Simon's Miracle Box

Simon's Miracle Box

A powerful wind blew through the alleyway between the Chez Blanche restaurant and the Golden Paradise apartment building, driving litter and dust in a terrific rush to the iron fence around the secluded garden that filled the space between the rear loading areas. Hailstones fell on and between the buildings, striking the clapboard roof of Simon's makeshift shelter. The hailstones raised a cacophony of metallic ringing from the trashbins, rousing Simon from his fretful sleep. He huddled deeper into the nest of cardboard and discarded clothing that he had gathered for warmth. For the thousandth time, he cursed his situation, wondering why it seemed as if God hated him. He silently demanded of the universe to explain why his ex wife, Carol, had cheated on him, stolen his money, and left him with nothing. He wanted to know why he had lost his cushy job when he had been doing so well, why he had lost the house that he had inherited from his parents, and ended up eating scraps while hiding from the weather in a dirty alley. He laughed ruefully at himself for entertaining the notion of the existence of God.

In a few minutes, the wind and hail stopped their frenetic assault, and the sun burst through the receding cloud cover. Simon pushed aside the old scarf he was using to cover the entrance to his shelter, poking out his head to survey the damage. His vision fell on an unexpected sight. Sitting directly in front of him, perched on what looked like some bit of trash, was a pure white pigeon, it's eyelids closed as if in sleep. As Simon watched in fascination, the bird began to stir. Simon suspected that when the bird's eyelids opened, he would see the red irises of an albino. Instead, he was amazed to see a pair of glowing golden orbs reveal themselves, before the bird took to the sky and disappeared into the light of the sun. A single small, white, feather drifted serenely downward, landing on the object upon which the bird had been perched. Simon now saw that it was a small rectangular box, about six inches long, and two inches wide, with a dull brown surface etched all over with a pattern of markings. Gingerly, he lifted the thing up with his fingertips, to examine it more closely. It was made of metal, warm to the touch. The brown color came from the oxidation of old copper, Simon knew, and this object seemed to be very old indeed. The etchings that adorned the entire surface were of an intricate weave, giving it the appearance of cloth. Positioned in the center of what Simon took to be the top was a small, stylized, menorah, with a three pronged glyph above the center candlestick. The space just below that was worn just a little smoother than the rest of the pattern, as though it had been frequently rubbed at. Simon ran his thumb along the worn spot, and the top of the box slid aside, lengthwise, revealing a small, heavily yellowed, scroll, tied with a red cord. Simon didn't dare to remove the scroll, since it seemed very fragile. He carefully rolled it around inside the box, observing every detail of what he believed to be an ancient piece of parchment. There were faded figures drawn on it, which Simon recognized as hebrew letters. Carefully, he slid the cover back into place.

Quickly, he ducked back into his shelter to fetch his backpack. He tucked the box into it and made sure that it was secure. This was an exciting find. If the box turned out to be as valuable as Simon had begun to suspect, it could very well provide the solution to all of his problems. He would need to find someone who knew about antiquities to consult on how to find a buyer, but it was important to keep it a secret until then. Being homeless in the city was never safe, but if anyone knew that he had something valuable on his person, it could become deadly in a hurry. He needed to get to the library to study up on the box and think about his next move, but he also needed to eat. It had been more than twenty four hours since he had had a meal, and that had merely been two apples he had managed to steal from the city's public beautification trees along the street. He had nearly gotten himself impaled on the spikes of the fence that had been erected specifically to keep homeless folks away.
He had no money to buy food at the moment, and begging could take a long while to produce the amount he would need just to get a sandwich. He considered knocking at the kitchen door of the Chez Blanche, but the last time he had tried that, the sous chef had chased him away with a meat tenderizing hammer. Well, he was here now, even though the restaurant staff hadn't discovered him yet, so he figured he might as well give it a shot. At worst, he'd have to run away again, and then try his luck elsewhere.

Just as he was screwing up his courage to knock on the door, it swung open, and the entire kitchen staff came rushing out. One of them pushed him aside roughly, without saying a word to him. Then the chef and his assorted cooks and dish washers ran up the alley toward the front of the restaurant, leaving the door wide open. Simon watched them go around the corner, then walked through the doorway into the kitchen. It was completely deserted. There were plates of food sitting on a counter, ready to go out to the dining room. He peeked out through the little round window into the dining area, and saw that the waiters were ushering patrons out through the front door. Everyone was holding handkerchiefs and napkins over their mouths and noses. He heard someone say the words "gas leak". Simon didn't smell the telltale rotten egg odor of leaking gas, but he looked around, eyes and ears open. Over by the ovens, he found a damaged gas line that had been pulled free from a coupling, but it had a wad of sticky wax jammed into the opening, and another just like it in the open end of the coupling. This situation was not exactly safe, but also was not an immediate threat to his life. He checked around again, and saw no one in the restaurant. He walked out between the tables, looking at all of the abandoned food items still sitting on the plates. He found a couple of sandwiches, wrapped them in cloth napkins, and placed them in his backpack. Then, stuffing his mouth with bread, he went searching for some bottled water, or even soda, that he could take along as well. He found a mostly full bottle of good wine, and helped himself. Then he heard a sound. Turning toward it in alarm, Simon caught someone exiting the manager's office with a small black duffle bag. As their eyes locked, Simon recognized the panicked face of the assistant manager. He saw through the open door that there was a small safe inside the office, and the safe was open. It was also empty. Simon quickly realized that the assistant manager had set up the gas leak to give himself an opening to rob the restaurant. Now Simon was in a real dilemma, because the thief could now lay the blame on Simon.

It didn't take the assistant manager more than a few seconds to arrive at the same conclusion that Simon had, and his panicked expression changed to one of sly amusement. Putting on an air of bluster, he starting shouting at Simon.

"Stop, thief!" cried the dastardly assistant manager.

Simon began to panic. He needed to escape. He couldn't go out the front door because the people outside would grab him, thinking he was a thief, and technically he had stolen some food. He also couldn't get out the back way, because the assistant manager was blocking the way. He was trapped. Suddenly, a strong breeze blew the front door shut with a loud bang. Then, a sqeaking, rustling, noise began. From every corner of the restaurant, rats began to dart out. The crazed rodents scurried directly at the assistant manager. They pounced on his feet and climbed swiftly up to his face and neck. In an instant, he was covered in dozens of rats, all biting, scratching, and clawing at him until blood was streaming from a multitude of wounds. He swung at them wildly, screaming obscenities in stark terror. Simon saw his chance, and ran for the kitchen. He was out the back door and climbing the locked garden gate at the end of the alley in under thirty seconds, and out on the opposite street in less than a minute. He walked fast for several blocks before ducking into another alley. He couldn't believe his luck; saved by rats. Rats! What an extraordinary occurrence!

Simon breathed deeply as he slowed to a normal pace. No one seemed to be following him, but that situation might change. He headed in the direction of the nearest library branch. He had learned the locations of every public building on this side of the city in the first few months after losing his home. It was an important survival strategy. Now, rather than mere shelter, he needed the more conventional services the library offered. The librarian was one of the good ones. She helped him look up dealers in antiques, took pictures of the box for him, and uploaded them to the library computer so he could attach the photos to emails.
He learned that the box was called a mezuzah, and it was just as old as it seemed. It was a genuine relic of pre-Roman Judea, over two thousand years old, remarkably preserved. It could be worth several thousand dollars at the right auction, enough to start a new life. For the first time in years, Simon began to feel hopeful about his situation. He scheduled a meeting with an appraiser for later in the day, then used the library's restroom facilities to clean himself up as best he could. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. It had been a long time since he had been able to look himself in the eyes. The shame and impotent rage at what his life had become always overwhelmed him. This time he looked, and held his own gaze for a long enough time to assure himself that now things would be different. Life would be better, and he would always remember to be grateful for it. He allowed himself a small prayer of thanks to a god that he had stopped talking to years ago. The lights in the restroom grew brighter for a moment, then returned to normal. Simon blinked. He had seen a lot of strange things this day.

Simon left the library and headed uptown for his meeting. He enjoyed the walk. Two blocks from his destination, he decided to cut through an alleyway, rather than go down to the intersection. Halfway down the alley, someone yelled at him. The voice was familiar, masculine, and laced with hostility. Survival instinct kicked in, and he started running toward the farther end of the alley. He could hear the rapid footsteps of pursuit closing the distance behind him. The man yelled at Simon again, demanding that he stop running, promising a worse fate for the expended effort of the chase. Simon had no intention of stopping, but he tripped on a discarded spraypaint can and fell headlong onto the old cracked asphalt, spraining his ankle and bumping his head sharply. His backpack split open at the zipper, and several of it's contents spilled out. The bottle of wine shattered, leaving a mess of glass shards and pungent red liquid. Simon rolled onto his back and scrambled backward, away from his pursuer. He barely heard the metallic clattering sound as something else fell from his backpack.

There was no escape for him now, as his pursuer caught up to him. The man leaned over, with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily and cursing. Simon recognized him now. He was a young man named Tod Ingerham, who worked as a security guard for some of the local shops. He had harassed Simon on other occasions, apparently believing that someone of Simon's socioeconomic status would never enter a store unless it was to steal something, and that Simon had no right to be considered a part of society. The last time Simon had escaped Tod's harassment, Tod had screamed that Simon had better not show his face in that area of town again, or it would be the end of him. Now it seemed that Tod was about to make good on that threat. Simon was terrified, but he couldn't run. He was sure that his life was about to end.

Tod had a fire of pure hatred in his eyes as he stepped toward Simon, with one hand tightly clutching the handle of his pistol. He spat at Simon. "You dirty fucking bum, how dare you make me chase you! Do you remember what I told you the last time? Do you? You're not welcome around here, scumbag! Did you not get the god damned point? I am not fucking around here! Your kind have no place here! Fuck, a lazy piece of shit like you should never even be seen by decent, hardworking people! You disgusting parasite!"

Tod stood up to his full height and stepped toward Simon. The toe of his boot caught the edge of the object that had fallen from Simon's backback. It slid noisily across a foot of asphalt, and was stopped by a chunk of broken glass. Tod caught a glimpse of it, and bent to pick it up. Simon saw that it was the mezuzah.

"The fuck is this, you damned wino? Something you stole?"

"No," Simon said pitifully, "that's mine. Please give it back."

Tod turned the mezuzah in his hand, inspecting it. He saw the image of the menorah and made a sound of disgust. "Oh, I might have known you were a fucking jew, on top of everything else! Fuck! What a disgusting parasite! I don't see how you live with yourself! In fact, maybe you shouldn't be living at all!"

Tod hurled the mezuzah at Simon's head. It missed, bounced off of the brick outer wall of the building, and landed in Simon's hand. Tod drew his pistol and aimed it directly at Simon, his finger poised to squeeze the trigger.

Simon began to blubber, "Oh, God no! I don't want to die. Please, please, please! You don't need to, there's no reason, please don't kill me!"

Tod sneered.

"Wait!" Simon called out desperately. "You can't! Your antisemitism makes it a hate crime! And I'm not even Jewish!"

"I'm not worried about it," Tod spat nastily. "No one else is around, and besides, nobody even cares about a worthless vermin like you. So shut up! Time to be exterminated."

"Oh God!" screamed Simon, "please save me! Help!"

Suddenly, a blinding white light erupted from the space above the two men, pouring over them with an intensity that drove away every shadow, and set their nerves to tingling. The aroma of incense filled the air. Their ears popped as some subsonic vibration thundered through their bones. The spilled alcohol burst into flames, and small tongues of fire lifted up into the light where they vanished. A figure began to form within the light, strange and terrible. First there were wings, white feathered and enormous. There were six of them, larger than eagle's wings, arranged like the spokes of a wheel, yet in tandem. The two wings on the right and left of the center flew open with a mighty blast of air that pushed the two men back several inches. The space between was filled with eyes, staring and burning like lamps. Those eyes could surely see straight into a man's soul, and nothing would be hidden from them. The lower wings opened to reveal white furred feet that were like something between a lion's paws and cloven, golden, hooves. A blow from one of them would annihilate mortal flesh. Finally, the upper two wings parted, and the entity's head came into view. Golden light burned beneath the alabaster skin, and in the golden orbs of it's eyes. The face seemed to be shaped like that of a perfectly symmetrical man, but it shifted into that of a lion, then an ox, and an eagle, and then back to a man.

Tod screamed as he lifted his pistol and began firing at the entity. Bullets flew from the barrel, but traveled no more than an arm's length before evaporating in the excoriating white light. The entity looked at Tod with it's lion face and roared, "STOP!"

Tod's arms fell limply to his sides, and his gun clattered on the ground. His voice hushed. The bright figure above him drew an arm from under a wing, like the arm of a man, but with a second elbow, and all with that strangely burning alabaster flesh. The arm terminated in a six fingered hand, and the hand held a device. It appeared to be a sort of rod, strangely fashioned from shining gold and deep blue stones which glowed from within. The end of the rod emitted sparks of electricity, which grew outward into the shape of a blade that danced with the heavenly fire of a lightning storm. The entity pointed the tip of the blade at Tod.

The face of the perfect man opened it's mouth, and a thundering voice passed through unmoving lips. "Heed me!" that voice demanded. "I am the emissary of the Almighty, he who orders the cosmos, and weighs the souls of men. I am the hand of his judgement, and I wield the force of his vengeance! My sword is the flame of his divine will, and it will cleave asunder the soul and spirit of the unworthy! The evil soul shall perish, and the good shall be blessed."

The face grinned, and it was terrible, with teeth like glimmering sabers lined up by the hundreds. Fire plumed from between them, and smoke curled up from the nostrils. The electric flame of the blade flashed and pulsed like a living thing that was barely restrained from it's ravenous purpose. Speaking again to Tod, the entity proceeded, "Fear not, little mortal. If there be within the dross of your soul even one small spark of goodness, I shall suss it out, and preserve it! I vow this to you."

The blade crackled and thundered, and the fire of it leapt out upon Tod. His torso crumpled, blackened, and collapsed into ash as every cell of his body filled with the lightning. Worm like tendrils of sparking energy darted and danced along his limbs, turning them to ash, as well. Soon there was nothing left of Tod except for his head, bodiless and suspended in space, eyes wide in shock, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. The lightning pierced his brain as the flesh of his face went to ash, and the skull burned away. Tod's naked brain peeled apart like an onion of ashes. The Cerebrum fell apart in it's halves, and the Cerebellum followed, then the Corpus Collossum collapsed into cinders, leaving the Hypothalamus to slowly incinerate. The energy tendrils worked their way through each organelle and synapse, until the last charred morsel disintegrated, leaving a single glowing spark hovering in the light. The blade receded into the rod. The entity reached out with another hand, and plucked the spark from the air. He brought it up to the golden orbs of his eagle face and peered at it for several minutes. He produced a crystalline orb from among his feathers, and pressed the spark to it's surface, where it was absorbed into the interior of the crystal.

"The one named Tod did have a spark of goodness after all," spoke the entity. "It shall not perish, but be added to the holy edifice of glory, where it shall support the feet of the faithful. And now, you." The entity shifted his gaze to Simon, who had not looked away since the entity had appeared.

Simon had been amazed, transfixed, horrified by all that he had witnessed. Yet, he could not deny that the entity had been a literal answer to prayer. It had saved him. And now it was looking at him, expectantly. He had never been so nervous in his entire life. Not when he was in court with his divorce, not when his boss was laying out the reasons for firing him, and not even when Tod's pistol was pointed at his face. Was he about to get the same treatment that Tod got? His eyes moved to the rod. The entity moved his hand back underneath the wings.

"Are you satisfied?" the entity asked, from it's human face

"I-I b-beg your pardon?" Simon replied sheepishly.

"The help that has been provided," the entity said in his terrible voice. "Is it satisfactory?"

"Oh!" Simon exclaimed. "Yes sir! Thank you! Thank you very much, indeed!"

"And is there anything else you require at this time?"

"Um, well, if you could maybe explain what just happened? I'd be very much obliged."

"Know you not? The vessel of his word, which you carry, compels my aid. It is special, like no other. It is holy. The parchment within is no mere list of commandments. It is the last remnant of the original draft of his covenant with one of his chosen people."

"Wow," Simon breathed, as he looked in awe at the ancient mezuzah he held.

"And when you say 'his', you mean?" Simon gestured upwards with his other hand. The entity nodded in solemn affirmation. Simon thought about that for a moment before continuing with his questions.

"And that would make you- an angel?"

"Yes, Simon."

"Then, are you- are you my- guardian angel?"

"No. I have said who I am. It is only your possession of the vessel that links my power to your fate."

"Okay, but this vessel was brought to me this morning, by a strange bird. What does that mean?"

"It means, Simon, that you also have been chosen. You are the new bearer of the vessel."

"What? Bearer of the vessel? But, why me? I'm just a bum. It always seemed like- he- just didn't like me much. Why choose me?"

"Why you? Why anyone? Why not you? He keeps his creatures according to his will. Who are we to question his ways?"

"Eh, right, sure, of course. But, uh, if I'm the new bearer, what exactly happened to the old bearer?"

"He that was before you died. His body was one hundred and seven years old, and could no longer retain his spirit. A new bearer was required."

"One hundred and seven? Holy c-" Simon clapped his hand over his mouth, afraid that he had nearly blasphemed in front of the avenging angel. Somehow, the angel managed to look slightly amused. At first, Simon was relieved that he had not incurred the wrath of this powerful divine being, but then all of his years of bitterness about the wreckage of his old life came welling up.

"Now, hold on a minute. If I'm really supposed to be this bearer of the vessel of the last remnant of this covenant thing, and it's really so important to the Almighty, then why? Why did he let all those terrible things happen to me? Why did he let me lose- everything?" Hot tears of rage and self pity were streaming down Simon's face, but he didn't care. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew how terribly reckless he was being, to speak this way to the angel. He had just seen this awful, powerful, entity burn a man to ashes and collect a spark of his soul. He was properly terrified, but he needed to hear the answers to his questions. He was experiencing a crisis of the soul that placed the value of those answers above that of his own continued existence.

The angel looked down at Simon with a measure of pity in his face. His voice was subtly softer when he spoke next. "It was necessary, Simon. You had to be prepared for this task. Before, you were too proud, too ungrateful, and too uncharitable to be a worthy bearer. You needed to be broken so that you could be mended rightly. He could not use you as you were."

"Is that all I am, then? Something to be used?"

"It is what all of us are. We are all one. Each of us a part of the Almighty. But, we are each too small a part to know our greater purpose. Some choose evil, and must perish, to preserve the rest, but it would be better if none needed to perish."

"And what if I refuse to be used?"

The angel looked alarmed. "You must not refuse! Another bearer cannot be born for seven decades hence. In that time, the remnant could be destroyed, and the world along with it! War would engulf all the nations of men. Violence would overcome every one of them, until the very fires of creation itself were unbound, and would consume all life. All would perish, Simon."

"Nuclear annihilation. That's what you're describing. Over this little box, and a scrap of old parchment? Those are pretty big stakes for something so small." Simon pondered the angel's story. He believed it. There wasn't really a reason not to, even if he didn't understand what the mezuzah had to do with anything. And, he knew that the angel was right, about him, about his attitude before he was homeless. Maybe it hadn't all been his fault, exactly, but he could see that he had deserved to be taught a lesson. And now, it seemed like the lesson was over. There was some hope in that, after all. In that moment, he resigned himself to the new life he was now being presented with.

"So, then, what am I actually supposed to do?"

"You will keep the vessel safe, hidden from the world, until it is required, or until it must pass to a new bearer."

"Until I die, you mean. Probably of extreme old age, like the last fellow. Fine. I'll do it." Simon thought of his deal to auction off the mezuzah, and realized that it could never happen. He would remain in possession of the vessel for the rest of his life, it seemed. Just like whoever had it before him. A thought occurred to Simon, regarding his living situation.

"But, about the last bearer," He asked "um, was he also homeless? Did he live in the streets for over a century? It seems like that would make things difficult."

"Fear not, Simon. Providence has been made for you. You will find the place that you are meant to be."

"Oh. That's nice. It would be good to have some stability."

"And so you shall," the angel spoke with an air of finality. "Farewell, mortal Simon, until such time as you must call upon my aid once more. Do not let it be too soon."

The form of the angel dissolved into the light, and the light faded away. The alley was returned to it's normal state, though not quite completely. There was no more dirt, muck, or litter. Not even a speck of dust remained. Simon looked at his clothing. Not only the dirt had been removed, but all of the color, as well. They were the same clothes, but now they were bright white. Even his beard and hair, he discovered, had been made white. His skin, which felt cleaner than it had at any previous time in his life, held a very slight golden glow. He slid the mezuzah into his trouser pocket, then removed his ruined backpack, thinking to mend it, but now it seemed like a thing of his past, which he would no longer need. Chuckling to himself, he took out the sandwiches which he had placed inside earlier that day. He ate one of them while dropping the backpack into a sparkling clean trash bin, then walked out of the alleyway to the street while eating the other sandwich. He spied a black leather wallet laying on the sidewalk right by the entrance to the alley, and picked it up. The identification card inside belonged to Tod Ingerham. The wallet also contained a thousand dollars in cash, and two credit cards. Since Tod would obviously not be needing it anymore, Simon put the wallet in his own back pocket, for safe keeping. He looked up and saw the white bird, hovering in front him by rapidly flapping it's wings. It turned and began slowly flying away. Simon felt as though he should simply follow the bird, thinking it might lead him to that place where he was meant to be, so he did.