The Celestial Gate by Avital Dicker (red white royal blue txt) 📗

tip of the longer of the blonde’s two noses couldn’t make her smile. The last thing she wanted was to have a conversation now. She pushed the button again, and the blonde disappeared.

This time she found herself in a room with a vaulted, domed ceiling, almost like that of a church. The walls were painted white, and a colorful landscape painting was hanging above the large double bed that stood in the center of the room. The view through the small window was breathtaking: a mix of minarets and spires rising from mosques and churches built indiscriminately side by side.

A young woman in a long black dress, a hijab covering her face, stared at the floor as she leaned against the opposite wall.

The tall blond man facing her lifted his hand to his chest and said, “Michael.”

“Sual,” the young woman replied in a soft whisper, her eyes still staring bashfully at her feet.

The young man slowly extended his hand and gently removed the scarf. She made no objection. Her long black hair came loose and cascaded over her shoulders in lush waves.

The man gently reached out his palm and lifted her chin. She slowly raised her eyes and smiled shyly.

“Hi,” he said in a clear mid-western American accent. Anise could feel the tension in the air between them. But the woman still had a kind of sadness in her eyes that cast a shadow even over this beautiful moment. Anise wanted to hug her. The young woman raised her hand now and slowly began to undo the buttons of her dress.

Anise wanted to see more but instead found herself staring once again at the under-the-weather blonde, who was now brushing her hair in front of a mirror. Something about that odd couple intrigued her. A blonde American and a religious Muslim. Something just didn’t fit.

The blonde sighed to herself in the mirror. “I’m sick as a dog and there’s no one to take my shift.” She turned around. “How do I look?” she asked, straightening her skirt.

Anise, answering in the most pleasant tone she could muster, said, “Look, it’s impossible to know anything from just half an hour. How do I know who they are or if I’ll be happy with them? I know it’s not standard practice, but could you please let me have a teeny-tiny extra peek?”

“I understand you, but you know the rules and there’s nothing I can do,” replied the blonde, continuing to apply her pink lipstick. “Besides, why don’t you stop thinking so hard. You know thought is only one tool in your chest. All knowledge is available to you here and now, and if you listen, you’ll know. You’re concentrating on your thoughts and you’re not using the other tools you’ve been given, like your feelings or intuition. You don’t need words here. Concentrate and just let it come…” The rest of her sentence was cut short by a rapid-fire succession of sneezes.

Anise didn’t understand what the blonde meant, but the room, the chair, and the stars disappeared once again.

This time she found herself in a child’s room.

Anise looked at the collage that occupied most of the wall, almost entirely made up of newspaper cuttings with photos of famous pop bands. On the floor lay a jumble of clothing, leftover food, and some books and notebooks. Loud, gravelly-sounding rock music filled the room.

The teenage couple in front of her was in the throes of clumsy groping and fondling, which Anise thought resembled wrestling more than caressing. Shaken, she looked at the girl, who didn’t look a day over fifteen, and the overly enthusiastic boy next to her, sporting a red pimple on his right cheek. He was, at most, a year older, Anise thought.

The boy took off his T-shirt and began to unbutton the girl’s pink shirt.

No! She most definitely didn’t want to see this. Anise quickly pushed the button and blessed the darkness that enveloped her.

Back in the room, Anise sank into the armchair, took a deep breath, and tried not to sound angry. “These can’t be my options,” she said.

But the blonde was too busy trying to close the zip of her evening dress and didn’t seem to be listening. “A girl pregnant at fifteen? Seriously? A baby whose mother is still a baby herself?” Now Anise raised her voice in anger. “How can this be one of my options? Will you stop dolling yourself up for a minute and explain what choice I actually have? All you have to offer me is a choice between bad and worse. She’s a little girl who hasn’t even finished high school. Of course I can’t choose her. I’ll ruin her life and she’ll ruin mine.”

“I don’t make the rules,” replied the blonde indifferently. “What do you think of this dress? How do I look? You’re last on my list for today and I have a date.” She giggled gaily and blew her longer nose again.

“Where the hell is God?” asked Anise, becoming annoyed.

The blonde put some tissues into her handbag. “You have to decide and I have to go,” she said impatiently.

Anise’s eyes darkened with anger. “We both know that I don’t really have a choice. Of the three options you’ve shown me, only one comes close to acceptable.”

The blonde smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but just like you, I’m a small cog in a big wheel. And now it’s time and we both have to go.” She smoothed an invisible crease in her dress. Anise wanted to say something, but her mind was a blur, and, in an instant, the room had disappeared.

The woman from the forest sighed with relief as she sat on the therapist’s couch. “At least I am not pregnant,” she said to the psychologist in the leather chair, who nodded sympathetically. “I would never have been able to love this child,” she stammered, and the psychologist pushed a box of tissues toward her.

“We’ll get through it together,” she said softly to the young woman