Kim Tyler

Ticket to Paradise

Epilogue
 
I’m with him now. Not the image I’d seen on Discovery a thousand times, or a dream or anything like that. I mean I am right here face to face with the stinking snorting flesh and blood beast himself, and I know what’s coming. So does he. His ears prick up, his nose tastes the air and as he bellows his warning and turns to escape he gets a rush of adrenalin to help him outrun the charging females. But we both know its too late. One swipe from a single massive paw slaps his hind legs out from under him and I realize at once that he’s a goner. With one pair of jaws tearing open his groin and another closing tightly around his throat, a highly specialized gland at the base of the medulla is activated for the first and only time in his brief existence, simultaneously releasing the brain’s entire arsenal of enzymes. The effect is dramatic and instantaneous. His respiratory, nervous and circulatory systems come to a virtual standstill and all voluntary movement ceases as narcosis quickly blurs both the panic and the pain.
I am right beside him on the ground, looking deep into those cold black eyes, and I can still see him in there; but only barely. And only for a moment.
What happens to him in this moment? Where is he? Can there be sensation without senses? With his instinctive drives for survival, mating and repelling predators no longer present, is there now room for something else to rise to the surface? In this final moment before becoming something less than zebra, does he somehow become something more?
These questions are answered for me in the next instant as my eardrums burst and the fluid covering the surface of my corneas boils away. Not answered, exactly; they’re just not questions anymore. Like, why is there no air in my lungs and where did my skin go. These are no longer questions either. The pain that I am experiencing is beyond comprehension. I know it is, and yet I understand it like I have never known or understood anything else in my entire life. I can see all sides of it as if the pain were an entity in itself; an animal, separate and apart. And it comes as no surprise at all that it doesn’t hurt. I understand this too. I’m not thinking about it; I just know. It’s all there for me; all at once. Everything.
What does surprise me, and probably will for a great deal of what passes for time here, is how wrong I was about Everything.
 
____________
 
 
 
                                                                           (1)
 
Harvey stepped to the podium with all the swagger and self assurance of the old master himself. True, he had made some significant finds over the past four years, but four years is still only four years. Moshe Lowenstein had been out there for decades and, while Harvey referred to him as the dinosaur - a soon to be extinct roadblock to his own inevitable ascendancy - to nearly everyone else in the field he was known simply as the Master. Remembering his postgraduate days at New York University as if they were yesterday, Harvey looked out and counted about fifty grad students who had come to hear his dissertation on ancient Middle Eastern history. This was an unexpectedly good turnout, he thought, considering where he was. When Harvey thought of Kansas State University, he pictured big corn and big ball players; big ancient history did not jump to mind. He thanked Professor Horace Wolfe for the warm welcome, cleared his throat and began:
 
To deny a people the man whom it praises as the greatest of its sons is not a deed to be undertaken lightheartedly – especially by one belonging to that people. No consideration, however, will move me to set aside truth in favor of supposed national interest.”
 
“Good morning. I am Dr. Harvey Kessler. I open with those noble words, words that I am sure many of you are familiar with, not because I am here to defend Freud’s theory, a theory which in fact I do not entirely agree with, but because the accumulation of hard evidence that we now have at our disposal can no longer be buried, distorted, ridiculed or simply ignored. As archaeologists and students of ancient history, it is our job to uncover clues about our past in order to help us better understand who we are today, and where we are going both as individuals and as a people. If we intentionally set out to rebury or alter these clues because they do not fit with our particular mythology, then, in my humble opinion, we can no longer call ourselves scholars and scientists.”
Before he could finish the sentence, there was a shuffling in the audience as several students gathered their things and stood up to leave. Here we go again, thought Harvey.
“Ladies and gentlemen”, he said quietly, trying to remain calm, “Please, if we do not listen we cannot learn. I ask you, as a matter of professional courtesy, to disregard what I have to say only after I have said it. A couple of hours of your time is all I ask, and afterward, if you like, you can throw the Book at me.”
A few of the mutineers smiled and hesitated, but the rest were moving even more briskly toward the door, some expressing their displeasure both verbally and digitally.
“How can you call yourself scholars if you fear or ridicule opinions that…”
The door closed behind the walkouts with a slam.
“…differ from your own.” Harvey thanked the two who returned to their seats and continued. “Now, I would like to show you a series of slides from our most recent digs in Jerusalem. The main site is just outside the north wall of the old city, and the others are dwellings recently uncovered within the walls that date from the early twelfth to late fourth centuries BC. These finds are both exciting and controversial, as they seem to cast even more doubt on our current view of the region’s history.
“Let me begin by taking you back in time. It is the year 621 BC; six centuries after the death of Moses. This was a time of religious and tribal upheaval during which the priesthood was losing the immense power it once held over the people; people who, according to Exodus, Leviticus, and many other references were still worshipping their traditional natural gods. This was the year that Hilkiah, high priest of the Hebrews, is said to have discovered the Book of Laws.”
More grumbling could be heard as Doctor Kessler flipped through several slides of idols and amulets that his team had recently unearthed.
“All of these artifacts date from between 900 and 650 BC and strongly support the position that nothing resembling monotheism existed in Jerusalem prior to Hilkiah’s discovery. Add to this the fact that we have no mention of Moses in any historical record prior to this time and we begin to see a picture emerging which is quite different from the generally accepted view.”
The grumblings continued and there were one or two more dropouts, but Dr. Kessler managed to get through all of his slides without any serious disruptions. It wasn’t long, however, before he struck another nerve.
“So, what was really going on with the Hebrew priests in Persia? What kind of a deal did they make, and what were the conditions?”
A young woman in the front row shook her head and scolded Harvey as if he were a five year old.
“The Hebrews were the chosen people, not the Persians.”     
“That’s right”, Harvey fired back, ”and it was the King of Persia who chose them, that they should go forth and extend his domain and that of his favorite god.”
 “Bullshit, Doctor”, the doctor was drawn out mockingly just as it had been the week before. “This is all absolute bullshit!”, bellowed the big Kansas ball player from the back of the auditorium. “You are nothing but atheist pagan scum and we do not have to sit here and listen to you blaspheme any longer!” The young man stormed out pulling two entire rows of noisy supporters in his wake.
“Wait a minute”, protested Harvey, ”I am not scum.”
But it was too late, the mass exodus had begun. Within minutes there were only a handful of students remaining, not counting the group of ‘born agains’ Harvey had noticed when he first came in. He could see that they were getting ready to pounce. This was only his fourth lecture but he could spot them immediately. He wondered again what it was that set them apart, but still could not put his finger on it. Realizing that he had once again gone too far, Harvey decided to go a little farther.
“Freud’s postulation that Moses was not a Jew at all sent shockwaves when he first published it, and as you can see, not much has changed. It is doubtful, however, that Moses lived with the royal family of Akhenaten, as Freud suggested; or for that matter that he ever lived at all.”
“Oh, that’s beautiful. This is how you people are, isn’t it? You’ll say anything if it’ll make you a buck.”
Professor Wolfe was out of his seat like a bullet.
“Mr. Albright! Get out! Consider yourself on suspension.”
“I’m only speaking the truth, sir, unlike this heathen bastard.”
“Out!” Professor Wolfe waited for the boy to leave. “I’m sorry for that, Dr. Kessler, but…I didn’t realize your remarks would be quite so…inflammatory. It might have been better if you had warned us in advance.”
“Yes; my fault entirely. Ladies and gentleman, please accept my most sincere apologies for offending nearly everyone in the room. Slides and hand outs are available; take some for your friends …” he left it there and couldn’t help smiling when the born agains finally got into their act.
“And God spoke unto Moses, ‘The heretic shall fall as the infidel...’”
Which brought Professor Wolfe wearily back to his feet.
“Please, not again. Don’t you people have homework or something?”
“The Lord God shall smite the Philistine...,” the boy continued.
“And create another asshole”, mumbled Harvey just as an older more subdued voice rose from behind him.
“Is it always like this?” 
With ‘asshole’ still hanging in the air, Dr. Kessler turned around to find a short, curly haired priest smiling up at him.
 
 
                                                                                (2)
 
They had chosen Dr. Kessler carefully; his experience as an archaeologist being far less significant than his heritage, and his character. ‘Young, arrogant and Jewish’, he remembered John saying, ‘Just the man we need’. Cardinal Paul Kovacs stood beside the three hundred year old desk that had been his home for the past twelve years and marveled again at the impossibility of time. He had virtually lived in this office, sleeping in a small uncomfortable bed near the window whenever the need overcame him, which was not often, and taking his single daily meal, most often alone, in the private dining hall of the Curio. His dream, the dream that had carried him from Bratislava to Rome as Slovakia’s first and only cardinal had long since evaporated, stifled by a landscape littered with pompous toads and senile old lunatics. Only a beast or a madman could thrive in this cesspool, he thought, and was immediately reminded of his conservative counterpart and nemesis, Cardinal Peter DeGeneris. Though he did not rule the conservative majority, Peter pulled most of the strings and would be considered a contender when Pope John Paul finally gave up the Ghost.
Paul stared at the ancient chest and felt his hand trembling and his pulse rate began to climb as he recalled the moment they had opened it. Tucked away carefully between many layers of protective cloth, they had uncovered an object of unparalleled importance; a scroll that had been entrusted to Cardinal Paul and thirty seven Supreme Guardians before him. Being number thirty eight, Paul knew the legend of the scroll only too well, perhaps better than anyone. Only recently, however, as the hour grew nearer, did he consider the possibility that it could be true. Paul reflected again on how fortunate he had been to have Father John assigned to him; how John had rekindling his passion and stood beside him in his moments of weakness; moments when he wondered if what they were doing was truly an act of spiritual heroism, as John had called it, or something more human. Moments when he wondered if he was not in fact losing his mind.
 
 
                                                                                (3)
 
“Jesus! I didn’t mean you, Father”, Harvey looked around for any more of them, “I mean, I didn’t mean…”
“I was simply asking if the others were like this; your other lectures.”
“Uh, no”, Harvey took a step backward, “Not exactly.”
The group of born agains, seeing that the heretic was in good hands, marched proudly out the door, Onward Christian Soldiers echoing through the empty hall.
 “Well, I can see how these Bible and Corn Belt schools might be difficult,” said the priest.
“Last week wasn’t much better”, Harvey answered warily, “and that was NYU, my alma mater and my own people, if you know what I mean. Father, I’m sorry, but…”
“Allow me to apologize, for Mr. Albright that is. Now there is a boy in serious need of some higher education.”
Dr. Kessler smiled, and let down his guard a little. “That’s good; can I use that?”
“Be my guest; compliments of John Patrick Lynch”, he held out his hand, “We can dispense with the Father.”
“Harvey”, they shook hands, “might as well drop the Doctor too; seems to antagonize people.”
“You look like a schoolboy; what can you expect?”
“I suppose. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but…”
“Harvey, I’m just curious; when you said you resented being called scum, were you just being cute or did you mean to imply that you are indeed an atheist?
“Well, my mother still thinks I’m a good little Jewish boy but, no, I don’t buy any of it anymore.”
“And a pagan as well?”
“Natural gods and natural pleasures without concern for man made nonsense like ethics and morals? Yes, definitely a pagan.”
“I’ve never met an atheist pagan before. Strange, you don’t look any different than the rest of us.”
“They do though”, Harvey pointed excitedly to where the born agains had been sitting, “Don’t they? I mean, did you ever notice that?”
“The only difference between them and you, Harvey, is faith.”
“That’s right. They have faith in an afterlife because they’re terrified of death. But you guys have added a twist, haven’t you? Eternal damnation, which terrifies them even more than death, and only you have the power to save them. Don’t you find that just a bit too convenient?”
“You seem quite passionate about this.”
“Damn right I am. It’s the same old story: the dominant elite compel their subjects to accept as absolute truth whatever system of belief they may have decided to put forth as divine revelation. And here we are some four thousand years later and absolutely nothing has changed!”
“The intellectual non-believer always sees it that way.”
“We see it for what it is; no illusion, no self-deception.”
“So it is only you who see the absolute truth.”
“We each have our own truth, John, and the only thing absolute in life is death.” 
“My goodness, I certainly would not wish to live in your world, Harvey.”
“But you do, John; and deep in your very mortal soul you know it.”
“Let’s take a walk, shall we?”
“A walk?” Harvey asked, clearly surprised by the suggestion and more than a tad suspicious.
“Just a short one; I promise to be brief.”
“Well”, Harvey replied, wondering what this priest could possibly be up to, “no reason to stay here.”
John and Harvey headed for the door; Professor Wolfe remained seated, wiping his brow.
“Thanks for trying, Professor,” Harvey called from the door.
Professor Wolfe raised his hand in acknowledgement but said nothing.
“Everybody’s pissed at me today.”
“And well they should be, Harvey. Although, to be honest, I did find your evidence somewhat compelling. Alas, decorum prevents me from going any farther than that.”
“Irish Catholic?”
“That I am, my boy. Unfortunately, I haven’t been home in quite some time.”
“Don’t tell me, off gathering converts in the wilds of…”
“Rome, actually. I am what they call a Sentinel of the Sacred Order of the Keepers of the Faith. Quite a mouthful, isn’t it? We used to be known as the Sacred Order of the Inquisition; until the sixties, can you imagine?”
 “So, that’s it. Well, what’s it gonna be, burned at the stake?”
“Oh no; my goodness, we don’t do that sort of thing any more. A little time on the rack, perhaps...”
“Wait a minute; were you at my other lectures too?”
“No, only this one; but we’ve been following your exploits in the Holy Land for some time now. You see, we tend to get a bit nervous when people start poking around in our garden.”
“Of course you do; you’ve been trying to sell poetry as history, for Christ’s sake. I mean, it was bound to come back and bite you in the ass eventually.”
“We’ve done pretty well for the last fourteen centuries, wouldn’t you say?”
“Can’t say much for your methods.”
“Nor can I, my son; nor can I. Which brings us very neatly to why I have come here today. Harvey, there are many of us who believe that the time has come for Holy Mother Church to start cleaning up her image; to get some of the dirt out from under her carpets, as it were. We are, unfortunately, still in the minority, so it is necessary for us to play these little games; distasteful but necessary.”
“I’m lost.”
“At the moment, perhaps you are. You have evidence, mostly circumstantial, and you certainly make an impassioned argument; but you lack that one major find which would give you, what shall we call it, credibility? Without it, you are pissing in the wind. I like that one, don’t you? Pissing in the wind; it’s so visual.” Father John raised his hand and a large man stepped from a black Mercedes limousine. He walked toward them carrying an unusual looking aluminum suitcase.
“This is a gift from His Excellency Cardinal Kovacs, Supreme Guardian of the Keepers of the Faith, and my mentor. The Cardinal has revealed his identity, in the strictest of confidence, as a show of good faith. This confidence must never, under any circumstances, be betrayed. That is the only condition he requires of you. The Cardinal has blessed what we are about to do and believes, as I do, that in the long run it can only help to strengthen the Church we do so adore. He is giving you an opportunity which you may, of course, turn down. But you, of course, will not. Please do not misread my jovial demeanor, Doctor Kessler. I consider this a defining moment in my life and I am quite certain that you will soon feel the same way.”
John handed Harvey an envelope then reached up and touched him on the forehead.
“Per istam sanctam unctionem, indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid deliquisti, Amen.”
Father John and his chauffer walked to the limo, got in and drove off before Doctor Kessler could think of a single thing to say. He stood in the same spot staring alternately at the disappearing limo and the surprisingly heavy suitcase for a full thirty seconds before a female voice snapped him out of it.
“Are you okay?”
Harvey turned around to find a cute young freshman smiling up at him.
“Yes!” he screamed, planting a big one on the startled coed before dashing off at a lopsided gallop.
 
 
                                                                                (4)
 
My Dear Dr. Kessler:
 
I trust you found your meeting with Father John interesting, if not entirely enlightening. Please forgive him as he was instructed to reveal little in the way of detail. In the case you will find a very old document, a scroll which I understand from your articles that you are quite familiar with, at least in legend. You will note that the case contains its own precise atmosphere, indicated on the display, and must be opened in a similar environment. 
To be brief, there are those of us who believe that this important piece of theological history may be in danger and, as we are unable to rescue it ourselves for reasons you surely can appreciate, we are asking for your help. We have chosen you with great care, having read your papers and followed your career for some time now. It is our firm belief, Dr. Kessler, as a matter of conscience, that the scroll must be ‘discovered’ and made available for study and contemplation before it is lost forever. There are many, as you may well imagine who do not share this belief.
We are putting our faith in you, Dr. Kessler. Without your help, this vital clue to the very mystery of faith itself will surely return to the dust from whence it came. God Is Great! May his presence be with you always.
 
 
“Unreal!”
 
Harvey had driven all night from Kansas to Utica, New York, where his old friend Richard Blake lived and worked. He had been Harvey’s roommate at NYU, where they both majored in archaeology. Richard was always the quiet one; he didn’t seek the limelight the way Harvey did, so they complemented each other well. They had gone their separate ways after college, but had occasionally collaborated on the subject of biblical history, a subject in which they shared a common interest if not a common point of view.
“Hand delivered by the Grand Inquisitor himself.” Harvey pulled two cold ones from the case he had brought with him.
“Who?”
“Father John Patrick Lynch, the Cardinal’s messenger.”
“Come on; Ito sent it, right?” Rich popped the tab, “Another one of his ridiculous pranks.”
“I thought so too, but he swears he knows nothing about it.” 
“You don’t seriously believe there’s a scroll in there.”
“Not a scroll, my friend; The Scroll. I’d bet the farm on it. There really is a Cardinal Kovacs at the Vatican, I checked with the Catholic Press before I left, and this custom built portable atmosphere right here will set you back six, maybe seven grand easy. That’s a little much for a prank, even for Ito.”
“Harv, common; if you’re talking about the Scroll of Jahweh, its nonsense; it doesn’t exist. And even if it did, after denying it’s existence for eight hundred years why the hell would they bring it out now?”
“I’m not sure. Father Lynch said that these progressives want to do some clandestine house cleaning; improve the image of Old Mother Church. So, this way they get the scroll out of the closet without getting their sacred hands dirty.”
“Their sacred hands would be very dirty, wouldn’t they; sneaking it out like thieves in the night? Why would they do that?”
“Maybe the Cardinal doesn’t think the Church of Absolute Truth should be in the business of hiding it. I don’t know, Rich, and frankly I don’t care. For fifty years archaeologists have been digging up the Holy Land. I’ve been out there four years myself. Canaan, Jericho, Jerusalem; Jesus, we’ve been everywhere and everything we find, or don’t find, points to the same conclusion. But will anyone listen?”
“Harv...”
“Damn it! This is the big one, Rich; come on! I need you with me on this.”
“Harvey, it can’t be real; it just can’t. And, no offense, but why would this person, a Cardinal for Christ’s sake, come to you? I mean, of all people?”
“Who else? Hell, it makes perfect sense. It’s what I do; it’s what I’ve been looking for. Plus, I won’t piss around like that old fart Lowenstein would. Personally, I think it was a damn good choice.”
“Okay, even if by some miracle this turns out to be true, you know they’ll make a mockery of it. No matter how much proof you have they’ll line up a hundred experts that will swear it’s a fake. They’ll expose this Cardinal as a…what…a raving queen or some damn thing. They know how to deal with these kinds of problems, Harvey. I mean, look what they did with the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Gospel of St. Thomas.”
“Maybe you’re right. I say, so what? Bring it on! This could be the greatest discovery of the century, maybe the millennium, and it’s ours. It’s God’s gift to Richard Blake and Harvey Kessler, his two favorite Jews in the whole wide world. So, what do we do with a gift from God, Rich? Give it back?”
“I’m not Jewish, Harvey.”
“I’m tellin’ your mother you said that. Look, I know it’s too damn much to cope with, but here it is; it has fallen right into our laps. You can’t leave me hanging out here.”
“I’m not as good at this kind of thing as you are.”
“You’re my buddy, my roomie, and, other than Ito, you are the only person on the planet I can trust with this. Come on, partner...”
“Shit.”
“He’s weakening, folks.”
“You bastard.”
“He’s smiling; it’s all over.”
Rich shook his head and popped another cold one.
“Okay, just hypothetically now, if this actually turns out to be what you say it is, and we actually succeed in ‘discovering’ it before being struck by lightning or whatever, what do you honestly expect will happen?”
“You mean other than us becoming disgustingly rich and famous? Well, our mothers will disown us immediately, which in my case is another plus. On the down side, as you suggested, they’ll come at us hard from every direction. Our people will be particularly angry, most likely playing their favorite card right away. The Christians, I suspect, will be more subtle, except for the Baptists; we’ll have to watch out for them. And, ah yes, the Pope. Let’s see, after sending out his assassins, he will make another heartfelt apology for all the past sins of the Church…and that should be about it.”
“And the Muslims?
“I don’t know; those Islamic types are kind of unpredictable.”
“You’re not worried about the legend at all?”
“Of course not; are you? Is that what’s bothering you?”
“No; shit no. But, Harvey, you are a Jew after all. What about the scroll itself? I mean, if it is what it’s supposed to be, it could destroy people’s faith. You want that on your conscience?” 
“That’s the whole point, Richard! Unquestioning faith is not the sweet miracle it’s cracked up to be; it’s exactly the opposite. It’s responsible for all the horrors that mankind has endured from the Inquisition to the Holocaust. Destroy people’s faith? Hell yes, I want that on my conscience.”
“You’ve always had this obsession with religion. Why is that?”
“I was molested by a rabbi.”
“No, seriously; what is this hang up you have with God?”
“I don’t have a problem with god. I don’t have a problem with the tooth fairy either. My problem is with men, Rich; it has always been with men. And how about you? How can you possibly have any faith at all? Your mother’s Jewish and your father’s Lutheran, for Christ’s sake. Where does that leave you?”
“I don’t confuse the myth and the metaphor with faith in a higher power, that’s all. But a lot of people do, and this could hurt them deeply.”
“They’ll get over it, and their lives will be richer for the experience.”
 “Jesus, you are absolutely impossible.”
“Those who are absolutely right can afford to be absolutely impossible.”
 
 
                                                                                (5)
 
Professor Ito ‘The Big M’ Murayama had been at NYU with Harv and Rich during their senior year. The entire year had been one long party, but Ito, with total recall and an IQ of 156, had gotten all three of them through with honors. He was now Professor Emeritus at MIT, with a visiting professorship at Iowa State University. He was also a Shinto, and would have no misgivings whatsoever about causing western religion a little more grief. Ito spotted Harv and Rich, fresh off the redeye from Utica, strolling into the ISU Natural Sciences Building a little past nine in the morning.
“Domo, Murayama Sama”, sung Harvey, bowing to a huge Japanese man with thick black hair falling messily to his shoulders.
“Fuh yu, Hahvey; weh skol?” screamed Professor Murayama, turning the heads of several students.
“Same old Ito”, laughed Richard, “Good to see you again, big man.”
Ito hugged them both and looked down at the suitcase. “Whoa; is it really in there?”
“So we’ve been told.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Rich doesn’t either. Damn, you should have seen them at the airport; they were coming out of the woodwork. We almost didn’t get here at all.”
“What did you tell them it was?”
“An ancient scroll, what else? They didn’t believe it either. So, what do you think, can we get in the lab or what?”
“Can Akebono eat?” 
Professor Murayama, known to his students as Fuji, was right about that. One cold stare and the lab was theirs. All three donned smocks, surgical gloves and head coverings and entered the cool room. Professor Murayama placed the suitcase on what looked like an operating table and examined the readouts. After setting the controls and waiting for the room to roughly match its interior, he opened the case and examined the bundle inside. 
“What is it?” asked Rich, “the Cardinal’s pajamas?”
“Pretty funky for pajamas, Richie. It’s that quasi-burlap stuff they used to wrap them in, remember? Eleventh, maybe twelfth century. There’s definitely something here, Harv. I’m not sure about BC though; more like medieval.”
“Shit!”
Professor Murayama began unwrapping the cloth very slowly, chatting as he went.
“It’s too bad, really. I was hoping it would be the famous scroll. That would sure throw a wrench in the works, wouldn’t it? Suzuki would love it! You remember what he said about western religion?
‘God against man, man against God; man against nature, nature against man; nature against God, God against nature…very funny religion’.
“Hey, if this is what you think it is, you boys may want to convert to Shinto; find out you’ve been worshipping some second rate volcano god…Whoa! here it is. Harvey, you’ll find the chloramine in that cabinet. Richard, the chamber…” 
“Ito?”
“Wait…wait; it’s parchment but…Richard, forget the chamber; help me with this.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s old; very old. It must have been rewrapped later.”
“The crusades!”, suggested Harvey, with more than a hint of excitement in his voice.
“Maybe”, answered Ito, “Man, you may have been right about this.”
Richard carefully lifted one side of the bundle and they carried it to a long gurney with several racks of trays under it. Ito unsealed a roll of thin yellow cloth from one of the trays and laid it out on the gurney. Harvey was singing something in Yiddish and laughing intermittently.
“Okay, we have to roll it all the way out onto the gurney and separate the sheets. We unroll very slowly allowing the scroll to stretch out onto the cloth for its full length. Harvey, there’s a scalpel in that tray; as we unroll, you cut the stitches that are left, one at a time, gently. Then cut the cloth so each sheet has a separate cloth backing, understand?”
“Ito, maybe we should…”
“I wish we could, but it’s too late now. After they’re cut, each one goes into a separate tray. Got it?” 
Ito and Rich began unrolling. The first sheet of parchment split in several places as it tried to lay itself out on the cloth. Harvey did not have to cut any stitches and there did not appear to be any writing on the parchment at all.
“It’s falling apart; the ink is completely gone. Shit!”
The second sheet began to unfurl.
“This one looks better.”
“Much better. The first was only a cover.”
“Yes! Thank God!.”
Harvey cut through six stitches; all of the lettering was clearly visible.
“Aramaic”, said Ito almost reverently, “She is Aramaic and she is very beautiful.”    
Ito, Harvey and Richard made incomprehensible noises for the next ten minutes as the scroll slowly revealed itself. Ito had tears dripping off his chin and down onto the floor. Harvey was laughing more and singing less. Each successive sheet was better than the last, and the last, which included the mark of the author, was one of the finest specimens any of them had ever seen. Ito blew his nose and wiped his eyes, then motioned for Harvey and Richard to come to him. He reached down and hugged them both, said something in Japanese and began crying again.
“What now?” said Richard, the least affected of the three.
Ito blew his nose again; so did Harvey.
The Professor raised his eyebrows, smiled brightly and beckoned them to follow as he wheeled the gurney into the next room.
“Observe, my friends; digital photography and multi-spectral imaging at its absolute finest. Nothing like it anywhere else, save MIT, which is where I designed it. I am genius, no? Come, my friends; there is much to be done. By tomorrow morning we will have not only the finest digitally enhanced images you have ever seen, but a full spectral analysis of every compound, chemical and flea turd that ever came into contact with this baby. Then, I have a surprise for you. Something I recently perfected, and not a moment too soon.”
 
 
                                                                                (6)
 
At half past one in the morning in Vatican City, Italy, Cardinal Paul Kovacs woke with a start from his cot by the window, the stench of scorched human flesh still clinging to his nostrils.
“God help me!”, he cried out, wiping the sweat from his forehead with one hand as he lifted the receiver with the other.
“No, John, not at all; just took me a moment. Are you well?”
“Fine, Your Excellency. My apologies for calling at such a time, but…”
“I understand. John, was your visit successful?”
Paul had sent Father John to America, officially, to meet with the Archbishop of Boston who had declined an invitation to attend a special council on priestly misconduct. Paul wanted desperately for John to say that he had failed in his mission.
“Yes, just fine. The Archbishop now has a clearer understanding of our goals and has accepted our invitation.”
“I see. Will you be here in the morning then?”
“We are leaving now and should arrive at eight, I believe. Your Excellency, is something wrong?”
“John…no, nothing; we shall talk then.”
The demons are upon us, Paul wanted to say, but thought better of it and hung up quickly. John would be with him tomorrow and all would be well again.   
 
At exactly the same moment in Ames, Iowa, Harvey Kessler sat bolt upright with two strange words ringing in his head, words that he recognized but which were so foreign to him that his brain simply rejected them out of hand. Shaking off the sleep, he saw that Richard was sitting on the floor in front of him, pale as a ghost.
“Rich?”
Richard slowly raised his hand and, pointing west over Harvey’s shoulder, tried unsuccessfully to speak.
“What is it?”
“Didn’t you…? It was…”, Richard stammered trying to get his breath back.
Harvey looked over his shoulder, “What? Where?”
“There, coming right at us…it was…Christ! That scared the shit out of me.”
Harvey flashed on those two words again then shook his head, helped Rich up and brushed off his pants for him.
“What in the name of God are you talking about?”
Richard took a few deep breaths and tried to calm himself.
“I don’t know; this huge…two little windows…it must have been a nightmare or hallucination or something. Man”, Richard rubbed both temples hard, “I can’t get that picture out of my head.”
Harvey smiled, reached over and touched Rich on the forehead.
“Indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid deliquisti.”
“That’s not funny”, said Rich.
“Hey, what are friends for? As Father John purified me, so I  purify thee.”
Richard let that sink in for a moment then dropped his head like a stone into both hands. “God, I wish you hadn’t told me that”.
“You guys finally awake in there?”, Ito shouted from the other room.
Rich got up slowly and started toward the door; Harvey stood there a moment then called after him.
“Wait a minute; it’s just a blessing, right?”
Professor Murayama greeted Richard as he came around the corner, “Behold, my friend!”, and pointed to a huge plasma monitor on the wall which was slowly panning, in close up, an enhanced image of the entire scroll. It was spectacular.
“My God!”
“Yes, it is. Where’s Harvey; it’s his god too.”
As Harvey rounded the corner, the blessing question flew right out of his mind.
“Sweet Jesus! Look at that!”
“It’s a miracle it has survived at all”, said Ito, “much less in such remarkable condition. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, Rich?”
“I don’t want to talk about it”, said Richard as he lumbered over to the window.
Murayama led Harvey to a glass tank at the back of the room. In it were twelve of the thirteen parchment sheets they had separated the night before, each in its own tray. There was some sort of liquid in the tank.
“Not liquid, Harv; cryopropolene gas. At this temperature, it is so heavy it moves like syrup. The gas mixture is essentially bonding with the scroll, though the term is misleading. As the parchment is super cooled, free radicals are drawn from it and replaced by propolene electrons which alter the molecular structure and, little by little, form a new skin over the parchment. The skin is impermeable, transparent and permanent. The scroll can then be taken anywhere, anytime in any weather and it will last another two thousand six hundred years, at least.”
“Awesome!”
“The cover sheet was perfect for testing. What’s left of it we’ll keep in the portable unit and make available for all the independent testers who will soon be knocking down our door.”
“You are absolute genius!”
“Yes, I am.”
 “Ito, she is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life.” 
“Yes, she is; especially when you consider her age.”
“Christ! I heard you but it didn’t…are you sure?”
“Ninety nine percent reliability, plus or minus a half century. The ink contained compounds that were easy to date, though not quite so easy to explain.”
“It is Hilkiah.”
“It fits.”
“What about the parchment?”
“Couldn’t do it. I tried several times, but it wouldn’t ignite.”
Rich turned around and looked at Ito as if this were the final nail.
“What do you mean, it wouldn’t ignite?”
“I don’t know; it just wouldn’t. Pretty weird if you ask me.”
“Don’t egg him on, man”, said Harvey
“Wait a minute”, pressed Richard, “what was that you said about the compounds?”
“Potassium oxide, some sulfates…even rhyolite. Looks more like some kind of ash...”
“Come on, Ito, quit screwing around. He’s already seeing things. There’s a hundred reasons why those things might be in the ink. Now, tell me; can you read it or not?”
Ito would like to have known more about those hundred reasons, but was willing to let it go since they were now getting to the good part.
“I’ve got a few words and phrases already. ‘Source’, for example,  appears many times, which could be…”
“Jahweh, the Source of all things.”
“It’s possible. And here: ‘As man something something, so shall we something’. This ‘as he, so shall we’ phrase repeats several times, and he says ‘we shall create’ in at least four places.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
“Me too. If the mark turns out to be Hilkiah, then I must believe that we are in fact looking at the legendary scroll itself; the blueprint for Jahweh’s promotion.”
There were many things he would like to have said at that moment, but Harvey Kessler could only manage two words which he spoke very slowly, emphasizing each syllable:
“Holy shit!”
 
 
                                                                                (7)
 
Father John arrived on schedule and went directly to Cardinal Paul’s office. He was surprised to find the Cardinal listening to a Mozart sonata; a very loud Mozart sonata. As he entered, he saw Paul standing at his desk with his arms outstretched, blubbering like an idiot. John ran to him.
“Your Excellency?”
“God help us!” He hugged the shorter man tightly. “The demons are upon us, John. They are here! What have we done?”
As John helped Paul to his chair, Cardinal Peter DeGeneris walked in without knocking and closed the door behind him.
“Turn off that infernal racket! Paul, what in God’s name is going on here?”
“May God forgive me, Peter; may God forgive me…forgive me…”
Paul continued to babble as Peter addressed John.
“Father, please be so kind as to explain exactly what is wrong with Cardinal Paul and exactly what it is that he has done that requires the forgiveness of our Lord.”
He waited patiently for Father John Patrick Lynch to finish, then walked slowly to the window and stared out at the castle ramparts. There was a long silence, interrupted only by the occasional shriek as Paul encountered another of his demons. Finally, Cardinal DeGeneris spoke.
“Thank you, John. Have the Sisters come for Paul immediately, will you, before he drags us both down with him.”  
“But Your Excellency… ”
Cardinal DeGeneris raised his right hand and closed his eyes for a moment.
“The Lord works his wonders in mysterious ways, Father. You have done well, come to my office when Paul is settled in; you will need a new assignment.”
 
 
                                                                                (8)
 
Dr. Moshe Lowenstein began his final preparations for the annual meeting of The National Academy of Natural Sciences. The three day conference would bring together many of the top geologists, archaeologists and natural historians from around the world, and would take place a mere ten days after Professor Murayama had completed his translation and verified the mark of Hilkiah, high priest of the Hebrews. Dr. Lowenstein smiled as he recalled the morning’s conversation, proud of himself for not telling the young upstart what he could do with his ‘monumental discovery’, but instead, with brilliantly feigned excitement, giving the abrasive heathen an entire hour on the final day. A memorable end to a wonderful conference, he mused; and, with any luck at all, an equally memorable end to a promising career. Dr. Lowenstein congratulated himself again and, as an afterthought, thanked God for His gifts of wisdom, self restraint and the abominable Dr. Kessler.
 
Richard had tried in vain to persuade him that they were moving way to fast, that this was the wrong way to handle it, but Harvey would have none of it. He was convinced that such a spectacular discovery required an equally spectacular presentation. Ito was on the fence, but when they suddenly found themselves on Lowenstein’s program, there was no turning back and no further time for discussion. Ito pressed the individual sheets of the scroll between vacuum sealed Lucite plates, then joined the plates in a backlit display that was truly elegant. Harvey then had it delivered cross country by armored freight, along with the enhanced photos and test results, and secured in a vault only two city blocks from the Academy’s conference center. The cost for use of the vault, considered one of the most secure locations in the country, was outrageous, but Harvey wasn’t taking any chances. The priceless scroll would remain there until the morning of the presentation, then be transferred to the hall under armed escort. 
The day before the unveiling was to take place, Harvey, Rich and Ito met at the vault to make sure their baby was tucked in cool and safe, then took the elevator up to the Top of the Town to celebrate and get a taste of the highlife that was soon to be theirs. When the champagne arrived, Harvey poured and proposed a toast:
“To the Scroll of Jahweh, our ticket to Paradise!”
Ito Murayama stood and raised his glass but Richard Blake, pale as a ghost, raised an empty hand and, in that eternal instant before the unimaginable, pointed west over Harvey’s shoulder.

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Kim Tyler.
Published on e-Stories.org on 09/28/2007.

 
 

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