The Cairo Codex

by Linda Lambert

  Nasser parked in the driveway and unloaded their bags at the bottom of a stairwell leading to the house above. The villas were built on two levels: the lower level opened onto a patio and garden, the upper level held a more commanding view from two terraces. “Let me show you around,” he offered as he opened the door at the top of the stairs. A small entryway led to a kitchen, living room, two bedrooms, and a covered terrace; on the floor above were two more bedrooms and a stairwell to an open terrace on the roof.

  Nasser placed Justine’s two small bags in the southern bedroom on the second floor. “This room has the long view,” he noted, “through the gardens, miles of white beach, the sea, and the mountains of the Sinai beyond.” Justine stood by the window as the last remains of dark blue and purple gave way to a star-filled night. She was grateful to have the privacy of the second floor to herself.

  “Thank you. I think I’d like to change clothes and freshen up a bit,” she said. After the drive, she would relish a few moments alone. The villa was only an hour and a half from the outskirts of Cairo, but it had taken an hour just to get through the city.

  “I’ll meet you on the terrace,” he replied, partially shutting her door.

  She sat on the side of the bed facing the window. Why had she felt awkward during the drive? She hated secrets, yet had to be careful not to cross any more boundaries about the codex. Deliberately leaving information out of a casual conversation was difficult.

  Ornate Muslim prayer beads hung on the wall above the bed; antiques from Nasser’s family shop gave the room a twentieth-century aura. Justine opened the larger of the two bags, hung up a few outfits, and placed the rest of her clothes in the large walnut dresser. Changing into a light green silk blouse and cotton skirt, she set her dark green shawl on the end of the bed and slipped into buckskin sandals. As she brushed her hair and touched up her lipstick in the ornate mirror above the dresser, she asked herself again: Why didn’t I tell Nasser about the incident at Wadi Natrun? I’ve already told him about the codex.

  She took a long, deep breath, examining herself. Sometimes her image surprised her, as though it was someone else she was viewing in the mirror. After all, her mother was the striking beauty in the family. She resembled neither her mother nor father; some said she had a likeness to her Italian grandmother. Having chestnut hair and amber eyes, rather than the classic dark coloring of her mother’s country, made it more difficult for her to call herself Egyptian. She turned away from her reflection and climbed another set of stairs to the third-floor terrace.

  Nasser sat gazing toward the southeast, an opened bottle of Grand Marquis cabernet and two filled glasses beside him on the wrought iron table. “I always find it difficult to believe that I’m looking at Asia from here.” He had changed into a lightweight pale blue sweater and tan slacks. “Wine?”

  “Love it,” Justine said, choosing a chair facing the lights on the southern horizon. “I find it amazing that we’re actually sitting in Africa. Somehow, Egypt seems a continent unto itself.” She paused. “How long has your family been coming to this villa?”

  “About a year. This is a new development. As you may have noticed, the project is still being built, and many of the houses are not yet occupied. Since my father and his colleague work with the government, we got in on the ground floor. We bought it in partnership with the El Bakrs.”

  “It’s so quiet here—as though the continent were pausing before handing over its power to Asia,” she said.

  “Mm . . . personifying these continents helps us to understand their uneasy relationship. As you suggest, Egypt doesn’t really identify with either one.” He lit two candles as a nearly full moon crawled up from behind the mountains of the Sinai. “We might not need these candles.”

  “Not with that moon,” she said and sipped her wine.

  They fell silent for a few moments, then Nasser said, “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” she replied, intoxicated by the wine and the evening air. The moonlight.

  “I thought you said something. You often wiggle your nose when you’re starting to speak.” The night’s soft glow highlighted his even, rugged features and crooked smile.

  Justine laughed softly.

  “Do you have secrets? Childhood secrets? Tell me two that no one else knows.”

  “Ah, a social pact,” Justine whispered flirtatiously. “I’ll tell you secrets if you tell me some of yours.”

  He grinned. “It’s a deal. When I was in high school I read one of my sister’s diaries.”

  “You read your sister’s diary? What a terrible thing to do! A capital offense,” Justine exclaimed with feigned seriousness. “Was it interesting?”

  He chuckled. “It was not, although it seemed scandalous at the time. She was crazy about a boy in her class. It was filled with pages of how terribly in love she was.”

  “Did she go out with him? Marry him?”

  “No. It turned out to be just a fantasy. He didn’t even know she existed. And you?” He lifted a picnic basket from the floor to one of the chairs. Justine reached in and began to set out the feast that she had brought along. Cold chicken, labna, baladi bread, stuffed zucchini, and fruit.

  “I cheated at cards,” Justine admitted, opening each container.

  “Do you still cheat at cards?” When she nodded, he added, “I’m not sure that anyone who cheats at cards can be trusted,” then winked.

  She laughed. “You’re probably right. You can’t trust me.” The wink sent a warm pulse through her body. “Your turn.” She passed the chicken and zucchini.

  “When I was a child, small enough to fit under a table or behind a stuffed chair, I used to listen in when my parents and their friends would talk politics. I think many of my ideas were formed then,” he said, filling his plate.

  “What did they talk about? What ideas stayed with you?” She spread labna on her baladi bread.

  “Remember, that was twenty-five years ago. New countries were forming in Africa, colonization was finally dissolving, the Cold War gave everything an ominous feel. My father said when the U.S. didn’t need us anymore, they’d discard us like yesterday’s fish.”

  “My parents talked the same way. As you know, my father is American and my mother Egyptian. Even during intense discussions, my father remained optimistic, as you would know.” She cut the mangos and papayas into small slices.

  Nasser nodded, swallowed a slice of mango, then grinned. “What other wicked behavior are you guilty of?”

  “I read Lady Chatterley’s Lover when I was fifteen. My grandmother had quite a collection of D.H. Lawrence’s works. I hid under the blanket with a flashlight—just in case Dad wandered in. Is that what you mean by ‘wicked’?”

  “Charming . . . very risqué.”

  She was enthralled with his lips as they sensuously encircled the mango. “I read it again a few years ago.”

  “And?” Nasser tilted his head, a spark in his dark blue eyes.

  “I think I understand it now,” she said, relishing her own fruit, its sumptuous flavors and texture.

  “Perhaps you’re not as innocent as you seem.”

  “Innocent?” She was disappointed. Does that make me unapproachable?

  “You’re always elegant and uncreased, a little untouchable. You remind me of a beautiful doll on my sister’s bed with flaxen hair and a delicate, creamy complexion. So healthy looking.”

  “What would it take to get you to see me otherwise?” she challenged. “Dirt on my face? Arm wrestling? A sweaty competition?”

  “I could go for the arm wrestling,” Nasser replied with a broadening grin. “But right now I would settle for a walk on the beach. You’ll need a shawl.”

  Justine stopped by her room and picked up the green shawl. Am I so inexperienced, unsophisticated? Do others see me this way? She realized that she was still standing in the middle of the room.

  “Are you ready?” Nasser called from the landing.

  “I’m coming.”

>   They walked side by side down the earthen path leading east. As the path turned to sand, Nasser took her hand and held on, moving them closer to the silvery black sea. The sand was still warm from the sun, but the air held a chill. She welcomed the coziness of the shawl and Nasser’s touch.

  “Tell me,” she said softly, “what do you think is up there?” Vibrant stars blanketed the sky as though they were inside a planetarium.

  “Up there? You mean like another civilization, or heaven?”

  “Like that. Another universe, another existence . . . or something after death. I mean both, I guess.” It was easy to talk in the dark, walking so close they could feel each other’s breath.

  “I guess I believe in both. Another civilization on another planet far away. I don’t think I could be a good scientist if I didn’t. And I believe there is something more after death. I’m not so sure of its geography.”

  Justine sensed his amusement. “And what’s it like, this afterlife of yours?”

  “I wouldn’t call it mine,” he emphasized, “but I believe the hereafter is made up of countless heavenly realms and countless hellish realms. If we create a heavenly consciousness within ourselves here on earth, we will later experience a heavenly outer realm. And it follows that if we create hell within, we will later experience an outer realm of hell as well.”

  “You’ve thought a great deal about this, haven’t you? It sounds very Buddhist . . . or Gnostic. But who are we?” She steered him to a bench near the path, where they could sit facing each other.

  His gaze fixed on her face, sending a warm pulse of desire through her. “At one time I told you I was a Christian of sorts. I am a Nazarene Essene. We think of ourselves as a Buddhist branch of the original Christianity. Our sect existed before Christianity, grew up in the area around Mt. Carmel, and has long considered Jesus Christ the true manifestation of both the Divine Father and the Only Begotten Son.”

  She was surprised. “I thought the Essenes disappeared hundreds of years ago, or at least fused into Christianity.”

  “We’re very much a living sect. And we’ve fused more deliberately with the Buddhists and Sufis in recent centuries.” He took her hand in his. “Are you warm enough?”

  She nodded, drawing an ankh in the sand with the tip of her sandal.

  “What do you believe is beyond?” Nasser asked.

  “If there is something else, I don’t think it’s a place. Perhaps it’s a state of mind. I think we can find bliss while we’re still on earth. I’d like to find such a state of mind here that would carry me on through the hereafter.”

  He nodded. “You once told me there were two great terrors to overcome—one was the fear of punishment after death. Does your notion of the hereafter conquer that fear?”

  “Somewhat. But the responsibility to create your own Heaven through your consciousness is a bit overwhelming. A burden of sorts.”

  “Those are ambitious thoughts,” he said. “Perhaps we want it all. Nazarene Essenes believe that the entire universe is a cosmic school system for the education of souls. This is how I think about my life.”

  “I like that,” she said. “Very much.” She fell silent, listening to the sea. Do I want it all? Am I a part of this cosmic school system? “I probably do want it all,” she finally said, “but I hadn’t thought of it in that way.” She looked up at him. “It’s starting to get chilly. Shall we head back?”

  Strolling back toward the villa, Justine noticed a particularly huge star emitting large spokes of light that made it appear to be a child’s drawing of the star of Bethlehem. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing toward the southern horizon.

  “Some say it is a space station, others say the North Star, some say it’s Mars or Venus, others say it’s something even more mysterious, like an alien ship.”

  “Others?” she teased. “How many women have you brought here?”

  “Just you,” he said.

  Justine slipped out of the quiet house the next morning for a run. Back in her room, she stepped into a one-piece black swimsuit and a put on a white cotton shirt. Placing sunscreen, glasses, and a sarong into her canvas bag, she recalled the day when she’d pulled the codex out of a duplicate of this very bag. Little had she known that the small book would pry open her need for adventure even as she attended to her new job and attempted to define her life. She had a devil of a time pulling those three things apart. You probably can’t have all, she realized, even though she’d told Nasser last night that she could.

  Nasser was waiting with a cup of tea. “Milk? Lemon? Sugar?” he asked, eyeing her appreciatively as she descended the stairs. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Just a little milk, thank you. The best sleep I’ve had in a long time. I was quite energized this morning. And you?”

  “I slept long and well. Just woke up. I thought I heard you leave the house this morning.”

  “My morning run. I’m quite addicted,” she said, somewhat guiltily. She hadn’t invited him. “Join me tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely. I’d love to. I see you’re already dressed for the beach—I’ll be ready in a few moments.”

  “I’ll just drink my tea on the terrace while you change.” She smiled. In the morning light she could distinguish flowers planted in orderly rows around the paths, leading toward the sparkling water: blazing yellow acacia, a few flamboyant royal palms and fan palms, hibiscus, birds of paradise, oleander, crepe myrtle, and generous bougainvillea climbing up onto several terraces. Two hoopoes drew her attention—beautiful birds, starkly black and white, like little penguins.

  Walking with Nasser toward the sea, Justine pointed to small rattan umbrellas scattered like Chinese hats along the southern beach. The atmosphere was buoyant, invigorating, as if the air had more oxygen here. None of it seemed real.

  Nasser spread two large towels under an umbrella and set a small chest of water to the side. “Do you swim? What a silly question. Would you like to swim?”

  “There are some things I can’t do!” she insisted.

  “Such as?”

  “I’ll think of something,” she laughed, and ran toward the water.

  They swam for almost an hour before emerging exhausted from the warm sea and throwing themselves onto the waiting towels. Nasser brushed the sand from Justine’s feet while she dried her hair with the edge of the towel. “Do you know how to play siga?”

  “Siga? Never heard of it,” she said, turning onto her elbows.

  Nasser rolled onto his stomach and drew four parallel lines in the sand, then crossed them with four perpendicular lines. “It is an ancient Egyptian game.” It looked like tic-tac-toe. He gathered a small handful of shells for Justine and kept an assortment of pebbles for himself. “The objective of the game is somewhat like chess; each player aims to take the pieces of the opponent. Let’s play a practice game.” After Nasser had won three games and Justine the fourth, she called a truce.

  Leaning on one elbow, they faced each other. “I’ve been thinking about our discussion last night about the Nazarene Essenes. Will you tell me more?”

  “Let’s see . . . what would be of most interest? We believe in what we call an Order of One, meaning that the Godhead is One, yet made up of a sort of trinity: the Godhead, or source, who is neither male nor female; the father, or only begotten son; and the mother, or only begotten daughter. The cosmic union between the Father God and the Mother God brought forth Creation.”

  “Only begotten daughter? A woman goddess in the trinity? Has she arrived on the scene yet?”

  “I don’t think so. We have something to look forward to.” Nasser smiled at her excitement. “We believe in the equality of women. And, clearly, some women are more equal than others.” He threw a handful of sand across her legs. “We also believe that people with special powers can channel knowledge from the ancients.”

  “Such as?”

  “Ever heard of Edgar Cayce?”

  “A famous channeler, wasn’t he? In the early part of the last
century, I think.”

  “Correct. He was a Nazarene Essene. Much of our recent knowledge about the time of Jesus Christ was channeled though Cayce. For instance, what Jesus was doing during the ‘silent years.’”

  “‘Silent years’?” The ones before he started his ministry?”

  “Exactly. Except for the story of his chasing the Rabbis out of the Temple at age twelve, we knew little about him.”

  “But you do now?”

  “More or less. Cayce revealed that Jesus was not raised as a Jew, but lived among the Essenes, perhaps at Mt. Carmel. That would account for many of his teachings, which seem in sharp contrast to Jewish law at the time. In one of the last years of Cayce’s life—1922, I believe––he gave a speech in Alabama where he noted that DaVinci had understood that Mary Magdalene was an important disciple and painted her to the right of Jesus in his work The Last Supper.”

  “So that’s where Dan Brown got the idea for The DaVinci Code!”

  “No doubt. Even more interesting, I think, is what the findings at Nag Hammadi revealed. Those scrolls contained many of the Essene scriptures, such as notions about the Godhead, women, and the symbolism of the resurrection.”

  “Those finds are more familiar to me. We learned in Alexandria that some of them are still being translated.”

  “Now it’s my turn to be amazed. I had no idea that there might be more scriptures to come.” Nasser smoothed sunscreen on Justine’s back and arms. “These straw umbrellas are deceptive: the sun’s rays come right through them.”

  A wave of desire moved though her thighs as Nasser massaged her. “For Lucretius, the poet my mother was named for, truth was the cornerstone of moral behavior and free will allowed us to choose truthfulness. Without choice, we cannot take responsibility for our actions.” As she relaxed under his touch, she wondered where her choices would take her before the weekend was over. “This massage feels awfully good. And that is the absolute truth.” She laughed, turning to brush a curl out of Nasser’s eye.