Sunrise on the Mediterranean

by Suzanne Frank

  I spiraled his sidelock around my finger, weak but needing to touch. “You like being Jewish?”

  He smiled, a flash of white in his dark beard. “We are not Jewish, we are living in the Jewish nation.”

  “You do have an incredible job,” I mused. “You can do anything you want,” he countered. “You are a darling of the court.”

  “But do we belong here?”

  He kissed me deeply, completely, holding me up so that I didn’t slide out of his grasp. “Do we belong anywhere?” he asked.

  The glow was brighter, deeper, now reaching across this white stone room to touch Cheftu’s face, giving him an alien visage. “I hope so. It’s depressing to think we may never belong.”

  “Lo, chérie, you do not understand me. Do we belong anywhere, I ask, because we can step into everywhere. Not many people can know all you know of the future and not use it.”

  Witness RaEm.

  “Not many people could take in stride changing bodies, learning new societies, new religions, new languages.” He looked at me, holding my face so that I too glowed in blue light. “This is our chance. Say it and we will stay. We will live in Tziyon, we will worship the One God, we will raise our children and make love in our fields and travel to other courts, anything you like.”

  I frowned, shifting my eyes away from his imploring gaze. “Why is it my choice?” From here I could see the etching on the stone, though I couldn’t read it. Was that a sign in and of itself? Was this it for our grand time-traveling careers? “Would we get bored here? Is there another war or something we need to be careful of? How do you know all these languages, anyway?” I said, hyperaware but exhausted to my bones. “Do you have a lexicon, too?”

  Cheftu shrugged. “No wars that I recall. I know the languages because they are related linguistically.” He frowned. “I do not know of this lexicon, however.”

  I sighed. “What is the point in staying?”

  My husband tugged at his side curl. “Somehow, Akhenaten got a psalm of David and rewrote it. I would like to know how.”

  “That’s easy. They corresponded for years.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “My sister. Sometime in my century a bunch of stone tablets were found, letters between Egypt and places in Israel. It’s the first mention of Israel, I think.”

  Cheftu sat down with a thump. “Ach, well, there went my reason for staying.”

  I chuckled weakly, a raspy sound. The light beckoned. “How can we know?” I mused.

  “Any decision we make is not permanent,” Cheftu said. “Every year we can stand here and choose again.”

  “Unless we have kids.”

  He frowned, repeating my English. “Baby goats?”

  I laughed. “Children. Yeladim.”

  He tugged at his beard. “ Ken, that would be a hard judgment.”

  What did I want? Here, where we had everything?

  When I’d jumped from 1996 last year into this crazy world of mermaid-goddesses, biblical characters, and firing Arks, all I’d wanted was to find Cheftu and live with him. Could I be sure that I would find him again? If we jumped, would we both make it through? Would we be together or would we have to find each other? “This is the closest thing to forever we have,” I said. “We know the answers here; what to do, where to live, where to work.”

  We stood up and I slipped my arm around his waist, feeling the muscles of his body even beneath his garments. He pulled the stones from his sash and tossed them on the floor. I looked at him, shocked.

  “Either way, the method we use for divination should be prayer, not rocks.”

  I looked at them. “Would they tell us?” My voice was ragged, my throat hurt.

  “What is there to know?” he said. “Here is every security. There,” Cheftu said wistfully, looking at the portal, “is all possibility.”

  I took his hand in mine. I didn’t need to look at the sky, at the constellations whose placement I knew as well as my own name—Chloe. I believed they were there.

  For the first time I could see the space inside the portal, open. Beyond it was risk, mystery, adventure. Beyond it was all potential, both good and bad. The things we knew from history and the things that didn’t make it into the books; the chance that we would be together, the hazard that we might not; the continuation of our bizarre destiny or its conclusion. I spoke, feeling the weight of my words. “The hour is here.”

  Cheftu kissed my hand, then my mouth, and I knew whatever we chose, we would be together.

  Ultimately, only that really mattered.

  AFTERWORD

  Ancient Israel is no more synonymous with modern Israel than modern Judaism is with its antique roots. Largely, the storyline of Sunrise was taken from the same garden-variety Bible found in most any hotel room, with a twist of cultural perspective thrown in.

  Negative spaces in history are revealed only by the shadows they cast. In the years between the Ark being taken by the Philistines (Pelesti) and it coming to rest in Solomon’s Temple, the jar of manna and the rod of Aaron were removed. After that time, the Ark is no longer blamed for plague or disaster. So it seems possible that the priests, at least, knew there was some connection between the two.

  Scholars suggest that the Ark was connected with the bubonic plague because the people of Israel were cautioned to watch out for skin eruptions. If anyone did have an outbreak, then he or she was made to live outside the camp so as not to infect the others. However, if the Ark was taken into less than hygienic conditions without strict cleanliness laws, it could be massively destructive.

  Another reason scholars think the Ark and the plague are associated is that the Philistines sent along gold reproductions of tumors and rats when they returned the Ark. How would the Ark work as a receptacle for the plague? The bubonic plague originates in the intestinal tract of the flea. Perhaps the fleas lived on the combination of manna and rod within the Ark. Therefore, when those items were removed, eliminating the source of fleas, the Ark became only a religious totem.

  The electricity theory stems from the composition of the Ark and conjecture of how much static could build up inside this heavy gold box. Some facts to support the theory are that the priests were required to go barefoot; the high priest’s breastplate could have been protecting the wearer when he opened the Ark; and the Temple itself was designed as a giant containment field for the power of the Ark.

  Careful readers will guess that Avgay’el (Abigail) becomes the author of the first version of the Bible, the “J” writer. Borrowing liberally from the syntax of the translation, as well as the core stories told in The Book of J by Harold Bloom and David Rosenberg, I place her in that position of power and responsibility.

  Hiram of Tsor (Tyre) is among the most enigmatic characters in history. Why not make this man, who is the inspiration for the Masonic legend, whose roots go back to ancient Egypt and Aztlan (Atlantis), who is the muse for many of the world’s deities, who is also the builder of the Temple, why not make this man be Dion? Eternal, dark and tormented by his own desires, the fallen Greek steps easily into the role created by legend.

  There is no logical explanation for Akhenaten’s reign when he single-handedly wrecked the Egyptian empire and moved the divine beyond the people’s reach, thus becoming the sole priest in the most narcissistic religion this side of Jonestown. Possibly he purloined and rewrote the psalms. He married his daughters and left no sons. Yet, according to Egyptologist James Breasted, more ink has been spilled on this time period than the whole rest of Egyptian history. To have upset Ma’at, charmed the court, married the most beautiful woman, Nefertiti, and remained in power for more than a decade, he must have been extremely charismatic.

  Smenkhare is a mystery also. We have the mummy of an eighteen-to-twenty-two-year-old labeled with that name, but the identity and gender of the mummy have been debated for almost a hundred years. Who knows? As fashion has always been to imitate those in power, I suggest that the androgyny of Akhenaten was suc
h a fad that RaEm could have made a place for herself in the guise of a man— up to the point of marrying Meryaten, who, coincidentally, vanishes from history at the same time as Smenkhare.

  One of the eerier experiences of writing this book occurred when I came across the name of David’s Egyptian scribe. It has several different interpretations, one of them being Chavsha. Evidence suggests that David used Egyptian government as a model for his new, unified monarchy. The water spout (tzinor) invasion of Jerusalem may never be explained satisfactorily because we don’t know exactly how to translate that Hebrew term. However, after I personally walked through Hezekiah’s tunnel in Jerusalem, the fictional possibilities for our heroine, the water route veteran, were too sweet to bypass.

  The tales of Saul, David, and Solomon were written in postexilic times, not as a complete historical record, but as a spiritual account, an encouragement to the Hebrews so far away from their homeland and center of faith. Consequently the Bible stories should not be read as a straightlined, exclusive reality, but rather as soundbites of a larger, sometimes seemingly contradictory whole. With this in mind, I introduced the Urim and Thummim at a time considerably after the first biblical mention. Scholars suggest that several sets of stones served this oracular purpose. For the sake of the story, ancient Aza is called by its modern name, Gaza. Additionally, Ashdod and Ashquelon are reversed in prominence.

  Portraying the world of ancient Israel, Akhenaten’s Egypt, and Judaism before much of the ritual structure was documented, was challenging. I had to divorce my reverence for the text from the actual historical characters. Despite my Judeo-Christian Western background, I wanted to scrutinize this history with the same amount of detail, look at these cultures’ view of the One God, as unflinchingly as I would polytheistic religions. Several books helped develop my cultural angle, enlightened my concepts of this time period, and gave me insight into the humanness of these historical characters.

  I’ve already mentioned The Book of J by Harold Bloom and David Rosenberg, which changed my worldview and inspired the syntax; Pharaohs and Kings by David Rohl, whose research always fuels my imagination; In the Wake of the Goddesses by Tikva Frymer-Kensky, a riveting realignment of what it meant to be female in Bible times; Ancient Zionism by Avi Erlich, whose perspective and erudition stunned and awed me; The Gold of the Exodus by Howard Blum for the desert story; and the Bible in Hebrew and several translations.

  Motivation, cultural perspective, even the weather all influence that solid foundation for our reality that we call history. However, every recent fact, every archaeological dig, every newly translated word, lends nuance and shadow to what we know: consequently history is anything but dead. It lives, breathes, and changes with new information and insight. The past is as vibrant and alive as the present, and if we listen, it will teach us about ourselves.

  Suzanne Frank

  February 12, 1999

  Dallas, Texas

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many people contributed to my sanity and to the accuracy of the story, some to both. Heartfelt thanks to Hanne and Sydney for the freedom of the attic and the Derkato myth; Rene, my chavera extraordinaire; the Pirate, for pep talks, inspiring e-mails, and thoughtful surprises; Ernie, for exploding eyeballs; Dannyboy, Peter and Tanya, for the photo; Tim, for last-minute electricity; Mister Avolio, for sharing his understanding of music and giving me the heart of Dadua; Dana and Melanie for the treehouse retreat; Michael, for the box and the plague; Martine, for her magical ways; Fabian and La Madeleine for the party; Marianne, for the paradigm shift; Geraldine at Mystery Bookstore for her enthusiastic support; Maxwell Books in DeSoto for their amazing sponsorship; Brent, for his discerning eye; Kati, for a home, a friend, a sister; and Dan, for whom there are no words.

  As always, unending gratitude to Susan Sandler and Jessica Papin, who keep raising the bar, challenging me, and cheering me on; to Sona Vogel and to Harvey-Jane Kowal at Warner for keeping me on the true path. Thanks to my parents for my first trip to Israel (and second and third), for creating in me a world without borders, and most of all, for their trust.

  Sunrise was a battle I couldn’t have won without the steadfast, enthusiastic support of many people, my personal cheering section (this includes all of the aforementioned): Renee, Mathias, Paul, River, Ira, Joebo, Drue, Barbara W., Kris, Steve A., David El, David C., the Rickster, Elaine W., Jimbo, John, my SMU classes, Sally in SMU C.E., Debi, Michelle and Dwayne.

  Todah rabah.

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  What other way could Chloe have handled her situation when she wakes up as a mermaid goddess?

  RaEm has learned a lot from television in the 20th century. What are some positive things she could have learned and used?

  At the end, Chloe and Cheftu have almost decided to stay in David’s Jerusalem. What are the pros and cons they might have used in their decision-making process? What do you think they are looking for?

  What effect do you think the Ten Commandments has had on western civilization? While much of our culture’s thought processes come from the Greeks, what parts of government, organized religion and societal norms do we attribute to the influence of the Ten Commandments?

  For the first time, Chloe and Cheftu don’t doubt each other and they find one another fairly easily—how does their relationship change in the course of the story, and (if you read the preceding two books) how has it changed in the course of the series?

  Fire! Fire!”

  Cheftu could see smoke billowing upward from the city wall. A bad day for a fire; last night’s rain would cause the limestone to crack and explode as the heat expanded it. There was no way to avoid that danger; in Jerusalem all the houses were made of limestone.

  His house even, was made of limestone.

  The plume of smoke was gray against the spring-afternoon sky. It seemed to stab at the breast of heaven from the outer wall of the city. The fire must be on the outer wall.

  His home was on the outer wall.

  Cheftu hastened his steps. He should anyway; Chloe would be overjoyed they were leaving the city. Cheftu had just been made ambassador to Egypt. He climbed up to the highest point of his walk. From this position, he could see the fields. Everyone was out today, planting the terraced sides of the valley.

  He wound around another corner as he walked down to his house.

  “Is anyone inside?” the voices of concerned neighbors echoed out to him.

  “He works for the king. She’s usually here. Just a wife, you know. Barren, poor thing.”

  He worked for the king; Chloe was usually at home. His wife—barren.

  Cheftu took the last steps two at a time, up and around another corner, across the courtyard, and up and around again.

  The wooden door was black with smoke.

  His wooden door was black with smoke. “Chloe!” he shouted. Cheftu covered his face, then kicked the door open. The heat seared through his sandal. “Bring water,” he yelled at the two old women. He ran inside.

  He was lost in the gray heat; where was the kitchen? The sleeping platform? “Chloe?” he shouted. “Chloe!”Wind funneled from the back window through the hallway, and fueled the fire. Cheftu dropped to his hands and knees and felt around for her. Limestone popped, and the fire’s roar became stronger. Heat singed his skin. He smelled burning hair. “Chloe,” he coughed out.

  An arm.

  A lifeless arm.

  He shook her; her skin was rippled and blistered. Black smoke unfurled through the window. Fire crackled behind him. He dragged Chloe’s body over his shoulder and back, then ran for the window, hunched over and coughing. He threw her out onto the narrow walkway, then clambered after her.

  His neighbors sluiced down their homes.

  Cheftu coughed, gasped for air, and spat black phlegm on the white stone. He turned to look at Chloe. His physician’s glance was quick and conclusive: burns to 70 percent of her body. A head wound, sticky with blood, staining the stone wi
th red.

  He wrapped the remains of his kilt around her head, but it didn’t change the facts. She would die, very soon.

  Her chest fell in labored breaths. There was no part of her untouched by fire, no inch not black and oozing, burned and bloody.

  The first block of limestone exploded, sending shards flying into the air. Cheftu shielded Chloe’s body as he pulled her around a ledge. She was beyond his help. Beyond all but the Almighty’s assistance. He looked up. A beautiful day; how could this be the day that Chloe would die?

  Above him the sun shone golden on the walled city of Jerusalem, this spring equinox, this twenty-third of March. The designated temple grounds with their caverns of—

  “There is one thing, chérie,” he whispered to his unconscious bride. “One way to save you, if God shows His mercy.” He gathered her in his arms and ran to the edge of the outer wall, then up the walkway, up the hill, up the plateau, ever leading up. To God.

  Fabric walls shielded the space, and a gold-encrusted tabernacle graced the center of the flat-topped hill. Priests must be close by, but Cheftu knew the grounds better than they. A wooden trapdoor concealed an entrance to the tunnels beneath the Temple Mount, but Cheftu found it. Opened it and stepped down inside with Chloe.

  It slammed shut above him.

  Sealing him inside the catacombs.

  Pain stabbed at his body, but he ignored it. Engorged blisters on his arms and legs, what felt like deafness in the cool silence of this cavern, were nothing to him. “It’s been so long since we’ve been here, chérie,” he said to her. Years since they had chosen to stay in this place, to make Jerusalem home. A mistake, he knew now. Cheftu swallowed painfully. Thank God she still breathed. Raspy, but alive.

  He adjusted her head on his shoulder to straighten her neck. Cheftu leaned against a smooth-carved wall, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the night all around him. “I don’t remember where the chamber is,” he said. He began to discern the shadows of archways and passages. “But we can find it.”