A Matter of Degrees

by Alex Marcoux

  Lukeman was astonished. “Your master took an oath. He was never to share these beliefs with the uninitiated. The penalty for doing such is death!”

  “I am aware of that. He took me through the first transformation.”

  Lukeman didn’t know what to think. He was reminded of a conversation he had with his mother so many years ago.

  “Mother, why are only a select few able to learn the secrets to eternal life?”

  “The gods and pharaohs believe that only a few chosen souls can seek the mysteries of our creators. This is how we have lived and died for many lifetimes.”

  “But you know—it is not right. It is not right. It is not right.”

  As Lukeman stood there, he was reminded of his youthful feelings. It wasn’t right! As a child he knew it, how could he have forgotten? How could he have spent his life overlooking his soul’s true purpose? Why should only the elite be given the opportunity to understand mankind’s origins and seek eternal life? By excluding people, wasn’t he oppressing the spirituality of Memphis?

  With newly found inspiration, he set out to fulfill his destiny. He abandoned the blood oath he had taken more than a decade earlier. And, behind closed doors, Lukeman taught Ja and others the secrets to the ancient mysteries.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jamila left the palace kitchen and was crossing the courtyard. From across the square, she saw Zuka, second son of Oba, approach. Since servants were not allowed to cast their eyes on the elite, she lowered them as he drew near.

  This wasn’t the first time Zuka had spotted the servant girl. He was delighted at the opportunity to meet her. As he expected, she passed him without making eye contact, and he turned and trailed her.

  Jamila felt his aura near her, so she wasn’t surprised when she heard his voice from behind.

  “And what is your name?”

  She stopped, turned, and spoke, avoiding eye contact. “I am Jamila.”

  Zuka circled her, his hands clasped behind his back, extending his bloated stomach. “What a beautiful name,” his eyes combed her body, “for a beautiful woman. I am Zuka, son of the vizier.”

  “Yes. I know.” Jamila lowered her head.

  Zuka’s ego inflated, she knew who he was! “What business do you have at the palace?”

  “My father is a servant. I brought him some coriander tea for poor health.”

  “I see. It must be hard being a servant’s girl.” Zuka’s hand touched Jamila’s chin, he directed her head so that their eyes met. She was more beautiful than he had imagined. His eyes left her face and scoured her body. “You could have a life of ease. I could assure you of that.”

  “Take your hand off her!” Lukeman’s voice bellowed behind him. “Jamila! Go home!” Jamila scurried away.

  Zuka watched after the fleeing girl. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”

  “You are with Dalila. Is that not enough?”

  “Dalila and I have our own arrangement, which is none of your concern.”

  “Keep your hands off Jamila.”

  Zuka eyed Lukeman. What was he missing? A sinister smile came to his lips. “Could an untouchable be keeping the Hem Neter’s bed warm?”

  Lukeman stepped into Zuka’s space. Even with his inflated gut from indolence, Zuka shrank as Lukeman’s presence beset the younger brother. “Stay away from her,” Lukeman said and he left.

  Later that evening, as Zuka and Oba gorged their faces with fresh fruit, Zuka discussed his confrontation with Lukeman. “Father, I’m telling you, Lukeman is interested in this servant girl, Jamila,” Zuka whined. “How can a Hem Neter be with an untouchable and still be pure enough for Ptah’s needs?”

  “Perhaps you are overreacting,” Oba said.

  “No…there is something there. I wouldn’t fault him, though. She truly is stunning, Father. The highest cheekbones I’ve ever seen, and golden-brown eyes.”

  * * *

  Something pestered Oba about Zuka’s accusation. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but like parasites breeding in the Nile, it gnawed away at his gut until he no longer could stand it. He knew the women would be washing clothing at the river this time of day, so this is where he journeyed.

  Accompanied by the pharaoh’s soldiers, the vizier walked the riverbank, surveying women. He seemingly sifted through them as they scrubbed clothing. Occasionally, he would point to one, and a guard would retrieve her from the water. He would inspect her face, nod “no,” and she was freed to return to the water. Oba continued downstream, advancing toward Jamila.

  Standing in knee-deep water, Jamila rinsed a vessel. Murmurs from other women nearby drew her attention to the unusual sight.

  Not daring to lay her eyes on the vizier, Jamila continued her chores. From her peripheral vision, she saw that he had stopped at the shoreline near her. She sensed his eyes on her. Then she heard the rising and falling of feet plunging through the water.

  “What is your name?”

  Anticipating a soldier would drag her from the water, she took a deep breath, and turned. The vizier stood in the water beside her. “I am Jamila.”

  Oba couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He recognized her distinct cheekbones, haunting eyes, and full lips. She was indeed beautiful. “Who are your parents?”

  “My father is Asim and my mother is Femi.”

  Oba nodded pensively, then trudged back to the shore.

  * * *

  Later that evening, Jamila embarked to find Lukeman. She knew that he routinely strolled the riverbank just after sunset. Occasionally, she and Mosi, her gentleman caller, would happen upon him by the river. Her encounter with Oba troubled her. She had debated whether to tell him; in the end, she decided that she ought to mention it.

  It wasn’t long before she glimpsed the familiar silhouette by the river’s edge, He was walking leisurely, taking in the charm of the Nile.

  “Lukeman?”

  He turned. “Jamila? Is that you?”

  She emerged from the shadows. “It is. May I walk with you a little?”

  “Of course,” he glanced around. “Are you alone? You are not with Mosi?”

  “I am alone.”

  He sensed something was amiss. “Is everything well?”

  “I had an unusual encounter today. I was at the river and I met your father.”

  Lukeman stopped, his aura noticeably changed, exuding the heat of anger. “My father? What did he want?” His voice shot up.

  “I’m not quite sure. It was very strange, Lukeman. He strolled the bank, had his guards pull young women from the water. He just looked at them, and then sent them back to work. When he came upon me, he walked to me in the water.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked my name, and who my parents are. Then he just left.”

  With fists clenched he asked, “Did he touch you?”

  A crazed look in his eyes scared Jamila. She took his fists in her tiny hands. “No. He didn’t touch me.” But Lukeman was gone. “Lukeman, come back to me,” she pleaded. “Lukeman?” she called louder. He didn’t respond and Jamila slapped his cheek.

  He caressed his face, and the noticeable anger in his eyes dissipated. “I’m sorry, Lukeman. You scared me.”

  That was the last thing he wanted to do. “Why would he approach you?”

  “Could it have anything to do with my encounter with Zuka? I had never met either one. And within one day, I’ve met both. Isn’t that odd?”

  “Yes. I’m going to my father and find out what’s going on.” Lukeman brushed past her, heading away from the riverbank.

  “No!” Jamila, normally soft-spoken, raised her voice and chased after him. She grabbed his hand. “You cannot see your father, Lukeman. You need to be in a better place before you do. That hatred of yours will consume you if you’re not careful.”

  Lukeman knew she was right; he could feel the rage swell within him, waiting to erupt. His eyes settled on hers. “You’re right. I don’t know how to purge it.”

&nbs
p; “Let this go.” Jamila still holding onto one of his hands squeezed it. “Promise me that you won’t see your father until you have vanquished this fury.”

  He felt her strength, tenderness, and love emanate from her ethereal body. Lukeman’s eyes found hers. “I promise,” he whispered. Instinctively, he swept her in his arms and held her silently. He didn’t dare to look back into her eyes for fear that he would take her. Instead, he marveled at how right it felt to have her in his arms, to feel her heart beat next to his, and her soft skin against his. He wouldn’t take her, not because he didn’t want to, or because she was an untouchable and he was the Hem Neter. He couldn’t because he had seen his future through clairvoyant visions, and his involvement in her life would only bring sorrow to her. But as he held her, he was awed by the feeling that she always left him wanting more.

  * * *

  The other man’s voice was foreign to Jessie, so that when he conveyed the final words, they severed her subconscious from her past.

  “You have reached the mountain peak of Masonic instruction, a peak covered by a mist, which you in search for further light can penetrate only by your own efforts.”

  Jessie’s eyes flew open. Everything was blurry, from where her two realities merged. She shut her eyes, then opened them, this time noticing a stranger standing beside Whitman on a platform. Where am I? She was dazed.

  “You are here. Back to the present,” Charlie said.

  Present? Jessie’s heart was beating wildly.

  “Now we hope you will study diligently the lessons of all our degrees so that there will be nurtured within you a consuming desire to pierce the pure white light of Masonic wisdom.”

  What happened? Jessie’s heart still beating rapidly. She wondered if she was having a heart attack. She closed her eyes.

  “Relax, Jessie,” Charlie told her.

  “And before we let you go, let me give you a hint and that is all that the greatest Mystics ever give. The hint is the Royal Secret, it is there that you may learn to find that light. Yes, brothers, the hint is the Royal Secret. The true word—Man, born of a double nature finds the purpose of his being only when these two natures are in perfect harmony.”

  Images of black-and-white checkerboard flashed through Jessie’s mind, and the instructor’s words born of a double nature echoed in her head.

  As if awakening from a dream and its memory drifting from her, Jessie kept her eyes closed and tried to cling to her experience. But soon, the intricacies of her life as an Egyptian high priest were a blur. She reached for her notepad and pen beside her and jotted down details of that life, before they slipped from her grasp.

  “Harmony, my brethren, Harmony, is the true word and the Royal Secret which makes possible the empire of true Masonic Brotherhood.”

  The Empire?

  “Harmony, Jessie,” Charlie repeated.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jessie wandered the sidewalk disoriented. In one hand, she clutched a men’s attaché case, in the other a black silk cap. Not really knowing what she was doing, she stuffed the cap inside her trench coat. Being in Manhattan, most didn’t find Brennan’s swerving between pedestrians or feminine walk peculiar. Still lightheaded, she passed the parking lot where she had parked, seemingly, lifetimes earlier. She staggered five blocks before she realized her error.

  Sometime later, she started the cold Mustang. She needed to share her experience with someone, but had never felt so alone. From her coat pocket, she retrieved her phone and punched in some numbers.

  “I need to see you,” Jessie murmured.

  An hour later, Jessie pulled into the parking lot of the Paramus Park Mall. She searched for the suggested meeting place and parked. She cut the engine and stepped from the car. Studying the surrounding area, she walked the row of cars until she reached the Saab, opened its door, and sat in the passenger seat.

  “My God! You look like shit!” Rachel said. “Are you okay?”

  Jessie pulled the vanity mirror from the visor. She was pale and her eyes were bloodshot. Her hair was uncombed and her goatee had become loosened on one side. She pressed the corner of the goatee, adhering it to her skin.

  In the mirror’s reflection, she saw the black silk protrude from her trench coat. She pulled out a crumpled Master of the Royal Secret cap. It was black, trimmed in gold, with a gold double-headed eagle surmounted by a red equilateral triangle inscribed with “32°” in gold. The ceremony where Brennan received the cap was a blur.

  “Today was your last initiation?”

  Jessie nodded. She was still grasping at bits and pieces of her Egyptian experience. Now it felt like a dream. “Something happened,” although she spoke in her normal voice, it sounded foreign to her. “I don’t know how.” She didn’t know where to begin. She’s going to think I’m crazy. As she sat there, all she wanted to do was run to Taylor.

  “What happened?”

  Jessie began to tell her story. “Right before Christmas, I was meditating, and I think I had a past-life memory.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I had a vision, and in it I was a young Egyptian boy. My father was in the government. My mother…” Jessie seemed to be lost in a world of her own. She stared distantly into the darkening parking lot.

  “Your mother?”

  Jessie shook off the stupor. “My mother was unfaithful to my father and was imprisoned. Years later, I was sent to her…She died in my arms.” Jessie felt the hatred surge within her. It startled her. “Today…when Whitman gave the lecture—”

  “Michael Whitman?” Rachel was curious.

  “Yes. His voice had a hypnotic effect on me. And when they showed the geometric and Masonic symbols, I was back in Egypt.” Jessie wondered if Rachel thought she was nuts. Then she remembered that her mother saw ghosts, so she proceeded. “Some time ago, I had another past-life experience, but in that situation I had a past-life regression and remembered parts of a lifetime during the Salem witch trials.

  “Our subconscious mind is a reservoir of our past-life memories. One way to access it is through past-life regressions, another is through meditation…but I meditate all the time. This was different. What would trigger something like this?” she mumbled.

  Rachel was skeptical. “What exactly happened?”

  “I had a memory of the same Egyptian boy. He left his father and lived among the lower caste. He went into the ancient mystery school and became a high priest.”

  “The mystery school? The one that Freemasonry was based upon? Isn’t it possible that this Freemasonry stuff is going to your head?” Rachel suggested.

  Jessie could not ignore the possibility. “It’s possible.”

  Although skeptical, Rachel was genuinely curious. “What else happened?”

  “My name was Lukeman. Kek was my teacher. He started the brotherhood. And Jamila was…it was complicated. But I started teaching the uninitiated.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The mystery school was restricted to the elite class. I befriended an untouchable and started teaching him, and others.”

  “If you were a high priest, what do you remember of the mysteries?”

  “That part is fuzzy. I remember bits and pieces of rituals. They believed that we needed to free our soul from our physical existence to reach eternal life. But it’s like a dream that keeps slipping away, then every once in a while I remember something.”

  “Do you remember the thirty-second initiation?”

  This was the most upsetting piece. She shook her head. “Not much. I remember the introduction and the conclusion and that’s it. Everything else is gone.” She was so angry. She had invested all this time studying Freemasonry. She had been anxious to experience the thirty-second degree, and now she had missed it.

  Jessie spotted the doubt in Rachel’s eyes. “You don’t believe me.”

  “I believe something happened to you, Jess. Maybe this Freemasonry stuff is brainwashing you or something. But I don’t believe y
ou had a past-life memory.”

  “Do you believe in past lives?” Jessie saw Rachel’s skepticism. “Weren’t you the one who told me that even the early church believed in reincarnation?”

  “That doesn’t mean I believe in it. To be honest, I don’t know what to believe.”

  Jessie felt lost. “Don’t you find some irony in that—here I am, in this lifetime, attempting to uncover the ancient mysteries through Freemasonry…when in the past, I knew the mysteries and realized that the elite suppressed them. Rachel, the Thirty-Third Council could still be doing it today. I must have failed then, and that’s why this is happening to me.” Jessie stopped. She realized that she was rambling on, and probably sounded crazy. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m sorry.”

  Rachel started the car engine and music filtered through the speakers. She lowered the volume, and jacked up the heat.

  “Where are you going?”

  “No place.” Rachel rubbed her hands together. “I’m just getting cold.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you out on a Sunday night.” Dusk had almost set, and Jessie still felt lost. I should never have called her. “I should go.”

  “Jessie, relax,” Rachel knew that Jessie was upset. “Do you know what you’re going to do now? Do you have what you need?”

  Jessie felt like she was falling apart. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I’m so confused! I’m not any closer to solving Steve’s murder than when I started. Taylor is coming to New York City next weekend. I just want my life back…How come it’s so complicated?” Jessie’s voice cracked. She wiped away tears.

  Rachel reached for Jessie’s free hand and held it.

  With great effort, Jessie pulled herself together. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long. Go home with Taylor when she leaves.”

  “I can’t just walk away. I would waste almost a year of my life. I need closure.”

  Rachel, still holding Jessie’s hand, squeezed it. Her hands were so soft. There was a familiarity to Rachel’s touch that Jessie drew comfort from. Her eyes migrated to Rachel’s newly manicured hands, her familiar ankh-like birthmark, and wool dress-coat sleeve. Only then did she realize that Rachel was dressed up.