by Freda, Paula
When, exhausted and ready to believe that whoever inhabited this city had no limbs, or could fly, they came to the rear of the city and a small wood shack with shutters for windows.
When the shack's door did not open as had the glassed entrances, Singhen knocked. No one answered at first. But presently a set of shutters unlocked and swung open, and an old man of average size, peeked out. His grey eyes widened with surprise as they saw the men and the woman. "Oh, my! Visitors. Just a moment, please." He closed and re-locked the shutters. A few minutes passed. Wil wondered if the old man did not plan to open the door, but presently, he slowly unlatched it and opened it wide. "Please come in," he said, moving to the side to allow the group to enter.
Singhen bent low to avoid bumping his head. The interior of the shack was nothing more than a one-room hovel with an unlit fireplace, containing an iron tripod from which dangled a chain with an empty cooking pot. The only furniture in the room was a rectangular wood table and chair looking very much as though they had been cobbled together by hand, along with the wood ladder that led to a loft overhead which they assumed must hold his bed.
The old man smiled kindly. "Welcome. How may I serve you?"
"Who are you?" Singhen asked.
"The caretaker," he answered. "How may I serve you?"
"You care for the buildings and the gardens?"
"Yes."
"Just you."
"Yes, but occasionally I call upon a helper or two, when necessary."
"Who do you work for?" Singhen asked.
"My employer."
"And who is that?"
The old man gazed upward. "Ah, I see," he said. He focused on Singhen once more. "I must ask first, what is your current year?"
"What are you talking about?" Singhen asked, patience beginning to wane.
"What is the year of your birth?"
Singhen told him. "But what is that information have to do with who your employer is?
The old man did not answer directly. He seemed to be digesting the first part of Singhen's reply, his birth date."
"Oh, now I understand." He smiled agreeably. "My employers are those who built the edifices you have visited."
"All right," Singhen said. "Where are they?"
"Those who chose to remain, are here. Do you wish to speak with them?"
"Yes, I would like to meet with the man in charge."
"Oh, they are not here, not at this time. But I can call upon their representative."
Audrey spoke. "You said they. Is more than one man in charge?"
"One man and One woman."
Singhen asked impatiently. "All well and good. I will speak with their Representative, the highest on the chain."
The old man bowed his head. He closed his eyes. Before Singhen could lose what little patience he had left, the old man reopened his eyes. Wil shuddered. The body of the old man was the same, but the gaze that stared back at them belonged to someone else. Wil's eyes hurt. The gaze was intense, so intense that it obliterated all else from view.
Like Singhen and the others, Audrey covered her eyes. "Stop," she cried. "We're not ready."
"Forgive us. We did not realize," two voices, one masculine, one feminine, spoke in unison. "Do not open your eyes. We do not wish to damage them. We will speak with the one who presently calls himself William. His soul is the eldest. The other two ... the woman who goes by the name of Audrey, and the man who calls himself Singhen. They are the next eldest. They may listen." A pause, as if the entities sensed Wil fighting to gather his wits and absorb what was occurring. Then the voices said, "Ask your questions. We will answer."
Wil asked what was foremost on his mind. "Who are you?"
The voices responded. "We see the confusion in your minds. We will explain. We are the first of your kind that evolved on this world. No signs of our original existence remain. All was destroyed a hundred million years ago. Ashamedly, through our own faults, our pride and our arrogance, our violence and disregard for the precious gift of life, and the earth and its resources. Homo sapiens at our stage of evolution was annihilated. But Nature is regenerative." The voices continued, "Some of us survived, those of us who did not destroy our relationship with the Creator. We have been on this earth one hundred million years. What you hear now are not spoken words. They are our thoughts.
"We ceased to need human bodies ages ago. But for the current Homo sapiens who occasionally stumble upon our existence, we maintain the images to satisfy their curiosity."
"Images, as in pictures?" Audrey asked. Despite the restriction, her voice worked, unlike Singhen and his men, lips working with vocal chords straining to no avail.
The old man smiled. The voices replied. "Yes, pictures. All that remains of our physical existence. You questioned the resource used to construct the buildings. None of you were able to identify it. It no longer exists on this earth. As we said, our civilization was ineffective in conserving the earth's natural resources. Our civilization grew in intelligence, evolved, but in its pride and arrogance, wallowed in violence, and wasting lives, forgetting how precious life is. Some nations believed they were conquerors and forgot the Creator's true purpose for humankind, forgot the quality of mercy and compassion, of empathy and kindness. Throughout the first evolution, and the second that was wiped out by the Flood, and your own that is on the same path of self-destruction, the few of us that remained and finally understood the truth, watch and wait, hoping the current Homo sapiens will stop making the same mistakes. The Creator, hoping for the same, sent his Son to help you. To remind you of your true worth. He was martyred for you. And daily, more are martyred for seeking peace, tolerance, compassion and good will. And what is even worse, many back up their violence using the name of the Creator, besmirching it with their creed of rule by fear and violence."
The voices faltered. The old man's shoulders slumped. "We grow weary of repeating the same message to those who have come here before you. We remain here only with prayers and hope. Go home. There are no treasures here, except for the spirit. The caretaker will show you the exit. We have erased the images. God speed your way."
The old man straightened his shoulders, and the light and knowledge that had shown in his eyes, dulled. "You may replenish your energy and remain the night. I will show you the exit tomorrow morning."
Singhen's vocal chords emitted sound again. He and his men had tried to speak, ask questions, demand answers. But only their breathing had remained untempered. Wil and Audrey alone were permitted to speak. This did not sit well with Singhen. Nor the voices' claim that Wil's soul was the eldest. A fortuneteller had once told him that his was an old soul. He had never put much credence in that statement, nor did he in the information related by the voices speaking through the old man. More likely that the whole affair was a ruse to defraud him of the opportunity to find and declare rare artifacts, such as the tablet etched into the tunnel wall that might prove Homo sapiens in their present form existed on this earth long before anthropologists extrapolated. He considered the theory the voices had expounded of man destroying himself and re-evolving twice more, totally bogus.
A warm hearty smell of beef stew simmering interrupted his thoughts. His stomach gurgled, informing him he was hungry and hadn't received food since that morning. Audrey's exclamation directed his gaze to the hearth. The old man sat on the cobbled wood chair in front of the fireplace, stirring what smelled like goulash cooking inside the pot that hung from the tripod over crackling firewood.
Wil stared disbelievingly. Where had the stew come from, and when had the old man placed the meat and gravy into the pot to cook. They had been inside the shack for only an hour or so. And the old man had spent that entire time relaying the voices' message.
Singhen eyed his men. They were as confused as he was. "I don't believe a word of this. I'm going outside and search the buildings again. I'll find who is behind this." He motioned to his men to follow him. Opening the door, he put one foot out and stopped abruptly. "What ... where
..." The buildings were gone. Even the winding path leading from the cave to the base of the volcano and into the forest had vanished. Age-old trees and tangled vines stretched before him.
Singhen turned, anger reddening his well-sculpted features. "What trickery is this?" he demanded of the old man. "Are we under some sort of hypnosis?"
Audrey's tone was calm and consoling. "They did say they erased the images." Singhen shook his head, refusing to accept their words as true. Audrey added, empathizing, "Singhen, despite there's no evidence to show, you have proved your theory to us. Homo Sapiens did exist on this earth one hundred million years ago. And perhaps long before that, as well. The only difference between your theory and the information the voices imparted, was that the Creator and Nature have given us three chances thus far."
Singhen shook his head again, slower this time, not consoled. She added, with a helpless shrug, "You did say earlier that it did not matter if you couldn't prove your theory to the world. That without proof, experts in the field will consider your rendition of this trip just another conjectured fantasy. But we know. Wil and I, and these men in your employ. We have experienced the past few days along with you. Isn't that enough? At least for now?"
Singhen's face grown somber, he withdrew back into the shack and closed the door. His stomach didn't care about his thoughts, and it grumbled again that it wanted food. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears that threatened to unman him, and also in the hope that when he reopened them, this whole day would prove only a bad dream. He might wake in the morning to find everything he had seen restored. Audrey would know that he hadn't taken her on a fool's errand. And it mattered to him what she thought of him.
Nothing further surprised the group, not the plates on the table, nor the eating utensils, nor the benches on either side of the table, that had not been there a few moments ago. They sat and ate their fill of the goulash, and drank their glass of cool wine that warmed their chest and soothed their nerves.
Singhen checked the view outside a few more times before he retired with the others to the loft above. Their sleeping bags lined the wood slats. He kept silent, listening without comment to the whisperings of his men. And Wil and Audrey. Winning her favor and her heart were no longer an issue with him. He had seen that special look pass between them often enough during this trip to realize, even if they didn't as yet, that they were in love.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was raining in New York, April Showers. Audrey stood by the ceiling to wall windows that overlooked the manicured Central Park. Nothing at all like the forested valley they had left behind last month. True to his word, the old man had woken them to a hardy breakfast of all grain bread soaked in blackberry brandy and beaten egg yolks. Audrey felt appalled at the mixture. But out of courtesy to the old man and his employers on whose good favor their safe exit from the valley depended, she tasted the meal, and was pleasantly surprised at the tangy flavor. She consumed her portion, as did the others. The brandy warmed her chest, and the yolks and whole grain bread enriched her body cells. No one had mentioned any allergies to the foods served thus far. Audrey reasoned that the Ancients who communicated telepathically would have known and accommodated the individuals accordingly.
A burst of heavier rain pelted the windows, mimicking her mixed feelings about Singhen's proposal. Wil had continued the sensitive and attentive admirer, but the moment he re-entered the office scene, he was once again William Darcy, financial consultant with an excellent record and an affable personality. Had he missed her signals to accept his love? Or had he simply, upon further introspection, decided he was no longer interested in capturing her affection.
She moved back to her desk and the several files spread across its top. Written requests for new accounts garnered during the few weeks she had been away, needed her approval and signing. In her incoming basket lay a copy of Singhen's letter of gratitude and high recommendation, praising her quick adaptability in the face of new and unfamiliar environments, and her ability to establish and nurture good work relations with persons of differing cultures. The letter was stamped at the top, Well Done, and initialed by the President of the firm, himself. Singhen's relationship with the firm was safe, along with his promise of procuring more accounts from the many firms associated with his multitude of investments. The man was a trillionaire.
Audrey nipped at her lower lip. Should she accept Singhen's offer of marriage? My God, she thought, she'd be wealthy beyond her wildest imaginations. And the field trips she could follow him on. He had told her of his plans to keep searching for the Tablet etched on the tunnel's wall. It existed somewhere.
Audrey had asked him, "You never fully explained to me what the symbols on it translated to."
Singhen grinned knowingly. "Ah, yes. The dotted orb, the stick figure with horns and eight arms undulating, the stars, the prisimed oval, and the scepter and the ankh. I apologize, Audrey. I purposely wished for it to remain obscure. It was to be my finding, not someone else unearthing it, using the clues I've followed.."
Audrey inquired, "So what meaning do you associate with the translation."
"Isn't it clear? Alien intervention, a popular subject in our time."
"That's all?" she asked.
"For now," he said with determination.
Audrey breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know the half of it. And she had no intention of filling in the missing information he hungered for. She would never tell him she had seen those exact symbols in her great-grandmother's private journal, the one never published, the one secretly handed down from mother to eldest daughter over the years, Revelations too important, too seductive for men or women like Singhen. Revelations that if publicized might fall in the wrong hands and change the course of history, and bring about the destruction the ancients spoke of.
"I'm sure with your assets, knowledge and contacts, you'll eventually find what you seek," she told him, before deftly changing the subject.
"Regarding your proposal, Singhen, I'm honored and flattered," she chuckled good-naturedly. "You are legendary in the female circle. You're forty years old and no woman has yet been able to catch you for her own."
"Exactly," he laughed. "Except you, dearest Audrey." I have never met anyone quite like you. Sophistication, beauty, intelligence compassion, and sweetness. I would venture as far as to add, innocence. I don't want to lose you, especially not to Wil. What can he offer you?"
"I can't answer that. Not yet. I need time to reflect. For me, marriage is a very important step. I plan to do it once only. With the help of the Lord and His Holy Mother, I will do it wisely."
It was all the answer she would give him until she felt certain of her choice. As certain as humanly possible. In truth, all marriages were a gamble. But she needed at least to feel certain that the man she chose, loved her for herself, good points and bad, faults and all. The man she could trust not to laugh at the simple girl within her; the man she could trust to read her great-grandmother's private journal and not use its contents for personal gain.
"No," Audrey muttered, sitting at her desk this rainy Monday in April. Singhen was not that man. Sophistication, beauty, intelligence, compassion, and sweetness. Those were exterior qualities, subject to change with life's unexpected twists and turns. Illness, time, old age, joy and sorrow, these could take away the qualities Singhen prized so well in her. He loved his rare artifacts, and his millions, his wealthy life style. Poverty would never sit well with him. Without the freedom to do what he chose, when he chose it, the man might shrivel along with whoever stood at his side. "No," she repeated. Singhen would not do.
There was only one other man who she could imagine loving her with a simple love that would outshine all the wealth and glamour in the world. And that was the man whose proposal she would accept, if he made it.
Audrey pursed her lips with determination. She tapped the intercom button. Her secretary answered, "Yes Miss Lambert."
"Would you please—" She paused. How did she ...
what was she to say ... had she lost all reason?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Miss Lambert, are you there?"
Audrey gripped the edge of her desk.
"Miss Lambert," her secretary tried again. A moment later, she knocked at the door. "Miss Lambert, are you okay?"
Audrey found her voice. "Yes, I'm all right. Come in."
Heather entered. "Is something wrong with the intercom," she asked, assuming a broken communication.
"No, it's working fine. It-it's me. I think it's the weather. I'm a bit under. It might be best if I took the afternoon off."
"You do look somewhat flushed," Heather remarked.
Audrey stood up. "Please collect all these files and keep them in a bundle for tomorrow. I don't want them re-filed, nor left in my inbox for anyone unauthorized to see."
"Of course, Miss Lambert. I'll also re-schedule your appointments for today."
"Yes, do that. Thanks, Heather."
Wearing her tan spring coat and her shoulder bag, she kept her gaze lowered as she walked through the center aisle of her department. Wil's cubicle was only feet from the main entrance/exit to the hallway. She could see the top of his head, wavy light brown hair. He was on the phone speaking to a customer.
Her great-grandmother had tried to run, afraid the man she loved would have only contempt for her when he learned of her dual identity. But he'd stopped her. He already knew and loved her even more. Was she going to run as well, Audrey mocked herself. Only in her case, Wil might not follow her.
Something inside her snapped, and she entered his cubicle. He felt her presence and raised his head. "Hold on," he said to the person on the other end of the line.
Audrey's face was flushed. He could swear she was trembling. Her gaze had riveted on his. He forgot to use the professional address. "Audrey, what's wrong?"
