Past Lives

Four

Jerusalem

Eli Aswar was uneasy. He’s been given pills but hadn’t swallowed them: he was suspicious of everything. He’d let Benny have most of the wine to overcome his early reluctance, so he didn’t even have Dutch courage to help him combat his long-time fear of all things medical. He kept the pills under his tongue until Ignatius turned his back for a moment and then spat them into his palm and pocketed them. He suspected it was some kind of drug to put him to sleep and he was having none of it. They were questioning Benny and he wanted to know why they needed needles and just what they were going to do with them. It was one thing to be hypnotised, quite another to be injected with some truth drug. He’d heard about these things. Once you’d been given one, you couldn’t help but tell the truth and there had been one or two things in Eli’s past life that he would rather be kept under wraps.

His blood ran cold as he heard Benny cry out in distress. Confusion and fear threatened to become panic. His mouth went dry. He forced himself to think clearly and it didn’t take long to decide that he wasn’t going to hang around any longer. He had to get out but how? There were no windows: they were below ground level.

There were two doors leading out of the room. One led to the place where they were holding Benny and he had just discovered that the other was locked. Slowly he released the handle so as not to make any noise. He supposed he could charge straight out through the room where they had Benny but he suspected that the upstairs door would be locked. The alternative was to try and pick the lock of the door he was still holding. The mechanism looked simple enough and he was not entirely inexperienced in such matters: he had not always been a dish washer. This was the option he’d go for.

Stroud had left some instruments lying on the table by the bed. Eli selected what experience told him would be most suitable for the job and started to probe the lock. He heard more anguished cries coming from his friend next door and felt a pang of guilt in taking comfort from the fact that the sound would cover any noise that he might be making. Ignatius was shouting. He sounded angry but not at Benny because he could hear Stroud shouting back. He couldn’t make out what the argument was about but he wasn’t going to hang around to find out. With a final twist of the improvised pick, the lock turned and he stepped out into a narrow stone passage.

His heart sank when he saw that it didn’t seem to lead anywhere. In fact, it appeared to end about five metres to his left in a solid stone wall but he decided to check it out anyway. He edged his way along, stretching his arm out in front of him. It did end in a wall but there was a small recess to the left where a wooden ladder was propped up. It was rough to the touch and smelt old and dry.

As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he could see that the ladder led up to a trap door in the roof. There was no place else to go so he climbed up and started to work on freeing the rusty bolt that secured it.

It took several attempts before the bolt finally yielded and slid back in a shower of metallic dust. He blinked to clear his eyes and spat out the rust that caused his mouth to pucker. He moved up another rung and applied his shoulder to the hatch cover, only to be rewarded with another shower of dirt but at least the cover moved. He raised it a little and looked out through the gap to see a broad, stone-walled passage. It was considerable wider than the one he was currently in and had lights along it at regular intervals. There were also lit candles in small alcoves, flickering in front of religious statues. The passage seemed deserted so he opened the hatch fully and hoisted himself up through the space to sit on the edge of the opening and pausing to consider whether or not it was wise to burn his bridges.

The passage was clearly part of the convent but it didn’t smell like it. No incense. It didn’t have the clinical smell of the cellar he’d just left either; it had a different smell. It smelt... like a prison. For Eli it had been a while but it wasn’t a smell you forgot easily, if ever. He was still in two minds about continuing when he was distracted by a cry of anguish echoing up from the tunnel below. He didn’t feel good about it but he let the hatch cover fall back into place and committed himself to going on.

He listened for a moment before setting off along the new passage, taking comfort from the fact that he must now be up at ground level. With any luck he could be out of here soon. He would raise the alarm and get help for Benny. He turned the first corner then froze as he heard sounds coming from up ahead. His first thought was that it was the chanting the Christians were so fond of, but, as he neared the wooden door it seemed to be coming from, it was clearly too discordant for that. It was more like the moaning of people in torment.

The door suddenly opened and a nun stepped out into the passageway. She was wearing a plastic apron over her robes and carrying a tray with crockery on it. She got as much of a surprise as Eli and dropped the tray. Plates smashed on the stone floor as she opened her mouth to cry out but Eli hit her before she could make a sound. She fell over backwards and cracked her head on the floor — a sound which paralysed Eli with fear for a few moments. He’d never meant for this to happen. He’d acted on impulse and was now filled with remorse. Whatever way he looked at it now, he was in big trouble. The nun might even be dead! She was lying very still and he couldn’t find a pulse in her neck when he tried but his hands were trembling so much he couldn’t be sure.

The nun had not had time to shut the door behind her: it was ajar. Eli looked through the crack and saw the figure of a man in the shadows. His eyes were rolling and saliva was running down his chin. He seemed completely unaware of Eli’s presence. Eli pushed the door open a little further. His nostrils wrinkled at the smell. There were more men in the room — he reckoned about twenty. Each of them had a pallet bed but conditions seemed to be appalling. The room was totally inadequate for so many sick people and these men were more than sick. They were clearly mentally ill.

Eli walked slowly up the line, amazed that no one was taking any real notice of him or of each other for that matter. Each seemed to be absorbed in his own little world. What kind of place was this? A lunatic asylum? That’s what it appeared to be but why would the Catholics be running such a place for Israelis in the heart of old Jerusalem?

The much more awful explanation that occurred to Eli was that these men had come here to earn three hundred shekels and this was the result. It was the fate that was about to befall Benny and he himself, should he be caught.

‘The bastards,’ he murmured.

The unconscious nun had a bunch of keys attached to the broad black leather belt that secured her plastic apron over her habit. As he knelt down beside her, Eli put the back of his hand against her cheek and was relieved to find it still warm. Please God she was still alive. Her skin was white and soft like the petals of a flower but there was a network of veins across the top of each cheek. Her glasses had been knocked off by the blow and lay broken at her side.

Eli removed the keys from her belt — all of them. There was no telling how many doors he would have to unlock before he got out of this place. He weighed them in his palm for a moment then froze as the nun gave a low groan. He felt a mixture of relief and apprehension. If he hurried, he should still be able to lead the patients away from here before she became a problem. Besides, he had the keys. He would release the men and lock her inside; see how she liked it. He started trying keys in the door.

The men appeared not to notice the open door or perhaps didn’t care. For the most part, they remained sitting on their beds, cross-legged, muttering and moaning. Eli had to cajole them into action. He practically had to push some out into the corridor and this was all taking time. Ideally, he needed the men to form an orderly line so he could lead them to freedom but this was like herding cats. The noise they made was unsettling him. Even if they were out of their minds, surely some of them should sound happy — demented perhaps, but happy. Without exception, these men seemed to be in torment. One was weeping openly; another had placed both hands on the stone wall and was scraping his fingers down it so hard that blood was oozing from his fingertips.

‘Come on!’ urged Eli. ‘Let’s go!’

The nun had recovered consciousness and was sitting up, trying to make sense of what had happened. She blinked as she struggled to see without her glasses, searching the floor around her with the palms of her hands. When she found them, one lens was still intact. She held the broken frames to her face and saw Eli. Now she remembered, and could see what he was doing.

‘No!’ she cried, ‘You mustn’t. They are sick people!’

‘They need a proper hospital,’ responded Eli. ‘Not a filthy prison.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said the nun. ‘We don’t have the facilities: the sisters are doing their best but they have no experience of nursing such people. But it will only be temporary. The doctor says they’ll recover soon and be able to go home. If you let them go now it will ruin the father’s research!’

‘The police will ruin his research by putting him in jail where he belongs!’ retorted Eli.

‘Please try to understand,’ pleaded the nun. ‘The men will be none the worse for their experience. The good father has assured us of that.’

‘He’s got my friend down there... I heard him cry out... They’re hurting him.’

‘No, the father says it’s just like going through a bad dream for a little while. He’ll be fine.’

Eli looked at the men and asked, ‘How long have they been going through their bad dream?’

‘Two weeks... maybe three,’ replied the nun uncertainly.

‘How many have recovered?’

The nun looked away. Eli guessed at none.

‘The Holy Church wouldn’t have approved the work if it was going to hurt anyone. Dom Ignatius brought letters from the Vatican in Rome itself.’

Eli snorted.

The nun got to her feet and tried to push past him but she was impeded by one of the men who grabbed her by the throat as she pushed past.

‘Let her go!’ shouted Eli as he saw the man start to apply increasing pressure to her windpipe. Eli struggled to get to her through the milling crowd and tried to prise his hands from her throat but the man’s arms were like iron. The nun was going blue in the face. She had lost consciousness by the time he had finally succeeded in breaking his grip. The man simply turned away as if no longer interested, apparently oblivious to what he had done.

Things were getting out of hand. There was no time to check on the nun’s condition. He pushed his way through the men to the front and ran towards the far end of the corridor, caring little whether the others would follow or not. As it happened, most of them did following herd instinct.

He was struggling with his third choice of key when the door was suddenly opened from the other side and he was confronted by three nuns. They were wearing the same protective aprons as the dead sister and two of them were carrying buckets of water and scrubbing brushes. Shock registered on their faces when they saw Eli. Two of them tried to close the door.

There was a brief struggle before Eli forced his way out, followed by the others. The third nun had run off to raise the alarm. Eli realised that they were now nearing the entrance hall. The front door was only about twenty metres away. He glanced behind him and saw that one of the nuns who had tried to bar the door had fallen to the floor; she was being trampled on by the men who were streaming out. A plaster statue tumbled from one of the alcoves as one of the men brushed against it and broke into pieces as it hit the floor. Shards of plaster were kicked all over the place by the feet of the mob.

Eli found that he couldn’t open the front door, not even after trying all the keys. The thick wood absorbed his blows like a sponge. It didn’t even rattle in its hinges.

‘Enough!’ said a voice behind him and his blood ran cold. It was Ignatius.

Eli turned to find him standing there, accompanied by four nuns and Stroud who was now moved among the men, administering tranquilising injections.

‘No!’ Eli exclaimed. ‘Don’t let him do that to you!’

Ignatius came towards him. ‘Be quiet you moron,’ he hissed. ‘Haven’t you caused enough trouble?’

‘Look at them!’ countered Eli. ‘Look what you’ve done to them and you talk about me causing trouble! Where’s Benny? What have you done to him? Some questions you said. Look at these poor bastards! They’re out of their minds!’

‘It’s just a temporary after-effect of the drug.’

‘Temporary, my arse!’

The look Eli got in reply chilled him to the bone.

In the background he could see that some of them men had already succumbed to Stroud’s medication and were docilely being led away by the nuns. ‘Get away! I want out of here,’ yelled Eli as Ignatius came nearer.

‘Calm down,’ said the priest.

‘Open this door!’ said Eli. He picked up a heavy piece of plaster statue that had been kicked along by the feet of the mob and raised it threateningly. ‘Don’t come any closer! Just open this door!’

Ignatius stopped and raised his palms. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Calm down.’

One of the nuns cried out and came running up to Ignatius. She had found the sister the man had tried to strangle. ‘It’s Sister Angelica!’ she cried. ‘She’s been badly injured.’

Ignatius turned towards Eli. ‘You?’ exclaimed the priest.

‘No, it was one of the men. I tried to stop him but he had the strength of ten men.’

Ignatius put his hand to his forehead in frustration. ‘God, what a mess,’ he exclaimed. He seemed unsure what to say or do next. The nun who had brought the news seemed to find his indecision infectious. She exchanged anxious looks with the others.

‘I think you’re lying,’ said Ignatius, looking at Eli. He turned to the nuns. ‘He’s lying, sisters. He’s the one who attacked Sister Angelica.’

Eli felt all eyes turn towards him. ‘Nonsense. I tried to protect her! I can even point the man out to you...’

Eli’s voice trailed off as Ignatius started to move towards him again. He raised the plaster he was still holding but the threat didn’t work. In a desperate bid to attract outside attention, he turned and threw the plaster at a small window high up on the wall beside the door. The glass broke and he started yelling for help at the top of his voice.

Ignatius quickly overpowered him and smothered his cries for help by pushing a piece of cloth into his mouth. Stroud prepared an injection and jabbed it into his right buttock, straight through his jeans. Eli tried fighting against the feeling of tiredness that swept over him like a blanket of fog but it was a lost cause.

‘We must inform the authorities, Father,’ said one of the nuns, ‘and call an ambulance for Sister Angelica.’

‘No, Sister,’ replied Ignatius firmly, Dr Stroud will look after her. ‘We really must think of the consequences for our work here. We don’t want the police involved.’

‘But surely it’s our duty...’

Ignatius held up his hand. ‘No, Sister, I’ve decided.’

‘What is to happen to him?’ asked another of the nuns, clearly unhappy with the situation and looking down at Eli.

‘He can help us with our work,’ said the priest.

A sudden loud banging came to the front door. It was accompanied by the bell being pulled vigorously. ‘Open up in there!’

Ignatius snapped out of his preoccupation and took a moment to compose himself before replying. ‘We are an enclosed religious order. Please leave us in peace.’

‘Open up! We heard cries for help and there’s broken glass all over the place out here. I order you to open up!’ There was more banging on the door. It sounded like rifle butts.

‘One moment.’

Ignatius hesitated as long as he could before opening up the door to two Israeli soldiers, who entered, looking about them warily. Their automatic weapons were held on shoulder slings, barrels dipped just below the horizontal, but their fingers were on the triggers.

‘We had a small disturbance,’ said Ignatius, his thin lips doing their best to effect a smile. ‘One of our patients became disturbed. We are a hospital and sometimes our patients do get a little excited: they are not always responsible for their actions, poor souls.’

‘A hospital?’ repeated one of the soldiers, taking in everything around him. ‘What kind of hospital?’

Ignatius tapped his temple. ‘For unfortunates,’ he replied.

‘It says nothing outside about this being a hospital,’ said one of the other soldiers.

‘It is only recently that we saw the need to take in such people,’ replied Ignatius. It sounded weak and he knew it. He tried to add substance by adding, ‘Our order demands that we be flexible and do what God tells us to whenever and wherever we are needed.’

The soldiers seemed less than impressed. They were more interested in Eli lying prostrate on the floor. ‘What happened to him?’

‘This is the patient I told you about,’ said Ignatius. ‘We got his medication wrong and he went a bit wild. It took several of us to restrain him, poor man. The doctor here has given him something to calm him down. The sisters were just about to get him cleaned up and off to bed when you arrived. I apologise most sincerely for the trouble we’ve put you to.’

The soldier bent down to take a closer look at Eli. ‘How long has he been a patient here?’ he asked.

‘About two months.’

The soldier nodded slowly then suddenly took a pace backwards and rattled back the bolt on his weapon. He levelled it at the priest. ‘I spoke to him not more than three hours ago at the Jaffa Gate?’

‘There must be some mistake,’ said Ignatius calmly.

‘I don’t think so,’ said the soldier. ‘I remember him well enough. He was with another man.’

‘It’s a case of mistaken identity,’ said Ignatius. ‘If you give me a moment I will show you this man’s admission papers.’

‘Fetch them,’ said the soldier. ‘In the meantime I’m going to call my officer. Go with him,’ he said to his companion.

Ignatius held up his hands and said, ‘Please! Show some respect. This is a church. There’s no call to defile it with guns. I’ll only be a few moments. You have my word.’

‘On you go,’ agreed the soldier reluctantly.

‘Perhaps you’ll allow the doctor here to help me,’ asked Ignatius. ‘He knows where everything is. It will be quicker.’

The soldier nodded and waved them both away with the barrel of his gun.

Ignatius and Stroud left the room.

After five minutes, the soldiers grew impatient: one went to investigate. He found an open window leading into the lane at the back of the building. There was no sign of Ignatius or Stroud. They had to wait until Eli Aswar came round however, to find out that Benny Zur was missing too.