Jack scurries in to his parents’ bedroom who had barely woken up, and pounces on them.
“Thanks, Mum, thanks Dad, thanks heaps, it’s so cool!”
“Glad you like it Son,” his father mutters, tugging at the sheet that Jack had accidentally removed off him. “Wait ’til we all get up and have some breakfast before you go hooning off on it, okay?”
“Yep, okay, I’ll get it started then,” Jack eagerly volunteers. His parents look at each other, amused, as Jack has never organised breakfast before. After a few minutes his parents amble into the kitchen.
“Wow,” Nancy utters, mouth agape. She catches the eggs before they burn in the frying pan. Jack is nowhere to be seen, having gone back to his room to fiddle with his new present. She cleans up the four eggshells left on the bench with eggwhite dribble right across from the frying pan, and places in six rashers of bacon, transferring the well-cooked eggs to the warmer.
As they sit down to eat Ben reminds his son, “Don’t forget your grandparents are coming for lunch, so please be back for that.”
“Sure I will,” Jack replies, not wanting to miss out on another present. He loves them anyway, thinks his granddad is a hoot.
After Jack had wolfed down his bacon and egg, and drunk his glass of milk, he dashes off to the bathroom to have a wash. The faster he brushes his teeth the quicker he’ll get to his bike. After leaving the bathroom with toothpaste smeared on the towel, Jack hurries out the door, yelling, “See ya later alligators”. At the base of the path he stands astraddle his gleaming new bike for a moment, admiring it, feeling like the luckiest ten-year-old in the world. Nothing can surpass his happiness right now.
“My friends are going to be soo jealous,” he says aloud, excited.
Jack pedals off, experimenting with different speeds until he gets the gist of it. He rounds a bend and over a flat stretch of gravel that leads up to the main road. From the turnoff he is pleased to see it free of traffic. It is a Saturday, with only the dairy open. Jack pedals faster until he reaches top speed, and then glides down the road, finding the fresh air invigorating. His new bike performs well, and Jack feels on top of the world. After biking for more than two kilometres, he passes his mate’s house, stops and turns around. He knows Nick Findlay likes to sleep in on Saturday mornings, so he decides to wake him up. His friend has a strict father who makes him do loads of chores when he comes home from school. By the time he’s done his homework and then his chores there isn’t much time to muck around before school the next day.
Nick loves the weekends when his father lets him off the hook. He has plans of joining the Air Force and becoming a fighter pilot, so has to buckle down and get through school with high grades, even though it isn’t necessary that he attend university. He just has to be good at maths and know his stuff. His bedroom is cluttered with a collection of wooden and plastic planes, and World War II memorabilia that his grandfather had given him.
Nick is awoken by Jack tapping at his window, his sleepy perspective of Jack grinning at him from ear to ear. Elated to see him, Nick throws off the covers and jumps out of bed to open the window, an old-fashioned sash window that is hard to lift up, but good for muscle practice. When the two of them manage to push it up to its limit Nick sees why Jack had suddenly shown up at his house at eight o’clock in the morning.
“Wow, what a radical bike man!” Nick exclaims. Jack puffs out his chest, beaming. “It must’ve cost a million!”
“It’s my birthday present from my folks,” Jack says, accentuating the ‘birthday’ word, knowing that Nick will have forgotten, and hopefully feel bad about it.
“Aw yeah, I know. I…..um got you something too,” he grins back. Jack is surprised, and chuffed that his friend has actually remembered.
“Bring your bike around the front and I’ll let you in.”
Nick quickly dresses, makes his bed of sorts, and goes through the kitchen to let Jack in. Jack feels warm and fuzzy inside knowing that his friend has gotten him something.
A brightly coloured package is placed on the kitchen table, plastered with Sellotape; a wrapping job that seems like had been a struggle.
“Just rip it open!” Nick says, shaking his hands in frustration at Jack’s careful unwrapping.
He stares at his gift for a moment before picking it up; a strangely shaped wooden box with gold-coloured symbols set in its lid.
“Open it!” Nick cries, bursting with excitement.
“Okay….” Jack says suspiciously.
Nick observes Jack’s puzzled and embarrassed expression as he stares at the empty box, and cannot retain himself any longer. “It’s a Lucre Box! The man in the shop said an old man had brought it in saying that he’d had it given to him when he was a boy by his granddad. So it must be really ancient! He said that it had brought him discovery, and that he’d had an unreal life because of it. Well, he actually said extraordinary life,” Nick babbles.
Jack gives his mate a brief look and then smiles, thanking him for the present. He knows that Nick can be a bit gullible at times, and hopes he wasn’t ripped off. Though, as he’d gone to some trouble Jack thinks he’d better show some interest in it, and started asking what else the old man had said about the Lucre Box that is supposed to bring him amazing discovery.
Discovery of what? Jack thinks, amused.
The two boys decide to go for a bike ride together. Nick has a BMX that he’d been given last Christmas, so his bike is also pretty flash. Jack thinks it awesome that they can now go cycling together, and that they may even go for a hike over the farm to do some eeling at the creek. Though, he doesn’t want to get his bike too dirty for a while.
Man, what am I thinking? he realises. He has only twelve hours left here with Nick and knows he won’t be doing any eeling. Anyway, it isn’t the reason why he’d chosen his tenth birthday as his last trip back into his past, he tells himself.
Nick and Jack cycle into town to see if anything is happening. Jack keeps an eye on his watch, remembering he has to be back to have lunch with his grandparents. As they approach the town they see only a few people milling about. Most shops are shut, so people are walking their dogs or merely taking a walk in the crisp winter morning. The boys ride on up to the dairy which has the best selection of lollies. Nick had brought some change with him and buys a one-dollar bag of mixed lollies containing around thirty lollies, and another fifty cents’ worth of jet planes. They sit outside the dairy on the benchseat and gorge themselves, fighting over the red jet planes. Nick loves his planes, any sort of planes.
They sit, swinging their legs, talking about what they are going to do when they grow up. Already knowing what Nick wants to do, Jack patiently listens while he goes on and on about his future as a jet fighter pilot.
At least he has a goal in life, unlike some people in this town who walk up and down with long sad faces, he reckons.
Determined he isn’t going to work simply to make ends meet, Jack has his goal in life too. Once he finishes at the American Military University and attains his MS degree in Space Studies, he wants to be a rocket scientist, work at NASA and be paid an insane amount of money. He also wants to do some travelling beforehand as he is fascinated with the Egyptian people and how they built the great pyramids.
The school had a man come and talk to the class about computers, and about how they were going to be the way of the future. The school was going to do some fundraising to purchase one. The man had showed them a video of someone using one and what it could do. Jack was hooked. Little did he know then where his knowledge of computers would take him.
At a quarter to eleven the boys start heading home, as Jack knows he has a fairly long ride ahead of him. His legs start to ache and he wonders if he might have overdone it a bit.
After two friends wave goodbye to each other, Jack pedals madly to get home before noon. He makes it back with five minutes to spare, and completely exhausted. He lays on his bed for a few minutes trying to get his breath back, and then has a qu
ick shower before his grandparents turn up.
They’ll probably want to hug me and tell me how much I’ve grown.
“My, look how much you’ve grown!” His grandmother has him in a bear hug, and Jack couldn’t help noticing that her moustache looks even more conspicuous.
His grandfather shakes his hand and pats him on the back. “Happy birthday Son. Into the double numbers now, aye. Soon you’ll be bringing home some sweet young sheilas,” he laughs. His grandfather always teases him about girls. At his age Jack thinks of them as nothing but wusses.
Jack’s grandmother passes him a large square parcel wrapped in birthday paper with an almost baby young pattern on it. He thanks her, takes it over to the table and opens it.
Jack lifts out the remote-control racing car and holds it up. “Orh yeah!” he exclaims. “Thanks Gramps, thanks Nana, just what I wanted!”
“Why don’t you go and get your present from us and bring it inside to show your grandparents?” his father says, smiling at him.
Jack goes outside to get his bike. The Lucre Box is still sitting on the tray, attached by a bungy cord. Taking the cord off, Jack carries the Lucre Box to his bedroom and sits on the bed with it. He smooths his hands over the lid and fingers its gold inscription. As he does so he sees a rainbow of colours sparkle off the lettering.
Must be reflecting off the sun, he considers, placing the box on his dresser, when he notices it again. The box, he sees, is in the shade. Jack feels a shiver run up his spine.
Maybe there was something in what Nick was ranting on about after all, he wonders, feeling a stab of guilt for thinking Nick was gullible. Jack realises that he’s pretty lucky to have a friend like Nick, an honest boy with a quiet demeanour, even if a little naïve. Jack scrutinises the cryptic message, trying to make sense of it, and suddenly feeling uneasy. The message has an effect on him, the symbols beginning to swim around in his eyes.
The distant calling of his name brings Jack out of his reverie. It is his mother’s voice. Jack ignores it and focuses on the symbols again.
What the heck does that mean? he thinks.
“Jack!” his mother calls again, a little louder. He knows he is being rude. With a sigh Jack sets the Lucre Box down on the chest of drawers, goes out to collect his bike, and takes it in to show his grandparents.
“My my, that’s a spiffing bicycle, lad,” his grandfather said. “You’ll go places now, won’t you?”
“I’ve already been for a ride on it, Gramps. This morning. Me and my mate Nick…”
“My mate Nick and I,” his mother corrects.
“Nick and I rode into town. I’m pretty sore now.” Jack knows he needs to be polite and make small talk so his grandparents will have a nice afternoon and go home. Then he can get back to his Lucre Box. He is also aware that he has limited time here, reliving.
There is definitely a message here today that will affect my entire life, he reflects.
It is two o’clock in the afternoon, and he has until seven o’clock in the evening to find out what the message means.
At last his grandparents make a move to head off. Jack is torn between the Lucre Box and seeing his grandparents for the last time. His mother’s parents died when he was eleven, a year before his parents disappeared.
He gives his Nana an extra long hug and she is noticeably taken aback. “You must have thoroughly liked your present!” she laughs.
Jack composes himself and looks into her eyes; so tired looking now, but still with a beautiful softness.
“For real!” he exclaims. Jack turns to his granddad, a lump forming in his throat. Always young at heart, his granddad still looks handsome despite his seventy-eight years. His mother’s father possesses a wicked sense of humour; no doubt the elixir of his youth, Jack considers. Gramps even fancies himself as a ladies’ man, and Jack loves him to bits.
As he waves them goodbye his eyes sting with tears. Jack literally shakes himself to keep his cool. His grandfather’s momentary look as they drove off was of great mutual understanding. Quickly wiping his tears away and realising he’s been doing a lot of that lately, Jack rips back to his bedroom, grabs the box off the chest of drawers and sits back on his bed with it. The symbols swim around again with a beautiful ray of colours oscillating back and forth.
It looks Egyptian, he reasons. With no time to spare, Jack is on his bike and heading down to the local library to seek out some literature on Egyptology, remembering that the library is open for a couple of hours on a Saturday afternoon. With his box firmly fixed on the carrier of his bike, Jack speeds into town again.
“Man, I’m going to sleep well tonight!” he says aloud to himself, his legs starting to ache for a second time round.
Jack feverishly hunts through the row of books on Egyptian Hieroglyphics, scrambling through the pages trying to find symbols that match the message. Eventually, he comes across a book with similar pictures, and takes it over to the counter with his library card which he’d remembered to slip in his jeans pocket at the last minute. The librarian looks at him over her glasses that are perched on the end of her nose.
“Jack Dunlop, you already have two library books that are overdue. I can’t let you have this one out until the other two are returned,” she scolds, lips pursed.
“Please, Mrs Francis,” Jack pleads. “I really need this one for my homework that’s due in on Monday. I promise I’ll return all three on Monday afternoon.”
Audrey Francis holds her gaze then pulls her lips back. “Well, as long as you do,” she cautions.
“Thank you Mrs Francis!” Jack grins and hurries out the door, feeling a bit naughty, knowing full well he won’t be anywhere near there come Monday.
Back in his room Jack places the box on his bed and opens the library book. With ardent determination he begins to decipher the cryptic message, letter by letter. A half an hour later Jack sits back and reads his message:
“You are the descendant of Pharaoh Siptah.”
He falls flat. Must be one of those trick boxes, he thinks, disappointed.
Each symbol begins to change, one by one, into letters, together forming into another cryptic message: “Sinestu-ipini-itxaro-ahalguzti.”
Although feeling a little annoyed he decides to finish decoding it, and after another hour Jack finally reads the translation: “To believe is to place your trust in the Almighty.”
“Okaay….” he says with a lilt in his voice.
He slowly lifts the lid and sees not an empty book with red felt lining, but a box filled with luminous green light. One by one letters appear and form into words. Egyptian words. With a now shaky hand Jack tries to write the words down, aware now that it is a race against time. He shoots a look at his bedroom clock: 4.30 p.m. He has time. At 6.50 p.m., with only ten minutes to spare, Jack stares at his translated message, trying to come to terms with it.
“Your soul is one with Pharaoh Siptah, King of Egypt, ruler of the 19th Dynasty. Your journey is now predetermined by Queen Meryt-Neith, ruler of Jovian.”
Jack sat back at his computer, dumbfounded.
“King Siptah, ruler of the 19th Dynasty, Queen Meryt-Neith, ruler of Jovian?” he questioned out loud. He had always held a fascination for the Egyptian race, and now knew why, his gut feeling telling him his interest in Egyptology as a boy was pretty significant.
He delved into his wardrobe to look for the Lucre Box, and after much hunting Jack couldn’t find it. He tried to recall what had happened to it.
“That’s it!” He’d suddenly remembered that he’d taken the box to his parents to show them what he had discovered. They had shown a half-hearted interest in it and his father had said that he would take the Lucre Box back to the store Nick Findlay had purchased it from, and ask the storeowner about it. That was the last Jack ever saw of his Lucre Box. When he had asked them when he was getting it back his parents had told him that Mr Walker, the shopkeeper, was going to ring up the man who had brought the Lucre Box into his shop in the first place,
to find out more about it. A few months down the track, Jack had completely forgotten all about it.
It’s like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle.
Chapter 7
Over the next few days Jack was left alone by everyone - Megan, the Jovian men, and his parents. He didn’t realise the time had drifted into three weeks and he still hadn’t been prompted by anyone, or anything. Not until mid-September.
It was a usual morning, the smell of spring and his favourite time of year. He lay awake in his bed for a while, pondering over the last few weeks, ever since he found out about his ‘Egyptian roots.’ It seemed to be too far fetched to him.
Gazing into the mirror he regarded himself. For a young man of seventeen he thought looked older. Probably due to the events of the last few months, he considered. Was this the turning point? He had always wondered what he was supposed to be doing on this Earth.
“Let’s not get too philosophical aye,” he spoke to his reflection.
As he ate his Weetbix he stared out the kitchen window, catching sight of a fat tui flitting amongst the puriri tree. His self-contained unit was attached to his landlord’s house, friends of his aunt and uncle, who had promised they would keep an eye on him. Jack ate his dinners with them while his Aunt Pippa looked after the modest rent payments. His landlord’s house backed onto native bush so he often heard tui in the trees that feed on the tiny berries. Another tui joined his friend and they set about doing some sort of cat and mouse chase as if they were playing. Jack liked being close to nature. Although he lived in a town he had a taste of country as well.
He thought about Megan. His beautiful young girlfriend, so young, but never to be his. It occurred to him then and there that he loved her.
Jack rinsed his breakfast bowl under the hot tap when he heard the computer buzzing again. With a deep breath he placed the bowl in the dish rack and went to his computer.
The Jovian Legacy Page 6
