It was a lonely journey—dark, like being inside of a coffin alive, staring at the shade of silk selected just for your crossing. Jersey Roosevelt stood at the window staring at the blue limousine that had just arrived. She was waiting for her two sons to escort her, when suddenly she felt as if she had made a mistake, what if blue wasn’t his favorite color? That’s what reminded her of that night. It was the beginning of the end and they didn’t know it. To think it all started with a gift. It was a Mother’s day gift given to Jersey from her husband Marshall and their two sons: Solomon and Elijah. It came complete with round-trip tickets on the new Phantom Train to Etham City to see the Poet Brothers, and dinner reservations at the famous Baal-Zaphon Restaurant, an exclusive restaurant frequented mostly by the elite, or those patient enough to wait months and months for a seat at their table.
Jersey was grateful to receive such a gift. She appreciated the sacrifice, as Marshall and the boys, had little interest in live poetry, and cared even less about visiting Baal-Zaphon. It mattered little to them that the owner was a self-proclaimed descendant of the same Moses that parted the Red Sea and he promised each of its guests’ delectable cuisine and a prophetic message. They really didn’t even want to hear the message, but she did.
They went on a Friday night in September. It was cool that night and the air was filled with the aroma of harvest and first fruits. The trip to Etham started out on a high note, the train ride was beautiful and the Poet Brothers not only impressed Jersey, but Marshall and the boys thought their performance was magnificent and when they left the playhouse, the spoke about how the performance exceeded their expectations.
Jersey hoped the same would be true for dinner. They were told the restaurant was down the street, a little ways after the South Bell Tower. So when they departed the theater, they headed down Main Street in the direction pointed out by a theater usher. Most people walked because parking in the city was limited and it was only 8-blocks sideways and 12-blocks long. Darkness had arrived and the city was alive with animated chatter, laughter and traffic jams that generally accompanied the night life.
The four of them took their time, with some interest they admired the old architecture and the exciting ambiance of the town. They had at least 45-minutes before their reservation, so they strolled past, playhouses, restaurants and stores that called the center of town home. After some blocks the playhouses and restaurants disappeared, and empty lots and abandoned houses appeared, Jersey started to worry, but she kept silent, she wanted to get to Baal-Zaphon.
Finally, when the bell tower was no longer in sight and they had approached a railroad tracks, Marshall stopped. He stared north and then turned and looked south, he held onto Jersey and called for Solomon and Elijah to slow down. Then he looked at her, “You think we went too far?”
Jersey shrugged her shoulders, “I hope not.” Disappointment showed on her face. There were still a number of people on the street, “can’t be much further,” she said.
“Maybe we should eat someplace else,” Elijah said, he had a concerned looked on his face.
“I want to hear the message,” Jersey said.
“There’s something open up the road,” Solomon said and he pointed towards a building that was lit.
“Maybe we go back towards town to make sure we didn’t miss the restaurant, this is a bit far if you ask me,” Marshall said.
Jersey sighed and she gazed about the dark street. She wanted to hear the message, but she agreed with Marshall they were pretty far from town. She was just about to give up, when a man and a woman walked past them headed in the same direction.
“If you’re looking for Baal-Zaphon, you’re almost there,” he said it as if he’d known where they were headed.
Jersey thought they were godsent, “we are,” she said.
“That’s where we’re headed,” the woman said, she glanced at Jersey and smiled.
Jersey was delighted and in the darkness her eyes lit up, she glanced at Marshall, “Shall we continue,” she said.
“I guess we’re going the right way and we have about 20-minutes before our reservation. I hope it’s worth all this,” he added.
“It will be,” the lady replied. She was a beautify lady, with an almond complexion and lips painted a bright shade of pink.
Jersey’s was intrigued. She inhaled the night wind and gazed between Marshall and her sons, she was certain God wanted them to get to Baal-Zaphon and receive a message. With gladness she grabbed hold of Marshall’s hand and they followed, “Have you been there before?” she asked the woman.
“Yes indeed,” the woman said, then she announced her name, “Cherylean, ‘C’ not an ‘S,’ and lean not lin.
“Jersey,” Jersey said.
Cherylean continued talking, “We received a message every time, just like they promise. “
Jersey dropped Marshall’s hand and drifted to Cherylean’s side, “What kind of message—good or bad,” she asked. Jersey felt like a child when she asked the question, but like a child she waited for an answer. She hoped it would get a ‘good,’ or a ‘bad’, but she got neither.
“When my mother got sick,” the prophet said, “your mother thinks she’s on her death bed, but she has at least two more years of life in that body. Anoint her with oil every day, don’t let her dry up and she might live longer than those two years.” The woman spoke in an authoritative tone, as if prophet himself were speaking. “Those were his exact words,” she said, “my mother lived four more years. When she died, she told me, ‘she was tired,’ and I understood it was time for her to leave me.” The woman added.
There was a sadness in her tone that took the coldness out of the breeze and Jersey welcomed a sensation of warmth. She wanted to receive a message like that, but of course their message would be very different, as her mother had passed away many years before.
“I understand,” Jersey said.
“It’s hard but she really is in a better place.” Cherylean said, “On our last visit, the prophet told us my husband was going to receive a promotion--within two weeks he received that promotion, complete with a double salary. Isn’t the true, Larry,” she called.
Larry walked alongside Marshall, although they said very little to one another, they walked slow enough to hear the ladies’ conversation. Larry wore a heavy wool coat and looked a bit stuffy. He didn’t turn around, but replied, “yes dear, that’s true,” he said.
“I’m looking forward to that kind of news,” Elijah said. He and Solomon walked close to Jersey, “maybe you’ll get a promotion, Dad.”
Marshall turned around with an uncertain gaze, then he smiled, “anything is possible, but I don’t know how much I’ll get on the city’s budget.”
“Anything really is possible,” Cherylean said.
“Does the prophet give anyone bad news?” Solomon asked. Always the skeptic.
The woman hesitated, “I’m afraid so. On our very first visit the prophet gave us bad news. He told us, I would battle with breast cancer. Larry was so upset, we didn’t even stay for desert—you see the prophet right before you eat your desert. That day I didn’t want any desert, I wished we’d never came,” the woman sang, “but the prophet did speak the truth. I was diagnosed with cancer a month later.”
Jersey’s heart sank. She wondered how she would react if they received bad news, but she put that negative thought out of her mind. She let it leave like the wind that tapped her face and made her hair blow, she had it curled that afternoon for the visit.
Cherylean said, “I beat it. The prophet told me I would put up a fight and win. I won.”
“Thank goodness,” Jersey said with a gleam in her eyes.
“Yes, I was fortunate, another lady that went to treatment with me, wasn’t so fortunate—she died.”
Jersey stopped in her tracks for a second. Her warmth turned cold. She wished she’d worn a bigger jacket, as she thought about the misfortune of the lady that had died. Maybe things would have been different from her if she’d seen the prophet.
“Not far now,” Larry said, “Baal-Zaphon is just up the road.”
“Come on,” Marshall said. Him and Cherylean had shifted position. Marshall was back at Jersey’s side and Cherylean returned to Larry. A few minutes later they all stood in the courtyard of the restaurant.
Baal-Zaphon wasn’t a grand establishment Jersey had imagined glass windows, with diamond-like chandeliers and a mezzanine. Baal-Zaphon reminded Jersey of an old farmhouse. In fact, were it not for the shadows that casted through the windows, the place looked deserted. The building was painted an awful shade of gray, with a red-brick front and a crooked sign. The door was painted purple and had faded angelic images on the stained glasses. Tiny windows with rusted awnings surrounded the oblong structure of the building and more shadows peaked through the windows and signaled there was a full house in the place. Jersey stared in silence at the structure as a few men and women came and went.
“Our friends are already seated inside--—else I would have asked you to join us,” Cherylean said to Jersey, as her and her Larry rushed inside.
“I understand,” Jersey replied, “maybe we’ll meet here again.”
“I hope so--hope you receive the best of news,” she added as they disappeared.
Marshall held the door open as Jersey went inside, “I don’t think God would be caught dead in this building,” he said.
She walked into the foyer, that looked more like an addition, another door led to the main part of the restaurant. The darkness was lit by candlelight. The foyer was small, but large enough for a single couch and a group sat squashed together with hopeful eyes; another group stood at the entrance to the main restaurant with complaints about not having dinner reservations. A woman dressed in all black and a turban greeted them, “do you have reservations?” she asked.
“Yes,” Marshall returned.
“This way,” the woman said and she pointed inside the restaurant, “the hostess stand is on the left, you can give them your name and they’ll seat you, so long as you have a reservation the wait won’t be terribly long.”
Jersey smiled and followed Marshall inside the main restaurant, it was just as overcrowded. It was long and wider than it looked and there was a large fireplace in the middle of the floor and off to the right side. Candlelight and flames from the fire place gave the space a bit more light, but it was eerie, as the long shadows of the crowd standing about the fireplace casted on the wall like demons in a pit.
“No wonder it’s so hot in here,” Jersey said.
“All these people,” Marshall said. Then he made his way to the hostess area. He moved to the left and the right, around this person and the other, until he finally reached the hostess.
“I can’t believe there are so many people,” Solomon said.
“It’s like a fire hazard,” Elijah said.
Everything in the space was tight. The tables, clothed in iridescent purple covers and gold runners and the wooden bench-like seats, were separated by a slither of space. Those who waited tables wore black robes, black tunics and purple ephods and their attire illuminated the light that emanated from the massive fireplace. They seemed to float like Levitical servants, as the squeezed around the tables and the guests, with tight lips and strained expressions.
“Good thing we have reservations,” Marshall said, when he returned, “otherwise we would be leaving because they’re not taking any more names. Those waiting have a 2-hour wait.
“Who waits two hours?” Elijah asked.
“I would wait that long,” Jersey said.
Marshall gave her a funny look and Jersey shrugged her shoulders, “I would—” she repeated.
Solomon said, “wonder if they’re watching a cow getting cooked.” He nodded his chin towards the fire place.
“Well let’s hope the food is better than the décor,” Marshall said.
Jersey stood on tipped toes and tried to see over the heads of those collected near the fireplace, she gave up after she figured it out, “I betcha their talking to the prophet.”
“Why don’t they go up there one by one,” Elijah said.
“Probably because they’re trying to free up the tables,” Solomon said.
When Marshall returned, they didn’t wait long. The maître d, a dark-skinned man came up with a bunch of menus, he, flashed pearly white teeth, “Good evening,” he said with a sophisticated demeanor, that didn’t match the restaurant.
“Good Evening,” Marshall said.
“Is this your first time dining here at Baal-Zaphon?” the maître d asked.
“Yes,” they said.
“Well welcome,” he said, then he bowed. “My name is Brock and I’m a believer. Are you believers?”
They all looked surprised at the question, “Believers of what?” Solomon asked.
“Of God, any God—the Divine,” Brock said. He threw his hands in the air in an animated manner, that suggested it was so.
“We don’t do church,” Marshall said.
“We’re believers,” Jersey interjected. They did believe in God. Perhaps they weren’t avid church goers, but they weren’t heathens either.
They followed Brock down the long restaurant. As they squeezed between the tables, Brock spoke above the din, “every person that works for Baal-Zaphon descended from one of the tribes of Israel. I’m from the tribe of Benjamin. The owner of this fine establishment is a direct decedent of Moses. his great-great-great-great-great grandfather made it to Mount Sinai, but he never made it into the Land promised to Jacob and Abraham.”
Jersey half listened. She glanced about the darkness looking for Cherylean and Larry, but it was too dark and crowded to make out one face from another.
“How do you prove you’re a descendant of Israel?” Elijah asked when they arrived at the table
“It’s simple,” Brock said, “because our stories, have lasted for generations and generations and generations.”
“That explains everything,” Marshall said, with sarcasm.
“We’re looking forward to a good message,” Jersey said, after Jersey gave Marshall an annoyed look.
“And a good meal,” Elijah added as they took their seats.
Brock continued to speak, as if he was giving a performance, “you will see the prophet twice. After he’s finished with those at the fireplace, he’ll come around with your waitress and introduce himself. Later before you have desert, your family will take their place in front of the fire. You can rub the god Boer, the prophet likes that. Your waiter tonight will be Miriam,” he added, and then he departed.
The fire place was the center piece of the restaurant, it wasn’t far from any of the tables. Their tables was on the opposite side of the room, but only two or three tables down. They had a good side view of the fireplace, but all they could see was the backs of the people that crowded around. They waited a long time for their waitress to appear and as they waited the crowd started to die down. They could see glimpses of the prophet seated in a chair wearing a black jacket and a white shirt. Eventually they spotted Cherylean and Larry at the fireplace. Cherylean held her head high in the air and gazed for a second at right Jersey with a smile.
Jersey smiled back, “they’re about to get their word,” Jersey said.
“Well let’s hope the news is still good,” Marshall said.
Cherylean rubbed a bronze statue and then Larry, and their friends all rubbed the statue that sat on a little table next to the prophet. The prophet didn’t look like a prophet and for a moment Jersey wondered if he was actually the prophet, until Cherylean bowed. He looked like an average man, he wasn’t very tall, thin and wore a black beret, a black jacket and a white shirt. Not the priestly garb the waiters and waitresses wore. He had a cheerful expression as he spoke to Cherylean, then Larry. They must have gotten a good word, as they looked quite happy, this gave Jersey hope that they would receive a good word.
“Looks like they received a good word,” Jersey said.
“Yup, it appears so,” Marshall agreed.
After a few other couples greeted the statue and spoke with the prophet, he disappeared. He reappeared a while later and started going from table to table with a waiter and waitresses. Finally, Miriam arrived at their table with the prophet.
“I’m Miriam and I’m here to take your order,” she said, “and this is Balaam, later he will give you a message from the divine.”
Balaam bowed his head, up and down and then he stood with his hands before him. He stared at each of them before he spoke, “You sir,” he said gazing at Marshall, “have a photo of your family that you carry with you, it’s your favorite photo.”
Marshall looked at Jersey surprised, “I do,” he said.
“May I see it,” the prophet asked.
Marshall reached in his pocket and pulled the photo from his wallet. It was a photo of him, Jersey and the boys, it was his favorite photo because it was at taken at his mother’s tiny apartment, a few days before she suddenly died from a stroke.
The prophet gazed at the photo and smiled. “Remember your mother on that great day when God picks you up and cradles you in his arms. He’ll take you as his own because of the prayers of your mother.”
“He’ll have a lot to pick up,” Marshall replied.
Jersey and the others laughed at the response, that great day seemed so far way, but they were grateful to know that Marshall would be in God’s hands.
“Can I start with your drinks?” Miriam asked.
“I’ll have a cold beer, in an iced glass,” Marshall said.
“You’re very brave one,” Balaam said with a smile, “an ice glass for a cold journey.”
Jersey thought the saying odd and she gazed at Balaam with confusion. Then she turned to Marshall, but he nodded his head as if he agreed, “I better wear a coat,” he said.
“What’s your favorite color?” Balaam asked.
“Blue,” Marshall returned.
“Blue it shall but, until you see Him, then you won’t need the coat or a covering. May I hold on to this photo until you meet me at the fireplace?”
He held up the picture, Marshall glanced from his menu up to the photo and after a moment he replied, “sure.”
Elijah ordered, an ice tea. The prophet said, “refreshing, you’ll be a strong force for your mother.”
“I already am,” he said.
“Indeed, you are,” the prophet agreed, then he cast his eyes on Solomon.
“Nior,” Solomon said. He smiled first at Miriam and then the prophet.
“Ah blood red wine for the strongest in battle. You will give your brother a double portion of your strength,” the prophet replied, “you both will be like Joshua and Caleb.”
Solomon raised his brow with some curiosity. He knew Joshua and Caleb were bible stories, but that was the extent of his knowledge. Still he liked those words, “thank you, thank you,” he said, and he bowed his head grateful for the compliment.
Jersey went last, “I’ll have a Moscato,” she said. It sounded refreshing.
“A sweet toast to a new journey,” the prophet said and then he departed.
Just like that he was gone onto the next table leaving Jersey lost in her thoughts. While they ordered their entrees, she tried to decipher the prophet’s word. She wondered about the journey she would be on and she wondered why Marshall needed a coat. She tried to pay more attention to the menu, while Marshall and Elijah placed their orders for lamb and rice. It was difficult for her to focus, and when Solomon ordered an entrée of meatballs and sweet potatoes, with salad and hummus, she ordered the same. After she had placed her order, she stared of the pictures of blue doves on the front cover, she thought them odd. The prophet’s words still fluttered in her mind, until Marshall interrupted her thoughts.
“The menu, Jersey,” Marshall said.
“Oh yeah,” she said, and she handed the menu to Miriam’s outstretched hand.
Miriam said, “after desert, you’ll go up and meet the prophet.”
“Do we have to rub that little gold statue, seems like idolatry,” Solomon said.
Miriam laughed, “It’s customary for you to rub the god of Beor before you receive the message, but you don’t have too.”
“I won’t be rubbing no statue,” Marshall said.
“Me either,” Jersey said. Elijah and Solomon both agreed with their parents. “I just want to hear the word from God,” Jersey added.
She was glad they would see the man again and receive a real message. She hoped it wouldn’t be so obscure. She wanted clarity, a regular message, something with love, kindness or even prosperity.
Nearly an hour later, it was their turn to go up to the fireplace. The got up and stood before the flames. They watched as those before them rubbed the statue, and then stood side by side holding hands as the prophet gave them a word. Finally, they stood right before the prophet. He smiled at them.
“You didn’t rub Beor,” Balaam said, “but then again your message came from the west, it didn’t come from Beor. His messages come from the north, south or the east, they never dome from the west. Come, come, don’t be afraid, come closer.”
Marshall stepped out and reached for Jersey’s hand. Solomon and Elijah stood on opposite ends. Solomon grabbed Jersey’s free hand and squeezed. Elijah took Marshall’s hand. They looked like a tight family connected together and that made Jersey feel extra warm inside and even brought tears to her eyes. Everything was so perfect.
“God is pleased with the work you have done with your two boys,” Balaam said to Marshall. “Unfortunately, you will have to prepare them for the dark angel, he will knock three times before this year is over. ” Then he glanced between Marshall and Jersey with sincerity on his face, “your love will bind you and your children together and make you all one,” he added.
That was it.
Those were the words spoken that night, just three months before. Jersey ran her hands across the blue doves on her black dress, she grabbed her sons by the arms, opened the door and although it was daylight, she stepped outside into darkness, into the waiting blue limousine, satisfied she’d gotten the color right.
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