The Instructions by Adam Levin
At least potentially. In the ideal.
“Come on,” Ally said. “What do you say? You just say you got scared and we’ll say you did all of this. Same outcome as if we wait, but less risky. It’s elegant,” he said. “There’s no room to screw up.”
No, I said.
“Why not?” said Berman.
I brushed past him and Cory and Ally, out of the gap. June was waiting there for me. I went to the TV in front of the Israelites and muted it, and Main Man muted the Side’s TV.
All whispering stopped.
There weren’t any new arguments left to make; they’d all been made, I’d made them all. So I made them again, only louder this time, and with more gesticulations, as if I were inspired anew by the truth; as if, as they had, I’d forgotten the truth, and the truth remembered—the truth itself—would somehow unite us, would somehow protect us, save us.
This is what I said: Earlier, you thought I was wrong, and I was right. I’m still right. The cops haven’t got you, and they’ll never get you. The scholars are coming and they always were. We will wait for them as we always have been, and they will arrive, as they were always meant to. I am, as always, on the side of the Israelites. I am, as always, on the Side of Damage. I have fought, as always, on both of our sides, and both of our sides will always fight for each other. The Israelites will always protect the Side of Damage, and the Side of Damage will always protect the Israelites.
And I stood there before them, meeting their stares, grabbing hold of June’s hand, and here’s what’s crazy, this is what haunts me even today: By the time I’d gotten two sentences in, I was inspired anew. My gesticulations weren’t forced. By the time I’d finished speaking, I was so intoxicated by my own verbosity, I expected a defeaning group amen. And when, instead of that deafening amen, the last thing I wanted to hear got spoken, it took me whole seconds to understand.
“Israelites like her?” someone said. The question came from among the ex-Shovers, and wasn’t a question at all.
Who’s her? I thought.
She was squeezing my hand.
Who said that? I said.
No one would say.
“Doesn’t matter,” June said.
Berman, I said, tell me who said that.
“Said what?” Berman said.
“It’s okay,” June said.
Who said it? I said.
“I didn’t see,” said Berman. “I don’t know who said it.”
Said what then? I said.
“I don’t know!” said Berman.
I spun to my right and dumped the TV. It didn’t explode, so I lifted the cart, started hacking away, and at last there came a flash and a pop, and some glass shot high and cut me on the cheek, just beneath the eye, the tiniest sting. It wasn’t enough, though. I didn’t feel better. I wanted the cart in pieces now, too. And I whaled on the floor, and I whaled on the scaffold, but the cart was steel and it barely bent, and Eliyahu touched my shoulder, and June grabbed my other one. I let the cart go and stood up straight. A busted-off casterwheel did clumsy, humming circles and came to a stop at my heel with a buzz. I slipped the glass sliver from my flesh and dropped it. The Israelites stared, watching my face bleed.
I stared back and bled, the opposite of speechless—I just didn’t know where to start. There is damage? There is snat and there’s face? You’ll be stronger tomorrow than you are today? A thin kid wearing tzitzit and a black fedora? To strap down a chicken and pluck it while it’s living? A potential messiah’s born once a generation? Verbosity is like the iniquity of idolatry? We damage we, a kid who tells, Benji Nakamook thought we should, I pray that we are just, they all called her June, Adonai will kill you and your family anyway?
Leevon yelled, “Look!” Mookus pointed the remote. The Aptakisic Israelites craned their necks westward and June and Eliyahu led me toward the Side. The celly buzzed my thigh as Rick Stevens gabbed. Ben-Wa was calling. Black hats on the high hill, pennyguns forward. I knew. I could see now. All of us saw.
Emmanuel stayed on the high hill’s summit, the front row of scholars two steps behind him, hidden below the knees by the rise. I pulled out a celly, tossed it to Shpritzy, said, Call your boy Feingold—find out where he is.
“Why’d they stop?” said an Israelite. “Why are they just standing there?”
I told them I’d meet them in the two-hill-field, I said.
“You can’t, though.” “They can see that.” “The blockade’s bigger—”
They’ve been travelling since 8:00 and haven’t seen a TV. They don’t know what’s happening. They’re waiting for me to do what I said I would.
The Israelites grumbled some more and whispered. Let them, I thought. They’re with me or they’re not.
Botha’s celly buzzed. I didn’t check the screen, assumed it was Persphere.
What? I said.
“Two cops dressed in black just rushed at the side door.” It was Cody von Braker.
How close did they get?
“Fifteen, twenty steps? But we smacked up Maholtz like you told us we should, and they all fell back.”
How far? I said.
“Back to the perimeter,” Cody said. “Now they’re talking to each other, with all these hand-movements. They’re pointing this way, pointing that way, making fists—shit like that. They want us to see them.”
You think so? I said.
“Yeah,” Cody said. “But I don’t know why. Forrest says he thinks they’re just trying to scare us by making it seem like they have a plan, but I’m thinking what if they do have a plan, and they’re trying to distract us from what the real plan is?”
You’re doing good, I said. You’re doing everything right. Stay in touch. Keep Maholtz visible and don’t knock him out.
Four hundred still kids in hats on a hillside does not for great television imagery make, so the anchor, offscreen, as breathlessly as possible, kept saying “new development” and “possible outcomes” and “powderkeg” and “spark” to ramp up the tension, while the helicopter camera zoomed in and out and panned at high speed so the facts on the ground would appear more kinetic. The anchor’s voice softened and the camera got steady as soon as two cops left the parking lot cordon and crossed Rand Road to parley with Emmanuel. Reporters and cameramen followed ten steps behind them, waving white handkerchiefs and foam-topped mikes. When the cops got halfway up the slope of the high hill, the scholars at the front of the columns stepped forward, pulled back on their balloons, and the cops stopped coming. The newsmen caught up. A cop spoke to the scholars. The camera-feed switched as Emmanuel responded.
“We’re staying where we are,” he said to the cops. “Come no closer, and keep off our backs.”
“Why?” said a newsguy.
“Cause we’re armed and we said so,” said Samuel Diamond.
“I meant why are you staying where you are?” said the newsguy.
“We’re armed and we say so,” Samuel said.
“We’ve seen emails that speak of a sudden holiday. Could you say something about that? You’re live on TV.”
“Armed,” said Samuel.
“Could you tell us about Maccabee?”
“You mean Rabbi Gurion ben-Judah Maccabee?”
“Him. Yes.”
“Gurion’s armed.”
Alternately craning their necks and whispering, the Aptakisic Israelites remained on their bleachers. I was on the Side’s now; they’d formed a circle around me. Shpritzy climbed over, returned me the celly, said, “Feingold’s scholars are still on the lakeshore. He says they’ll turn west in another couple miles, then they’ve got another mile to Aptakisic, but they’ll walk that a lot faster cause they won’t be on sand. So fifty-something minutes is what Nathan’s guessing, but the good news is I told him what happened with the scholars from your schools—how they went around the roadblock without getting shot—and Nathan said they’d do the same if they came across a roadblock.”
Will they? I said.
“Yeah,
Good, I said.
I started heading down the bleachers. Shpritzy followed.
“Are you the messiah?”
What do you think?
“I don’t know, Gurion, but if you are, Ashley here’s not an Israelite, and I think I’m in love with her.”
It’s good to be in love.
“Even though she’s not an Israelite?”
Yeah, I said. Of course, I said. It’s just she should convert before you guys have babies.
“Babies!” said Shpritzy. “We’re too young for babies.”
Then there’s no need to worry about Ashley converting yet.
“Okay,” said Shpritzy. “I hope you’re the messiah.”
Me too, I said.
We were standing by the television. I reached over Shpritzy and muted the news.
Everyone listen, I said to everyone.
All eyes on me.
I said, Four hundred of our brothers await us on the high hill. Five hundred-some more are on their way. The stakes are up and the cops are getting bold. They rushed the side entrance, and the guards scared them back. They might have been testing us or they might have been trying to distract us—who knows? We don’t. We can’t. We have to act now. One third of you will play hostages, the rest will play terrorists. We’ll all go out front, where the cameras can see us, holding the hostages at gunpoint. I’ll call in the scholars and they’ll come down the hill and the barricade will part. As soon as they’re close enough, we’ll rush into the middle of them. We’ll all then head east to meet the other five hundred. Once we’re all together, I’ll say a few words, and then I’ll surrender, and this will all be over, and we will have won. Do you have any questions?
“What if they come through the side entrance?” said Salvador. “Or what if they come through the pushbar door? They could sneak up behind us from inside the school, then.”
The guards will stay on the side entrance holding Maholtz hostage until the scholars have gotten close enough. Then I’ll call Cody and those guards will come running and get in the mass with us. The same will go for those soldiers in the library. The pushbar door is no sweat at all: that’s a serious door, and even if the cops can jimmy the lock, the mikestand’ll hold for at least a few minutes, and that’s all that we’ll need. Any more questions?
Berman said, “Do you really need all of us to go outside with you?”
That’s not a real question. It only sounds like one.
“What I’m saying,” Berman said, “is there doesn’t seem like there’s any good reason for all of us to go outside with you. The cops, like you said, are getting bold—what if they decide to start shooting or use tear gas?”
They’re not gonna do that.
“But what if they do?”
Then we’ll bleed and we’ll cry.
“And we’ll lose, Gurion. Is what I’m saying. I know you’re angry at us, but we’re still your brothers, right? And wouldn’t it be better if as few of your brothers as possible suffered? What I’m saying is that it doesn’t seem like you need all of us outside for your hostage-terrorist scheme to work. It seems like maybe you need only five, six hostages at most—it seems like if the cops are willing to move on you when you have five hostages, they’ll be willing to move on you with twenty hostages. There’s no greater line to cross with twenty than five—they’re either willing to endanger hostages or they aren’t.”
So you want to stay here, watching the television, until the scholars break through the copline, and when you see it happen, you’ll all rush outside to join us.
“Right,” Berman said.
And if the plan fails, and the cops do attack us, not only will you avoid getting tear-gassed and shot, but you’ll bind yourselves, to the scaffold, say, and when the cops come in, you’ll say you came to understand that following Gurion was wrong, that Gurion was a terrorist, and you opened your eyes to it right at the end of the battle, which was crazy, you’ll say, just watch the tapes. The whole school was fighting, you’ll tell the cops, and you lost track of right and wrong—like everyone else—but at the end of the battle, when things calmed down, you came to your senses, and you tried to rise up and overthrow Gurion and turn him in, along with yourselves, but Gurion and the Side of Damage weren’t done yet, and they beat you into submission, bound you to the scaffold, called you cowards, held you hostage.
“Yes,” Berman said.
Not a bad idea, but I might have a better one. Why don’t we just take you all outside like hostages and offer you up as trades? We can trade you to the cops in return for their opening up their barricade, and you can get out now, and tell the same story.
“But what if you win?”
What do you mean?
“I mean what if you win? We want you to win. It’ll be better for us if everything works out the way you said you want it to. We’ll be more feared. We don’t want to be left out of that,” Berman said. “It makes the most sense for us to just wait in here to see if you’ll win, cause then if you do win, we can win with you.”
You’re right, I said, we’ll do it like that. Do you have a source of fire?
“Fire?” Berman said.
Fire, you know—like a lighter. Do you have a lighter?
None of the Israelites had a lighter.
I took out the cracktorch I had in my pocket, handed it to Berman.
Take that, I said, and while we’re gone, and you’re waiting to see what happens to us, you can build a fire and melt down your ammo.
“Why should we do that?” Berman said.
“You should stop with the mouth,” Eliyahu said, “and get to work.”
“On what?” Berman said.
“Whatever you want. A calf? A fish? A dog-headed bird? Sculpt something, though, and do it fast, lest your Jewish foolishness become unforgettable by dint of its dull aesthetic’s salience.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“So what else is new?”
In B-Hall, way back, where no zoom lens or scope could angle to probe, the Side of Damage, the Five, and Big Ending chose roles. I called up Ben-Wa and told him to be ready to unlock the doors and unchair Boystar as soon as he saw us at the Main Hall junction. I called Cody von Braker and told him the plan. I called the guards in the library and told them the plan. I checked the soundgun. The soundgun still worked. I gave it to June.
Twenty-five soldiers in B-hall, plus us two. Jerry Throop, Salvador, Ansul, the Janitor, Isadore, Mangey, Boshka, and the Ashley would each play hostage to a pair of terrorists. Beauregard Pate was the odd man out. He’s who I sent to get Benji and Jelly.
“Now?” he said.
Now, I said. But do it calm. Once you get to the junction, the cops’ll be able to see you through the window. Just act like you’re going to the bathroom or something.
“When should I bring them out?” he said.
I said, Once you get Benji onto his feet, come out to Main Hall and wait with Ben-Wa. He’ll be watching us outside, and as soon as the line breaks he’ll call up Cody and the soldiers in the library, and all of you will head out to join us together.
Pate looked worried.
What? I said.
“His feet?” said Pate.
Whose feet? I said.
“Nakamook’s, Gurion. You said I have to get him onto his feet?”
He’s passed out on drugs.
“And I’m supposed to wake him?”
So what? I said.
“What if I say, ‘Benji, wake up,’ and he doesn’t wake up?”
Shake him, I said.
“Shake Nakamook?” he said.
You’re right, I said. I said, Don’t shake Nakamook. Have Jelly shake Nakamook. And here, I said.
“Here?” said Pate.
Hold on, I said.
I was searching my pockets for the mint-tin of pills. I searched three times and couldn’t find it.
I said, Somewhere in the nurse’s, probably on the desk, there’s a mint-tin of pills. The blue ones are spedspeed. If Benji needs shaking, he’ll be really groggy. Crush two with the mint-tin and make him snort the powder.
“Make him?” said Pate.
Tell Jelly I said to make him snort the powder.
Pate went calmly, just like I’d told him, and I turned to the soldiers, ready to go, to lead them out, when Vincie said, “Aren’t you getting behind us?” and suddenly a portion of Berman’s logic, despite its cowardly origins, rang sound:
The cops would endanger hostages or wouldn’t, and though I was all but certain they wouldn’t, on the off-chance they would, it wouldn’t matter how many hostages were present, so there wasn’t any need to bring so many out front. I could knock out Boystar, drop him outside the door, set my foot above his throat as I had done earlier, and raise the soundgun, and call the scholars forward. The Side could wait in B-Hall, west of the junction, til the scholars got close, and Ben-Wa could shout out when the copline broke. There wasn’t any reason to endanger them at all.
I explained the change of plans.
Vincie said, “Fuck that.”
June yanked my hood.
My head jerked back.
Vincie said, “I’ll go—you stay here.”
They won’t listen to you, I said.
“They might listen to me,” Eliyahu said. “I’m convincing.”
You are, I said, but they’re not gonna listen to anyone else. Not when there’s that many cops to walk through.
“Listen,” said Vincie. “There’s snipers out there. We saw on TV. They’ve got at least two. If you go out there and the cops decide to shoot you—”
They’re not gonna shoot me live on TV.
“You don’t know that, Gurion. Just please fucken listen.” His volume kept lowering. “I’m not playing the dumb one. You’re the leader, and they know you’re the leader, and they keep on saying ‘the terrorist, Maccabee.’ You’re the one person they can shoot and stay goodguys. Even if it means risking Boystar’s life.”