by Layton Green
“Second century A.C.E.”
“After the box was made. How do you reconcile that?”
“I can’t,” Jake said. “Somethin’ ain’t right in the henhouse. Did any other monotheistic cultures use similar runes?”
“Ogham runes were distinct, isolated, and indigenous to the Celts,” Lou said. “I’m positive those are Ogham.”
Jake turned the box over and frowned at it. “Odd, isn’t it? I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
A thrill passed through me when he said that, though I was sure the box would turn out to be something mundane, a new classification from the so-and-so dynasty, or the blank-and-blank age.
Still, who was that man in the white robe? And why had the boy in Jackson Square run away?
Asha’s expression turned inquisitive. “What about the flowery decorations on the top?”
“Looks superfluous to me.” Jake turned the box over again, holding it at arm’s length. “Got to admit I’m puzzled. I agree with Lucius—I’ve a gut feeling this is a religious artifact, or a container that once housed one. Of course, the runes mention God, but even before that, I had a feeling about this box. And my instincts are good. I’ve seen more religious objects than the Commie’s seen Twinkies.”
Lou started to retort, but Jake pressed on. “Nope, the runes don’t make sense. This thing’s just plain queer. It’s as queer as that hobby letterhumpin’ Lucius told me about.” He set the box on the desk. “There’s also one large problem with this piece.”
Asha leaned in, and I found myself joining her.
“The Celts had firm class separations,” Jake continued. “They basically operated on a caste system. No one who wasn’t a Celtic priest would have ever made, used, or inscribed upon a religious object. And according to the Ogham runes and my gut, this is a religious object of some kind.”
“So what’s the problem?” Lou said. “A Celtic priest obviously made it.”
“The problem is, the Celtic priests had a strict prohibition on committing their knowledge to written form. Not a one of them would have dared inscribe what you’re telling me these runes say.” He folded his arms and looked at us. “Friends, there are no Celtic religious inscriptions from that time period.”
-8-
After Jake’s proclamation, we regarded the letterbox in silence. A nearby church bell announced the strike of the hour.
“I need a cigarette,” Jake announced.
“Music to my ears,” Lou said. “Let’s go outside.”
Jake opened his pack of Camels. “Why do you think this place is called Jake’s? Light that coffin nail.”
Lou lit up and blew a few elongated smoke rings. “I’m beginning to think this relationship might not end in a felony.”
“What’s the next step?” Asha said.
“There’s not much any of you can do at this point,” Jake said. “Leave the box and I’ll study it overnight. Let’s meet tomorrow for dinner.”
“Is that enough time?” she asked, surprised.
“Enough time to form an opinion. I’ll cross-reference the location where it was found, the style of the box, the Ogham, the marking, and a few other things. If nothing turns up, I’ll have to get crafty.”
We grabbed dinner in Dubrovnik and returned to the island. Lou retired to watch television, and Asha and I found ourselves on the balcony. Clouds floated by in the moonlit sky, and Asha pointed out creative interpretations of their shapes.
Eventually we slipped into more comfortable clothes. She sat on the bed behind me and laid her head on my back, arms encircling my waist. Her jasmine perfume mingled with the brine on the breeze, forming a heady union.
“Will you make me a promise?” she said softly. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, but I’ve never found the right person to ask.”
She moved in front of me and brushed away a stray bang. There was a sad, intense light in her eyes.
“What is it?”
She interlocked our hands. “Promise me you’ll do it before I ask.”
One of the many reasons I found this a bad idea was my college roommate’s girlfriend, who asked me to keep a secret and then coyly told me she was sleeping around on my roommate.
I broke that promise once, and didn’t want to do it again. “I never do that. Personal rule.”
“Please,” she whispered. “For me.”
I was again very aware, despite our flirty declarations of what kindred spirits we were, of how little I knew about this woman. But as she looked at me with those huge and earnest eyes, I wanted to believe she wouldn’t ask me anything that I could not, or would not, want to promise.
I wanted to break my self-made rules with her.
So I did. “I promise.”
“Thanks,” she murmured.
Her eyes, no longer far away, burned into mine. “If you die before I do, I want you to haunt me.”
I would have laughed if she hadn’t looked so serious. “Haunt you? That’s the promise? Why?”
“I want to know if something’s out there,” she said, almost nervously, “and I’d want you to be the one to show me. I’d know we made this pact and that you’re trying to comfort me.”
Her request had a mortal gravitas to it, like we were a ninety-year-old married couple or trapped in an underground mine. It made me feel closer to her, but also uncomfortable.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” I asked.
“Only that I’ll do the same for you.”
“Um, thanks.”
She took my hand. “So you’ll do it?”
“Sure. I promise, Asha. If it’s within my power, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” she said.
We held each other without moving or speaking for what seemed like a lifetime, tingling with an undercurrent of energy. Finally we sank to a sleeping position, and I could feel her breath on my cheek, our shared space an intoxication.
I never knew why we didn’t make love for the first time that night. Perhaps because in that moment, the space between two souls was as close as it was possible to get, and neither of us wanted to break the spell.
Or perhaps it was something else.
The next day Lou took a paperback to the beach, while Asha and I decided to explore the island before our meeting with Jake. A path began where the hotel’s private beach ended, and we followed it into the forest. The soft pine needles created natural conduits through the woods.
The climate kept the forest dry and free of noisome daytime insects, lending the woods a preternatural calm. We walked for a spell and decided to take a break when the forest opened into a clearing punctuated by a huge tree stump.
“That’s odd,” Asha said. “That looks like an oak stump. And these are oaks ringing the clearing. I haven’t seen anything besides pine in this forest.”
I shrugged and sat beside her.
“How funny was it when Lou realized Jake was Dr. Fleniken!” she said. “I was biting my lip to keep from laughing. The look on Lou’s face—”
She had a soft but unrestrained laugh that often, as it just had, turned to tears. Eventually she laid her head in my lap, and I stroked her hair. Her eyes closed and I leaned back on my elbows.
I reveled in the stillness of nature, amazed at how quickly my past life had become a diminishing shadow. Instead of rushing to make a midnight deadline for a partner, there I lay, relaxing with Asha in the middle of an island forest.
For the first time in a very long time, I felt fully in the present.
I tilted my head back to yawn, and thought I saw something moving through the trees. Probably a deer.
As I turned back to Asha, I saw it again, out of the corner of my eye. I whipped my head around and saw a man standing just outside the clearing, partially hidden by the trees.
A man dressed in a hooded white robe.
-9-
I stilled. He stood there and watched us, not moving or speaking. Was this some kind of sick joke, taken way t
oo far?
It didn’t feel like a joke. Although he hadn’t made any threatening moves, I had the gut feeling his presence was not benign. Just as I was about to stand and confront him, I heard the rustle of a branch. I twisted around. Another man in a white robe stood behind me, opposite the other, watching me in the same impassive manner. I scanned the clearing and saw two more, all dressed in similar garb.
Four robed figures standing equidistant from one another, faces cowled in shadow, forming a square around us.
“Asha,” I said softly, looking at each of them in turn and sending a telepathic message to leave us the hell alone.
The bizarre tableau continued for moments that felt like hours. They did nothing, standing still as sentinels, continuing to stare. The encounter felt like a macabre silent movie reeling away, with Asha and myself as the star victims.
I called Asha’s name again. She began to stir.
Realizing they weren’t going away, I felt around for sharp stones, knowing we had no chance against all four. I wondered if they knew we didn’t have the letterbox, and decided to tell them straightaway. That was the only thing I could imagine this was about, though the thought of that sent a chill coursing down my back.
Before I could speak, one of them took a step forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another move in unison, and a glance confirmed the other two had done the same.
Adrenaline poured through me.
“Asha!” I said, shaking her awake.
The cowled figures took another step forward, slow and methodical, as Asha blinked and sat up. Terrible scenarios flashed through my mind. I pulled Asha to her feet at the same time I heard people speaking behind us. I whipped around to see a group of tourists sauntering through the trees, carrying on in loud voices, unaware of the scene unfolding in the clearing.
When I opened my mouth to cry out, I realized I could no longer see the robed figure standing in the direction of the tourists. I quickly scanned the trees surrounding the clearing.
They were empty.
The new people turned out to be a Spanish tour group. We hung on their fringes until we could see the hotel, and I told Asha the full story. She looked as shaken as I felt, arms hugging her chest as she peered into the forest.
I’d seen these robed figures three times now. Who were they, and what did they want? How had they followed us to Croatia, and disappeared into the forest so easily?
What would have happened if those tourists had not shown up?
“We should tell Mr. Sofistere,” I said.
She started towards the front entrance. “I don’t think he needs to be bothered with something like that.”
“Really?” I said, catching up with her. “I sure would, if I were him.”
“It was probably just a prank. He would only worry.”
“It’s gone beyond a prank.”
She stopped and turned, squeezing my hand. “We’ll be more careful and let him know if it happens again. Promise. Let’s get a swim in before we meet Jake.”
My response was to stare at her back as she walked to the elevator. I thought she’d be traumatized, maybe question whether or not we should continue our stay in Croatia.
I informed the hotel about the encounter and asked them to call the police. I didn’t know what else to do, except avoid solitary island forests.
And find out what secrets Asha was keeping.
We met Jake at the plaza in front of St. Blaise Cathedral, a beautiful domed edifice near the end of the avenue that led to the ferry dock. I was wearing gray cargo pants, hiking boots, and a black linen shirt. Jake showed up in the same clothes as the day before, looking as if he hadn’t slept.
A full moon bathed the ivory-colored cathedral with a soft luminescence. Candlelit tables filled the plaza, spilling over from the restaurants surrounding the square. After spotting a free table, I ordered a bottle of wine and a plate of fresh sardines. I needed to put a little alcohol between myself and what had happened in that clearing. I was itching to discuss it with Lou and Jake, but wanted to see if Asha would bring it up.
Jake palmed his beer and nodded towards the church. “A fine monument from Pope Clement XI, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What’s with you and the popes?” Lou asked, his dated Princeton sweatshirt and khaki shorts in marked contrast to the well-heeled Europeans surrounding us.
The first time I had met Lou, at a law school function in the French Quarter, he was wearing a pair of old bowling shoes. His idea of dressy involved tucking one of his newer T-shirts into a pair of shorts.
“I’m Catholic,” Jake replied.
Lou snorted. “I’m from New Orleans and know lots of Catholics. None of them date architecture according to which pope was in office.”
“I give credit where credit’s due.”
I saw Lou scowl, and I cringed.
“Credit?” Lou said. “To the popes? For what, the retardation of civilization? The Catholic Church is a doctrinally flawed, pedantic den of pedophiles. The concept of God is for children and peasants.”
“Is that the best you can do, Commie? Something started something, regardless of what you believe. If you think otherwise, I’d sure as Christmas like to hear you or anyone else explain it to me.”
Lou’s voice rose. “Just because I don’t have the answers to the universe at my fingertips doesn’t mean I have to invent a theology to get through life.”
People at the surrounding tables were staring at us, and I put a palm out. “I appreciate both of your insights into the creation debate, but I don’t appreciate ruining a beautiful evening. Grab a smoke, and let’s discuss the letterbox.”
They both lit up. The nicotine and the reproach seemed to calm them. Jake cleared a space on his side of the table, reached into his backpack, and took out the letterbox. Asha’s gaze fell on the wooden relic. She was wearing a golden-brown cotton dress, and a choker with a silver ankh attached. Her hair was drawn back, accentuating her cheekbones, and I had noticed every man glancing her way as we arrived.
She fingered the ankh. “Did you find anything?”
Jake ran a hand through his hair. “I researched all night long, and nothing about it makes sense—not the date, the location, the Ogham.”
Asha peered at him over her wine. “So what now?”
“There’s a few tests I’d like to run, some colleagues I want to consult—”
I heard the sound of breaking glass, and a shout arose from a few tables over. I spun and saw two swarthy boys in rags running towards the church, one of them clutching a handbag. The youths created a wave of destruction as they careened through the tight space.
Jake cursed and sprang out of his chair, quick as a cat, then started wading through tables and patrons—but in the opposite direction from the thieves. I realized he was chasing after a full-grown man, as tall as Jake and with the same skin tone and threadbare clothing as the boys.
“The letterbox!” Asha said, pointing at the man. I noticed our empty tabletop as soon as she cried, “He has it!”
Pandemonium reigned. I squirmed through the crowd and sprinted down the main street, trying to follow Jake.
I was losing ground; he was fast. Steps behind the man he was chasing, Jake closed the gap with a burst of speed, taking the thief down with a lunging tackle. By the time I got there, Jake had one of the man’s arms twisted behind his back, pushing his face into the pavement.
Asha arrived a few seconds later, Lou huffing along behind her. The letterbox had fallen a few feet from the thief. Asha shoved through the crowd to retrieve it.
Jake yelled at the man. “Why’d you take that? Who are you?”
The man responded in a language I didn’t understand, and two policemen rushed over. Jake kept lobbing questions at the man, who kept babbling. Jake yanked him to his feet and threw him at the policemen in disgust. “Lock this gypsy up.”
As the policemen carried him away, Jake muttered, “Why steal an old wooden box? That’s not their style.”
Asha gasped. I turned to find her staring at the letterbox with her hand over her mouth. One of the wooden legs had split down the middle.
“It’s cracked,” she said. “Mr. Sofistere’s going to kill me.”
Lou eased the letterbox away from her with a curious expression. When he turned the box over, a faint glow seeped through the ruined bottom.
“What the Devil’s that?” Jake said.
Asha and I crowded in. “There’s a layer of gemstones set into the wood beneath the base,” she said, dismay morphing into curiosity. “It must have been a false bottom.”
As Jake gently peeled off the thin layer of wood comprising the base, he uncovered a surface of hundreds, if not thousands, of miniature crystals imbedded into a second wooden underside. The stones looked alive, shining like tiny beacons of light.
“How about that,” Jake said.
“Do you have any idea what it is?” Asha said, breathy with excitement.
“Not a clue.” Jake pulled a small magnifier out of his pocket. “But let’s take a look.”
Lou chuckled. “You carry a magnifier? How old did you say you were?”
“Quiet, Commie. I look at a lot of ancient texts. Sometimes the print’s small.”
Jake moved the lens around the letterbox. He paused on one spot and gave a low whistle. “It’s hard to tell, but it looks like there might be some kind of pattern here.”
“Do you have any way to enlarge it?” Lou asked.
Jake looked up, eyes gleaming. “Let’s go to the shop.”
We paid our bill and rushed to Jake’s place. After herding everyone into the back room, he set the letterbox on his desk. When we viewed the stones in the incandescent light, they stopped glowing.
“You do realize,” Lou said, “that a light source drowns the illumination from crystals? Moonlight works okay, complete darkness is much better.”
Jake muttered a reply and killed the lights. Lou was right; the illuminated crystals jumped out in the darkness, though the wood bottom still looked like a jumble of bright dots and dark spaces.
