chapter 2

Chapter 2

I woke up with at sunrise and went out to the orange sky. I found the king sitting by silvered-rocks next to a golden water pool. He made us breakfast. The Sheppard from yesterday brought him fresh goat milk. “Have a sit” he said. The mild was still warm , The mother goat body’s heat. The king licked his chin and said: “My queen and me will leave India soon and continue to Israel. I want to offer you a solo cover rights.

“What are you looking in Israel?”

“Do you remember the two choices in live?”

“According to you? To become a king or a victim?”

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“I will be happy to be wrong. But I think Israel is crowded with victims and suffer from lack of kings. My queen and I are coming to remind people the right and the duty to live like kings.”

“You are going to the wrong country. In India you will always have around you bigger nuts. In Israel you will not finish a sentence. Let it go. You are wasting you time.”

“I won’t have to finish a sentence with no one, just with you. Here is the idea: You will bring my statement to the nation in the magazine. In a book.”

He handled me another peace with olive oil and cheese. “Listen” I said “Don’t get me wrong. I really appreciate you. Even when I don’t believe a word. But I never been a court yard reporter and the offer itself insults me.”

“You are insulted from what you think I offered. We don’t need a court-yard reporter. You can write about me whatever you feel like. You can criticize me. You can turn me into a comic figure. You can hide behind my name to write things you don’t dare to say. All what I offer you is a solo cover. You do what you understand.”

“What are the conditions?”

“You will not publish a picture of me or my queen. You are not covering the queen she is not part of the deal. You will not give any identification about Badulina and you will quote me exactly even if you think I have gone mad.”

I was about to ask about payment but as a journalist I was never good at that.

“Why me?”

“Because you are from Israel and you use to be a journalist and you have a personal interest.”

“A personal interest?”

“You told me you would like to live like that. To eat only the cream on the cake, to do what you feel like, to win love from everyone. You already started before we met; here at your “Blue Sky” you are a king. Are you willing to expend your kingdom now? To be a king everywhere and in any condition”?

“Not ready and not interested. Thanks a lot. I like it like this.”

“OK. Forget about the personal interest. I guess you feel uncomfortable to admit it because whatever we are saying people are reading now. You can admit it later to me privately and then edit that.”

We set quietly for a while. It was the first time the king actually annoyed me. I went outside. The sun has come out already, the Himalaya Mountains rapped us like a thick cream and eagles were flying far below us. The king pointed them: “Do you know anybody – no matter how cynical – who never envied them who never wanted to feel like them?”

I couldn’t find a reason to answer that. He continued as if we had any discussion: “Do you know many people who dare to try? In Israel?”

I stared at him. I’m not going anywhere let him talk. He chewed a peace of grass after taking of it a red silk-warm. “Israel” he said “And don’t take it personally, is a land of worms. Everybody is victims with diploma: from the Jewish side victims of holocaust, Pogroms, Racism. From the Palestinian side victims of depression, racism… second and third generation...”

“You say it like its cold: Holocaust, depression, racism.”

“Here you see? You wave me already. What is your generation? I say nothing about the pas, I speak about the present. Everyone has a list of guilt, everybody seek conference. Everyone keeps plenty excuses for miserably and anger and very few justifications for happiness am I right?”

I pulled my shoulders.

“Maybe I’m wrong” He said “But I don’t think so. And Israel from all kind of reasons is in the center of the world attention. Everyone watches Jerusalem: Christians and Muslims and Jewish and what they see is a group of victims fighting each other instead of enjoying the Milk and Honey. I’m going there in a royal mission: To wake up the people, to remind them that their elementary duty in this universe is not ideal or national but personal: to become happy.”

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“They will kill you.”

“Are you coming or not?”

“Forget about it. No way.”

“You pay.”

How could I refuse?