Brownstone

by Dean Kutzler

  A more unnoticed sight sat above the triple arced entrance to the library amidst the Grecian statues below the rooftop. Displayed above the three grand entrances and corrugated columns like a marquee sign, were six stone Greek statues representing history, romance, religion, poetry, philosophy and drama. The most overlooked and shocking sight was the statue of drama. Swathed in a flowing stone-hooded robe, stood a woman with a troubled face as the definition may have it, but the often unnoticed sight was what dangled from her right hand. What should have been a theatrical mask of emotion gripped between her fingers, looked more like a severed head, gently lolling off to the side by its hair with its severed neck pointing to the ground. As Jack took note of their unassuming beauty from up above, he recalled reading their caption sign once, which gave credit to American sculptor Paul Wayland Bartlett for his magnificently crafted beaux-sculpted works of art.

  Many a night and day had been spent at the beautiful historic library during Jack’s college days. He could almost say it was his home away from home. Although back in his day it was books and microfiche, not the blessings of computers files. The world was changing at breakneck speed and Jack wasn’t complaining.

  He sprinted up the marble steps and took the middle entrance. That was when Father Alazar eased up to the curb out of sight, parked the car and waited patiently.

  Once Jack passed the metal detector, he was in the lobby and heading for the stairs. He’d had enough of climbing stairs for a lifetime, but the computers were on the third floor, fourth if you counted the lobby, plus the scenery on the stairs was better than in the elevator. He was also a creature of habit from his college days and didn’t remember the elevator until the second floor.

  On his way up, he eyed the multitude of free exhibits the library had to offer for viewing. If he wasn’t in a hurry to find out what was in that email, he would have loved to take a peek at what the library was displaying these days. It’s been years since he’s been in this beautiful historic building.

  He crested the final staircase onto the third floor and walked down the Stokes gallery. Admiring the artwork as he made his way down the hall, he entered into the gorgeous banquet hall, called the McGraw Rotunda. Seating a cozy 150, the hall was lavish and regal with arched ceilings filled with biblically historical murals, done by Edward Laning. The dark rich hue of the Corinthian walnut lining the archways and walls of the rooms contrasted handsomely with the polished marble flooring.

  He walked past the beautiful dark wood server station that looked like an expensive extended home bar, taking in the tall, yet scaled-down Greek urns sitting atop the station that matched the urns outside. These urns were filled with tiny white flowers on branches that stood at least five feet tall. He pictured the poor fellow who stood on a ladder arranging the branches, just so.

  He continued past the two tall statue candelabras framing the doorway into the Bill Blass Public Catalog room. It was a particularly busy day for the library as all the reading tables in this room were full. Mostly students’ faces shone from beneath the reading lamps attached to the desks. He saw a bank of computers finishing off the last two rows of desks.

  He was in luck. All the computers were unattended. He sat down behind the old CRT screen and wielded the tube to life with a flick of the grimy beige-colored mouse. The NYPL catalog screen flashed to life in the reflection of his eyes as he searched the page. Frowning, he began to click about the interface, trying to get the Internet.

  No luck.

  He scooted over to the next computer, accidentally banging the armrest on the desk chair in front of it up underneath the table, jarring its mouse and the same screen came up. After a few clicks, he was still unable to break it from this screen. He shook his head in frustration. Damned kids these days just had to ruin everything. Someone must have tinkered with the programming, just like they did with the computers at BestBuy, until management got smart and locked them down. No wonder no one was using any of these computers.

  He tried the next computer, repeating his mistake with the chair and the same screen flickered at him like a wagging tongue mocking him. He was about to CTRL/ALT/DELETE the computer to reboot it when the librarian’s shadow fell over the terminal.

  “Sir? Can I help you?” A tall woman in a drab suit and Dame Edna glasses asked in a hushed tone, wearing a stern frown.

  “I’m just trying to—“

  “Shhh! Please, sir, keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Other patrons,” she nodded over her shoulder, her eyeglass chain clanking on a brass button on her suit, “are trying to study.” She pulled down on her suit jacket for authoritative emphasis.

  “I’m sorry,” he continued in a quieter tone. “I’m just trying to get on the Internet and I can’t get past this catalog screen.” He circled the grimy mouse’s arrow over the screen to match her emphasis.

  “That’s because these are only dummy terminals for catalog searches of our book and archive collections, like it says on the sign.” She pointed a dragon-nail towards the larger-than-life sign, which stated the move.

  “Our free public access computers are now located in the next room, the Rose Reading room. You’ll be able to reach the Internet from there.” She straightened the disheveled computer chairs.

  “Oh,” he said blushing, feeling like one of those pesky teens. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sign in at the desk” she said curtly, nodding with tight lips and turning heel back to her desk. The eyeglass chain bounced around her face like parentheses with each affirmative step.

  He gathered his dignity and walked into the Rose Reading room, bee lining straight to the desk, silencing his cellphone so there’d be no mishaps. A young woman wearing a similar suit as the last librarian’s, but less stuffy, was sitting behind the desk intently reading a small paperback book on her lap, hidden under the desk. The name on her badge read CASSIE. When Jack politely cleared his throat to get her attention, she nearly jumped from the chair, dropping the paperback on the floor.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, seeming to relax a little as her eyes focused on him. “I thought you were—ah,” shaking her head, “never mind.” She reached down and quickly grabbed the book from the floor and stuffed it in her handbag next to the desk. A genuine smile lit up her face as she asked, “How may I help you?”

  “I’d like to use one of the library’s computers. I just need to check my email.”

  “Oh, why certainly. Do you have a library card?”

  “Oh, no. I mean, yes. I did have one, a very long time ago,” he said with half a smile. “I just need to check email, that’s all.”

  “Okay, that’s not a problem at all. I’ll just need your driver’s license or official government photo ID,” she said, tucking a loose strand of chestnut-colored hair behind her ear.

  Jack fished out his wallet, thumbed his driver’s license forth and handed it over to the librarian. While he waited for her to type his information into her computer, a commotion stirred by the entrance of the Rose Room. When he turned around to see what the noise was about, a crowd of teenagers from a class day trip filed into the room and headed for the desk.

  The librarian paused and looked around the computer. “You made it just in time. They’ve been coming in all week, class by class to do school research, to show them how to use the library system.”

  “Must make your life miserable,” he said shaking his head.

  “Oh, I don’t mind at all, just the opposite. Miss Trevor always sends them in here first. She says playing on the Internet first gets the rambunctiousness out of their systems so they will pay attention when she’s teaching them the catalog system. It actually makes my day move quickly,” she replied with a wink, handing back his ID.

  “Miss Trevor? The librarian in the Bill Blass room?” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the door.

  “Yes. We just call it the Catalog Room. She hates the name Bill Blass,” she said, tucking another strand behind her ear.

  “She’s a real charmer.” />
  “She’s not so bad when you get to know her,” she said, closing the flap on her handbag. “She’s just a stickler for the rules. You’re on station one on the end over there.“ She pointed down the row of computers. “Just use your last name for the user id and your driver’s license number as the password. Have a great day.”

  “Thank you. You too,” he said with a smile, navigating around the long line of students that snaked around into the next room. They were all early teens, maybe Freshmen or Sophomores. Rambunctious wasn’t the word. They were loud, annoying and obnoxious. Typical teens. Jack gave Miss Trevor a pass for her lack of charm in this case. He pardoned himself through the long line of kids and gave the weary teacher herding this group a wink, as if to say ‘better you than me.’

  He sat down behind station one and woke the computer with a shake of the mouse. Unlike the outdated CRT monitors in the Bill Blass catalog room, these computers were much more current. Flat screens sat atop new horizontal computer towers. He entered his last name and driver’s license number and hit ENTER. After a few seconds, the familiar Internet Explorer window popped up with the library’s website as the home page. He quickly typed in gmail.com in the address bar and logged into his email account once the page loaded.

  Finally.

  Scrolling through dozens of unread emails, he found the one from Moe with the contents of his uncle’s computer in a zipped folder and clicked on it. The folder must have been huge like Moe warned, being it took the computer several minutes to finish thinking before it opened. Jack scrolled through hundreds and hundreds of PDF files inside the subfolders. What the hell had his uncle been researching? He made a mental note to thank Moe and send him a gift card so he can take that redhead out for dinner.

  Two giddy girls from the school trip raced over to the computer next to Jack and fought for the chair. “I get my fifteen first! You can do yours next! You got the window seat on the bus!” After a minor struggle, the larger of the two girls won the seat and sat down. The other girl pouted and knelt beside her as the larger girl began surfing the net with a beastly smile. Jack had no idea what they were talking about; he just wished they’d shut up.

  Focusing back on the research, his mood quickly changed from bright, to needle-in-a-haystack hopeless, if there was such a titled mood. It was going to take some time. In his career, he was no stranger to sifting through research to sniff out the story. Maybe now he’d find some solid answers to what had been going on.

  He scanned through dozens of files and judging by their names, he’d found mainly biblical research. He clicked on a particularly large file titled CREATION STORIES. In this folder, his uncle had collected research on dozens of different cultural creation myths categorized differently under two more folders: FUNDAMENTAL and REGIONAL.

  He clicked on REGIONAL and started with the folder titled ADAM & EVE, and briefly read through the material. The general gist was as the file name suggested. Just like the story of Adam and Eve, each culture had a similar variant or a completely different story altogether. Subdivisions within the ADAM & EVE file were littered with textual references, websites, arcane ancient books and archaeological scholars backing up the research. His uncle had always been thorough.

  Jack knew the basics of some of the different religions of the American culture from the biblical stories of Adam and Eve in Genesis that tied back to Christianity and Catholicism. Who didn’t? Equally common, he knew about Greek mythology and their multiple gods and could even name a few, but he’d never given any thought to differing accounts of creation in other third world cultures. Unfortunately, that thinking was just a byproduct of his narcissistic American upbringing, regardless of his journalistic background. Far too few Americans ever leave the states or discover worlds of cultures vastly different from their own. When they do, they usually compare those cultures to their own and unjustly mock them for being different. Surely the topic of alternative creation stories wasn’t new, and most scholars believed the texts to be interpretational versus factual. So why was his uncle, the lawyer, collecting research on it? It must have something to do with the book.

  “OH. MY. GOD. Naomi! Look at her Facebook picture!” said the larger of the two girls, crammed behind the monitor next to Jack. The smaller girl leaned in towards the monitor and said, “Eeeewwwww! She looks like a slut,” then quickly eyed Jack the adult and quietly giggled.

  With a yank of his goatee, Jack mustered up the smelliest stank-eye he could produce and blazed it directly down upon the giddy gaggle. The smaller girl elbowed the larger girl with a nod, who followed her gaze towards Jack. Then she slowly turned back towards the smaller one and they both quietly giggled to themselves. Miss Trevor had nothing up on him. Once they quieted down, he turned back to the file.

  Clicking back out of the ADAM & EVE folder to the FUNDAMENTAL and REGIONAL folders, he understood regional—different parts of the world—but fundamental? He clicked it open to reveal six more folders: OUT OF NOTHING (EX NIHILO), OUT OF CHAOS, WORLD DIVER, EMERGENCE, WORLD PARENT and CONNECTION. Now he understood. Pulling memory from the forced Bible school studies his mother made him attend, he remembered the passage from Genesis. In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. From nothing. The FUNDAMENTAL folder organized all the stories by their theoretical concepts. Apparently, there was more than one concept of how the world was created. The plot thickened.

  To prove his thought, he clicked on the OUT OF NOTHING folder. A list of more folders appeared with various names of different cultures throughout history. He clicked on GENESIS and briefly read through, yet again, what he’d already known, taking note that the text about Adam and Eve was in red. Then it went on about Noah and the great flood, which was bolded, underlined and footnoted. What did the destruction have to do with creation? Maybe from a renewal stand point? Then he scrolled down to the footnote inserted by Uncle Terry:

  They never knew, but the flood had not eradicated all of them. She eluded them with a ruse of false identity and henna. The book, the true Bible I found hidden in the temple, confirms her identity, along with the Book of Jasper 5:15 and the Genesis Rabba midrash. Apparently, not all texts were victims of fraud, like our Bible, which had been secretly altered again and again over the course of centuries in the guise of modern translations. Her name had been taken out, just like a majority of events. The main event in particular. But she was the source. Naahma, Noah’s wife, descendant of Cain from where it originated in the beginning. Although not pure, her DNA would grow over generations and slowly evolve. The final lineage would emerge.

  Lineage? Jack’s blood went cold—thinking back to the book with the Hebrew title of Lineage. The one he’d stolen from Father Angeli’s office. The book with his name in it and a burned hole next to it. He couldn’t deny it. A sick feeling was welling up from the pit of his stomach and he was getting an awful suspicion that he was more than just an unfortunate bystander in all of this. Somehow, he was the key to the Bene Elohim’s plan. Whatever that may be. He thought the book he’d found in the temple, the true Bible, was the only thing they were after; the reason they killed his uncle and father. The book that held an account of the true biblical history for mankind. The book that held supernatural powers. If his uncle had found the book and was able to cross-reference it with later works, he must have opened it and discovered its power.

  Angst filled that pit in his stomach along with that sick butterfly feeling. In Jack’s haste to discover the power the book held, he’d given the Bene Elohim the opportunity steal the book right out of his hands with a knock to the head. He should have made sure the house was secured, but he couldn’t worry about that now—spilt milk and all. He bottled up those feelings and concentrated on the research. He needed to discover the Bene Elohim’s plans before he could think about what he was going to do next. They had the book, which meant the mysterious power was in their hands, so time was running short before they used it—to do what?

  A ruckus at the giddy-girl monitor shook J
ack from his trance over the files. “It’s my turn now! Move your butt!” The smaller girl said, bumping the larger girl off the chair, sending her to the floor next to Jack’s feet. He was surprised to see the larger girl make a pouty face and relinquish her Internet throne so easily. Bullies must come in all sizes.

  He turned back to his monitor and scrolled up to where he’d left off in the text, eager to find out more of what his uncle had learned so he could formulate some plans of his own. He didn’t know what, but he wasn’t letting them get away with murdering his family. That was for sure.

  After a quick scan, the rest of the folder contained research on stories from different cultures around the world, focusing only on the creation of the earth from thin air. Nothing else of any significance that he could see stood out. He clicked the back button and reread the names on all the folders, trying to make a connection.

  He gathered the meanings from the obvious titles. OUT OF NOTHING and OUT OF CHAOS were self-explanatory. WORLD DIVER, he was guessing, was some sort of deity that took a nosedive into the ocean and came up with mother earth. EMERGENCE creation must have had something to do with emerging from one form to a better one, like starting out with a lump of clay and working it until the proper form emerges. WORLD PARENT made him think of the earth and moon. If he had to guess, the idea of the big bang theory popped into his head, where it all started with a single point that exploded, creating many fragments or planets like a litter of kittens.