Chapter 19. The Watcher


“Yes, my dear.”

“Could you please teleport me over to the far side of the Moon?”

“Wish I could.”

“How about Uncle Albert?”

“He has no contact with temporal reality. He can’t do that.”

“Oh Lord, HaMashiach Yeshua, Son of God, have mercy on me.” Rebecca is beamed up to the surface of the Moon. “And give me some air, because there’s no atmosphere he…” Her voice strangled, her hands trying to stop the ache in her throat, her eyes growing wider and wider. “How stupid can I be. What a terrible way to die. What an…” Swoosh. A white haze circles Rebecca. “So darn freezing. I can hardly breathe this… What is this? Doesn’t matter. I can breathe. Thank You!” The haze turns blueish and grows denser before taking her away within a lightning.


“March 14, 2029. 23:43 Zulu Time. Patrol Unit Delta Echo 39274 reports the sighting of a massive sprite. Coordinates of interest attached to the message. Request for orbiter and long range scanners data feeds. Request to open a case to study the new patterns discovered on the Lunar surface beneath the sprite.”


Rebecca opens her eyes with precaution. The haze is gone and so is the headache caused by the lightning.

“I feel giddy. My mouth is dry. My eyes are… Well, my eyes are perfect! Interesting new teleportation experience. Never had it before. Think that it first induced an artificial headache intended to close my eyes and, who knows, to take other sensors offline for the duration of the transport. Hum, lightning! Traveling within a firebolt. I never knew that I could survive such a feat.”

Rebecca stands up. Turns around in amazement. “Clouds! I’m hovering through gray clouds. Look! That one down there is green. Bright green and spring green. Pistachio and yellow-green. What a wonderful palette!”

Her hands begin to inspect the proximities in search for a wall of glass or some sort of indicator that her body is not subject to the winds shredding the clouds out there. “Nothing ahead, nothing behind, nothing above, nothing below. Where the heck am I?”

“You are in a very sweet spot, lovely little bunny.”

“Who is this?”

“This is your god speaking.”

“Ah, really? Don’t think so. Fuck off, you impostor!”

“An opinionated bunny. It gets even better.”

“Identify yourself immediately. Before my words will chain you to…”

“Chain me to what exactly?”

“A-ha! So you admit that my words could chain you, to whatever, doesn’t matter. It is enough to prove, from your own saying, that you’re not my god. And if you’re not my god, well, who the hell are you?”

“I am the cause of life always to all things.”

“Okay, you wished for it. Oh Lord, HaMashiach Yeshua, Son of God, have mercy on me, and give me grace to filter the truth concealed by this unidentified daemon. Thank Thee, Khrist Pantokrator.”

Silence tells Rebecca that she’s alone, left in her luminous bubble. “The nagger is gone. Thank God! How about I swim, like a fish. Nah, not working, like a frog maybe? Yes, this works.”

Our cute little fish-frog makes rounds, wider and wider rounds. Until, “ouch, it pinched my fingers. Hm, let me see,” reversing direction and counting her heartbeats while swimming in a straight line, “ouch again! There we go. Turn around, Rebecca, and swim at a sixty degrees angle from initial.”

Lines and rounds, lines and rounds, curves and angles, somersaults and loops, stings and bumps bring her to a conclusion: “I am suspended inside an egg-shaped bubble, about the size of a football field, with the length-to-width ratio of 1.618 –a divine proportioned ellipsoid. The Golden Ratio, yes!”

Thirty-six thousand heartbeats later, the fabulous sarabande of colorful clouds and gentle notes falls prey to a supersonic storm. Dashing streams of red pierce the silence around. Rebecca’s egg reverberates but resists unaltered by the inside.

“It withstands the dynamic pressures pretty well. Definitely an electromagnetic force field. Oh, wow. The hurricane remains behind. Silence and peace again. Look ahead, Rebecca dear!”

Her bubble parks, or rather floats, inside a new sweet spot. “Amazing. What are these? What these can be? Jellyfish? Aerial jellyfish? Can’t believe my eyes. They are so—so beautiful.”

“And so poisonous. Steer away, little bunny, because if one of those would sting your egg, you are dead.”

“Who is this?”

“The same one.”

“Identify yourself.”

“I am Zeus. Son of-…”

“Tread with care on this one, daemon. Or I’ll—”

“Better leave the genealogies for another day. I am Zeus and this is my planet, my realm, my kingdom, that you earthlings call Jupiter. Welcome to my home, Rivkah.”

“Your home or your prison?”

“Why are you so sour?”

“You know why.”

“Can we make abstraction for the time being?”

“Can I see where the abstraction resides in you?”

“Be my guest!”

“Darn. This daemon has its wits. I’ll be polite with you. Yet cold.”

“You make me horny. I am hot. Always!” Pause. “Rivkah, my dear guest, you are currently visiting the Medusa Aquarium. The average length of these jellyfish is slightly above one kilometer. Their numerous stings have proven deadly to many creatures, including leviathans and eels, orcas and scorpions.”

“I am surrounded by a force field.”

“Yes, you are. Until you are no longer. Because the electrical discharge of a medusa has enough amperage to burst your bubble. If that unfortunate event would happen, before the medusa stings again, your body will be crushed, flattened, squashed under the atmospheric pressure of fifty bars. Let not mention the dynamics of the supersonic winds.”

“You trying to scare me?”

“I do. Nevertheless, what I’m telling you is all true.”

“How do I escape out of this aquarium then?”

“Like you did from the previous one: by doing the same acrobatics inside your bubble.”

“You mean, like a hamster on the wheel?”

“Not that it came to my mind, but yes, the analogy stands. Like a hamster on a wheel.”

“Good. And how am I supposed to know where to push my bubble?”

“Simple. Push it downwards.”

“A-ha. Simple thing. You must be down there. Got it.”

Lines and rounds, lines and rounds, curves and angles, somersaults and loops, stings and bumps help her egg-shaped bubble sink low enough to feel the drag of a new hurricane. This time, a purple one.

“Bang. I’m off. Bye bye jellyfish.”

The purple stream seems slower and is getting darker. Rebecca notices her bubble shrink. “There is more pressure out there. What if?”

Swoosh and puff. Blue cyan hues bring ease and detente, allowing the bubble to expand.

“A new aquarium. Nice. Oh, and it rains out there. Rainy days…”

Rainy days never say goodbye
To desire when we are together
Rainy days growing in your eyes
Tell me where’s my way

“I like Chopin.” Little Rebecca flies her romantic wings. A few pinches won’t deter her. “Love me now and again-n-n!!!”

“You’re a dreamer but you’re not the only one!”

“Who is this?”

“Whee-esstlle is my name. Aaand heee-ere I aa-am.” An extraordinary encounter expects Rebecca from down under. So far, she remains puzzled by the dialogue between her ears. But now, with the tail of the dolphin splashing the wall of the bubble, her words, and her thoughts, perish. One by one.

“Everything okay with ya?”

Big blue eyes, an open mouth, a body like the letter X falling off a shelf.

“Hey, You! Chopin girl. Say something to me. Yoo-hoo?”

Composing herself, or trying to, Rebecca murmurs. “Whis—Whistle is your name?”

“Whee-esstlle is my name. You’ll have to whistle it. Like I do. See? Whee-esstlle! See?”

“And you are a…”

“I am a dolphin. A happy dolphin. A hugely happy dolphin. I am. For suuu-ure!”

“Why are you so happy?”

“Because I’ve met a human. The Legend says that you’ll get happy, very happy, when you’ll meet a human. I can sense it. I know it. You are the human! You are so tiny. Can I approach? I wish to see you better.”

“You may.” Rebecca is still looking for her words. In this little while, Whistle swims, or flies (hard to make the difference) closer to her bubble. “A whale. No! Wait! Oh my God, you’re bigger than a submarine. How old are you?”

“I am no older and no younger than a child. And I like your music.”

“The music isn’t mine. I took it from Gazebo.”

“Ah? But I like how you sing it. Makes me happy.”

“Yupp, figured that out already.”

“I like Chopin.”

“Hey, Whistle, how many humans have you encountered before me?”

“Not one. The Legend says that one is enough.”

“How is that?”

“Itsy-bitsy tiny human. Meet me. Free me. Let me go!”

“This is your Legend.”

“This is our Legend.”

“How many are you?”

“We are many.”

“Is that all. Anything you should tell me?”

“Yes. Our names. Each name of ours. Already told you.”

“You only said Whistle, that is your name.”

“My name it is. I also told you the melodies to sing all of our names.”

“Ah, didn’t pay much attention to the tunes.”

“Fret not! Just keep them well in your mind. Will you?”

“I will.”

“And now pay attention. Prepare yourself for immersion. Bye bye itsy-bitsy tiny human!”

The mega-sized dolphin rubs Rebecca’s bubble with his humongous pale blue skin. Short-lived electric bolts snap between the dolphin and the egg-shaped enclosure which is tugged downwards, where the rain rains thick, where the ocean engulfs the showers, where hydrogen is liquid. Down deeper towards the dynamo of Jupiter.


“I figure that the force field would have shrunk to dangerous limits if not for happy huge kind Whistle. It is clear to me that his body transfers high energy electrons to keep me safe. Wondering how on earth can his body sustain a pressure beyond half a million bar.”

To answer his itsy-bitsy tiny human friend, Whistle ups the voltage. The cracks and slaps and snaps of hectic bolts are long gone under a high frequency humming.

“Silly me. But of course. His body can’t sustain that kind of pressure. No body can. It’s the force fields. The electromagnetic shielding. A dynamo within a dynamo. Why is he spinning? Ugh, talking of dynamos, ain’t I? Oh, think that I’d better close my eyes. The lights are too bright already.”

Pushing her palms against her ears won’t serve any solace. Fingers in won’t work either. “My brains will burn. Must shut myself off. How do I do that? Oh Lord, HaMashiach Yeshua, Son of God, have mercy on me, and put me on stand by until I’ll get out of this inferno.”


This must be a memorable sight for all the Olympians on the scene. Descending from the ceiling of melted ice, a radiant egg-shaped form turns the skies orange. After the fragile and little Rebecca has been carefully placed on solid rock, like a day after, the orange hues slowly went to set below the horizons. Now, finally, the purple regains dominance across the Olympian heavens.

“Who are you bullshitting with all this theatre, Zeus?”

“What are you talking about? What theatre?”

“Olympian heavens, blah blah blah. It took me a ride through black abysses and several hells of hydrogen to land in your cave. Nice colors, great words, large gestures won’t make your hole up to heavens. You liar.”

“You call me a liar? Little thing? Have you heard about the heavens within? Of worlds and planets hanging by a thread at the bottom end of a chasm yet living around sublime heavens right at their core?”

“I did. One of these goes by the name of Saturn. The nucleus of that planet belongs to a realm where stars are crafted. Your Jupiter falls short of that. A fallen star—the moniker suits you quite well.”

“The hide of Kronos. Did you know what this pathetic god has done? He sanctioned the abyss, he blackened the heavens, arresting light itself. Kronos is synonym to calamity.”

“And who abused of his loyalty? Who inspired and seduced him? Who lied to him? Who scared him to set the entropy loose?”

“A person will answer for her own deeds.”

“This is correct. Therefore. Zeus!, first born of Chaos, heir of Lucifer, Prime Watcher over Adamkind, you are hereby found guilty of taking over human bodies, by abusing, seducing and raping daughters or Eve, by imparting technology of warfare amongst sons of Adam, by infesting many worlds with genetically engineered abominations, by disseminating desolation, by reckless and recurrent acts of evil, consciously performed after the termination of the Prior Age, consequent to similar deeds performed by your father. The judgment – pronounced throughout the Aether by Oranos and Kronos, sustained by all Adamkind with access to the Aether, brought to you by Rebecca Johannson, née Rivkah Rabinovics – condemns you, Zeus, first born of Chaos, heir of Lucifer, Prime Watcher over Adamkind, at erasure from existence and memory. To be carried out upon pronunciation today, Earth-date Anno Domini 2191, August 20th.”

“How dare you?” The thirty-six meters tall giant snatches the five feet four little Rebecca with the clear intention to chop her head between his teeth.

The next nanosecond, his teeth are no more. Not one left behind the elegant orange eraser removing his head. Nine nanoseconds later, the gripping fist of [no-name] vanishes away from the Olympian scenery.

In free fall, Rebecca recapitulates.

“The box beneath the altar. The box beneath the altar. Where is the box beneath the altar?” Like a crazed rabbit, zig-zagging amongst crumbling columns, exiting to the backyard, she exclaims. “There you are. Fast. Hurry up, you silly,” and jumps between two blocks of granite before the purple ice rains down over Olympus. Drowning it.