The Reincarnationist

Chapter 38

Flight 121 left Rome two hours late, at four-thirty in the afternoon. During takeoff, the seventy-year-old man in seat 29B sat hunched over his worn Bible, reading page after page of the Book of Genesis. The man next to him gave him a few curious looks and then tried to ignore him, but every once in a while he looked back. When the plane had been airborne for forty minutes, just as dinner was served, an announcement asked Mr. Meyerowitz to identify himself. At first he was startled to hear the voice saying his name in front of all these people. He felt his heart lurch inside his rib cage. Then he remembered he’d ordered the kosher meal and this was routine. He turned on his seat’s call button, and minutes later a sweet-looking brunette with very red lipstick brought him a boring and bland dinner of dried-out chicken and watery vegetables.

When she came to take the tray away, he was polite and circumspect to her.

“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Meyerowitz?” He wanted to tell her he wasn’t hard of hearing and that she didn’t have to lean forward and articulate so carefully, but instead he just nodded. “I would very much like some tea. With sugar.”

After he finished his tea, the man took a break from the Bible to nap, but he slept fitfully. Under the blanket he gripped his briefcase, and he kept waking up to look at his watch and check the time.

It wasn’t doing any good to keep checking. They would land when they landed. If he was a magician he’d make the flight take one hour instead of eight-but he’d still be just as nervous. If he could just relax and concentrate on being calm. He was prepared. He knew all the rules and regulations. Nothing would go wrong. Closing his eyes again, he focused on lowering his heart rate and evening his breathing. Within minutes his nerves had smoothed out.

The plane landed on time, and he shuffled through the airport. He felt dirty. His long black coat, baggy black pants and white shirt were wrinkled and smelled stale. Being unkempt displeased him, and the way people stared at his clothes, beard and peyos was annoying to him. Orthodox Jews often drew sidelong glances even in New York City, despite there being such a large population of them there, but it was still unsettling to feel eyes following him in the line, staring at the hair on his face and at his clothes.

But the visibility would work in his favor; he knew that. It was just that he preferred the pristine priest’s cassock as a disguise.

The immigration line took more than an hour, even though he was an American citizen with a valid passport. Everyone around him looked sleepy. Although he was wide awake, he faked one yawn, and then another, going over his mental checklist of all the possible questions and his answers. Yes, he was prepared.

But he was also worried. He couldn’t help it.

Too much had gone into this plan. Too much depended on it.

Too much had gone wrong already.

Finally it was his turn to go through Customs. He presented his tax declaration along with his opened briefcase to the man in uniform whose name tag read Bill Raleigh.

“Will you open this pouch for me?” Raleigh asked, pointing to a navy felt bag after reading the customs declaration.

Meyerowitz opened it and pulled out six smaller felt pouches.

“Open this one,” Raleigh said, pointing.

Like a mantra, Meyerowitz kept thinking one thought over and over as he unwrapped the stone and laid it out for inspection.

The United States has no import duties on loose gemstones.

The United States has no import duties on loose gemstones.

The United States has no import duties on loose gemstones.

He was pleased his fingers weren’t shaking. Anyone’s would, he thought. Even if they hadn’t done anything wrong. Just being questioned was nerve-racking. But Meyerowitz stayed calm. He hadn’t expected any problems. He knew the rules. Only gemstone imports from certain countries were prohibited, and from his passport it was clear he had not been in Myanmar, Cuba, Iran, Iraq or North Korea.

He laid the sapphire gingerly on a yellow pad in his briefcase.

Raleigh barely glanced at it as he next pointed to a small white envelope. “And that packet along with your receipts?”

Meyerowitz opened it, pulled out a folded sheet of tissue paper, unfolded it and revealed seven small loose diamonds, each less than one and one-half carats. Then he reached into a pocket on the inside of the briefcase and withdrew two sheets of paper that constituted the invoice for all the stones.

“And what is in these pouches?”

“Those are fake pieces I picked up in Rome. Good quality. My brother-in-law does costume. I wanted him to see.”

“Can you open them, please?”

He shrugged. “Why not?” he said as he opened them and pulled out cheap imitation Gucci necklaces with their faux precious stones.

Despite the law, despite the fact that everything was in order, something concerned the customs official enough for him to call over a supervisor. It took the second man thirty seconds to complete his walk across the room, and by the time he reached them, Meyerowitz’s heart was beating so hard in his chest he was worried they might hear it. He focused on relaxing himself. Any sign that he was overly concerned would be detected by the trained guard.

There is no reason to worry. There is nothing illegal about what you are doing. Breathe. In. Breathe. Out. They are just being cautious. They fear terrorists and check random people constantly. This is routine.

But what if Interpol has put out a report? What if someone is looking for this cache of jewels? What if the precious gems and diamonds didn’t disguise the real treasures? What if he said the wrong thing? What if they confiscate the stones? No, remember, no one has seen the stones but the two professors. The police don’t necessarily know what they are looking for.

“Are you Mr. Irving Meyerowitz?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Your profession?”

“I am a jeweler.”

“Where do you work?”

“Here. Here in New York. On West Forty-Seventh Street. Number ten.”

“And what was the purpose of your trip abroad?”

“It was a buying trip.”

The official was square-faced with pockmarked skin, and smelled slightly of tobacco. His fingers were thick and stubby and also graceless as they examined the dozen gems and the papers.

Meyerowitz tried not to contemplate the possibility that something was going wrong or the power of this petty official who was capable of ruining everything.

Behave normally.

“Is there a problem?” he asked with a slight irritation in his voice. This was in character. Who wouldn’t ask this? He hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. He was acting within the law; he knew that.

“Just a minute, please.” The guard read the rest of the receipts.

He read the man’s name tag. “Mr. Church? I don’t understand what the issue could be?”

“Do you have anything else to declare?” Church asked.

“No. Just what is here.”

“Do you have-”

There was a loud noise behind them. Everyone turned. A man had tripped over a suitcase and fallen onto a metal cart. He seemed to be hurt; blood poured out of his nose. He screamed out in pain. Everyone looked over-Raleigh, Church, all the people in line. No one was paying attention to Meyerowitz anymore. He wanted to grab the gems and run out of the terminal. But that would be foolish.

Church gave quick instructions to Raleigh as he walked off toward the accident. “Let him through.”

Outside, Meyerowitz tried to walk slowly, not to rush, not to draw any attention to himself as he headed for the taxi stand where he got in line, cursing over how long it was. He wished that he’d hired a car to greet him. But that would have left too much of a trail. A limo driver wasn’t like a taxi driver. A limo driver would pay too much attention to the old man. He’d remember where he dropped him off. As it was, Meyerowitz would need to take one cab somewhere that he could use a men’s room so he could change before feeling safe enough to take another to go home.

It wasn’t until he was safely in the cab that he allowed himself to wonder what had alerted Raleigh? He went over every step of the interrogation again. All routine. No, it couldn’t have been anything he’d said. Was it something he’d done?

He shifted in the seat, smoothed out his black coat, felt the coarse wool, thought about how glad he’d be to get out of these foul clothes. And that’s when he realized his mistake.

It was Friday night.

Remember the Sabbath and to keep it holy.

No Orthodox Jew would travel on the Sabbath.

How could he have been so stupid?