Eliezer’s Journey

Preface

It had seemed a good idea. True, the voyage would take two years in total and Miriam had alternately sobbed, sulked, and shrieked, but she would have the day-to-day running of the business to occupy her, the almost daily complaints about respective husbands from their daughters to distract her, and the grandchildren to delight her. He, on the other hand, was bored with the day-to-day running of the business, and resented the not too subtle suggestions about spending more time contemplating life; whilst sitting in the olive grove watching the grandchildren playing but always sensing that vague feeling of restlessness.  In truth, he resented these mostly well-meant suggestions because he felt in his bones that a time would come, when it would justifiably prove to be very sensible advice indeed. But not yet, not just yet.  He craved one last voyage; one last adventure; one last memory to take with him into the unknown, when his turn came.

And so it was, once other plans had been set in motion, he felt the time was right and boarded his newest trading vessel, the one that had extended his trading empire west and north. The ship that some said could swim in any seas with impunity. That had been said about other vessels too in the past and would doubtless be repeated about many more so-called seemingly impervious ones in the future.  Perhaps rather sweeping overly optimistic predictions which had been proven spectacularly wrong in the past regarding sea-faring ships, and Eliezer had no doubt that it would be proven equally as spectacularly wrong again in the future.  Sailing the temperamental seas had always held man’s fascinating and many were drawn to the precarious life-style, despite its posing  elements of danger as well as good fortune, when the ‘gods’ were smiling upon them, unforeseen contingencies were successfully overcome and they were able to ‘tell the tale’. Not this voyage though. He would sail with the seasons. He had every intention of becoming bored sitting in the olive grove, but not yet.

The general synopsis at 0600

Low Rockall 933mb expected Bailey 947mb by 0600 tomorrow. New low expected Ireland 974mb by same time

Plymouth:

Gale warnings – Issued: 0954 Sun 06 May

Violent storm force 11 increasing hurricane force 12 soon, backing southerly and decreasing gale force 8 later

Shipping Forecast – Issued: 1130 Sun 06 May

Wind:

South or southwest gale 8, increasing hurricane force 12 at times,.

Sea State:

High, occasionally phenomenal

Weather:

Rain. Frequent thundery showers

Visibility:

Poor, becoming very poor at times

——————————-

“Occasionally phenomenal. Bloody hell, are you sure about this”

“Well, look at the satellite imagery, man. I’ve never seen anything like this before. See, a very small circular of a mile across with intense electrical activity then the whole shooting rotation, very localised, maybe a quarter match stabilises beyond the central rotation. The rotation just, well, stops. ”

“Severe weather warning for the whole of the Channel coast then?”

“We’d better….I don’t think it’ll happen though. The area of major disturbance is very, very localised, almost as if it’s contained by something preventing it spreading outward.”

“It’s impossible.”

“Tell that to any poor bastards caught out in it.”

Chapter One

After the monsoon-like weather of the previous forty-eight hours, the roads and pavements were almost unnaturally clean and seemed to glisten and sparkle in the morning sunlight. It was almost as though the entire city had been pressure-washed.  Even the accumulated filth ejected from the overwhelmed drainage system had somehow flowed away to who knows where, almost as if the city had been prepared for a special occasion. This thought did not occur to the driver of the small Vauxhall, who drummed his fingers irritably on the wheel and momentarily glanced at himself into the rear-view mirror. A frowning, tense, middle-aged face with a neatly trimmed grey-flecked beard looked back at him. What was the point of battling through the morning Plymouth rush hour traffic, and then parking at one of the car parks at Derriford hospital? Why not use the park and ride at the George junction? Why couldn’t it wait an extra half-hour, allowing for the traffic congestion to ease? He looked again in the mirror, and rolled his eyes at his own reflection.

“You must go,” his wife had told him for the umpteenth time over breakfast. “Firstly because you’re the rabbi and it’s your job to visit sick members of the congregation, secondly because he’s a friend,” she held up her hand, forestalling any comment, “he thinks of himself as a friend and lastly, if nothing else, you’re going because he gave you, us, the car. So when he says ‘don’t go to the park and ride, I’ll pay for the car park’ you do it. Like another cup of tea before you go? You’ve just got time.”

“No, I’d better not.” Saul mumbled.

Rifka shot a glance at her husband. “Dear, lot’s of men of your age have some trouble,” her voice tailed off, knowing it was a sensitive subject. She sighed, Saul left.

The traffic ground to yet another halt. Rabbi Saul Wacks felt his irritation increase. He wondered if trying to adopt a Zen-like calm to the traffic could be thought of as something an orthodox rabbi, albeit one with slightly unorthodox tendencies, shouldn’t indulge in decided it might, so looked at himself in the mirror and poked his tongue out at himself.  This caused him to burst out laughing. It caused the young woman driving the car in the next lane of traffic to edge slightly away.

Calmer now, Saul reflected on the man he was going to see. Israel Bloch, known as Benny to his friends, had recently taken more interest in the faith of his fathers; as many men do, when they feel the hand of time more heavily on their shoulders. Benny’s parents had managed to get out of Nazi Germany in 1939, virtually the last Jews to do so. Benny, born in 1950, had spent the early part of his youth looking at old photos of lost relatives and his parents constantly told him to preserve his Jewish identity at all cost, as a gesture of solidarity with the millions who had gone to the gas chambers. Drawing his own conclusions about identity and the cost of preserving it, when his parents moved to Plymouth and Benny started at a new school he decided to reinvent himself.

“I’m Block, B-l-o-c-k.” Benny informed the teacher at his new school during the first mornings roll call and introduced himself to his new classmates as Chip, ‘Chip off the old block, get it?’ A combination of natural scholar and seizer of the main chance, Benny, whilst not exactly hiding his scholastic light under a bushel, took some trouble to deflect his classmates’ attention away from it. He became the class comedian. At the higher end of the class average height, he could have physically defended himself if the occasion had demanded it, but instead reckoned it would pay him to be everybody’s friend. His experiences at school prompted him to carry this trait into adult life, although a few business rivals had cause to suspect the man was tougher than he appeared. Benny’s wife had once jokingly referred to him in private as the smiling assassin; although Benny protested, saying he never had nor ever would kill anyone, thought it a good description of himself. Now, in his mid-sixties, he was about to undergo a triple bypass and valve replacement operation. Two nights ago, he had telephoned Saul and had seemed agitated, insisting he visit him in hospital first thing in the morning of the day before the operation. He absolutely refused to discuss what was so important or what was worrying him. He himself was arriving at the hospital at eight-thirty am for a day of pre-op tests and wanted Saul to visit at nine-thirty sharp for a very important talk.

“Don’t let me down Saul, you’re one of the few people I can talk to with worrying about it being repeated or used against me in some way.”

Approaching the roundabout, Saul realised he should be in the left lane. Indicating left, he looked across at the driver in the next lane and smiled at her, gesturing he wished to change lanes. The young woman studiously avoided eye contact but dropped back, allowing him to move over. What a pleasant, attractive girl, he thought, smiling at her in the mirror and raising his hand in thanks.

‘Weirdo’, she thought, and made a conscious effort to remain at least one foot behind his rear bumper instead of her customary three centimetres.

Filtering left into the Estover Road; Saul took the first left into the hospital complex, looking for signs to either car park ‘C’ or the Terence Lewis building, where the cardiac unit was located. This proved to be a lengthy drive right around the back of the hospital complex, and then a few minutes walk back to the entrance to the Terence Lewis Building.  Actually, it was two walks to the building. On the point of entering, Saul remembered Rifka’s advice to take in the car park receipt.

“He can be a funny devil, it’d be typical of the man to ask you if you’d done as he asked you and driven to the hospital, so take the parking receipt in with you.”

Saul always a shrewd judge of character, although didn’t say it out loud thought that Benny had become a multi-millionaire by being anything, but funny.  But he privately agreed with Rifka that the man would likely as not, refuse to pay the car parking fee if he didn’t see a receipt just to prove a point.

He took the right hand entrance to the building, turned left past the renal unit, and took the lift to the seventh floor. Rubbing the cleaning gel into his hands outside Clearbrook ward, he briefly wondered why Benny wasn’t in the private health suite, two levels below. He mentally shrugged, and assuming an air of professional optimism and bonhomie entered the ward.

“So, for a man who’s about to have an operation to save his life, you’re looking well Benny.” He pulled the bedside chair a little closer and smiled, patting the other’s hand.

“Looks can be deceptive; you should know that in your line of business Saul.”

“I tend to think of it more as a vocation than a line of business Benny, but I don’t think you wanted me to see you for a discussion on semantics, did you?” Mind you Saul wouldn’t have put it past him.

“No, it’s something more important, much more important.” He smiled slightly. “Saul, I want to be buried on the Mount of Olives.”

“Uh huh. Benny, most people die first before they’re buried and you never know, the operation might be successful.” Saul hoped he’d judged this man’s sense of humour correctly and Benny wasn’t actually being serious.

Benny chortled. “Ah, that’s what I like about you Saul, you can be totally irreverent at times. Just joking, I haven’t done anything to merit such an honour and I’m not a big enough crook either. No, I’ve got two things I want to discuss with you, one’s personal, a favour to me and the other is more in your professional line.”

Before he could continue, a nurse radiating a clipboard-generated air of efficiency entered the ward and rapidly homed in on Benny, and with a look that spoke volumes dismissed Saul with an abrupt gesture of her head.

“Mister Bloch, I’m Sally Fredrickson. I’ll be looking after you in the ICU immediately after your operation. I wonder if I might have a private chat with you?” She demanded, sharply casting her eyes sideways at Saul who had remained sitting beside the patient’s bed.

Saul, having spent a major part of his life reading into one volume or another, realised what was required of him and started to rise. Benny, flapping his hand with the air of a man confronted by an unstoppable, undeniable and unexpected force, wondered aloud if he might feel happier if Rabbi Wacks his spiritual advisor, remained, if that was OK? The nurse softened slightly, as a glacier sensing the first morning rays of an insipid sun softens, and with disdainful authority gestured to Saul, as one would to a small child or obedient animal; sit. He sat.

Leaning against the windowsill, she began what was an obviously well rehearsed and often used speech.

“Nothing to be alarmed about Mister Bloch, I just like to have a little chat with my patients before their operation.” she smiled brightly, and Saul just knew that she was about to say something Benny would rather not hear.

“How nice of you,” replied Benny, giving her his best smile. “I promise not to be any trouble to you.”

“Oh, you won’t be.” She didn’t smile. “You’ll be unconscious most of the time.” This she seemingly found a satisfactory state of affairs because she now smiled. “But when people first regain consciousness in ICU it can be a rather alarming experience.”

Benny looked at Saul, who was looking at a point just above the bringer-of-comforts head, knowing full well from previous visits to cardiac parishioners what was coming next.

“Oh, really?” Benny didn’t sound desperately happy.

“Yes, you’ll be very woozy and confused as you start to come round, it takes a good day to recover fully from the effects of the general anaesthetic. First, you’ll become aware of an irritation in your throat, caused by the tube down it. Then you’ll most likely hear lots of beeps, buzzes, and alarms going off. Don’t worry about it, the alarms will probably have nothing to do with you, and the beeps and buzzes will be coming from the life-support machine.” She paused, waiting for Benny’s reaction.

“I’ll be on a life-support machine?”

Again he looked at Saul, who this time felt he should return the look, putting as much sympathy and encouragement into it as he could muster.

“Yes, of course you will. Absolutely nothing to worry about, standard procedure.”

“Apart from the alarms going off.”

“As I explained, the alarms will most likely have nothing to do with you.” She tapped a finger against the clipboard in apparent exasperation.

“Oh, good. That’s all right, then.” Saul couldn’t decide if Benny was terrified, was being sarcastic, or some combination of the two. Nurse Fredrickson, on the other hand, experienced no such indecision. She wasn’t listening and just wanted to get the rest of the ‘procedural rundown’ out of the way.  She was a busy woman.

“Yes. It’s standard procedure to help take the strain off your heart, helps it recover faster. As soon as you’ve come round and everything is stabilised we take you off it.”

She pushed herself forward off the windowsill. “Well” she said brightly, “see you about …” she glanced at her clip board and as an afterthought: “ oh, eleven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, thank you, see you tomorrow morning then.”

“Actually no, I’ll see you but you’ll be unconscious until later on tomorrow afternoon. Well, nothing further I need to say— do you have any other questions?” she demanded, as she began to walk away.

“Ah, I’m not really sure I wanted to know all that.” Benny said with a slightly hangdog air.

“Oh, it’s very important you do. It can be a bit of a shock waking up on the life-support machine. If you didn’t know what to expect you might get very anxious, even have a heart attack.” She said somewhat facetiously, and smiling brightly walked away at a brisk pace.

Ah, the humour of the caring profession, thought Saul.

There was a moment of shared reflective silence shared between the two men. Saul reflected he was glad Benny was the one undergoing the operation but decided not to share this with him.

“So, Benny, how can I help you?”

“Well, the first thing is I’ve altered my will. I’ve made new arrangements for the children. The arrangements for Sarah have changed because she’s too soft as far as the kids are concerned. I’m putting the money into a trust fund. Sarah will have the benefit of the trust fund for life, and she’ll be able to draw a reasonable amount of capital for her own use but not to give to the kids. They’ll both get a small lump sum on my death and another on Sarah’s demise. From then on, they’ll receive an allowance from the trust fund until their respective sixtieth birthdays, when they get the lot. I think they’ve been taking too much for granted recently; I seem to be paying all their bills even though they’re both working. I started with next to nothing and I don’t think I’d be doing them any favours in the end by leaving them a small fortune now. As you’re an executor, I thought you should know.”  He paused and looked pensively over at the bedside table.  Saul, anticipating, immediately poured him a glass of water.

“They may try and contest this and I’d be sorry if it caused you problems. I thought if you knew what was in my mind you could maybe explain my reasons to them. I really think it’ll be to their benefit not to be able to let the money flow away or get squandered on nothing. This way they’ll be assured of a comfortable retirement.”

Saul nodded. “But Sarah can have a lump sum, if she needs to buy a new car, re-decorate the house or something of that sort?”

“Exactly. In fact, anything she wants as long as it’s not giving cash to the children.”

“I understand. When the time comes I’ll try and explain.” He attempted to lighten the mood. “You know, you might survive this yet, nu? So maybe any talk of trust funds is a little premature.”

“Boychick, if I can’t take it with me, I’m not going!”  They both laughed.

“OK, the second thing is this. I have a difficult decision to make and I need your, ah, your advice on a religious matter.”

Saul although now on slightly firmer ground still experienced a slight sinking feeling. People rarely received the advice they were hoping for when questions of religious orthodoxy were involved, and their reaction to what they regarded as bad news could vary.

“What’s troubling you?” An irreverent thought popped into his mind, if he had added a ‘my son’ he would have sounded like a Catholic priest. What with entertaining thoughts of Zen-Buddhism and now this he’d have to do what Rifka referred to as his ‘Fiddler on the Roof act’ this evening, and have what was an invariably one-way conversation with ‘The Boss’. He thought, whilst admonishing himself to ‘concentrate man’, and focus his attentions on the here and now.   

“Well, you may think this is a stupid question, but I’m really concerned about it.”

Saul nodded his ‘knowing’ nod. He stroked his beard. He found these mannerisms convinced people, he was both interested and concerned about their problems, and was giving due and deep consideration to them. Sometimes it was true. He leant forward slightly having found this also helped convince people of his sincerity. Not that he wasn’t sincere, it was just he harboured enough doubts of his own to feel not completely at ease handing out advice on religious dogma and anyway, sitting in bed-side chairs invariably gave him a slight back ache. He found that leaning forward stretched his lower back and eased the discomfort a little. He hoped Benny’s concerns didn’t involve long-murdered family, he just didn’t have any answers to the question ‘why’, and whatever he said sounded unconvincing anyway, and worse, slightly banal even to his own ears.

“The only stupid question is the one you don’t ask Benny.”

Benny looked into his face, as if assuring himself of his sincerity. “I have to make a decision. The surgeon needs an answer this morning. This is primarily why I asked you to make sure you were here early.” He paused. “I have to have a replacement valve, you know.”

Saul knew, Benny had told him several times over the last few weeks.

“Um, I, well. Oh, I don’t know how to put this, well, you see…”

Saul leaned back, “Don’t force it Benny, the right words will come.  Think about something else for a moment, how come you’re in an NHS ward?”

“Oh, the consultant said it aids recovery if you’re in a ward with other people who are recovering from the same operation. Something about swapping war stories and solidarity, everybody is going through the same thing. Actually, I am a private patient, so I get better food, if I feel like eating. And it’s cheaper than being in Meavy, the private clinic.”

“Who is your consultant?” asked Saul.

“Simon St Clair Stephens-Bailley, one of the best in the country, …mind you, with a name like his, he always was going to be a consultant…look, I’ll tell you what I’m worried about…the replacement valve, well …ah,” his voice tailed off. “Look here Saul, the thing is, I can have a plastic valve, but it might not last as long as I do, so I’d have to go through all this mishegas again. On the other hand, they could use a replacement valve from a pig’s heart, they last for years.” His voice tailed off again.

“So, use the pig’s heart.”

“Yes, but is it…. well would it be …would it be, you know…allowable?”

Saul looked at him, realised he was serious and suppressed a chuckle. He stroked his beard again and thought quickly.

“So, this pig’s valve, are you going to have to eat it?”

“Eat it, are you mad? They’re going to cut open my chest with a circular saw, disconnect my heart and …” he protested, then saw Saul was smiling.

“So, if you’re not going to eat it, I think it’s OK to use a pig’s valve. Trust me on this one. Just promise me you won’t eat it.” He chuckled. Benny grinned, then chuckled also.

“Stupid question really, sorry.”

“No, not stupid at all Benny. Put your mind at rest my friend. Tell your consultant to go ahead and fit the pig’s valve. Anything else I can do for you right now?  No? I’ll look in again as soon as you can have visitors.” He reached forward across the bed and shook Benny’s hand. “I would wish you luck, but I know you’re in more than capable hands.”

Benny smiled with obvious relief. Saul stood up, smiled and turned to walk out of the ward.

“Saul?”

“Yes Benny?”

Benny was holding out a five-pound note and laughing, “Do you have the car park receipt?”

******

A right turn out of the ward toward the lift then Nurse Fredrickson intercepted him.

“Rabbi Wacks, Mister Stephens-Bailley was wondering if you might have time for a quick word with him.”

“Stephens-Bailley, isn’t he Mister Bloch’s’ consultant?”

“Indeed. He’d be really, really grateful if you could spare him just a couple of minutes.”

She smiled a little hesitantly, with her head tilted slightly to one side. Saul noticed her new, almost shy and coquettish manner and thought how different an impression she made when she appeared in the persona of a supplicant, rather than one who was in charge. “Please,” she said.

They descended in the lift to the sixth floor and then walked out of the cardiac building into the main hospital. Saul didn’t really concentrate where they were going; all the corridors seemed the same. Well lit, bright and signs reminding you to wash your hands and not bring any infection into the hospital.  They seemed to walk for a long time and once Saul was certain they passed the same area twice. He glanced at his watch, which prompted a smile and the comment,

“Almost there, I promise. Mister Stephens-Bailley will be really grateful.”

Saul, not as unworldly as he appeared, began to feel this walk was taking longer than it should. The thought flitted across his mind; perhaps Fredrickson was attempting to prevent him remembering where she was taking him. More than a little intrigued by this line of thought, it also occurred to him as being unusual for a medical consultant to discuss a patient with their religious consultant. He smiled inwardly at the thought. Perhaps, as a consultant, he should start charging for house calls. Then they were at an unmarked door and Nurse Fredrickson was knocking. A confident knock, a change of persona again. Saul was trying to remember if he had read any thrillers recently, which might be prompting all these random thoughts.

“Come.” A slightly imperious, deep voice obviously used to not having to bother with social niceties.

Nurse Fredrickson opened the door.

“Mister Stephens-Bailley, Rabbi Wacks.”

She steered Saul into the office with a hand on his shoulder and then left, silently closing the door after her.

Simon St Clair Stephens-Bailley rose from behind a non-descript desk. Saul, whose powers of observation would do a Jesuit Inquisitor proud, took in that the desk was completely bare, totally devoid of papers, in-trays or photos. In this, it complimented the small room, which struck him as more of a storeroom than an office, certainly not the office of one of the most highly regarded cardiac consultants in the country.

Stephens-Bailley walked out from behind the desk, holding out his hand.

“St Clair Stephens-Bailley, please call me Simon.”

A dark blue pinstripe-suited, discreetly cuff-linked tall, thin almost cadaverous man with large hands and dark, straight hair, pushed back off the forehead. With hands like those it’s fortunate he decided against being a gynaecologist; the thought flitted across Saul’s mind.  He immediately suppressed that thought. It was a day for suppressing thoughts.

“My dear Rabbi thank you so much for coming to see me, please do take a seat.”

It didn’t look a particularly comfortable seat. It somehow matched the office. Simon St Clair Stephens-Bailley didn’t look particularly comfortable either.  He didn’t match the office. Saul had a premonition that shortly some beard stroking will be in order. He silently sat, crossed his legs, rested one hand on his knee, the other on his thigh, and watched Stephens-Bailley as he retreated behind the desk. The latter sat, leant forward and rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his hands with the awkward air of a man who’s not certain how to begin. Saul decided against being helpful and waited in silence.

“This has nothing to do with Mister Bloch, but when I heard you were in the hospital it occurred to me you might be able to- ah- assist us with a small prob…well, assist us in identifying a patient.”

He sat back with the air of a man who really didn’t know what to say next but felt that he has made a promising beginning. Saul divided between being irritated and intrigued, remained silent just long enough to keep the man off-balance.

“By ‘assist you in identifying a patient’ I assume you mean a live patient?”

“Oh yes, well the poor devil’s hanging on at the moment. I can’t be absolutely certain of course but I think he’ll pull through.”

“And, why exactly do you think I might be able to assist you?”

Stephens-Bailley leant back and opened his hands, “Forgive me for asking, but I take it rabbis are fluent in Hebrew? All forms of Hebrew?”

Saul remained motionless and expressionless. In what exactly is he becoming involved?

“All forms of Hebrew?”

“Well, um, shall we say ancient and modern Hebrew?”

“Ah, ancient and modern. As in the Hebrew found in what people commonly refer to as ‘The Old Testament’ and the version spoken in Israel today. Yes.” Saul responded. He decided to appear to thaw slightly. “It goes with the job. I can also read, well let’s say all versions of Hebrew, to simplify it a bit.  Some documents found on your patient need translating, perhaps?”

“No, well… yes and no.” Stephens-Bailley ran his hands through his hair and Saul wondered why the man was so obviously uneasy having this conversation.

“I’m sorry to be so mysterious about this it’s just … Look rabbi, please don’t be insulted by this, I don’t suppose you have any identification on you, do you?” Saul made deliberate, expressionless eye contact and held it.

Stephens-Bailley seemed embarrassed.

“Somebody else might ask you for it, should you decide you can assist, I just thought if I asked now it might um… sorry.” his voice tailed off.

“Somebody…. else? Mister Stephens-Bailley, I think you’d better decide exactly what it is you want to say and then say it, otherwise I’ll be on my way.”

“Yes, yes of course. Not exactly sure what I can say, to be perfectly honest. I find myself in a very unusual situation and I may say it’s not one I’m comfortable with.”

“Perhaps you might feel able to tell me why my modest linguistic skills would be of assistance to you in identifying a patient?”

Stephens-Bailley shifted somewhat uneasily in his chair. Saul decided to bring the matter to a head.

“Right. Correct me if I’m wrong. Obviously you have what you think is a Hebrew-speaking patient who’s in a bad way. Equally obviously, either this patient has no identification on him or his identity may be sensitive in some way, perhaps a diplomat or perhaps something else, but in any event, something potentially sensitive. Why is it of any interest whether or not I can speak ‘ancient and modern’ Hebrew?”

“Yes, yes quite. Alright, may I speak in confidence?”

Saul, thinking anything was preferable to speaking in riddles, nodded.

Stephens-Bailley leant forward again, steepled his hands and pressed them against his lips.

“A couple of days ago the navy fished some poor devil out of the sea, more dead than alive. As a matter of course he was flown here and apart from being three-quarters drowned, he suffered an apparent myocardial infarct in the ICU.” Saul opened his mouth to speak but was quickly interrupted: “Sorry, the patient was in intensive care and suffered an apparent heart attack. I was more or less on the spot, so I was asked to assist.” Stephens-Bailley explained.

Saul had a feeling that somehow this wasn’t quite the way events had unfolded but decided to see what came next.

“Well, to cut a long story short, I was able to stabilize the chap, however apart from anything else he was deeply in shock and we weren’t able to communicate with him. The poor chap appeared terrified and very confused when he was conscious, so we’ve kept him sedated. They’ve tried to bring him round a couple of times, but as soon as he regains consciousness he seems to suffer some form of panic attack and starts to physically suffer so we sedate him again.  Physically he seems to be well on the road to recovery but mentally; well that may be a different ball game.”

Saul uncrossed his legs, leant forward across the desk and mirrored the other’s posture. He has developed a hearty dislike of the man sitting opposite him, and was now certain he didn’t want to be involved in whatever this situation turned out to be.

“All very interesting, but you still haven’t told me why you think I can help.”

“Yes, quite. Well, from appearances the mystery man would appear to be from the Middle East, olive complexion, Semitic looking.” Stephens-Bailley shot a glance at Saul, as if to check he was not being offensive. Saul, irritated and intrigued against his better judgment, slightly beyond being offended, kept his expression neutral.

“Well, during the periods when the man was semi-conscious, one of the nurses heard him murmuring a word over and over again. She wasn’t completely certain, but thought it was a name… she was fairly certain she heard him saying the name ‘Miriam’ repeatedly. Granted it’s a long-shot, but Miriam is a, a…”

“Usually a Jewish name?” Saul finished his sentence for him.

Stephens-Bailley raised both hands, palms towards Saul in a placatory gesture.

“Look Rabbi, you’re an intelligent chap, you obviously realize I’m not giving you the full story and believe me, I really feel most uncomfortable about this. Could you just accept for a moment that I, we, believe this patient speaks a form of Hebrew and you may be able to help him?”

“Ah, WE believe.”

Another lengthy, this time silent walk. Saul was ushered into what he imagined an isolation ward would look like, although he hadn’t suspected that this hospital had anything so elaborate. They went through an outer door into an observation area; the patient lay in a room beyond, sealed off from the observation area by a large, thickly glassed window and what could only be described as an airlock arrangement. The patient lay motionless inside what Saul assumed was an oxygen tent. A nurse, wearing what appeared to be a white boiler suit, helmet and somewhat incongruously pink Wellington boots, adjusted a drip. The nurse’s garb reminded Saul of several science fiction and horror films he had seen. Apart from the boots, which in the films were invariably black or green.

A man who was standing and looking into the inner area, hands clasped behind his back and head slightly tilted back, turned to face Saul. Medium height, slightly chubby wearing nondescript clothes, nondescript shoes, nondescript hair; a nondescript person apart from an apparently open, friendly face, somehow out of kilter with the rest of the man. Saul decided not to take the face at face value.

“Hello Rabbi, thanks for helping out.”

A forgettable voice, a forgettable smile, a hand held out, no rings, no jewellery of any sort, a forgettable man.

“Jones, Military intelligence.”

A forgettable handshake with just enough pressure, no more, a dry hand.

“Ah, Smith not available today then?”

Jones’s expression didn’t change. He glanced at Stephens-Bailley.

“There is a bit of a mystery here, but er let’s not get carried away with delusions of cloak and dagger stuff.” A smile appeared on the face. Saul was strangely convinced that the face was somehow merely an accessory, used to assume whatever expression Jones might consider appropriate. Jones gestured into the inner room.

“There’s our boy. Let’s have a coffee and I’ll fill you in. Try and clear up the mystery as far as I can.” A further smile, which perhaps he felt was an appropriate expression or perhaps it was genuine.

“Would a driving licence be an acceptable form of identification, Mister Jones?”

“Oh for heavens sake. Not necessary Rabbi, whatever gave you that idea? Got a bit carried away did we, Mister Stephens-Bailley?”

Stephens-Bailley half smiled; Saul half smiled; Jones fully smiled then spoiled it:

“I know who you are.”