by Dina Rae
“You were one of them. CWBN. They no longer are in business, but you were once at the top. Columbia, twenty plus years ago. I can’t imagine the gobs of money you were making. C’mon, Mister King. You’ve got to tell us what happened. A normal person doesn’t give up a job like that to work here.”
Her question was phrased with an air of admiration. I was flattered that she looked up my credentials. But her question was not a compliment. It was a challenge. I did not want to talk about my life before the Third World War.
“I didn’t get fired, if that’s what you are alluding to.”
A few students laughed and egged me on. Instinctively, I glanced at the camera and wondered if anyone was watching. No one seemed to notice except Justine. Her keen sense of observation only added to my paranoia. I slowly answered, trying to string my words in the same way that got me the job at Preston Lakes Community College.
“Well, I’m much older than all of you, probably as old as your parents are if you are lucky enough for them to be alive. I lived as an adult in America before the nuclear holocaust. I know you lived through it too, but most of you were in high school. Maybe some of you are older and you went through this like me, as an adult. Anyway, we are all broken on some kind of psychological level. Some more than others. My entire family is dead. New York City is still in ruins, still radioactive. After everyone stopped throwing bombs, I lost interest in scooping stories, interviewing famous people, reporting important events, everything. I wanted to press the easy button. Low stress. I came here because this area was safe.” Students smiled and nodded in approval. Some of them were here for the same reasons.
Justine looked unconvinced. “There’s got to be more,” she said.
At that moment I pegged Justine as the thorn in my side for the rest of the semester.
“There’s always more, but not today. Class is over. You all need to read pages two hundred to two hundred and thirty five. Then write a response online. Have a great day.”
My next class went off without a hitch. Most of the students from last week showed up. I estimated more of them were on some kind of SSRI, yet still sober enough to function. Once class was over, there was a half an hour before meeting Harper for lunch. Flipping through more of her books, I had yet to find a crown that looked similar to the one I stole from Alberta Ross. The golden leaves had to be Roman or Grecian. I skipped several centuries of history and quickly thumbed through the Roman Empire. There were a few pictures of emperors wearing laurels. I made some progress.
I read a few pages of history and learned that Julius Caesar was considered the first emperor or the last dictator of Rome. The rule continued under Caesar’s adoptive son Octavian who, depending on one’s views, was either the first or second emperor or Rome. He refused the title. Upon his death, his adoptive son Tiberius took over. Tiberius was the emperor in Jesus’s time.
What did Rome, Jesus, ancient crowns, or any of this have to do with Alberta Ross? My head spun as I tried to process. A computer would be nice about now. Unfortunately, my search would be recorded, maybe flagged, and then monitored. It was time to take a chance on Harper. I needed an expert to point me and my vigilantes in the right direction.
I promptly walked into Harper’s room. She was tidying up her desk, looked up, and smiled. I couldn’t tell if it was a smile of interest or curiosity. I was acting strangely. In silence, we walked to the park across the street. I led us to a bench positioned under a few trees.
“Hope you’re hungry,” I said as I unpacked my lunch bag. “Ham, egg salad, or turkey?” She reached for the ham. I pulled out from the side pockets some bags of chips. “Kettle, nacho, or pretzels?”
“I’m a kettle kind of girl.” She snatched the chips.
“Chocolate chip cookie, brownie, or blondie?”
“Hmmm, I’ll wait to see if I am still hungry. These sandwiches are pretty big. Where did you buy them?”
“Actually, at that new grocery store you were talking about.”
Harper took a bite out of her ham sandwich and then said, “Thanks, Raphael. Very nice treat from eating alone. I usually go to the vending machine and get a protein bar. Obviously, this was all planned.”
“What? Absolutely not. I always bring three sandwiches, three chips, and three desserts. I eat a lot.” This was a partial truth. I loved to eat, one of the few joys I had left in my life.
“C’mon. All of this food, the park under the tree, away from the drones, and the college’s cameras. I am not sensing romance, so what gives?”
“Okay, you’re on to me. I confess. My ulterior motives do not center on your body, but rather your brain. Now don’t get me wrong…” I smiled the most charming smile I could muster. The truth was I wouldn’t mind being with Harper. “You’re a beautiful woman and I’d be blind not to notice. If we didn’t work together, who knows…”
“Spare me, Casanova. I’m not looking for a boyfriend or even a romance. Besides, you’re not my type. But I must admit I’m curious to what all of this sudden interest in history is all about.”
I should have been relieved that we both were not interested in pursuing a romance, but her direct words were somewhat of a letdown. I had been alone for too long. Harper was the closest I had come to flirting with a woman since Aysa died. It felt good, if only for a moment.
“Well, now that we got our disdain for dating each other out of the way, can I trust you? As a friend, of course?” Harper nodded. Her sparkling blue eyes shone with excitement. I suddenly understood that she longed for adventure, not romance. The mention of history transformed her from a shy, insecure woman into an enthusiastic expert. “Good. We now understand each other. As a former archeologist, you might prove to be very helpful for a friend of mine.”
I put on my baseball hat despite sitting in the shade. The brim covered most of my face. Harper did the same with her visor, understanding the precautions of this new world we now lived in. I took a bite of my sandwich and said with food in my mouth, “A friend of mind has come into possession of something very rare.” I took out the drawing and handed it to Harper. “I believe the metal of the crown is gold, or at the very least gold plated.”
In the shade the temperature was hotter than a furnace. September was averaging one-hundred and five degrees a day. Today must have been closer to one hundred and ten degrees with no signs of the heat letting up. Ironically, Jaxie told me that Boston’s temperatures were similar to Alaska’s. Experts blamed this as an effect of nuclear fall-out.
In silence, Harper continued to blot the sweat from her face with a napkin while eating and studying the picture. I grew nervous. This might have been a mistake. Finally, she looked at me and said, “This is a damn good sandwich.” She held a smug expression on her face as her eyes returned to the paper.
“Quit playing with me. What do you think? It’s Roman or Grecian, right?”
“How do you know it’s old? How do you know your friend doesn’t have a piece of costume jewelry?”
“It’s a crown or laurel right?” I asked.
“Actually, above the band, it’s open in the back. It looks more like a diadem or tiara. Does this fit your head?”
I was taken aback by her question. She wasn’t buying ‘my friend’ at all, but I was committed. “I don’t know, but it was too small for my friend. He’s a big guy like me.”
“Then it was meant for a woman.”
“Yes, but people were smaller in ancient times, right? How do you know?”
“Raphael, how do you know this is an artifact? I need more to go on. Do you have an actual photo? What kind of gemstones are these?”
I stuffed half of my turkey sandwich into my mouth and carefully thought of the right words to answer her. “The gemstones are all kinds of colors. I’m guessing rubies or garnets, emeralds, topaz, and sapphires? I don’t know. But what about this?” I pointed to the winged being that repeated along the low parts of crown’s points. “And then there’s this animal. What is it? A buck, a bull, a g
oat? Those have to be horns.”
“This piece shows signs of a few empires. I am seeing some Egyptian influence with the gold filigree. See here, the winged being is not a typical angel. It looks Assyrian. It could even be a bird. I’m guessing a deity, like Ishtar or Inanna, or even Lilith. The animal, depending what kind of animal it is, could be Babylonian, Samaritan, Assyrian, and even Egyptian. It’s probably part of a costume made in modern times by someone who is not a historian…” Harper babbled on with her theory.
My mind blocked out her costume jewelry theory. How could I tell her that this was found in a safe room of a billionaire and prominent member of Congress? Finally, I took a leap of faith and said, “Harper, this is not a piece of costume jewelry, trust me.”
“Then I need to see it, Raphael. Looking at a half-ass drawing just isn’t enough. If you don’t show me your headpiece, I might never sleep a full night’s sleep again.”
I studied her determined face and knew there was no turning back. Her intelligent blue eyes had a few crow’s feet around the corners and her pink pouty mouth had a few lines around the upper lip. I guessed her to be a little younger than I was, still very much a beauty. She must have distracted her team of archeologists once upon a time. I liked her way more than I should.
“Alright, Harper. I wouldn’t want you to lose any sleep. Soon.”
Chapter Twenty
Raphael
Another week went by. Harper nagged and I stalled. My excuses ran out. She was either in this all of the way or out altogether. My paranoia was on extra high alert. Jun managed to fence a fraction of our loot, but admitted to getting spooked by prospective buyers who asked too many questions. Then there was Justine Capriati, my student from hell. Her constant attempts to sway the classroom into different discussions had me almost to a breaking point.
It was only a Monday, the first week of October, and I felt the burnout of teaching as if it were May. I discussed the First Amendment, the American forefathers, and the beginnings of American reporting. Justine’s hand extended high up in the air for the fourth time during class. I ignored her and continued my lecture.
“Isn’t it true that propaganda has replaced the news? I mean, let’s be honest, we have twelve, maybe fifteen corporations running the world. American Amendments are now abolished under the U.N. Free speech is obsolete,” Justine called out.
Her comment got a rise out of the class. The most drugged out students woke up for this animated debate. She baited me once again. Justine said what we all knew and feared. There were too many consequences to free speech, even here, at Preston Lakes Community College where cameras still recorded every minute of the day.
My share of our underground plunder along with my grandfather’s gold were enough not to ever worry about a paycheck again. I could just walk away, but then I still needed a cover as well as a productivity factor. This job kept the inquiries at bay, at least for now. I had to blend into this new world, and Justine’s comments didn’t blend. If anyone watched the footage from the security camera… I had to play it cool. Getting fired for being some kind of ‘anarchist’ who indoctrinates today’s young adults was not part of my plan.
Very calmly, I said, “Justine, before the abolishment of the First Amendment, speech was still limited. America had laws about screaming “fire” in a movie theater. One could sue another for publically lying and ruining another’s character. Hate speech and threats had consequences as well. Delicate information and national security have always been censored. Our First Amendment had too many holes to count. And then finally, many believe free speech and religion are the reasons why we had to endure World War III. I respect your insight, though. Maybe your questions might be better answered by a political science instructor.” My answer was pat and agreeable with what the new world agenda wanted each of its citizens to say.
“I’m asking you about the propaganda bullshit that we are fed all damn day and you want me to ask a political science instructor…”
“I have had enough of your language! Class, you’re dismissed.” My students looked at each other in confusion. Class was not supposed to end for another twenty minutes. “Go!” I yelled. The camera light was still on. I wore my concerned and controlled face. “Justine, you stay. I want a word with you.”
The rest of the class filed out of the door. Some gave me dirty looks as they left. Justine anointed herself as the class’s revolutionary leader. Under different circumstances, I would have recruited her into my cabal of vigilantes. Something about her was off. This class seemed to be part of a personal plan. She packed up her computer and then walked over to my desk. A few students lingered in the hall, listening in. I didn’t care if they heard me or not. “You’re angry. The world has drastically changed. I get it. But you have to accept it and keep on going. There’s no other choice…”
“At this time,” Justine mumbled. “But I will not stand for New World Order.”
She said it-New World Order. Three dirty words that shouldn’t have been said with cameras rolling. I could never tell her how right she was. Her outbursts had to end.
“You must not speak about our new world government like that. Billions of people died. No more. We can’t go back.” My hands shook in frustration. “Your questions about the world were answered to the best of my ability, as were your questions about my personal life. Quite frankly, if you have more questions, then go ask the provost. I will not put up with constant confrontation from you or any student. I am here to teach journalism how I see fit, not how you see fit. There is still time to drop this class…”
“So you no longer care about truth? Wasn’t that what your former TV journalist job was about? Truth? And this job? You just no longer care?” Justine changed her challenging voice to a whisper. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to learn from you even if I have to break that camera.” She smiled a peculiar smile as if we shared a secret. She left the room with the door open. My students who waited in the hall welcomed her into their clique, eager to find out about what transpired.
My cheeks warmed with anger. I had what real teachers would call a behavioral problem, and I had no idea on how to handle it. Justine was either in love with me or out to get me. Maybe there was another motive, but I couldn’t wrap my brain around it.
Whatever game Justine was trying to play was a dangerous one. Harper was in the hallway welcoming in her next class. I caught her looking at me and then looking down the hallway at Justine. I shrugged my shoulders, pretending there was no problem. She smiled her pearly white teeth at me and I instantly settled down. I mouthed the word ‘lunch’ and she nodded. I planned on taking her to my townhouse.
Two hours later, we walked to my home. I offered Harper one of my hats. She pulled back her long blonde hair and put the hat on along with a pair of her sunglasses.
“I have nothing to eat at my place. On the way back, do you want to stop?”
She nodded. We walked the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. I thought about the books she lent me. Besides ancient Rome or Greece, the crown could have originated from several empires-Babylonian, Assyrian, Egyptian, and Sumerian. Did empires meld jewelry in the styles of other empires? Were some cultures influencing others that far back in time? Harper had the most of experience with this. I had to trust.
We walked into my townhome. Harper sat at the kitchen bar. I handed her a bottle of water. The crown, or diadem as she mentioned, had been moved at least four times since I originally brought it home. It should have been safely hidden at my farm, but I had yet to make the drive. My spare bedroom settled as my final hiding place for everything. Harper sat by herself for a moment as I pulled out the tattered gym bag. I walked back into the kitchen and proudly set the bag down in front of her.
She seemed more preoccupied with my townhouse rather than the gym bag. Her bright eyes absorbed everything in my open floor plan. “My God, Raphael. What do they pay you at Preston Lakes? This is a seriously nice place. My place is half this size. Was that your
guest room you ducked into? I saw a desk when you opened the door. A den, huh?”
“Glad you are impressed, but it’s really not that nice of a place. Ugly carpeting, ugly floor tile, ugly brown cabinets. Everything’s beige and dated, like 1990 dated, and since none of us can buy property, spending money on remodeling is obviously a waste. It’s funny. Before the war, you would have thought this place was a dump.”
Harper laughed. “Before the war, I rented the first floor of a mansion in University Park. Like everyone in the neighborhood, I got evicted by the Peacekeepers. My new place doesn’t even hold a candle to my old place. Funny how our standards changed so quickly. Nonetheless, your home is very nice by today’s standards. You all by yourself? I’m assuming no roommate.” I nodded. “I’m jealous.”
“Don’t be. I used to have a beautiful brownstone when I lived in New York. Owned it, and had it almost paid off. My bedroom room window had a balcony overlooking Central Park. Now that was a nice place. Like everyone else in New York City, I now own nothing. But that’s the least of my losses. I’d gladly give up a million fancy homes to have my wife back. Oh well, seems like a lifetime ago. Back to the subject at hand. Look, you wanted to see the real thing instead of my half-ass drawing. So here it is.” I tapped the bag. She unzipped it and gingerly took out the crown.
Unnerving silence passed as Harper studied the piece. I dropped my drawing on an open flame of the stove. Burnt flakes of paper drifted all over the plastic counter. Harper didn’t seem to notice. Her expression wore an intensity that only comes from complete concentration. My heart skipped a beat. Could she be able to tell me more about the treasure I stole?
Several minutes went by and still no word. She delicately picked up the crown and placed it on her head. It was tight, but it fit. She pulled out her reading glasses from her purse and studied the filigree. She carefully turned it on all sides, memorizing every detail the piece had to offer.
“C’mon, already!” I said. “The suspense was killing me.”
