by Jon McDonald
Michael scurried back to his office, took out the catalogue on the Temple of Dendur, and found the translation of the text on the stele. Most of it was in praise of the great ruler Hutmet of the lower Nile - about how many oxen, sheep, granaries, and vassals he controlled. But there was one section that leapt out at him. It read – Hutmet from the treasured line of A’dam – rulers and dearly trusted seraphim of new E’don that will one day be again. Then there was more about household servants, number of wives, horses and children and houses in numbers of endless value. And so on and so on.
A footnote to this entry in the catalogue said that one of the glyphs on the stele was somewhat ambiguous, and that the word ‘seraphim’ might actually be ‘Sefarin,’ referring to the line of rulers that was ancestor to Hutmet.
Michael was stunned. ‘Sefarin’ was identical to his name but for the letter F that is often interchangeable with the letter V – the spelling of his name. All of a sudden things were beginning to pull together and make some sense to Michael. Could it be that he was a descendant of an ancient royal line, somehow connected to this ancient civilization of E’don? It would explain why the box had come to him through his family. And the Rabbi’s comments were now more comprehensible. Now he really wanted to talk to the tall figure. He was certain that the figure was out to guide him, not to hurt him, and perhaps he would be the key to understanding of all of this.
◘ ◘ ◘
Michael was in a meeting with colleagues, working on the catalogue for the Caledonia show when he was called away for an important phone call. He excused himself and took the call. It was his Grandmother’s attorney in Maine.
“Great news,” the attorney greeted Michael.
“Tell me.”
“We have a cash offer on the house. Never expected it would sell so quickly. Just five thousand under the asking price. Pretty good in his market. You interested in accepting it?”
Michael thought for a moment. He had been concerned for some time about his daughters’ higher education, and with the marriage dissolving quickly around him, had been thinking how he might provide for them.
“Absolutely,” Michael responded. “When will it close?”
“It’s a cash deal so just need to arrange the paperwork and the inspections. Two, maybe three weeks.”
“Go for it.”
“I’ll call you if there are any complications. Will need to FedEx the papers for your signature.”
“Sure. And I’m going to send you an account number where I want you to deposit the money when the deal closes. It’s for my girl’s education.”
The museum had an education program for employees. They would match a portion of the employee’s contribution to the fund. Michael had been putting money aside from his paycheck for some time now, and he would put the proceeds from the sale of the house there for his daughters. He didn’t know how much longer he would be around or where his adventures would lead him next. Michael was beginning to suspect that the map in his possession was in fact a map for the new E’don, not a map of the old E’don.
◘ ◘ ◘
“Please close the door, Michael. Sit.”
Michael closed the door to Mr. Fugatti’s office and sat in the chair opposite his imposing desk. Mr. Fugatti was backlit by a large window overlooking the park, and the late afternoon sun was streaming in at such an angle that it was difficult for Michael to see his boss’s face. Michael squirmed in his chair, as Mr. Fugatti was not yet speaking.
“Is there a problem?” Michael finally asked.
“Michael, I have to ask, because there have been reports. Are you sleeping here at the museum?’
“A few times. Working late, you know.”
“Yes, and what is it you’re working on these days?”
“The Caledonia project.”
“Oh yes, and how’s that going? We’re still a month out on that, aren’t we?”
“Yes, the 27th.”
“So help me out here. We’ve still got a month. I know the exhibition is well on track. Then why are you sleeping over? Certainly, the project can be completed during regular working hours, no?”
Now Michael was becoming uncomfortable. “Well sir, I have a little side project I’m doing some research on. Tend to lose track of time, I’m afraid. Sorry ’bout that.”
“Are there problems at home?” Mr. Fugatti was trying to be sympathetic and sensitive to any other considerations Michael might have.
Michael nodded, but didn’t immediately speak up.
“I’ve looked at the record of your employee card scans – coming and going each day. You’ve been staying late very many nights, Michael. It goes way beyond just a few late nights. What is this ‘side project’? Is it a museum program?”
“No sir.”
Mr. Fugatti sat looking at Michael and mulling over what he wanted to do.
“Can you tell me what it is?”
“Just some family research. My Grandmother passed recently, as you know, and I found some documents. Been following up with some research on those.”
“I see. Michael, how long has it been since you took some time off here?”
“Couple of years, I guess. Except when I had to go up to Maine for my grandmother’s business.”
Mr. Fugatti leaned forward and examined Michael’s personnel record. “Three and a half years, actually, since you last took some substantial vacation time.”
Michael forced a chuckle. “That long, huh?”
“Ye-e-e-s-s-s. Michael, I think it’s time for a little separation, don’t you? You’ve become somewhat obsessive lately. Time for some perspective. I want you to take a couple of weeks. There’s nothing so pressing here that we can’t handle it by ourselves.” He leaned forward and examined Michael’s file once again. “You’ve accumulated a lot of vacation time. Let’s say you take a month. Huh?”
Michael was flustered. He was unsure about this. He needed the resources of the museum for his research. And he was unsure how he could spend an entire month at home with Susan always on the rampage. “Is my job in jeopardy, sir?” Michael asked with some hesitation.
“Not at the moment. But I think we’ll need to have a review in a month or so after your vacation. Go on - take off. Might as well start your leave right now. Have some fun. Go someplace nice with your family. Will do you good.”
Mr. Fugatti waved his hand and dismissed Michael. The interview was over.
◘ ◘ ◘
Michael sat on a park bench behind the museum. He had his box with him, which he carried with him everywhere now. He would not let it out of his sight. He looked around hoping to see the tall stranger. He really wanted to talk to him. But the stranger was nowhere to be seen. Michael couldn’t face going home just yet. And he was numb. He was overwhelmed by all that had been happening recently, along with the implications of what he had learned about his family. He needed to ground and get some perspective. He decided he would go visit the Rabbi again. Now that he had more information, perhaps the Rabbi could help him further.
It was about three o’clock in the afternoon by the time Michael descended from the subway in Queens. He walked directly to the Rabbi’s apartment. He had not called ahead. At the entrance to the apartment building Michael studied the buzzers. He could not find the Rabbi’s name. There were only four apartments over the two shops. Michael distinctly remembered it was the first button, but the name on the buzzer was ‘Malinski.’ What had happened to Toombeki? Michael rang the buzzer. A woman answered.
“I’m looking for Rabbi Toombecki. Does he live there?” Michael said into the squawking speaker.
The woman only spoke a language that Michael did not understand but assumed was Polish. She shouted from the speaker. “No, no Rabbi. Not Rabbi here.”
Michael was greatly puzzled. He stepped away from the building, crossed the street, looking up at the Rabbi’s windows. He remembered there had been a plant in the window but it was no longer there, and the curtains were different. A woman was loo
king out the window down at him. She was in her 60’s, nothing like the Rabbi’s wife. She wagged her finger back and forth, indicating that this was not the right place.
Michael walked over to the deli below the apartment.
“Are you the owner?” Michael asked a heavy-set bald man at the counter.
“I am.”
“I’m looking for Rabbi Toombeki. I was upstairs at his apartment just a few days ago. Do you know where he might have gone?”
The man had a puzzled expression. “No, no. You have it wrong. That’s my apartment. I’ve lived here sixty-five years. It was my parent’s apartment before that. You sure you have the right building?”
Michael backed away. “I’m sorry, sorry. Guess I’ve got it wrong then.” He dashed out of the shop and raced towards the subway.
◘ ◘ ◘
“Sir, sir, can I help you?” the doorman at his apartment building called out to him as he headed towards the elevators. Michael stopped and turned back.
“Brian, it’s me, Michael Sevarin.”
“Sir, I have to announce you. What apartment do you want?” The doorman walked up to Michael.
Michael raised his hands in disbelief. “Ten D. Sevarin. I’m Michael.”
The doorman shook his head. “Ten D is the Stephanson’s. I’m sorry, I have to announce you or ask you to leave.”
Michael could not believe what he was hearing. “Brian. You are Brian, right.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My wife’s Susan. My daughters - Chloe - Rachel… Come on, what’s going on here?”
“I don’t know who you are, but there are no Sevarins in this building. No Susan; no Chloe; no Rachel. Come along now. You must have the wrong apartment building.”
Just then the elevator was opening and a couple got out. Michael made a dash for the elevator. Brian was obstructed by the couple leaving, and Michael closed the elevator doors and pushed the button for the 10th floor.
Once at his door he took out his key, putting it in the lock, but it did not open the door. What? He banged on the door. A little girl opened the door.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I live here.” Michael was terrified now. “Can I come in? Is your mother home?”
The little girl was frightened. She called out - “Mommy,” and slammed the door shut, locking it.
Michael banged on the door again. This time it was opened by a woman in her early thirties. “What is this? What’s going on here? Who are you?” She had the door on a chain lock.
“I’m sorry. This is my apartment. I’ve been living here five years now. My wife is Susan. Can I come inside? I need to talk to you and find out what’s going on.”
The woman slammed the door shut and locked it. The elevator doors opened and Brian was there with a police officer. Michael dashed in the opposite direction down the hall to the building stairwell. He dashed through the door and flung himself down the steps three at a time. He was far enough ahead that he reached the street and took off towards the park before the officer emerged from the building.
Tears were running down Michael’s cheeks as he sprinted into Central Park, clutching his bag with the box. It was getting dark and he dove deeper into the park and sought shelter under a little used pedestrian bridge. He sat on the ground, folded his arms over his knees and buried his head in his arms. At this point he was beyond tears, or feelings, or even sensory awareness. He drifted off into a deep state of unconsciousness.
◘ ◘ ◘
Michael felt a warm breeze caress his cheek. He opened his eyes and blinked. He was still seated but was no longer leaning up against the pedestrian bridge, but was up against a tree. It was bright, and warm. His bag with the box was not to be found. He stood up and looked around him. He was on a ridge above a wide lush valley with mountains on both sides. The valley had a river running through it down towards the sea where there was a small bay with a harbor with several fishing boats and a small village, perhaps five miles away. Even though he knew he had fallen asleep in Central Park it did not seem at all strange that he should be here now.
Michael scrambled down the hill and set out through a meadow towards the river. He thought he would follow it to the village. He was surprised that the valley was uninhabited, except for the village at the bay. There were no plowed fields - no roads - no domestic animals. It looked like a valley lost in time. There was no way to identify where he was - no signs - no cars - no architecture to give him any clues as to where he might be.
He finally reached the river. It was gentle and free flowing. The banks were lush with grasses and wild flowers and he could see schools of fish racing in the clear water. There were many brightly colored birds that seemed to have no fear of him. They looked up from the grasses or down from the branches of trees within easy arm’s length, completely unafraid of Michael’s presence.
Michael was suddenly hungry, and just as he realized that he passed by a grove of fruit trees laden with fruit, ripe for picking. He picked a peach and a few plums and walked over to the river and sat down on a grassy bank.
After he had eaten, and even though he no longer had his box, he found the map and the manuscript spread out before him. He picked up the map, and to his amazement, as he looked at it, he could now read and understand it. The words were on his tongue, the comprehension was in his eyes – they were now totally lucid. The writing seemed to leap off the page, hover in front of his eyes, and be absorbed by his brain without even needing to actually read the words. He had total, instant comprehension of the map and the manuscript. The map was indeed, as he had suspected, the map for the new E’don. And was, in fact, a map of this very valley. The manuscript was the promise and the blueprint for this new colony.
Michael stood up, overcome with emotion, as he comprehended where this was and what his role might be in the establishment of this new E’don.
“Michael,” a voice spoke softly behind him.
Michael swung around and there, surrounded by trees by the bank of the river, was the tall figure. He was at least seven feet tall. His long black hair fell down to his shoulders. He had violet eyes and a faint lavender tinge to his skin. He stepped forward and held out both of his hands.
“I am A’bram.” He took Michael’s hands. Energy surged through Michael at the touch. “Welcome home.”
“Home?” Michael stammered, still adjusting to his new circumstances.
“Oh yes, your line was seeded for this moment. We had to leave, but knew we would one day return to continue our very important work in uplifting this planet. Your ancestors of the Sefarin line volunteered to remain and seed the consciousness of future generations to accept, prepare for, and await our return.
“Where are we?”
“Your new home.”
“But what country?”
“Turkey, the Kubak Valley – a star gate. It has long been sheltered and untouched, just awaiting our return.”
“I don’t think I’m going to like what happens to me next, will I?”
A’bram nodded. “Sometimes our destinies are not always easy, but remember nothing is ever lost – just transformed.”
Michael was coming now from his new knowing. “When will it happen?”
“Soon. It must happen for the rest to unfold. And it is to be my transformation as well. We shall share this together. It will be how we ground the stellar energy - how we enliven the land.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Of course, there is always a choice. But I believe you will make the right one.”
They walked along the river in silence for some time.
“Will my family be safe?” Michael finally asked.
A’bram nodded.
“Then I am ready.”
With a rush, flocks of birds swept up into the sky from the surrounding trees and circled above A’bram’s and Michael’s heads. From across the open meadows a circle of horses drove inwards towards the two. They did not move is a straight line but created a c
ircle that tightened in spirals. The moon began slicing into the face of the noon sun, creating increasing darkness. Close in around the two, a circle of what Michael knew to be the “Ancestors” began to materialize. As the sun became completely covered a spaceship appeared and began to slowly descend.
“Now,” A’bram whispered into Michael’s ear, whereupon he took Michael solidly into his arms. The two began to glow, then vibrate at a frequency that created light. And finally, with no sound, the light intensified till it seemed to burn out in a flash, and the two were no more.
High above where they had been, a golden tree descended from the spacecraft and settled into the ground where Michael and A’bram had disappeared. It immediately rooted and became surrounded by the Ancestors.
By now the eclipse had passed. The horses and birds dispersed and the spacecraft landed, followed by a dozen other crafts setting down gently into the surrounding fields.
The new E’don was about to begin.
◘ ◘ ◘
Buried on page 13 of the New York Daily News was a small article. It read: “Captain Donaldson of the NYPD reports that a man in his late thirties or early forties was found unconscious in Central Park early Tuesday morning. The man had no identification. He was taken to Bellevue Hospital for observation but is currently in a vegetative coma. The cause of the condition is undetermined. There are no clues as to the identity of the individual. He has dark receding hair; is just under six feet tall, about 185 lbs., and has a scar between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. If anyone has any information regarding this man, or if a man of that description is missing, please contact your local police precinct.”
