a basalt ball painted orange with a blue elephant motif and gingerly placed it in front of the party. “See? Our stones have only the Third Key.” She indicated one of two marks carved onto the surface of the stone. It was similar to the symbol drawn on her chest, like two different letters from the same alphabet. “The other one is a number so that we do not get confused about how many stones we have thrown.”
She studied the humans for a while, her strange eyes shining like pearls. “I am confused…” She pressed a finger to her lower lip and looked around. “Have we stepped in your day or did you step in ours?”
“Ehhh… Yes?” Eran said.
“It doesn’t matter!” Tamar cried. “This land is for everyone! It’s very nice to meet you! My name is Tamar Kogan!”
Dor tried to smile but grimaced instead. “A… pleasure!”
The female shook her head. “You are in pain. Poor baby.” She reached a hand toward Dor, but her brother pushed it away. “Do not touch him! You will break his neck. Do you not remember the story of the giant of Tyre and the drowning merchants of purple that the Scribe told us when mother was away?”
The female rose to face her brother, arms akimbo. “I did not hurt him. You threw that stone! You inscribed the Sixth Key so you could kill birds!”
Her brother stepped closer until their foreheads almost touched. “No, you did! I throw stones over the valley! You barely drop them! Also, you are the one who follows the Scribe everywhere… You want to kiss him!” Her brother smacked his lips in imitation of a noisy kiss. Ah, some things never change…
“I throw like Mother!” the female spat back. “You throw like the Decisor during a fit!” Her whole body convulsed and a black tongue lolled out in imitation of a seizure.
“Guys!” Tamar shouted at the top of her lungs. The giant siblings stopped fighting and looked down at the assertive human.
“My friend is in pain and we’re very tired. Maybe you could do us a big favor and give us a lift home?” She pointed in the direction of a distant smattering of lights. “It will be five minutes for you but a whole night for us.”
Good idea, Eran thought, but then, who do we call? The police? Tel Aviv University? A Rabbi? Photos are no proof in this day and age. And won’t we get into a lot of trouble for hiking where we shouldn’t? This isn’t a trip to the principal’s office. This is serious.
“We live over there.” The male pointed in a perpendicular direction. “We weave baskets and chisel stones and praise the Name and make sure the dragon does not become sad and escape and hurt people again.”
“And we fast on the ninth day of the month of Av,” the female added, “and imagine how pretty the temple was and what a pretty temple we’ll build when the permission is granted.”
“They know this!” the male hissed. “It was their temple that was destroyed. They cry so much they keep the sea salty!”
The female shook her head. “That is not why the sea is salty! Do you not remember the story of the dusk giant and the–”
“Guys!” Tamar shouted. “This is all very interesting! Do you want to tell us more on our way home?”
The male frowned. “I do not think we have permission to lift you…” he looked the humans up and down. “You are not priests.”
His sister turned to him. “If we see them without Keys, maybe this is the will of God?”
Her brother reacted by making kissing sounds and only stopped when she pushed his face away.
“What are these Keys you keep talking about?” Eran asked.
“A Key means that two things that cannot meet because they come from different Days of Creation now have permission to meet,” the female replied. “A Sigil takes a rule from one Day and puts it in another Day. Solomon was a great master of Sigils and so could do anything when the permission was granted to him.”
Her brother snorted. “That is how they explain it to babies! A Sigil is, um, when the world was created, the… eh, you had things that were different and God, he said…” the young giant trailed off, seemingly confused by his own words.
Permission… Eran had an idea. He wasn’t a rabbi, but he could bullshit like one. “You have permission!” he shouted over the theological din.
The male giant furrowed his brow. “You don’t look like a priest…”
“I’m not, but she is!” Eran pointed at Tamar. “This girl is a descendant of priests. Her last name is Cohen!”
“Kogan.” Tamar rumbled. “I said it like—”
“Shut up!” Eran hissed through a feral grin.
The giants huddled and started speaking in a foreign language. Their whispered conversation quickly evolved into a lively debate, then a boisterous argument that threatened to mature into a fight. This was so loud, it made Eran feel gelatinous. He pressed his hands to his ears and once again wondered how it was possible that he heard wailing jackals across ravines, but not these humanoid fog horns. With this volume, they could make a living curing constipation—
All of a sudden, the shouting match stopped. The male bent on one knee in front of the party and spoke in a formal and precise tone. “We will take you home with honor because the Right Teaching instructs us that the work of priests is done by others.”
That’s not how the quote goes, but nevermind…
“Thank you!” Tamar bowed theatrically. “I think it’s best you drop us at EEEEEE!” Her instructions turned into shrieking as the male giant swept her off her feet and chugged her into his basket. Before the others had a chance to mount an even symbolic resistance, they were chugged along with her.
Eran found himself squeezed between Dor and a rock. Just as he started to crawl from under his bulky friend, another body landed on top of Dor with a squeaky “ugh!” and knocked all the air out of Eran. He felt his ribs beginning to bend. Little dots of light danced before his eyes. He couldn’t breathe.
The giants started singing what sounded like a Sabbath hymn. Eran started wiggling his body, grinding against flesh he didn’t feel comfortable grinding against and sticks and stones that actually could break his bones. He survived giants, monsters, and men only to be crushed to death by a fatass. This was not how heroes died.
Eran finally managed to twist enough to start breathing again. The pain in his sides subsided to a manageable level. The cuts and lacerations would make themselves known soon, but for now they were a slight burning sensation. Dor groaned. Eran could only imagine how much his friend’s crushed foot hurt.
“I wonder who they’re going to eat first?” Yaniv asked from a nearby basket, not sounding the slightest bit inconvenienced. “I bet it will be Dor.” He belched. “Ugh, I’m getting seasick.”
They giants started skipping to the rhythm of their song. The contents of the basket began to steer, mixing boys, girls, rocks, and garbage in what promised to be the least comfortable ride any Jew had experienced since WWII. Eran was pretty sure he’d made second base during the initial toss up, he just wasn’t sure with whom.
After some more squirming, he found himself buried under a pile of rubble and lodged between Dor and Waffle, whom he was able to tell apart by their smell. Waffle smelled of bonfires, livestock, and wind. Dor smelled of Dor.
In his flopping, Eran’s fingers brushed against some exposed part of the little Bedouin. He sensed soft skin but also something else. A patch that felt raw and strange and somehow animated, like it was crawling with worms. Eran drew his hand back as if the girl was a boiling kettle. He tried to reach for his phone, but it was no use. They were packed too tight. Besides, who would he call? The government agency in charge of stampeding giants? Dor cursed in Arabic, Russian and Elvish as he struggled to find a better position for his injured foot.
Eran reached the surface. He saw Yaniv and Tamar, looking rather snug in the female giant’s basket. A helicopter passed overhead and somehow managed to miss two mastodons prancing in a valley and singing with the force of a hundred kindergarten students.
Waffle and Dor soon joined Eran at the top of the basket. Now that they were on top, it wasn’t all bad. Tamar, seemingly blessed with guts of iron (unlike Yaniv, who’d already puked twice), was trying to get the female to slow down or at least stop skipping.
She cried, she slapped, she punched, she howled, she screamed. This failed to evoke any sort of reaction from the giants.
Suddenly, the clattering stopped. A pair of deft hands grabbed Eran and carefully deposited him on stable ground. He kept his eyes shut until he was sure he was the master of his stomach acid. As he took in deep breaths that mercifully didn't smell of Dor, he heard his friends yelping as one by one they were pulled out of their baskets and placed beside him.
Finally, his stomach settled, Eran opened his eyes and gasped in amazement. He was home alright… but it wasn’t his home.