What is Time to You?
His last memory was pain. The pain had come from all sides, sharp, piercing pain. He had not expected it. He had sat in his chair, lost in endless paper work, when they had come up to him with a petition he had no intention of granting. He had enough people inimical to his cause to even consider adding another. So he refused, and continued to refuse.
He had finally snapped an angry command, and looked back down at his paperwork, determined to get it done before the meeting started when he felt a violent tug and hot, searing sensation. He was a soldier; he reached out and grabbed the cur’s hand, startled to see glittering steel dripping crimson.
He could only exclaim in horror as the lot of them surrounded him. Violence. Pain. Struggle. He had not cried out. He fought. He resisted, but in the end…
שָׁלוֹם
A voice not of this world spoke, emanated. He shivered. “I know that language.”
He turned to the voice that had come behind him. For one of the few times in his life, he gawked in shock.
The figure was strange, a tall being dressed in flowing white robes and a hood that concealed his face. In his right hand, he held a white scythe, curiously wrought but marvelous to behold. Just as impressive, the being had six wings, but for what purpose one needed six wings, he knew not.
“Who are you?
פציאל
Once again, that sensation, that power that he had never felt anywhere before. “That is a word in your language I do not know. Do you not speak a language I do know?” he demanded, beginning to grow frustrated.
He did not know why, but he could have sworn that the specter before him was staring at him. He felt more than saw the slightest twitch of the sextuple wings, the merest shift in weapon hand, tremors that most eyes, including his own at this point, would have missed. But yet, he had the feeling.
Ani Mitzta'er, I am sorry. I shall speak in a tongue you prefer. I am Cassiel.
An apparition that could speak his language was something he could deal with. “Cassiel? Is that a name or a title?”
A name.
Not a talkative fellow. “What are you?”
A messenger.
“From who?”
Adon HaShamayim veEretz
“The Master of Heaven and Earth? I suppose it is no time to bandy theology, but I had not thought that the Jews would be correct as to the nature of God.”
A man in the desert can find wisdom.
“Or heatstroke.”
A sense of humor. Tut Mir Hano'eh.
“That pleases you?”
It is not often I encounter a king with a sense of humor.
He had had enough. A king? A hundred ignorant fools ranting at the top of their lungs that he had taken away their rights, that he had usurped power and made himself a king. He would set this specter on the straight and narrow.
“King? I am no king. I am duly elected official!”
You are a king.
“I am no king! We have no king! There has been no king for over five hundred years!”
The figure was still, facing him. His eyes could sense nothing, but again, he felt it. Amusement. The unknown being before him was amused? His temper was up. “What’s so funny?”
Ani Mitzta’er. It is not often that I come for such a one as you.
“Such a one as me?” He scowled. “I am no king! I wear no crown!”
Is a crown the only measure of a king?
“A crown is what defines a king!” Oh, he was angry. There was no need to bother him with such petty arguments at this stage. But he would have at least one being, mortal or not, acknowledge that he was no king. “A king has absolute power that no one can challenge! A king has no equals, only sycophants! There is no one to struggle against, to compete against!”
Was anyone left alive who could be your equal?
He fell silent. All of his rivals were dead. There was none such left. But that did not mean he would concede the point.
“Semantics.”
Truth.
“I am not a king.”
You have the blood of a king in your veins.
“I am merely a descendant of Venus and Aeneas, of Mars and Romulus.”
An interesting metaphor, the truth lost to forty generations.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, peeved.
E-l Adon. There is no other God besides him.
“Then who are my ancestors, if there are no other gods but yours?”
You wish to know?
“Amongst other things, I am a student of history.”
Your ancestress was a sacred queen, a chosen priestess who was thought to incarnate your Venus. Your ancestor was a sacred king, a warrior who was thought to incarnate your Mars, and who fought to the death before he passed on kingship to the next warrior.
“So I am descended from Venus and Mars.”
Simply not in the way you believed.
“Human perception is influenced by facts and emotions. So that is why we felt as we did. We had a tendril of truth, but not all of it. No matter how we misunderstood, however, it was our belief that made it true, even though it was actually false.”
A scholar.
“Another pleasant surprise for you?”
Indeed, Melekh.
“For the last time, I am no king.”
Did you not admit that perception colors human belief? Understanding is a three-edged sword; your side, their side, and the truth.
“The truth is that I am not a king, you blighted psychopomp!”
Stubborn.
“I never claimed that I was not.”
You are a king. Though you took wives, you were married to duty, to responsibility. You did not step aside into history, though you could have. You stood there, alone, above all, striving ever higher, reaching beyond life into history.
“I admit the latter, never the former!” he snapped, goaded beyond belief by the detached voice emanating deep within that cowl.
The king’s unspoken duty is to teach, sometimes by horrible example. You taught. You will teach far beyond your lifetime.
He allowed his satisfaction to show. Then all was not for naught. He had succeeded in the goal he had set himself as a lad. Then he stopped himself. He realized he had accepted Cassiel’s judgment, without even thinking. He shot an accusing look deep into the shadow of the face he could not see. Cassiel said nothing. He said nothing. It was a long moment, an infinite moment, but neither said anything. At last, he spoke.
“I understand the Jews have a place. Gehenna. Am I to go there?” he asked, unconcerned. Jews had been tenants in his mother’s building; he knew quite a lot about them since he had grown up around them, and that question bothered him.
Always a question the knowledgeable ask.
“Then the answer should be something you repeat by rote.” The reply was as dry as the Syrian desert.
He shall judge where you go from here, whether He raise you up or cast you down.
“How reassuring. I can but hope there is some generosity in His judgment.”
He is fair. Justice and mercy you shall receive in equal measure.
“Then lead on, messenger Cassiel. I have no desire to put it off any longer.”
Chutzpah. The same quality you held at Alesia you have now, at the moment of your death.
“Has it been only a moment? I feel as if it has been an eternity.”
What is time to you, Gaius Julius Caesar?
This work by Ronald Mina is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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