by D J Mcintosh
“He must have heard about what happened in Pergamon,” I said. “Doubtless he did.” Nick looked thoughtful. “But you need to wrap up here as soon as you can. Waging a battle on someone else’s home turf is rarely a winning proposition—unless you have a load of firepower. And we don’t.”
We had the dining room practically to ourselves. Bennet was famished, having eaten little for the past twenty-four hours. We ordered a meal of local cuisine and wolfed it down; Nick, of Persian extraction, ate with particular relish. As we finished our tea the waiter came over, spoke a few words in Farsi to Nick, then silently retreated.
Nick patted his mouth with a napkin and smiled. “Well. Looks like you’re a regular social butterfly here, Madison. Alaz Nemat’s just arrived. Wants to talk with you outside.”
I shot out of my seat, hurried through the lobby, and swung open the hotel door. Nick and Bennet rushed to catch up. In the dark I could just make out Nemat’s form at the bottom of the stone stair. He peered anxiously up at me.
“I’m glad to see you again,” I said, extending my hand as I walked down toward him. Alaz gave me a tentative smile and grasped my hand in return. “If you don’t mind,” he said, glancing at Bennet and Nick, “I’d prefer to speak in private.”
I nodded to the other two. Nick sauntered across the pathway and leaned against a stone wall, out of earshot yet still within a safe distance. Bennet reluctantly joined him.
“I wish to apologize for this afternoon,” Alaz began. “My father is quite ill and I didn’t want to disturb him any further.”
He gave me a searching look before he went on. “The birth certificate—it put us all in shock. We have not known anything of Yeva for decades. We thought she was long dead. My younger sister whom you met today is full of joy to hear of her but greatly aggrieved— Yeva never told us she went to America. My sister implored me to ask how we can get in touch with her.”
“And who is Yeva to you?”
“My oldest sister,” he said flatly. “Has she … passed away? Is that why you’ve come?”
“She’s fine. Living in New York. She goes by the name of Evelyn now, was our housekeeper for many years. I’ll have to talk to her first before I can put you in contact. You can appreciate that she’s kept herself hidden from you all this time. And she’s in fragile health.”
Alaz nodded solemnly. “We would be greatly indebted to you.”
His expression grew more serious. “And what of the boy? What became of him?”
What of the boy. The words rang in my ears. I put my hand out to steady myself.
For the past year I’d been moving the jigsaw pieces around and ignoring the whole pattern, clinging to the story I’d been given of my birth until the holes became too obvious to ignore. Now everything fell into place.
I was Evelyn’s son. That meant the man standing before me was my uncle; Mernoush Nemat, my grandfather. I looked Alaz in the face again. He had wide, soft brown eyes and a mouth I imagined laughed often in happy times. He was almost exactly my size and build. I resisted the temptation to throw my arms around him. I’d keep my thoughts to myself for now.
“I’m not sure about the boy,” I said in a neutral-sounding way. “That’s something I’ll have to ask Evelyn about. Why do you think she didn’t get in touch with you over all these years?”
He grimaced. “It’s not like America over here. A woman with no husband …”
Alaz let the rest of his sentence drop, but the implication was plain. Yeva, the woman I knew as Evelyn, had given birth out of wedlock—likely considered a greater iniquity than killing someone. And it explained why she was so reluctant to tell me the truth: she was ashamed.
I swallowed hard. “Did you know the boy’s father?”
Alaz gave me a long hard look as if he were trying to unravel my innermost thoughts. “Why do you ask that?”
“Evelyn may have mentioned his name.”
“You must understand it’s not something we like to speak of in our family. The father came from Tabriz. He was not of our people and my father denied them the right to marry. He won’t speak of him to this day.”
Alaz’s lips tightened and he refused to say more. I did understand: it was a matter of family honor.
Nick cleared his throat in the shadows, recalling me to the other reason I’d traveled halfway around the world. “A man named George Helmstetter visited Kandovan thirty-five years ago. Is there any chance you’d remember him?”
He cast a quick, nervous look over his shoulder. “Yes.”
“You knew him?”
“I was only fourteen. In those days tourists were not as common here. He had money—a lot. Even without that, no one could forget him.” Alaz spoke quickly now, the words tumbling out. “The village people called him a magi—an enchanter. He could make you believe in what was not real. One evening, he asked people to gather around him in a square off one of the pathways. A very cold night; it was snowing. We had only kerosene lamps to see by. He wore a thick black cloak; the white flakes of snow dotted it like confetti. He murmured some words in a language we didn’t understand—not English. He called them angel words. He bent low and swirled the cloak around his body, fast and then faster still. The cloak fell in a heap on the ground. He’d vanished beneath it. The next day he reappeared as if nothing had happened. From that time on, people regarded him with an equal measure of fear and awe. No one dared to cross him.”
An hour ago, I couldn’t have imagined I’d make this much progress. “Do you have any idea what became of him?”
Alaz glanced fearfully down the pathway again as if expecting an enemy. He kept his voice low. “No one knows for sure.”
I pressed on. “He brought a rare book with him, very old and very valuable. Did you ever see it?”
“Why do you ask about that?”
“Because Helmstetter stole it from the rightful owner.”
“That book was evil.”
“Do you have any idea what happened to it?”
“My father burned it.”
I tried one more question.
“Helmstetter sent three ancient artifacts back to his wife in North America: two stone seals and a little statue of a man with a long head. Do you know where he got them?”
Alaz gave me a long, appraising look and then seemed to make up his mind to trust me. “I was there when he found them.”
Thirty-Five
For a second I was speechless. Alaz saw my surprise and hesitated, seeming to measure his words. “I said some people stood in awe of him. That included me. You can imagine the innocence of a fourteen-year-old boy, one who never ventured outside his village except to pasture his sheep. If lightning struck me, I could not have been more amazed than when I witnessed Helmstetter’s magic. From then on, I followed him everywhere. He found me useful— to run errands, explain who the influential men in the village were, tell him about the natural features of the landscape. He paid me well. We were poor; my father welcomed the money. The old book you mentioned? Helmstetter carried it with him everywhere. Said it gave the names of many ranks of angels and showed how you could talk with them.”
“Did he ever explain why he wanted to come here?”
“Some call our territory—the land surrounding Lake Urmia and Mount Sahand—sacred. Our people lived here long before men even knew of writing. We believe in reincarnation, that the divine being manifests himself in human form seven times. The first of those manifestations took the form of an angel.
“Helmstetter wanted to find the path to immortality. What he didn’t understand until he came here was that reincarnation is a form of immortality. Of anywhere in the world, this was the most logical place for him to find it.”
My mind traveled back to Strauss’s strange séance and the message he’d delivered from Gina’s dead husband: “When the unclean spirit has gone out of a person, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, and finding none it says, ‘I will return to the house from which I came.’”
> I shook myself mentally. “And how did he find the treasures?”
“He’d heard about a cave system not far from here and wanted to see it. I showed him through it and we reached a cliff, a very steep drop. He scaled down it. I was too afraid to follow. I waited for more than a day—it was my duty not to abandon him although I feared he might be dead. When he did finally return, I was overjoyed. He had the treasures in his pack—all he could carry. He said he’d found many more.”
So much for Yersan’s claim to family ownership. “Could you take us there?”
He hesitated. “It’s dangerous terrain. I cannot promise you’ll ever find anything.”
“I’d be willing to pay you well for your time.”
Alaz shrugged. “Then yes—why not? It’s in the salt caves. An isolated area. Except for some scientific expeditions, no one ever goes there. I have to return to Tabriz soon. If you want me to show you, it will have to be tomorrow.”
He told me we’d need climbing gear and threw another glance over his shoulder, anxious to be off.
“One more question. Do you know a man named Yersan? A local antiquities dealer?”
“Everyone does. Why do you ask?”
“He just threatened me.”
“Don’t cross him. You’ll be the loser. He’s a powerful man.”
Back at our room, I filled Nick and Bennet in, omitting the part about Evelyn and the boy, still feeling too overwhelmed by what I’d learned.
“Incredible,” Bennet burst out after I’d finished. “So now you have the information you wanted—far more than Strauss has any right to expect. Helmstetter’s long gone. So is the book. Meanwhile we’re supposed to be rejoining Rosan’s tour, and every day we spend in Kandovan we risk the Iranian authorities finding out. I vote for leaving.”
“People here have no love for the government,” Nick put in. “There’s been a long history of persecution. I don’t think you need fear anyone going to the police.”
Nick was right. But so was Bennet. My task here was finished. I could go home, tell Strauss the book had been destroyed, offer up Alaz to verify the story. Plus, I’d heard enough for a very direct talk with Evelyn. She’d have to tell me the truth now.
And yet as a child I’d always imagined being at my brother Samuel’s side, like the explorers of old, making fabulous finds. In time, of course, I’d learned that most archaeological work was anything but romantic—an exacting science that proceeded at a snail’s pace, the “finds” more likely to be pottery shards than golden jewels. Still, an opportunity to unearth objects from the beginning of civilization had just dropped in my lap.
“You’ve been quiet, John,” Bennet said. “What do you want to do?”
“We have a one in a million chance to find some remarkable antiquities. I’d like to take Alaz up on his offer.”
“He’s been awfully accommodating,” Nick said. “I wonder about that.”
“I said I’d pay him something to guide us. I imagine that influenced him. He could probably use the money.”
Nick was rarely temperamental, but this time his irritation showed. “I’m taking a risk to spend time with you here. I’d gone to ground in Turkey and that was working out well. You’ve got me for a couple more days—that’s all.”
“Understood. Alaz wants to go to the salt caves tomorrow—we can get supplies in the morning before we head out. So just one more day and then we’re out of here.”
Nick got up to go back to his room. “I’ll hold you to that.”
The next morning we drove into Tabriz to get the climbing gear. I took the wheel, relishing the chance to drive. It was almost noon by the time we piled into Alaz’s car to set out for the caves.
Thirty-Six
March 9, 2005
Salt Caves, Lake Urmia Region
The highway west from Kandovan ran through mostly barren terrain—beautiful in its way, with the early spring light enhancing the ground’s coppery hues. Red earth: the soil from which Adam sprang and the meaning of his name. At one point we passed a semicircular mound rising about forty feet off the plain. At its top sat a little square brick building with a domed roof and arches cut into its sides. Gas flames shot up from chimneys placed at the four corners of the roof; another flame burned inside the building itself.
“A fire altar,” Alaz said. “A place of worship for us.” He indicated a round building set between two tall rectangular pillars some distance away. “Those are dakhmas, towers of silence where the dead are taken.”
We turned north just before Saray Deh. A village stood at the foot of farmers’ fields, a V-shaped cleft of green amid the dusty scrub and red rocks.
Alaz kept his eye peeled for the road he wanted to take. “There,” he said, gesturing to his left. “Road” was an exaggeration. A rough, furrowed track extended upward, climbing the low mountain that rose out of the plain.
We bounced and jostled over the bumpy surface, the Jeep’s poor suspension making my teeth chatter. It required Alaz’s full concentration just to stay on course. Before long the track ended and he pulled over to a lee under a rocky outcrop to park his car. The sun disappeared behind gathering clouds and the air grew chilly.
“It’s going to be a long hike.” Alaz pointed upward as we dug into the trunk for our climbing packs.
The track reappeared, this time as a footpath dipping and twisting among high limestone outcrops and gigantic boulders. For almost two hours we steadily ascended until we entered a narrow canyon. Cliffs shot up on either side of us. The rocks here took on fascinating shapes. Full of pits and spherical hollows, they looked like huge upright sea sponges.
“Almost there.” Alaz motioned for us to hurry. “It’s ahead.”
We rounded a bend. Far below was a small valley, its flat rocky floor bisected by a curving river of white crystals. The ghost of a river: the water had evaporated, leaving only a trail of salt. Alaz stopped at a yawning, ellipsis-shaped hole to his right, about the width of a soccer pitch. He tilted his head, looking up at the somber blanket of clouds. “We’ve got to do this as fast as possible,” he said. “The way ahead is not so hard at first.”
He told us to leave our shoes behind a rock and put on our rubber boots. Before long, the entrance widened into a space the size of a ballroom. Bennet let out a gasp of surprise. The low-hanging rock roof amounted to a giant natural arch, striated with ribbons of gorgeous grays and reds, washed smooth by some long-lost underground river. Little white cones stood up from the floor like miniature stalagmites. Thick wedges of white salt coated the base of the rock walls. I bent down and picked up one of the thousands of small pebbles that covered the cave floor, polished by an ancient water flow.
“Amazing,” Bennet breathed. We’d all fallen silent at the splendor of the place.
Alaz smiled. “Much more to behold ahead. This was once thought to be an old salt mine. That proved false—far easier for people to gather all the salt they wanted on the lakeshore.” We switched on our headlamps and paced along a funnel-shaped corridor that tightened until it wasn’t much more than five feet wide. Twenty minutes later we stepped into what looked like an underwater paradise. Salt encrusted the cave’s entire ceiling in a multitude of forms: twisting crystalline pillars, frozen lace, cornices of dripping icing, branches of white coral—a fantasy of glittering, upside-down sculptures.
Bennet furiously snapped photos. Even Nick stretched his neck to gape. A shallow greenish pond extended over most of the cave floor. Bennet dipped her finger in. “Yech. Really salty.”
“Never drink that,” Nick cautioned. “Get enough salt in your system and it’ll shut your kidneys down. Believe me, it doesn’t take much.” Rosan, I remembered, had said the same thing.
The pond turned out to be a stream that disappeared into a nearby cleft in the rock wall. Alaz motioned us forward. “We’re taking the river route now,” he said. “We have no other choice.”
We waded slowly through the water, stepping carefully along the flat, slippery ri
ver bed. I began to feel claustrophobic. The place had a damp, ancient smell and you could hear the steady plink, plink of water without knowing where it came from. The farther we went, the more I could taste salt in the air. I was glad there were four of us with headlamps to banish the gloom.
The current flowed in our direction, making it easier to proceed. We now entered another wide underground space, our lights dancing off more magical shapes—icing sugar snowflakes, giant frosted icicles, salt heaped on rocky ledges like snowdrifts. Except for the dripping water, I hadn’t realized how silent it was until a rush of sound came at us like the whoosh of wind. Above us bats swooped and spiraled in the air. Bennet laughed and took more pictures.
The current picked up and now a distant murmur reached our ears. The sound of rushing water.
Thirty-Seven
Frothy waves flushed up against the vertical wall on our right. On our left, the ground had widened to a ledge of pebble-strewn rock. Alaz scrambled onto it, lurched, and fell on his hands and knees. Then he stood, brushing off his pant legs as we clambered after him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I was here. And this”—he waved his arm, seeming to take in the entire cave system— “is always shifting. In limestone caves, the stalagmites last thousands of years, perhaps grow larger—that’s all. Here it is salt. In a few days the whole landscape can change if enough water goes through.”
“What do you mean, ‘if enough water goes through’?” Bennet sounded anxious.
“This area is arid. Dry most of the time, although occasionally it does rain. If so, the water finds its way through cracks and crevices. This stream can fill up, become a torrent.”
“I didn’t much like the look of the sky,” Nick interjected. “Why didn’t you tell us that earlier?”
Alaz shrugged. “You wanted to come here. It’s probably better to go on. We’ve almost reached the cliff.”
Another fifteen minutes and the ledge broadened to a wide platform that dropped off sharply in front of us. The salt formations were only thin white streaks now, like spittle on the rock. The stream, though, had become a little Niagara, plunging over the platform’s lip. We looked down into a cavernous space. The water disappeared far below in a plume of white. I could make out nothing but blackness. “How far does it go, Alaz?”
