The Phoenician Code

by Karim El Koussa

  “Listen to me, Paul, and listen very carefully,” Padre Joseph stated after a few minutes, following the long silence that had surprised his listener. The gravity of his voice did not alter the look of his round-shaped face in any way. With all the authority of a Priest in his religious vestment, he resumed, “The situation is dire, not at all simple for me, as you might have anticipated. You have stepped into thorny ground, a shadowy place with no leniency. Hell… if I may say so.” He paused for a sip of cold water to clear out his throat from the heat the thought had provoked.

  Paul appeared to be in shock, more confounded than back in the heat of the moment, when he was on the run from the men in black. He didn’t expect this at all. However, the exigency of the situation urged his mind to hurriedly labor on something that he was not sure he would comprehend.

  “Would they follow me, still?” asked Paul, “I mean, here in Lebanon?” His mind was in great turbulence.

  “I know they can, they have the means, but I’m not sure they will do that. Yet, everything is possible with these furtive people.” Padre Joseph couldn’t just hide the truth from the man looking at him with fear in his eyes, and tell him that they couldn’t. He definitely wished the opposite, but sometimes... most of the times; reality was just very different from wishes. “The ‘BB’ is not a guild for money and fun, as most people around the world think. They can be extremely serious and dodgy. Nothing can stop them from executing their plans, anywhere, anytime.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The Babylonian Brotherhood,” the Padre answered him with strange solemnity. “I will tell you everything you need to know about them later on, but for now, I urge you to keep a low profile, while working on the site with the two ladies waiting for you.” He halted for a second, opened the bottom right drawer of his desk, and retrieved a light-brown A4 envelope. “This is for Youmna. A book she might need.” He smiled. “Good luck,” he concluded.

  Despite the gravity of his words of caution, Padre Joseph reflected admirable vigor, and that’s what explicitly helped Paul to leave the office with a sudden grin on his face.

  The Babylonian Brotherhood, he pondered on his way to Gebel. I have to keep a low profile, he thought.

  Seated on the passenger’s seat next to him, Jim turned his head, and urged him to be cautious on the soggy road, for he looked a bit distracted. It had rained a tad and the road could be slippery. With his long, wide forehead, curly short hair, and dark beard, Jim embodied the typical artist that he was.

  The artistic work of this painter and musical composer, in his early forties, never ceased to amaze Paul. His paintings, so expressive, would depict the old village stone-houses, or simply some wooden doors slightly opened, as if to the unknown. His mélange of colors, and the mystical expression of his creativity allowed his brush to depict Nature most beautifully. A musician of a rare quality, his lyrics always resounded authenticity and sincerity, and were rooted in his culture—rooted in theirs.

  Certainly, Paul hadn’t conveyed to Jim anything, related to what had transpired before or after he had presented his paper at the seminar in Montreux. He told his friend that everything had gone well, as predicted. Out of an affinity for art and history, he called the artist on Saturday, and suggested the trip to Gebel. Jim showed a lot of interest, of course. He had his own purpose for it. For Jim, Gebel and its great ancient ruins, would form a beautiful theme for his paintings, not to mention the musical inspiration he might achieve there.

  Around 11:15 AM, they reached the beautiful city of Gebel. It was one of the mildest days in October. The Sun shone directly after some slight rain, this rapid shift in the weather often took place on the Mediterranean coast during the first month of autumn. They leisurely drove in the direction of the port of Gebel, parked the four-wheeler in a designated parking area, and took down their backpacks.

  Moments later, they continued on foot towards the Archaeological Site, walking through a long Roman road in ruins, surrounded by a public Garden. They arrived at an intersecting point with two directions to choose from. The first one was to the right, the other, straight ahead. However, they decided to go to the right first, towards the medieval city of Byblos. Their stroll through the beautiful old souk was delightful. They next passed by the Unesco Square then the College of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart, the Gebel Wax Museum, St. John the Baptist’s Church—built around the year 1150 AD, the Church of Our Lady of Deliverance, a couple of Restaurants, a hotel, and the port.

  Jim took some photographs of all of them, before they lingered at the port for a while, enjoying the beautiful view of the fluctuating water in the sea.

  “Alas,” Paul spoke, breaking the silence that had endured for a few minutes. “Look at the waters, the once great waters of the Mediterranean Sea, flirting today with the new idle port of Gebel. What happened to the old one?” his words sounded more nostalgic in nature than a mere question for Jim to answer. Yet, he seemed to know all too well the answer himself. “Time… Time is what happened.” He looked at Jim, then back at the waters. “I can’t but imagine the old port, busy and jammed with hundred of sailors, travelers, ships that used to dock here at this very same place, Jim, to head away again, every bright new day towards a different corner of the world.”

  Jim gazed at the forsaken port of today. Indeed, nothing remained from the vestiges of that astonishing past. Few insignificantly tiny fishing boats and others—perhaps for private owners—lingered there, in wait of motion.

  “I believe the Geblites carry the blood of the ancestors in their veins,” Jim whispered above the surface of the water, in wait for a confirming note from Paul, who often had his eyes on the past.

  “True, yet all ancestral traces seemed to have bled away. Time is a killer. Has culture died in our collective memory?” the historian in Paul asked critically, before he continued, “Unfortunately, I could not dismiss the feeling of regret for that great loss,” he uttered in sorrow.

  Between the beautiful rocks, carved by the gifted hands of nature, and the deserted ancient port of Gebel, built ages ago by the Phoenician Geblite seafarers, some pieces of Cedar wood scattered here and there, half buried in water and sand; the only remnants of what once used to be a vast Empire of the Sea.

  Time runs and everything changes…

  Almost half an hour later, they marched back to the intersecting point, and continued straight ahead, this time towards Gebel’s Archaeological Site. With steady steps, they walked into history. With its very close cultural and religious connection with Egypt, Gebel had always held a certain magnetic interest for lots of people around the world, and especially for the Lebanese.

  It seemed as if something, quite unknown to Paul, had abruptly attracted Jim along the way, made him suddenly turn to the right, and disappear behind a wall between a small annex to the Roman road in ruins and the Crusader Castle. Paul didn’t waste a second, he just followed his friend, and moments later Jim drew out his camera from his blue backpack and began capturing the beauty of this archaeological monument; commenting, between his shots, on the art of masonry used in its construction—by the Franks—in the 12th century AD. It was still standing. Next to it and across a tiny road, on the eastern side of Gebel’s Archaeological Site, there stood the remains of a Persian Castle, built in the mid-6th century BC.

  However, Jim’s appreciation of the ancient Site, as an artist, grew, upon catching sight of the artistic architecture that the ancient Geblites had left as testament of their skill—in the Phoenician Temple of the Obelisks—standing next to it. Built at the order of Abi-Chemou, King of Gebel, around 1800 BC, the construction in Egyptian style increased his enthusiasm. As usual, he was deeply engrossed in setting the right angles for his camera in order to get the best photos, which Paul assumed Jim would be using as subjects for his upcoming drawings. The amalgamation of these two great civilizations of the distant past—Egyptian and Phoenician—was, in fact, what concerned Paul the most.

  After admiring, for a wh
ile, the few Obelisks rising in the midst of layers of ancient stones, and edged by some palm trees; they left off, treading ahead through lots of ruins, some of which lay sadly absconded amidst the bushes. A fervent discussion nearby attracted their attention and made them both veer towards its source.

  There was a ditch in the ground in the form of a square surrounded by a thick blue rope that was attached to the four poles on each of the corners. A signpost, with a caption had been nailed to each of the poles.

  It read:

  Do Not Trespass. Excavation Work.

  Beirut National Museum.

  Lebanese Ministry of Culture.

  Debating on the foundation of the Phoenician Alphabet and some other related topics, Youmna and Maya seemed completely absorbed by a flat ancient stone posing in front of them. A strange Stone with dazzling beauty, Paul’s face immediately changed, as he seemed to remember the words used by Maya in the email she had sent him almost a week ago while he was still in Munich. With the archaeological tools at their sides, and some documents in their hands that they were referring to over the course of their argument, they seemed to have reached a dilemma.

  Impelled by a mute complicity, Paul walked in steady steps toward them and introduced Jim to the girls. Friendly and amiable, both the Archaeologist and the Alchemist invited him to join them moments after they came to know the gifted artist. Paul took the opportunity to inform his friend about the work done on the site.

  “The ladies came with a definite purpose, to uncover important relics with Phoenician writings, study them on site, label them properly, and then get them ready to be moved to the Beirut National Museum,” Paul related to Jim, without explaining the true reason behind the excavation.

  “The Stone we’ve just unearthed here, at the so-called ‘Great Phoenician Temple’, held an unfamiliar Phoenician inscription of some sort,” Youmna stated, fixing Paul with those green eyes that colored her attractive face, her blond hair glowing under the sunrays. “It’s really confusing,” she added.

  “It’s been almost completely hidden beneath three layers of sand and rocks,” Maya joined, with a most remarkable facial expression. Her long light-brown hair flowed round her silken face and down to her shoulders.

  “Interesting to know that you both work at the Museum,” Jim stated keenly.

  “Not exactly,” came Youmna’s rebuttal, as she took her red hard-hat off, pulled her hair back, and then put the hat back on. “We were only commissioned for this job by the Museum. We actually work at the AUB, the American University of Beirut.”

  What Youmna said was enough to keep Jim unsuspecting about the exact nature of their work at the site. Moments later, while the artist busied himself taking photographs of just about everything, Paul approached Youmna, and gave her the envelope Padre Joseph had sent her.

  “He said you might need it.”

  Youmna opened the package with immense eagerness, and retrieved a book from it. “The Alchemy of the Letters,” she murmured, loudly enough for Maya and Paul to hear, as they drew nearer with apparent interest. The Alchemy of the Letters, she thought, before she came to realize the probable significance of such work.

  The Author’s name was not written on the book cover, and that left her perplexed. Quickly, she opened it to the first page; the smell of the Ancient world seeped into the air. Slowly, she read, too low for Jim to catch any of it:

  This work is as ancient as the beginning of time.

  It is believed to be the Book of Thor, the Geblite.

  It has the knowledge of the Sacred Alphabet.

  Each of the twenty-two letters has a physical denotation.

  Each of the twenty-two letters has a spiritual meaning.

  A secret code has been hidden in Gebel.

  The structure is Alchemical…

  “Oh my God! This is… How odd!” Youmna sputtered in disbelief and, with a passionate look at Paul, who looked back at her completely astonished, she added, “I was telling Maya almost the exact same thing I just read, when we unearthed the Stone with the strange Phoenician inscription on it!”

  “What do you mean?” Paul asked pryingly, with an inquisitive look on his face.

  “Alchemy, Paul… Alchemy,” she clarified in excitement, and peeped back at Maya. “Other than the tangible yet baffling written words we found in the physical stone, what could be hidden in the Philosopher’s Stone?”

  “The Philosopher’s Stone,” Paul whispered. It seemed that Youmna had awakened something dormant in his memory. What she had suggested rang a bell.

  The Philosopher Stone, Maya thought within the depths of her mind, without saying anything.

  It would be quite a bizarre thing to think of all this as just a simple coincidence, though they must have known all too well, that the sacred chants of Gebel, rumbling throughout the long-lasting ages, had brought them all together for something.

  One could still hear them.

  .11.

  A letter with a powerful light

  Tuesday, October 19, 01:49 PM

  At the base camp, the second day, Youmna, extremely puzzled with the ancient book in her hand, decided to conceal it inside her backpack. She then paused for a moment at the thought of hiding it right now, and looked around to see if anybody was there. Reassured to find that she was alone, seconds later, and with extreme curiosity, evident in her eyes, she opened it, and turned a couple of introductory pages. Her vibrant green eyes caught sight of the first letter of the Phoenician Alphabet, Aleph, which rose up, whirled in a spiraling motion through the air, and halted for a moment of glorious light that inundated the tent. The light of the letter dazzled her eyes, and warmed her entire body. When she least expected it, it magnified, blinding her, and dispatching her into a journey through the past…

  “At the beginning, there was the void and the void was like a big, black cloud stretching out in all directions towards Infinity. However, behind that void, there was something, which the physical senses of men and women could not discern. The intensity of its mysterious presence overpowered their minds through the Holy Spirit.

  It must be the Force, hidden beyond the manifested void. It is the Creator, the Primordial Harmony, the Unbecoming, the Unborn, and the Unformed! It was the Source.

  Then God, the Source, ordered: “Let there be light!”

  The Shining Light proceeded from that Central Fire, and diffused through the immense darkness. This Intelligent, self-sustaining Spirit was unique. Without being divided or even manifested, it was eternal and unchangeable.

  God, the Central Fire, the One, was indeed that “Unity Point”, which contained infinity. It was the Absolute Creator, and the Father that circulated through the circumference of existence yet to come.

  Father-Light… What power!”

  When she got back to her senses some time later, she opened her eyes, to find herself on the floor; a soggy sensation pervaded the skin on her hands. It seemed as though the powerful light of the first letter had landed her on the floor with an incredible thrust, after sending her on a flight to the distant past. She could barely recognize her surroundings when two silhouettes appeared, crouching on the floor near her. She hazily remembered she had been alone before, but could not identify the people she was looking at now. It had felt just like it did when she stared at the powerful light of the Sun and, immediately after, at another object. A feeling of blindness took over, and it scared her for a moment, but then she rubbed her eyes, and opened them once again. She could see now, and her eyes came to rest on the forms of Maya and Paul in front of her.

  “What was that?” Youmna exclaimed. “Did you see what I saw? Were you here from the beginning?” she inquired curiously. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “Don’t know,” Maya answered, her heart still beating in a frequency very new to her. “I saw something… many things… just can’t remember what really happened. It was just... weird. There was a void… then a beautiful light… then…”

  �
�Then… God, wasn’t it?” Paul intervened with a smile. “That’s precisely what I felt.” He looked as if he was still enjoying the state of bliss he had just lived through. “Yes, we were here from the beginning. We followed you here, ever since you left the ditch.” He paused for a moment, holding on to a strange thought inside his mind. “We felt attracted by the book.”

  A moment of silence ensued.

  “Then I heard the gentle voice of God… and felt a kind of…” Maya slowly revealed in a serene voice, as if she was still in a trance. “A strange presence… a power I had never felt before,” she halted for a second. “It was beautiful!” she confirmed in a mumble.

  “What you guys described was exactly what I felt,” Youmna finally said, assured now she was neither dreaming, nor hallucinating. “How could that have happened?”

  “It wasn’t a dream…” Paul rushed to answer. “We couldn’t have had the same dream, all three of us. It’s just impossible. There’s only one explanation for it. It was a vision,” he avowed with a tranquil certainty.

  “A vision!” Youmna exclaimed.

  “A vision…” Maya murmured.

  In fact, the vision they had just experienced felt akin to those mystical dreams that hovered over the minds of holy men at the time of sleep. With the vision now gone, their consciousness touched base with the reality of their presence in this arcane place, known as Gebel’s Archaeological Site. It seemed unbelievable to have crossed through time and space, as if leaping into another frame of existence, to witness a sublime truth related to God—the Source of Light. It was not fiction, but Reality, processed by the Light that crossed the threshold of their eyes, to reach their spirits. It was the Light of the Sacred Alphabet.