Beloved Gomorrah

by Justine Saracen

  Again, at first light I rose, and drew my sister with me outside. I thought to take her to our mother’s grave, but lo, an angel of the Lord appeared. Gebreel it was, gentle and fair, and he comforted us and sent us to Zoar, where God had opened the hearts of the men to welcome us.

  At Zoar, we were betrothed within a month and hastened to marry. When the time was come, we both bore the sons of our father. Shortly thereupon, Lot came to Zoar, and, though they were amazed, the people accepted his claim of fathering our children against his will but at God’s command, for such a righteous man could ne’er be doubted.

  My sister and I have ever been servants of God but cannot fathom how this deed serves His majesty. And what of our mother? What was her sin but mourning? Surely it has all been part of God’s mysterious plan, though I wonder. If plan there be, deceit cannot be a part of it. If Lot is righteous, he need not have lied.

  Thus, it is in piety that we endeavor to set the tale right, and the blessing of wisdom be upon him who reads this testament and sees God’s justice in it.

  Joanna shook her head. “What a bastard. I never did trust that tale of the one righteous man.”

  Charlie folded the fax in half again. “I don’t put much stock in Bible stories, especially one about virgin daughters seducing their father. How often does that happen, anyhow, compared to the times fathers rape their daughters? I can’t wait until we publish this.”

  Joanna stood up and paced the few feet that made up the length of the room. “Oh yes. We’ll publish it for sure. But you know? This has come at just the right moment. It’s given me an idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to change the installation, at least its meaning. The women seated at the fountain will be Aina and Astari.”

  “You think they’ll let you make changes in the design?”

  “No, no. The design stays the same. But the figures didn’t have names before and now they do. Aina and Astari.” She savored the sound. “You know what’s so outrageous? I mean beyond the incestuous rape by that scumbag of a father. The girls are so incidental to Lot and his male offspring, who are named, that they’re simply called ‘Lot’s daughters.’ They’re raped, lied about, and become the founders of two lineages, and they still remain anonymous. It’s enough to make you sick. Well, my fountain will be a monument to them. And the best part is, it’s already been approved.”

  Invigorated, she threw open the door of her room and stepped out onto the walkway. Just below, Hanan was sweeping in the parking lot. Joanna leaned over the railing and called down to her. “Hanan, do you think Fahimah and Fayruz would like to pose for statues for me?”

  “Oh, yes,” Hanan called back. “This would be a great honor, I am sure.”

  Charlie was beside her now. “All very nice, but no one’s going to recognize the scene but you and me. How will you identify it as Gomorrah?”

  “You’ll see,” she replied cryptically, play-punching him on the shoulder and re-entering her room. “I have it all worked out. And you know what else?” She spun around to face him again. “I want to go down and get more tablets.”

  “Oh, I like that.” Charlie’s avuncular face lit up for a second, then darkened again. “But it’ll be hard to do discreetly. They’re putting in the installations every day now. There’ll always be other divers in the city, and they’ll see us bringing things up.”

  “Not at night,” Joanna said, holding up a pedagogical finger. She gave him the narrow-eyed smile of the conspirator. “Tomorrow night. Will you take care of getting us fresh tanks?”

  “I love it when we do skulky stuff. Okay, tanks and lamps. You got it. Now, go rest up for the big caper.” He walked off, waving behind him.

  Joanna watched him disappear down the stairs, smirking at the notion of engaging in a “caper.” Yeah, I can do skulky, she thought. I even have a nice new black neoprene outfit for it. Snickering softly, she pulled off her clothes again, ready for a shower and restful sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  At eleven o’clock at night, the half-dozen cars and vans in the parking area near the dock were dark and silent, their owners, or renters in most cases, settled in for the night on their yachts.

  Without commentary, Joanna and Charlie put on their wetsuits and hoisted vests and air tanks onto their backs. Fins and torches in hand, they started down the long dock toward the inflatable boats tied up at the far end. “You’re not worried about people seeing us?” Joanna asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be doing this in secret?”

  “Stop worrying. These boats are full of tourists and fishermen who know divers are working on the project. No one’s going to blink an eye if they see us. Relax and wave.”

  Relaxed was the last thing Joanna felt, especially as they were once again passing the Hina, still docked in the same place. Bernard seemed to have lost his enthusiasm for Red Sea fishing or spear-hunting for that matter. Why else would they stay docked all the time? As they passed, Joanna peered toward the upper deck of the yacht, though she could hear no voices nor see any activity. The only sign of life was the warm golden light that shone cruelly from the salon, reminding her that Kaia was inside and she herself was not.

  She quickened her pace, and in a few moments they were at the row of inflatables reserved for the project divers. “You’re sure we can find the exhibit in the dark?” she asked, untying the first of them in line.

  “Yeah. I went out there once at night with Gil while you were still sick. The only hard part is spotting the buoys, but once we’re under water, it’ll be easy. Gil’s railroad station on the west side, Marion’s temple to the north, the long gallery on the south. Khadija’s women and children in the middle, Yukio’s dragon southeast. It’s like a village for crazy people now.”

  “Except for no streetlights.”

  “Good point.” Charlie laughed. “Maybe next year.”

  They were in the boat now and were silent until they spotted the first buoy. “This one should be directly over the train station. I’ll tie up here.”

  Joanna had made night dives before, a few dozen of them. It was an adventure in the beginning, a plunge into a mysterious, dangerous realm, where one was threatened with the absence of both light and air. But the added frisson of risk was offset by the elaborate precautions, and soon the inconvenience outweighed the pleasure. Even now, they went through a list.

  Flashlight? Check. Backup lamp? Check. Blink light on vest? Check. Air turned on? Check. Vest inflated? Check. “You’ve got the net?”

  “Hanging on my vest. Ready? Go.”

  And then they were in the dark sea, waiting for their bodies to warm up the layer of water that seeped into their wetsuits.

  “Everything okay?” Charlie asked.

  “Everything okay.” Joanna deflated her vest and sank into the darkness.

  Except it was not dark. As they dropped ever closer to the railroad station, she could see a dull green glow beneath them, coming from somewhere in the center of the city. They descended farther, skimming just over the top of the locomotive as they swam toward the light. At that moment it jerked into movement.

  By then she had made out the figure of another diver just ahead of them. She shone her own light in that direction, but the diver was beyond the reach of her beam. Then the light faded as the diver disappeared around the corner of the block of archways. All she could see for a moment was a dull shimmer and the outer edge of the wall in silhouette. Then that, too, went black.

  Charlie had obviously seen the same thing, for he shot forward toward the spot where the diver had been. Joanna followed until he halted suddenly right over one of the IDF soldiers.

  His flashlight beam swept along the line of women and children, stopping at the last figure—decapitated. Its head lay on the ground, next to the hammer that had smashed it. What madman would do such a thing? She was pretty sure she knew, but they couldn’t make accusations without evidence.

  Charlie took off in pursuit of the light, making a sharp
right turn past the dragon and around the corner of the arcade. Joanna followed close behind so as not to lose him. The arcade building ran parallel to the railroad tracks, but while the front had a series of arches, the rear was a solid, unbroken wall, with no place to hide. She could clearly see another diver ahead of them silhouetted against the sphere of dull light from his own flashlight.

  They pursued him almost leisurely along the rear wall, confident that he couldn’t navigate among the objects without light, and even if he halted and cut his beam light, theirs would illuminate his bubbles. Then he turned again around the far corner of the building and disappeared.

  As they came around the corner themselves, Joanna was sure she spotted him vertical in front of the train station, but when she neared, she saw it was merely one of the statues that had been lowered the day before. She swung her beam in an arc, revealing them all—anonymous concrete passengers about to board the train that would forever stand at the station.

  No bubble columns. The diver had swum out of flashlight range or surfaced. Charlie opened his hands in an exaggerated shrug, indicating that they abandon pursuit. They had their own job to do and now limited air to do it.

  They paddled along the inner side of the arcade and, shining her flashlight beam across the square, she could see the Egyptian temple where Marion’s underworld gods stood with their balance. No time to examine them though. They returned to the dragon on the southeast side of the square and swam past it toward the hole that was supposed to have been Site 13. The white limestone gravel opened like a grave beckoning them into oblivion.

  After first checking that Charlie was by her side, Joanna dropped feet first into the crevice. She descended until her wrist computer indicated thirty-five meters. Still the crevice dropped away. But to her relief, it bottomed out at thirty-eight. She forgot the fugitive diver as she spotted the pale limestone gravel and wondered what other stories they would find. Were more blasphemies there waiting to be uncovered?

  But they found nothing. They swept their light beams back and forth across the entire swath of limestone sand but saw no sign of other tablets. Had they come to the wrong spot? But no, Charlie ran his fingers through the sand and brought up a fragment of what appeared to be fired clay. It was the original site, where they had discovered the tablets, but in the meantime, someone had come and collected all the others. It could only have been the Antiquities Department.

  Damn, she thought, glancing at her wrist computer. They had reached their time limit for forty meters and had to begin the ascent if they were going to have time for the decompression stop. They already had less air than they’d planned for.

  They ascended slowly and, upon emerging again at the city, they swung northward toward Marion’s balance. As good a place as any to linger, letting some of the nitrogen in their blood dissipate. Still half distracted by the puzzle of the missing tablets, Joanna studied the Egyptian animal gods: the comical ibis head of the Scribe God Thoth and the sharp jackal snout of Anubis. The balance itself loomed large over her head, its two dishes swaying slightly on their chains. She tugged on one dish, the one with the heart, and the other dish rose. Very clever. She’d have to tell Marion how impressive the display was.

  She glanced down at her computer, letting another minute go by. Idly, she swept her flashlight around the square of the city. Something odd was happening on the other side of the locomotive. She cut her beam for a moment and signaled Charlie to turn off his. In the darkness that engulfed them, she could see another light in the distance, flashing off and on. The signal for distress.

  Reacting at the same time, they both switched their lamps on again and paddled toward the light. Soon she could see that bubbles rose from the upper corner of the doorway to the train station. They had to be from the fugitive diver. He must have hidden there in the first place, his bubbles temporarily collecting over his head, which would account for why they had missed him before. Joanna dropped down to the entrance of the train station and shone her light beam inside.

  George Guillaume stared back at her, his eyes wide in terror. She thought at first it was fear at being captured, until he made a sharp chopping gesture with the edge of his hand toward his own throat. The sign every diver dreaded ever having to use.

  Out of air.

  She shot toward him and, with well-trained reflexes, yanked her secondary “octopus” mouthpiece from its clip on her shoulder and offered it to him. He spat out his own mouthpiece and sucked in long breaths from her tank while she checked his pressure gauge.

  He was right. He was at the bottom of his reserve tank, breathing the last of his air. He must have seen that he had only minutes left and in his terror had used up his air even faster.

  Charlie came behind her and shone his own torch over her head onto the ceiling of the miniature station, and she saw the problem. The reinforcing rods of the concrete blocks were exposed, and the valve of his oxygen tank had become wedged between them. He must have tried to kick his way out, because his long fin was caught up awkwardly behind him, in such a way that he couldn’t pull his foot from it. And there he’d waited in terror while his air ran out.

  She saw no point in trying to dislodge his tank, which was empty anyhow. So they set about freeing him from his vest. He flinched with obvious pain as they twisted his foot out of the fin between the steel rods and pulled him from the station.

  Joanna checked her own pressure gauge and saw to her horror that she was also deep into her reserve. George, in his terror, was sucking it up at an enormous rate, and they wouldn’t have enough to surface together.

  She signaled the problem to Charlie but knew there was no good solution. George might be able to surface now on a breath if he had the common sense to exhale while rising, though it would be a stretch from fifteen meters, and he was already in a panic. But she and Charlie had been down to nearly forty meters and needed to decompress before surfacing or risk decompression sickness. Whether Charlie had enough air for both of them was an open question, but it was certain he couldn’t support three.

  George was out now, kneeling on the ground next to them and taking long, deep breaths from Joanna’s air reserve. She made an instant decision and unhooked her vest and tank, threading George’s arms through it. It was awkward holding a flashlight, so she laid hers down and worked in the sphere of Charlie’s light. Dropping her own mouthpiece, she shoved George upward, allowing him to use the remaining bit of her air. It might take him to the surface. If not, he could probably manage the rest. Then she turned to Charlie, who already grasped the plan. He handed her his auxiliary octopus and she took her first breath, trying to remain calm. She shone her light on his gauge; it was also on low reserve, only slightly higher than hers had been but almost enough for two people.

  Almost.

  George disappeared above them as they both rose, measuring their rate by their wrist computers. At six meters they stopped. She dared not look at Charlie’s gauge; she knew when the moment came, they wouldn’t have enough air to inflate his vest for both of them and would have to drop their weight belts. A cheap sacrifice.

  Her wrist computer showed zero. Decompression stop over. She held it up in front of Charlie and shone her flashlight on it. Then she dropped her weight belt and kicked upward, exhaling her last breath slowly, trying to even the pressure. Six meters was doable, but in the dark, they seemed endless.

  With the air in her lungs expanding as she rose, her exhalation lasted far longer than it would have done at the surface. But when it ran out, she was still under water. She kicked upward, but the water wouldn’t end and her brain screamed for her to inhale. Had she miscalculated? Had her wrist computer failed? How much longer? Her ears began to ring and her stomach lurched and still she kicked. If only she didn’t black out.

  She broke the surface gasping and Charlie’s head popped up next to her, his hair a dull spot of white on the black water. They both sucked in air.

  “You okay?” Joanna asked, panting.

  “Ti
p-top. You?”

  “Yeah,” she said, unable to form a longer sentence. “Gotta rest…a min.” Without the weight of the tank, her wet suit kept her at the surface, so she lay back spread-eagled in the water and floated, catching her breath. For a moment, she wondered if George had made it. Or would someone find him floating in the sea in the morning? She didn’t much care.

  They floated without speaking and Joanna stared dizzily up at the stars, her chest still heaving. Ironically, for all her misery, she could still make out the three stars that identified the constellation of Orion. The hunter, looking down on them. Or was it Peter Pan’s stars to Neverland? She was too spent to laugh at her own meanderings.

  After four or five minutes of immobility, she felt the pounding in her chest subside and her strength return. “You ready to swim, Charlie?”

  “You bet. And look, the inflatable’s tied up just behind you.”

  “Okay. Then, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  *

  With the last bit of air in Joanna’s tank, George managed to fill her vest and surface. Floating for a moment, he glanced around, getting his bearings. He saw no sign of the inflatable he’d motored out on, but he’d dived into the city from the other side so it was probably still tied up to one of the other buoys. New panic struck him briefly when it seemed he’d never find his way back, but then he saw the lights of the docked boats in the distance. There was no appreciable current in the harbor, so he paddled awkwardly toward it with his remaining fin. He’d swum only a hundred feet or so when he heard voices behind him and knew the others had surfaced too. Rescue or not, he had no interest in facing them again, so he quickened his stroke. Then the voices went quiet, which at least meant they weren’t chasing him. Not yet, anyhow. With renewed vigor, he splashed toward the ladder and hauled himself up onto the dock.

  “Shit,” he kept thinking, furious at how everything had gone wrong. He dropped Joanna’s vest and empty tank on the boards next to him and pulled off his fin. What the hell was he supposed to do now? No way would he allow himself to be confronted about the smashed statue. He’d been out-maneuvered, beaten, and was now deep in shit. Christ. His father was going to have a fit.