go. Old Elkhanan limped along, Yedi never far away and never once suggesting his older companion should ride the remaining distance to town. No one complained anymore about his slower pace, and some of those on the shuttle, observing that the old man refused to ride even now at the journey’s end, disembarked to walk with him.
As they approached the city together, they could see that the gate was not as massive as it had appeared from the hilltop. In fact, most of that apparent size was actually a large collection of pillars, fifty or sixty standing close together before the gates, the majority of them barely above waist height. They were arranged in rank and file like soldiers on parade.
Some gasped or cursed as they realized the meaning of what they saw.
“There are fifty-eight of them,” Yedi said to a man who walked nearby, his voice low as if he were afraid he might wake someone. “Two men, five women, and fifty-one children.”
Elkhanan remained silent, jaw set and eyes straight ahead.
“You memorized that?” the man asked, looking at him askance.
“It seemed important.”
“But…what happened?”
“Suicide bomber. He knew there would be a school outing that day. The precise schedule was confidential, but the killer had access. He waited here by the gates until the bus passed by, and then he killed them all with a bomb hidden under his clothes.”
“But…why? And how did he have access to the schedule?”
“How?” Yedi laughed bitterly. “His own child was on that bus.”
“My God!”
When they reached the place in the shadow of the deceptively ornamental walls and gates of Salem, Private Cooke stopped the shuttle that had followed them the entire way and let out his remaining passengers. Sergeant Whitley called the whole group to gather around him. His had very little to say, a conclusion only. The Walk itself had been the introduction and the body of his speech.
“There are only two ways by which anyone may become a citizen of Salem: by birth or by taking the Walk. Welcome to Salem.”
There was no longer a need to explain the purpose of the Walk. It was plain to everyone: Some things must never be forgotten. Whitley told them where they would go once inside the gates, what the town expected of them over the next few days and weeks: required briefings, classes, et cetera. Elkhanan ignored him and continued walking as if no one else was there. He had seen too much and grown too old to waste precious time on yet another briefing.
He approached one of the two tallest monuments and read the inscription, unblinking, his jaws locked together. Finished reading, he hobbled to the second column and read that one too. At the first of the middling height pillars, he paused. He blinked. Just once at first, then again. He coughed, blinked twice. Her name was Arla, the stele said, daughter, wife, and mother of five. Elkhanan cleared his suddenly dry throat as he read, chin trembling. Rain pooled in the base of each carved letter until the weight of the water overwhelmed surface tension and rushed down the stony face like tears.
Having approached unnoticed, Yedi reached out to touch the letters. The old man’s cane flashed out and struck him on the wrist. He yanked his hand away with a sharp inhalation. Elkhanan stared back at him, eyes red-rimmed and fiery, before turning away and moving to a child’s pillar. He touched the top of the white stone, speaking under his breath, and continued on. He moved from one to another, mumbling, breath hissing in and out, coughing now, clearing his throat again. Four pillars he touched, lingering for a minute at each, before returning to Arla’s monument. Leaning on his cane now, he placed his left hand on Yedi’s chest and pushed him away, not in anger, but gently, needing room to breathe.
Elkhanan eased his frail body onto his knees before the monument, ignoring the water that pooled around him. He put both hands on the cool, stony surface and began to chant.
“’Eshet khayil mi yimtza, verakhok mipeninim mikrah. Sheker hakhen vehevel haiyofi. A woman who fears HaShem is to be praised.”
Tears began to fall, unhindered at last, as he lifted his face to heaven. His hat slipped off, and the rain began to wet his thin, white hair. Sergeant Whitley was silent now, and the rise and fall of the old man’s voice was the only sound above the quiet hum of Salem. Some understood more of the words than others did, but all understood their meaning.
“Give her the fruit of her hands, Adonai, for her works…her works shall praise her…in the gates…” The old man forced these last words out from the depths of his hollowed core, and they proved too great a foe for him. He collapsed against Arla’s pillar, his shoulders shuddering beneath the storm of emotions released after so many years.
Yedi knelt on the hard pavement beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. Elkhanan seized the younger man’s lapel, pulled him closer. Their tears mingled in the rain and flowed together into the soil of Tikvah.
“Help me,” Elkhanan said when he had caught his breath, and they finished the prayer together.
“Veyilaveh ‘eleiha hashalom ve’al mishkavah yihyeh shalom. As it is written, ‘Peace shall come, and they will rest on their beds, all who walk in uprightness.’ May she and all the daughters of Israel who slumber with her be granted mercy and forgiveness. Veken yehi, ratzon venamar amen.”
They remained on their knees, the gentle pattering of rain an accompaniment to the weeping of a woman behind them among the walkers. The fading light of Tikvah’s sun passed a predetermined threshold, and the Gates of Salem began to glow with a warm, yellow light.
“I have tried to forget,” Elkhanan gasped after a long silence, his voice weak, full of gravel and the long, painful years. “Dear God, I have tried to forget, but I could not.”
Yedi held his great grandfather tight in one arm, and in the other, he held the small box containing the medals and service records of General Martin Barlow.
“It’s alright, Grandfather. We’re home now, and it’s good to remember.”
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