As the translator finished typing, Veronica held onto Lori’s hand, and smiled at her. “The Catholic legend of Veronica,” the translator said, “but the words of Jesus are new.”
“Give her the orange now,” Dixie Lou said.
The matron did so, and the child began peeling the skin off the fruit.
Standing and watching the she-apostle, Lori felt angered at this method of dealing with children, but held her tongue. She had heard of food deprivation techniques on animals, but never on human beings.
Dixie Lou glared at the old woman in the doorway. “Well, Katherine, what do you say to the latest?”
“It requires further study.”
As the two women continued their discussion in sharp tones, Lori smoothed the child’s reddish-brown hair, which was of a darker hue than her own.
“How diplomatic,” Dixie Lou said to Katherine. “I’m surprised you’re not accusing me of setting up a trick.”
“I’m willing to admit I’ve been hard on you in the past,” Katherine said. “We need to work together, so I’ll try to be more understanding.”
“How refreshing.”
The elderly doctor’s eyes flashed, but this time she made no retort.
“How do you know Veronica is reincarnated?” Lori asked, of no one in particular.
The translator spun on her chair, looked at Dixie Lou. “Shall I answer that?”
The Acting Chairwoman did not respond, and as she looked at Lori she seemed amazed by the remarkable effect the teenager’s presence seemed to have had on the child. Dixie Lou watched them continue to interact, touching hands, smiling, sharing something in the looks they exchanged, in their eyes.
“There is no other explanation for the words they speak,” the translator explained. “They are tiny children, using the ancient language of Jesus and no other tongue. At first, two female babies appeared, and informed us they were among a group of twelve.”
“All females?” Lori asked.
“Yes, meaning Jesus had twenty-four apostles, twelve of each gender. When the special female babies and toddlers were brought in—we have eleven now—Amy Angkor-Billings began to call them ‘she-apostles.’”
“Where is the twelfth—she-apostle?” Lori asked.
“Missing. Hasn’t been brought to us yet, so we hope she is safe. With each additional child we learn new fragments of the story of Jesus, which we fit into place like puzzle pieces. Sometimes putting the children together causes them to talk more, but that stopped working several days ago, and they began speaking only sporadically, in incomplete sentences. Until you showed up.”
Lori tried to understand. “These are new gospels?”
Finally Veronica pulled away, then hurled the doll of the Roman man across the little room.
The translator rose to her feet, crossed her arms over her chest. “In a sense, but they’re actually old, brought to light again after being lost for centuries. We’re assembling a new holy book, combining edited sections of The Old Testament and The New Testament with our Testament of the She-Apostles.”
“This is a mind-blower,” Lori said.
The woman nodded. “We quite agree.”
“Have you learned anything sensational about Jesus?” Lori asked. “Anything shocking?”
“Such as confirmation of rumors that he might have been married, or something like that?”
“I guess so. Any dirt on the holy man at all? Did he always turn the other cheek, or did he ever get in a fist fight and give someone a bloody nose?”
“You have an irreverent manner of speaking,” Katherine Pangalos said.
“I apologize for my directness,” Lori said.
“No ‘dirt’ on him,” the translator said. “To the contrary, we have new evidence that our beloved Jesus was completely nonviolent, and that he was celibate, too. Some of the rumors about his personal life are quite entertaining, and quite wrong. A number of biblical researchers have suggested that Jesus and Mary Magdalene were either lovers or husband and wife, and that children were born to them. There are even soap opera scenarios in which Mary Magdalene was not faithful to Jesus, or that he might have had multiple sexual partners himself. Some of these tales go back a long time. In the sixteenth century, Martin Luther discussed the possibility that Jesus might have been something of a ladies’ man, and not in the platonic sense. There are even suggestions that he might have been married more than once.”
“Wow!” Lori said.
“We don’t believe any of that, of course. It’s all nonsense, utter nonsense. Jesus loved and admired women, but he had no physical relationships with any of them.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Lori said. “He wasn’t gay either, I assume?”
She heard Katherine Pangalos mutter something in disapproval.
“No, he wasn’t gay,” the translator said, “and he wasn’t asexual, either. He was celibate—one of the sacrifices he made when he took the form of a flesh and blood man.”
“It sounds like you admire him,” Lori said.
“All of us do, very much.”
“But you have goddess circles, a She-God, and Jesus, too—I don’t see how it all works.”
“We’re Christians, but obviously we’re not in the mainstream.”
“I’m sorry to ask so many questions. I’m just curious.”
Smiling in a kindly way, the translator said, “You have every right, considering what we just saw with Veronica.”
“I can’t explain what happened.”
“Well, it happened.” She looked at Veronica. “Some of the information provided by the she-apostles is entirely new, while some of it—such as what this child said moments ago—is linked to information we already had. Last week, Veronica told us that Jesus loved Mary Magdalene most of all, a story that is very similar to the Gospel of Philip, one of the gospels that was omitted from the Bible. In the early centuries after Jesus died, a great struggle took place over the role of women in the church, and gospels favorable to them were destroyed. But some brave person hid copies near Nag Hammadi in upper Egypt, where they were found in 1945. Later there was an additional major discovery at Alexandria, with even more gospels that have been translated—gospels that contain fragments matching the new words of the she-apostles. This is further confirmation of our project.”
The translator paused and glanced at Dixie Lou Jackson, who simply smiled. In Comparative Religion class, Lori had heard about the Apocrypha and other religious texts that were not in the Bible . . . but she didn’t know much about them, or the reasons for the decisions.
“Why was the Gospel of Philip omitted from the Bible?” Lori asked.
“The framers of the Bible—powerful male clergymen in the first three or four centuries after Jesus Christ—didn’t want any suggestion that he might have had a physical or even an emotional relationship with a woman. They had another overriding concern as well, wishing to conceal the high esteem Jesus felt for all of womanhood.”
“Do you understand what you’ve done?” Dixie Lou said to Lori. “You’ve drawn more words from this she-apostle than anyone else, and we have ten others like her. What effect will you have on them?”
Lori shrugged. She was sensing something she couldn’t quite identify, an inexplicable, mystifying feeling that was coming over her.
“Come back tomorrow,” Dixie Lou said, “and we’ll see what you can do.”
The teenager was beginning to feel worse with each passing moment. She didn’t respond. . . .
“But she could contaminate the memories of the children,” Katherine protested, in a concerned tone.
“How?” Dixie Lou asked.
“Don’t be dense. This is potentially disruptive to our entire program. It requires further study, the judgment of the entire council.”
“So nice to see you back in your usual good humor.”
“Think about it. At least admit when I’m right.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” But inwardly Dixie Lou was beg
inning to agree with Katherine, and realized she may have acted precipitously in allowing her son and the girl in. This could be the work of the Devil, acting through an innocent-looking teenage girl.
“Do I need to obtain an emergency council order?” Katherine demanded.
“No,” Dixie Lou said in an agitated voice. “I’ll go along with you on this.” Aside from her own concerns about allowing Lori in, Dixie Lou didn’t want to risk weakening her own personal power base by going against the council on an issue where she would in all likelihood lose.
“Now you’re making some sense.”
“Lori Vale will be kept away from the children until the council approves,” Dixie Lou promised.
“I’ll see to that myself,” Katherine said. . . .
“Thank you,” Dixie Lou said, but Lori noted displeasure in her eyes, oddly mixed with fascination.
Lori noticed Alex outside the cubicle, watching silently with his gray-eyed gaze. In the midst of all the commotion, she’d almost forgotten about him. His relationship with his mother seemed peculiar to her. There was a playful aspect to the young man that surprised Lori—the race today, and other things he did. But the night before, he had confided that he didn’t like his mother, and more. His exact words came back to her: “She’s dangerous if you make her mad.”
An overwhelmingly bleak feeling had settled over Lori, a dismal gloom. She felt alone and vulnerable, with a general sense of unease, that she was faced with important decisions but didn’t have the wisdom or experience to handle them.
She thought she heard a whispering of women’s voices, like a heavenly susurration on a cosmic, ethereal wind. Turning her head slightly, she saw Veronica’s mouth moving.
Something clicked off in Lori’s mind . . . or on. She wasn’t sure which, but it was like a change of pressure, or the sealing of a vacuum chamber. She no longer heard specific sounds, not the mysterious murmuring and not the voices of Dixie Lou or the other women in the cubicle. The child’s mouth continued to move, silently, and Lori saw that Veronica had one hand over the side of her mouth.
The lips made the same pattern of movement over and over. Word shapes, but not in English, and not in Aramaic either, she sensed. Closing her eyes, Lori envisioned Veronica’s tiny mouth, framing something so carefully. A private message?
With a start she realized it was a single word, in a secret language that was unknown to the translators in this Scriptorium.
Iktol.
Somehow, inexplicably, Lori knew what it meant.
Murder.
But a secret language? How did Lori know that, and why couldn’t she summon up any other words in that tongue? Surely, her mind must be playing tricks with her.
Opening her eyes she saw that Veronica was now gazing in another direction, away from Lori. From the side, Lori could see that her lips were no longer moving, and she had lowered her hand away from her mouth. The child’s tiny hand had concealed the word from the others and especially from the camera in one corner of the room, so that no translator could read her lips on video.
Iktol.
Lori’s thoughts spun wildly, and she wondered if her imagination had run amok. The incident certainly wasn’t anything to mention to the others. They’d only think she was crazy, and maybe they’d be right.
Chapter 15
She-apostle babies and toddlers rarely smile, and never actually “play” with toys, in the usual sense of the word. They look at them occasionally, more out of curiosity than anything else, it seems, and then set them—or hurl them—aside. The children seem old in their behavior, and we understand why, of course, but there is something else about them that remains unexplained: an intense, abiding sadness.
—Note screen, UWW computer file
With Lori in the passenger seat, Alex drove the electric cart out of the Scriptorium and back down into the musty subterranean passageways. He accelerated through a long tunnel and took a banked turn at high speed. They went up a spiral ramp, then slowed and entered the interior of a large hall, where Alex parked the vehicle in one of several marked spaces along the perimeter, beside other small vehicles.
The hall was filled with stone slab tables and benches, a few of which were occupied by people in pale gold uniforms with UWW shoulder patches, or in dull grayish-brown robes with the hoods thrown back. Most of the diners were women. The men present, Lori had learned, were all “knights,” because of the requirement that they fulfill the various needs of the women. There were serving knights, office knights, kitchen knights, and a variety of other job categories, including the popular stud knights. Even though Lori had grown up on the streets, she thought that the use of a stud service was depraved, without the personal commitment and responsibility that should be present in a relationship. Even worse, the men of Monte Konos were held as slaves, without the right to make their own choices.
Lori noted a rectangular sign high on one wall: REFECTORY BUILDING. She and Alex seemed to be on the main level of the structure; through an open doorway another building, gray and weathered, could be seen on the other side of a cobblestone plaza.
“That’s where we were,” he said, noticing the direction of her inquisitive, lavender-eyed gaze.
“The Scriptorium?”
He nodded.
Lori wondered why they hadn’t just walked across the plaza, and theorized that the fun-loving Alex enjoyed driving the electric carts. She smelled pleasant cooking odors, which made her hungry.
As the pair walked toward the dining area, Dixie Lou and a middle-aged blonde woman caught up and walked with them. Wearing a long black dress and glittering gold earrings, Dixie Lou moved to Lori’s side. Upset that she wasn’t being allowed to see her mother, and wasn’t being told her condition, the teenager took a deep breath, but didn’t say what was on her mind. Ever since arriving here, Lori had been asking about her mother; she asked guards, Dixie Lou herself, anyone she encountered. But no one gave her any answers. While Dixie Lou had initially said her mother’s condition had stabilized, that had been the last piece of information Lori had received. After that, nothing, and she was feeling increasingly angry.
“The Refectory is much as it was in ancient times,” Dixie Lou explained, in her Southern drawl. “Of course we’ve added modern cooking and refrigeration appliances and a few other touches for the sake of convenience. But if you squint, you can almost visualize monks here with their hooded heads bent over bowls of soup.”
“How many monks were in the monastery?” Lori asked. She felt awkward being civil to this woman, whom she loathed, but if she was going to survive here—and find out about her own mother—it was a requirement. She would tolerate her, without getting too close.
“Four hundred twenty at the height of the facility in the fourteenth century. This dining hall seats a hundred and forty, a third of the population—so they ate in shifts.” With a golden-ringed forefinger she pointed to a high bank of windows, on one wall. “If those windows were lower you’d see a magnificent view of the valley and Macedonian mountains, quite spectacular. But monks, being austere, did not partake in such hedonistic delights.”
Dixie Lou selected a table near a buffet counter brimming with fish, lamb and salads, along with platters of dark breads and Greek cakes. Racks of wine lined a nearby wall.
Alex handed a luncheon menu to Lori. As he looked over his own copy, he tugged at an earlobe, thoughtfully.
She scanned the items, which were described in Greek, with English translations. There were no prices. Several types of baked fish and pilaf were featured, along with a stuffed squid sauté and, most tempting to her, a stuffed shoulder of lamb with eggplant. She loved lamb, but didn’t feel like eating anything too heavy. Ever since the terrible events at the goddess circle her stomach had been upset, and she felt like she had lost several pounds.
“See anything you like?” Alex inquired.
“I’ll have monk food,” Lori said, finally. “Greek bread and a bowl of lamb broth soup.” Her stomach wasn’t
so queasy around Dixie Lou now, but the sensation had been replaced by another. She didn’t like anything about the woman.
“Ah yes,” Dixie Lou said, in a tone of approval. “Zomos arniou, my favorite soup. It’s best when served with boiled greens and slices of feta cheese. And white retsina, of course.”
“Retsina?”
“Wine. There is no drinking age here. Even small children drink with their families.”
“I’d better not,” Lori said. “Alcohol has been a problem for me.”
“Of course,” Dixie Lou said. She discussed the food selection with the blonde who accompanied her, a woman who had not yet been introduced to Lori.
During the meal, a young female guard brought a message to Dixie Lou, in an envelope. The guard saluted—the three-fingered “W”—and left.
Lori stopped eating her soup and watched. As Dixie Lou read the transmittal something changed in her face, a complex interaction of emotions. Sadness in the expression, but in the eyes, something entirely different, and devoid of emotion.
“It’s a coded Internet report from our operatives in the Bureau of Ideology,” Dixie Lou announced, her tone somber. “Amy Angkor-Billings is dead, martyred like our Lord Jesus Christ.”
At her table and those nearby, people gasped and began to weep, while Lori continued to watch the eyes of Dixie Lou Jackson—dark, simmering orbs that concealed so much. But not the anger when she noticed Lori studying her.
Abruptly Dixie Lou excused herself, along with the other woman, saying she needed to take care of important business.
* * *
The BOI had multiple sources of information concerning the operations of United Women of the World. On a bi-weekly basis they received encrypted Internet reports from operatives secretly placed around the world, as well as personal statements in other formats. All were of such importance that they found their way first to the Vice Minister of Minority Affairs, Styx Tertullian, for his review and dissemination.
The Stolen Gospels Page 13
