The Calling

"That's no excuse. Tomorrow I expect to see you down here when I begin my work out," she called out as Peter crossed the room to the stairs. As he climbed the stairs all Peter could think about was the how magnificent Dina looked. Thoughts of those broad shoulders and powerful arms were beginning to have an effect his body.

Reaching his room, he closed the door and jumped onto the bed; he closed his eyes trying to drive the thoughts of her body out of his consciousness. "She's David's daughter," he hissed. "This is how you pay back his kindness, by lusting after his daughter?!" He knew that this was another reason why he should begin her healing as soon as possible.

After a short nap, he got up, washed his face and went down stairs to help with dinner. Dina was already in the kitchen preparing their meal. Seeing that the table was empty, Peter tried to make himself useful by setting the table.

"Peter, do me a favor and open a bottle of red wine for dinner. The wine glasses are in the cabinet."

A half an hour later they were seated at the table, a bowl of pasta with meat sauce sat in the middle of the table along with a loaf of freshly-baked ciabatta bread. Peter poured the wine while Dina dished out generous portions of pasta. Peter said a simple grace and they began to eat. The meal was delicious.

The more time he spent with her the more he wondered if Dina really needed him. He hadn't experienced any behavior that would indicate that she was suffering any ill effects from her ordeal. He wasn't at all concerned with his safety at being alone with her.

After clearing the table and washing and drying the dishes, Peter and Dina relaxed in the living room watching television. He didn't know if she had chosen the channel on his behalf or if this was something that she normally watched, but he was pleasantly surprised when several American comedies from the eighties came on one after the other.

Right in the middle of Cheers, programming was interrupted by a special news alert. A suicide bus bombing had occurred in downtown Tel Aviv. Scenes of the burning hulk of what was left of the bus lit up the night. Flashing lights of rescue vehicles surrounded the area. Footage of the injured being cared for and transported to the hospital was shown. People were being interviewed by Israeli news crews, along with interviews of local officials.

Peter was so engrossed in the coverage that he wasn't aware of the growing rage rising up within Dina. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she jumped to her feet and shouted at the top of her lungs, "When will it all end; when is enough, enough. These people are animals. They pick on innocent civilians. Come on, you bastards; come out and fight me like a man."

She stormed out of the room and ran upstairs. Five minutes later she came back downstairs, continuing down to the gym, the door slamming behind her.

Cautiously, Peter followed her to the top of the stairs and opened the door. He could hear her shouting at an unseen enemy and heard the sounds of leather pounding leather. He so wanted to go to her to comfort her, but he feared that in this state she could not be consoled, and that all her hatred would be refocused onto him. Helplessly, he quietly closed the door, turned off the television, and retreated to the safety of his bedroom.

Now he was totally convinced that he had to act soon and that he couldn't be cautious about it. Peter decided that he would join her tomorrow morning when she did her workout, and that was where he would confront her issues. How he was going to do it he did not know; that he'd have to make up as he went along.

With a sense calm that came from finally deciding to take action, he settled in for the night. Just before he fell asleep, he asked God for his guidance and protection.

Chapter 8

Peter woke early the next morning, dressed in his jeans, a tee-shirt, and a pair of sneakers, and slowly, but confidently, went down the two flights of stairs to the basement. Dina was already downstairs and in the middle of her second set of standing military presses. When she spotted Peter she finished her set and placed the barbell on the floor.

"I glad you decided to join me," she said. "Come here by the bench and we'll start you with the bench press. I'll demonstrate the exercise and when I'm done I'll adjust the weight for you."

Peter watched as she lay down on the bench and reached up for the bar, which she had been using the day before. She explained where to place his hands and how to do the exercise. As she forced the bar up and down she gave him pointers about how to get the most out of each movement.

She made it look so easy, the two-hundred-five pound bar moved up and down smoothly and slowly twelve times before she re-racked it. Getting up she asked Peter, "How much do you weigh."

"About one hundred and ten pounds."

"Oh, okay; let's take off all the plates and start you out with just the bar and go up from there."

Already embarrassed, Peter took his position on the bench, grabbed the bar where Dina showed him and began to push the bar up and down.

"Slow down, it's not a race; just concentrate on moving the bar up and down."

After twelve reps, Dina said, "That looked too easy, let's add twenty pounds."

This time it took a lot more effort to raise the bar. After twelve reps Peter was glad to be finished.

"Good job, Peter; we'll stop here and move on to the next exercise."

She led him through several other exercises; military presses, one arm and two arm curls, butterflies, and one-arm rows. By the time she was done with him he felt totally exhausted.

"That's enough for today, we don't want to over-work you; you're going to be sore tomorrow as it is. Besides, my friend is coming over this afternoon for our scheduled sparring session, so I don't want to tire myself out either. Why don't you go shower and I'll finish up here."

As Peter ascended the stairs, he was disappointed that circumstances didn't lend themselves to him making contact with her. Sure he could've just reached out and grabbed her arm, but that could lead to a misunderstanding, which could be hazardous to his health. He'd have to wait and bide his time.

Early that afternoon the phone rang. Dina was, once again down in the gym, so Peter picked up the phone.

Before he could identify himself, the guy on the other end said that something had come up and that he could not make his sparring session with Dina. "Please tell her I'm sorry and that I'll see her next week."

After he hung up, Peter changed into a pair of gym shorts and a tee-shirt to increase his chance to make contact with Dina. Going downstairs he found her standing in the center of the mat covered area performing a series of graceful movements, which he knew had something to do with martial arts.

"Dina that guy who was going to come over this afternoon just called to tell you that something came up and that he'd have to cancel today and he'll see you next week."

"Shit, I was really looking forward to our session today. He beat me last week and I was hoping to return the favor."

"Dina, if you don't mind why don't I take his place."

Skeptically, she asked him: "Do you have any experience in mixed martial arts fighting?"

"Yes, I did some fighting in college," he said. In reality he had taken a course in self-defense and had never actually fought anyone.

"I don't know; I outweigh you by more than sixty pounds. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, I owe you and your father so much for everything you're doing for me, it's the least I can do."

"Okay, just be aware that in the ring I'm very competitive and I may hurt you, so if you're hurt please say so and quit."

She handed him a pair of fingerless padded gloves and a mouthpiece, and then retreated to her side of the mats. Peter slipped on his gloves, concerned that he had very little exposed skin to make contact with. While he was concentrating on his predicament, Dina pulled off her sweats, revealing even more of her muscular body. She was dressed in a sports bra and gym shorts. Peter knew that this was it; he'd only have a short time to make as much skin-to-skin contact as possible before she completely overpowered him. So, taking off his shirt, he stood opposite her in a stance that more closely resembled that of a wrestler than a fighter. The difference in their physiques could not be more apparent; he looked like a child compared to her.

Reaching back she hit the timer and at the sound of the bell, walked slowly towards him. Before he knew what hit him, Peter felt more pain than he had ever felt in his life as he was hit with a left and right on the jaw. As his vision blurred, he found himself staring at the bottom of her foot, stopped within an inch of his face. He fell to one knee as she pulled her foot back.

"Peter, you said you've fought before; are you crazy, I could have killed you."

He barely heard her over the ringing in his ears. Thinking that he had one last chance, he gathered up all the energy he could and launched himself at her, his arms locking around her neck.

Everything went black for several moments. Then, suddenly, images flashed into his mind. Images of school plays; in the audience a young woman standing, clapping enthusiastically, and an empty chair next to her. The image changed. This time the scene was a busy street; a young girl getting on a bus paused, waved goodbye, and boarded. She found a seat near the back and was waving again. A young man, two rows away, stands as the bus begins to pull away from the curb; he appears to be shouting something. Then there's a flash of blinding light and a deafening boom and suddenly the bus is turned into a pile of flaming debris.

The scene changes again. Now she is in a hospital room, standing at the bedside of woman, same woman from before, only older and apparently very sick. There are also two other children, all are crying as the woman's eyes close and a monitor alarm sounds. The children are led out of the room as nurses enter the room. A man is running down the hall towards them. He throws his arms around the two older children and motions for the third child to join him. Instead the child turns her back to him.

Again the scene changes; this time it portrays the chaos of war. A vehicle explodes, then there's a second explosion, closer this time, followed by searing pain and darkness. The darkness fades replaced by a group of teenaged boys with guns and knives surrounding her; she's tied by hands and feet to a bed. Suddenly the pain starts again; knives are dragged across her breasts and across her chest, arms, stomach and legs. Now a new form of torture: lit cigarettes are poked into her body. First, the tallest of her captors drops his pants and rapes her, when he's finished another, followed by a third and then a fourth and a fifth. Mercifully, elders intervene and the torture stops and the now she's back in a hospital bed, her injuries are severe but not life threatening. Her commander informs her that all of her comrades are dead. She's relieved from duty pending a military inquiry.

Peter's eyes slowly open. He is lying on the mats; his whole body is racked with pain, his throat is raw and he can barely swallow.

"Who are you? What did you do to me?"

Peter turns toward the sound of the voice. Dina is sitting in a corner of the room, her knees pressed against her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs.

"I feel so empty; I can't stop shaking."

"Dina, I'm a healer. I was sent here to help you; to take away your hate and pain."

"I felt you grab hold of me and suddenly my legs could no longer support us. We fell to the mats and you started to shake and scream. I'm sorry but I had to hit you a couple of times before I could finally break your grip. Then you just lay there trembling. What was happening; what were you seeing?"

"Everything that's troubling you. From the times that your father wasn't there for you, the bus bombing, the death of your mother, and finally your treatment during the time you were captured; all those things that fill your heart with hate. I don't know how it works, but I believe that I absorb your pain and suffering and, most importantly, your emotional response to that pain and suffering. Although I think we've gotten off to a good start, I don't think we're finished. I don't think future episodes will be as violent or intense but they may be. You have been hurt so deeply for so long that it's going to take much longer than it did with your father."

"My father?"

"Of course. Don't you think he was affected by everything that happened to you? But for him it was more guilt and self-loathing. He blamed himself for not being there for you, for causing you pain at such a tender age; and for not protecting you from terrorists."

"When I got older, I understood why he did what he did, and as far as the terrorists and what happen to me in Gaza, he had no control over that."

"He knows that, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't hurt when his little girl is in such pain."

Dina got up on somewhat shaky legs and crossed the room until she was standing over him.

"Can I help you up?

"I don't think that would be wise so soon; why don't you go upstairs, I think I'm going to just lie here for a while longer."

Peter closed his eyes and soon was sound asleep. He didn't wake up until he heard Dina coming down the stairs.

"Peter, how are you? Do you want to eat something?"

"I think I'm fine; a little sore, but I live," he said rubbing his jaw with care.

"I'm so sorry about that, but what were you thinking? I'm a trained killer, just like the guy that I was supposed to fight today. He was my martial arts instructor and stops by once a week to spar with me. To tell you the truth, I think the Army assigned him to keep an eye on me and that he reports back to them about my mental state. I just wonder what he tells his wife each week when he comes home banged up."

Picking up his shirt, Peter turned and followed her as she ascended the stairs admiring her strong legs and solid butt as they went.

He continued to the second floor, retrieved a clean set of clothes from his room, and stepped into the shower. While under the shower he had a long talk with himself, and with God.

'God, what do you want me to do? If it's to go back and complete my studies and become a priest and serve You, why do You keep putting such overpowering temptations in front of me? If, on the other hand, You want me to stay here and continue Dina's treatments, You must realize that the longer I stay here the deeper I'm going to fall in love with her. Please give me a sign: what do You want me to do?'

After washing and rinsing his hair, he picked up the bottle of shower gel and began to wash his body, gingerly touching his sides where he assumed Dina had punched him. He poured a little more soap into his hand intending to wash his genitals, when he suddenly realized that he had an erection. He had not felt it happening and hadn't had any sexual thoughts which would have caused it. Not only was he rock hard, but he appeared to be bigger than he ever remembered.

'Not very subtle, but very effective,' he thought with a smile.

When he came down for dinner, he stopped at the doorway into the kitchen. Dina was standing at the stove with her back to him stirring the contents of a pot and she was singing. It was the first time he had heard her sing; she had a beautiful voice.

Sensing his presence, she turned and smiled. She had a beautiful smile as well. He just stood there and smiled.

"What are you smiling at?

"You. You are so beautiful when you smile. It's good to see you happy. Your father is going to be so very happy to have his daughter back with him again."

Blushing she said, "I have you to thank."

Dinner was wonderful, but if you asked him, Peter could not tell you what was served, he was that infatuated with her. He found out so much more about her than he knew before. She asked him what it was like in the United States. What is was like for him in the seminary. What his childhood was like, what he liked to eat, what he did for fun. It was like a crash course in each other, and they were determined to learn all they could.

There was a lull in the conversation when Dina seemed to be in deep contemplation, and then came the question that needed to be asked.

"Peter: when you are done here, are you going to go back home to become a priest?"

Peter smiled. "I asked myself that same question just a couple of hours ago. No, I don't think that's what God wants me to do. And, now that I've met you, I don't think can." He took her hands in his.

Once again, images appeared; but fewer in number and not as vivid as before. Gone were the scenes of her missing father, as was the death of her mother. When he came out of his trance, Peter found himself still holding her hands.

"What did you see this time?"

He told her everything that he had seen and felt.

"You know, I never told anyone that I had actually seen the bomber and the explosion. Everybody assumed that because of how far I was from the bus when they found me that I had already turned and headed for home. She was my best friend; she was so smart and so pretty; she didn't deserve to die like that. She hadn't done anything wrong. She was a child, a civilian; her only crime was that she was a Jew.

"I'm sorry; I have never been able to understand why she had to die. I can understand why they hate our military and try to kill us. I don't think it's right, but I understand. There are many Israeli Arabs in Israel; we live, work and play together side by side in peace. If the Palestinians would just put as much effort into trying to live with us as they do trying to destroy us there would be no need for a separate state.

"Sorry again, sometimes I climb up on my soapbox and don't know when to shut up. At least now all I feel is sadness, not the hate that I felt before."

"Hopefully, over time, we'll be able eliminate the sadness as well."

After he helped her clear the table and wash and dry the dishes, Peter announced that he was going to turn in early.

"It's been a really long day and I'm really beat."

"Peter, thank you; thank you for everything;" she said as she bent down and gave him an air kiss on his cheek.

Chapter 9

The next morning Peter was still a little sore as he descended the stairs to the kitchen. Dina wasn't there, but he knew she was up because on the stove was a fresh pot of coffee. He poured himself a cup and followed the noises down the stairs to the gym. Dina was pounding away at the heavy bag; she had her back to him and was unaware of his presence. She was hitting the bag with such intensity that Peter was afraid that her hatred had returned.

His fears were relieved, however, when she finally stopped, turned and, spotting him sitting on the steps, her face lit up with her smile. "Good morning! Do you want to work out with me?

"I think I'll pass for a couple of days, if it's alright with you."

"Okay, but next week you and I will have a standing date every morning at six right here."

The sun broke through the cloud cover early in the afternoon and it turned into a glorious day.

"Dina, do you want to go for a walk?"

"Sure, Peter; where do you want to go?"

"I thought we'd walk in the gardens next door."

The warmth of the sun felt good on their backs as they walked across the yard, through a small gate in the fence that surrounded the Church property, through the grounds keeper's work area, and onto one of the paths that meandered through the formal gardens. As they walked, Peter explained the process of becoming a priest; the commitments and the sacrifices that had to be made. He told her that he wasn't sure if he was going to return to the seminary.