A Gold-Trimmed Little Book (The Journal of Amos)

[zionwings]

Saturday, 17

They tell me I am five years old. That I am a little boy, and have not seen the world. But, when I'm sleeping, I remember things. Through my eyes, I see scary things... people running and screaming, scared.... I can feel their fear.... I'm afraid too. I run, and then suddenly I'm weak, and hungry... I look around but there's no food, no water, and I'm alone. I see myself rise from a wide, heavy river.... but I'm a man, and then I'm a child, a man again... I walk the same, sound the same, but I have so many different friends, and families... I see burning cities, and invading armies.

I want to cry when I have the dreams that aren't dreams. I wake up, and see them still, like I haven't escaped my sleep. I am only five. I have only ever seen the little village I call home. My name is Amos Goldhirsch. So, who is Israel?

[zionwings]

Tuesday, 2

I am six years old. I am Amos Goldhirsch. I am six years old. I am Amos Goldhirsch.... I tell myself these things over and over.... but I do not stop having the dreams. I see temples rise, and see my own hands working to lift and carve the beautiful pillars. I see faces different than my own, with pale hair and eyes, and one that is strange and yet familiar come to tear down my precious buildings. My treasures are looted and taken by these pale men, and I rush one with eyes green like mine. I see my reflection, and I am crazed and bloody, and my eyes are brown.... but I cut down my foe, and his blood mixes with mine. The deep brown floods away as green is revealed, like cleaning dirt off an emerald.

Mother and Father say my green eyes are beautiful, a gift from the mother who birthed me. The others in the village dote on the color, and say my coppery brown hair is so lovely and soft. I look around, and I just feel different. I can tell it's not normal. No one in the village, or from any other villages has green eyes. Their hair is darker than mine too. Some boys tease me, say I am playing at being a Hindu because I must put henna in my hair to get such a color. I say my prayers, and try to be a worthy man. Mother scolded them when they stuck my face with sooty sticks and bits of food, calling it bindi. But I am ashamed to admit I thought terrible, sinful thoughts.

I thought of killing them, like the men I killed in the dreams. I felt if I tried, I would know how, and it wouldn't be hard. They are bullies, but truly they are nothing more than foolish boys.

... but to kill is a sin... and the me in the dreams is not real... cannot be real.... I am not Israel....

[zionwings]

May 14, Monday

It's my birthday. I am turning 13 today. Today I am becoming a man... once again. It has taken me many years to accept the dreams as memories, those hands as my hands, and those lives as my own. I have lived for thousands of years, dying and being reborn so many times... I have killed and been killed, I have been born and delivered my own children. And yet, I have always been Amos. Always the same man, living, dying, remembering. They called me Jerusalem once, before the Britons came. I have been kidnapped, enslaved, revered and fought over for longer than I can even remember. My true Mother, the River Jordan, gave birth to my and my people when mankind first began to think and record their lives.

I remember the Crusades, I remember hundreds of invasions, I remember being conquered by Rome and being a slave, my lands and people abused and ravished by the man's reign. Now that I know who I am, I cannot stay. Soon, I will stop growing like the humans do; I will become weaker or stronger depending on my economic and military might. I might rapidly grow in height should my land or country power increase. I could whither away if I am invaded, or my national status revoked. It would be horrific for them... I need to go somewhere, that if I do go through some radical change, it will just seem like a boy's strange growing. I will say I am seeking my fortune and a man's work. But what can I do? I have so many skills, but will they be of use in this time? Whatever fate has for me, I will live as I must to survive for myself and my people.

I am Amos Goldhirsch. I am 13 years old. I am a man, as I have been, as I will be. But more than anything, until the end of days....

I am Israel.

[zionwings]

October 29, Friday

I have traveled across my country, seeing the sights and meeting the people. I have found that my citizens are quite warm to me without even knowing. I have been given lodging and food, clothing to wear, even medical care without an expectation of payment. Strangers will smile at me, and speak to me in a friendly manner, though they know not who I am. I embrace their hospitality, knowing that it is because I am their nation they feel so loving towards me.

~Same day, later~

I have found a magnificent occupation to learn. This afternoon I arrived at a port. Upon reaching the docks, I was encountered with the most incredible ships I have ever seen. In the 13 short years I have been hidden, the world has made vast leaps in transportation. Where steamer ships and air ships used to be large, ugly beasts, now I see glorious, sleek and graceful machines. There were hundreds docked in that port town, and I found myself enamored with them. I suppose it's because of my home's fascination with technological development.

I plan to be a ship engineer. I have already applied for an apprenticeship, and due to the natural comradery felt by the shipmen, I have been accepted. I sit in an apprentice bunkhall in a ShipMan's guild with three other boys. Jacob and Isaac are 16, three years older than my current body, and the eldest, Adam, is 18. At the end of the year he shall finish his apprenticeship and become a journeyman... How I long to master this trade and travel the world as well. I will always love my home, the land I am connected to, but there is much to see and learn. I shall apply myself and become a Master Engineer as soon as I can. And maybe someday, I will craft a ship to cruise the skies with...

[zionwings]

January 8, Wednesday

As I write this, my hand shakes and tears cloud my vision. The pain I feel is excruciating, the likes which I have never encountered. I am now fifteen years old, and I have lost 40% of my left arm. A large piston in the main engine room crushed it beyond salvaging when my sleeve got snagged on a bolt. Jacob barely pulled me out of the way before I was completely smashed by the enormous component.

The guild medic has amputated the pulped limb, and now I have nothing but a bandaged stump that ends just below my elbow. The wound had to be cauterized, and now my bones, flesh, skin, and nerves all scream with a throbbing, burning pain. I lay on my bunk, attempting to write in my journal, but already I have wasted two pages because of spasms from the pain. A new apprentice, a boy of 10, has offered to write for me. I know that his intentions are good because of my influence, but I still cannot trust him to write this. Should he read my journal from a boy's curiousity, it would be dangerous for me, and I would have to kill him.

But I don't want to dwell on that. I tell him my journal is private, and wink like the older men do. He giggles, and now he believes this to be a lovers' journal that I share with some sweetheart in town. I smile and let him think this. It is better than the truth. Judah, the boy, has agreed to keep our "man's secret" and will not tell the others about my supposed love affair. Which is even better, because I do not want to have to produce some girl which I have to lie about loving. I could easily make her love me, even with my frightening injury, but it would be hollow, and it would never work for the same reason I had to leave my home.

So for now I force my pen to wobble across the page, gritting my teeth at every new wave of agony. Twice the medic has come to check and refresh my bandages, cleaning the wound and giving my medicines to keep fever away. I see his pitying look, and I fear unless I come up with some solution to my sudden one-handed state, I will be released from the guild and turned into an assistant, or worse... But what can I do?

[zionwings]

January 9, Thursday

I think I have my answer! This morning, I awoke to the sound of small gears turning and a spring unwinding. At first I thought I was hearing the ship's sounds, and was afraid I was going deaf. But when I struggled up I saw that the source of the little noises was in fact a small wind up toy; a little dancing bear made of gears and cogs, with a shiny brass key spinning in his back. Judah apologetically snatched up the toy and stuffed it into a sack. He explained he'd been practicing, and had wanted to work on his detail work. The tiny components of a toy like that were perfect for him to handle. The bear was a present for his younger brother, and he wanted to test it. Judah said he hadn't meant to wake me, he didn't know it would seem noisy.

I have told Judah that he should not be sorry for such a thing. If I can manage it... my problems will be solved, and I will prove I am an engineer. It will be hard, and painful, but I am Israel. I am a nation; I will clench my teeth and survive. Already plans and designs whirl around my head, and I have called for the medic and my mentor. I know I will need their help and approval before I undertake such a feat. If it is not possible, I will have no hope left.

~Same day, Later~

I cannot believe it. After hours of arguing, planning, and measuring, it has been decided. We are going through with it. We are going to make me a steam-powered arm.

[zionwings]

March 6, Monday

It has been over two months, with a lot of pain and mistakes, but it's finally done. Even now I cannot stop marvelling at what I have created. With the assistance of the medic and my mentor, I have designed and made a mechanical arm. It works, it's strong, and it looks more incredible than I could have hoped.

I fiddle around with things constantly. The pain and the ache has dulled, and now I am used to the connections to my bone and flesh. The arm feels almost like a part of me, it moves naturally and I even handle delicate work like I used to.

The brass and copper gleam, bright as new kettles and pipes. I can't help but look down at the smooth fingers and the sturdy chains that make my hand. I can hold an overripe peach and not break the skin, I can lift a pin from a flat surface, and the limb is strong enough to bend iron bars! I drink a little alcohol, and it turns into fuel for the arm.

The men in the guild say it's a miracle. I blink back tears and agree. Judah and I have become fast friends because of the inspiration he gave me, and now I spend my free time tutoring him on fine work, teaching him new techniques and helping him understand the larger machines. It is the least I can do for him.