“Shalom, my friends,” Viktor called out. “Is something amiss?”
Head down, legs pumping, James maintained his pace, oblivious to Viktor’s call.
His brother John skidded to a stop, gasping for breath. “Come with us,” he wheezed.
“I was about to look for something to eat.”
“Forget about your belly,” John roared with a wide, toothy grin. “Come along and receive some nourishment for your soul. Come now, do not delay.”
Leaping to his feet, Viktor quickly worked his way around the jagged outcropping and chased his friends along the beach. But before he was able to catch up, the brothers disappeared onto one of the many footpaths that snaked between the green hills above the lake. Viktor followed, slipping and sliding on the wet trail. Clambering past one of the dwindling pilgrim encampments, he noticed a group of children huddled beneath a dripping canopy, each clutching an empty bowl in their dirty hands, their eyes trained on the firepit where two cooks tended the communal stew pot. With no other adults in sight Viktor called out to the cooks. As they stepped out from the shadows of the tent, he was not surprised to see who was caring for the abandoned children.
“Eliana! Lucilius! It is fortuitous to see you here. Something is happening.” Viktor gestured to the empty trail where the brothers had raced past. “John and James are in a rush about something. Come with me. Let us join them and see what they are so excited about.”
Lucilius was immediately at Viktor’s side. But Eliana balked.
“You two go ahead,” she said. “These little ones need to be fed. For some reason, their parents have all disappeared. I will follow after the children have eaten. Go on. Go!”
Now with Lucilius in tow, Viktor turned and sprinted up the footpath. The rain had stopped, but the footing was treacherous. It was obvious that a crowd had passed, turning the pathway into a quagmire. Struggling up one slope only to slide uncontrollably down the other side, they worked their way through the hills. Hooking a sandal in a tree root, Viktor sprawled headlong into the brush. Barely breaking stride, Lucilius hauled him unceremoniously to his feet and they were off again. Up and down…slipping and sliding.
The storm had passed and the sky began to brighten. Cleansed by the rain, the air sparkled and the sweet scent of field lilies floated on a warming breeze. Up ahead in the distance, Viktor could see a crowd gathered together in a secluded glen. All heads were turned toward a lone figure who stood atop a mound at the far end of the narrow valley. Back to the east, the heavy clouds were breaking up and a glorious sun burst through the gaps, lighting the countryside with dazzling streamers of sunshine. The golden radiance swept across the valley like a searchlight, emblazoning the blossom-covered knoll where the man stood facing the gathering. Ignoring his fatigue, Viktor ran as if chasing a dream.
CHAPTER 80
Present-Day Israel
Robert Jankowski sat motionless in a faux leather recliner beside the communication console. Waiting…waiting. He didn’t need to. He could answer a call from anywhere in the apartment. The darn communication modules were everywhere. But he sat there like a darn fool, staring at the infernal contraption for the third straight day. And like the proverbial watched pot, it refused to cooperate, mocking him with its silence. So he sat there watching the crisp ribbons of sunshine—cast by the window blinds—creep slowly across the carpet. Watching motes of dust drift languorously on the stuffy air through the alternating bands of shadow and light. Listening to the tick of his old-fashioned analog wristwatch mark the unrelenting passage of time. Soon, Janka would be delivering his dinner. She would chat for a few minutes like a dutiful daughter, collect yesterday’s platter, and be gone. And then another long night alone with his thoughts. Still he waited, motionless, as time passed him by. Finally… mercifully…the communicator warbled to life.
“Robert Jankowski here,” he shouted to the empty room.
“Good afternoon, Professor. This is Aaron Gitelman. Sorry for not getting back to you sooner. We’ve had a bit of a problem at the Jericho site. You know how it is. The excavation wasn’t properly buttoned up before the storm moved in and it made a mess of things. But we have it all cleaned up now. No real harm done. When I got back to Jerusalem this morning, the results of the DNA analysis were already back from the lab. I was quite surprised. The lab has more work than it can handle these days. Their typical turnaround is running about four months. I had to pull a few strings to get them to rush the evaluation.”
“That’s wonderful. Thank you, Aaron. I appreciate your consideration. I’m not sure this old heart could survive a four-month wait.”
“No problem, Professor. You made a big impact on me back when I was a student. You really inspired me to make archeology my life’s work. I’m indebted to you, sir. And happy to be of assistance. But I have some rather unpleasant news for you. I’m afraid our investigation uncovered an elaborate hoax…what can only be described as a recklessly misguided and criminally destructive prank. For what purpose, I cannot fathom. I have never seen anything like this. I’m thinking it might have something to do with your lectures back in the day. You know what I mean…how you asked us to look for your name on ancient tombs. I’m not trying to insinuate that you are in any way at fault, sir. We all knew it was just a joke. It’s difficult to comprehend the mind-set of someone who would go to such lengths to fabricate such a sophisticated ruse. Whatever the reason, tampering with priceless artifacts is not only a moral and ethical disgrace, it’s a serious punishable crime. The Antiquities Authority has a zero-tolerance policy concerning this type of thing. I promise I will not rest until the people responsible for this outrage are brought to justice. And I promise, your good name will never be associated with this matter.”
“I appreciate that, Aaron. Tell me what happened.”
“Well…as I explained to you last time, we had previously removed several bones from the ossuary to perform a genetic analysis on cells extracted from the marrow. The lab was able to isolate a cluster of viable cells and obtained excellent results. The Anthropology Department is using this data to chart the ethnic origins of early Christians. And they reported that the DNA markers for this individual are fairly consistent with inhabitants of the region during the first century. Basically Middle Eastern ancestry with some evidence of northern European origins. Which by itself is not uncommon, since the Romans were importing slaves from all over the empire. And they were also known to encourage their soldiers to intermarry with indigenous populations. Plus major trade routes like the Via Maris and the King’s Highway brought all manner of foreigners through the area. But of course, you know all this already.”
“Yes, son. Please continue.”
“Well…as you requested, after I received the DNA profile from your cancer treatment, I arranged for a rush on the comparative analysis. Now…I have to admit, it was an odd request. But I do not, in any way, question your motives. Your body of work and your reputation are above reproach. And I feel that your contribution to the field warrants a certain degree of…of indulgence, if you will. Few people in our field have your knowledge or your experience. So I have to assume that you have good reason for this request. That you are pursuing a valid avenue of research. Am I correct in that assumption, Professor?”
“Yes, Aaron. Of course.”
“Very good. Before I sent the data to the lab for the comparative analysis, I removed all identifying information as to the origin of the samples. So neither your identity nor the disparity in the age of the samples would be revealed to the technicians. This way, we could be assured of completely unbiased results. For all they knew, the genetic profiles could have come from the remains in adjacent tombs, or even from a criminal forensic investigation. But this is where it gets rather strange…”
“Please tell me. What did you find?”
“Well, to put it bluntly, Professor, the results of the analysis on the bones—bones carbon dated to the first century—show a near perfect match to your DNA profile. Ba
sed solely on this examination, that ancient man could have been your son.”
CHAPTER 81
Ancient Palestine (circa 30 CE)
Viktor stopped at the edge of the meadow to catch his breath while Lucilius continued on, working his way through the gathering directly to the front where the chosen ones stood talking to the speaker. The man atop the knoll was obviously a friend of theirs. Maybe it was Philip. He had been expected to arrive for days now. The man looked like the rest of them, about the same age, same clothing, same warm smile. While the crowd waited for the speaker to begin, he chatted animatedly with the other chosen ones. They appeared to be having a joyful time, like family at a reunion. Viktor could hear John’s booming laughter rolling above the murmur of the gathering. Lucilius was right there beside them, but for some reason the Roman looked troubled. Viktor could clearly see it, even from a distance.
Viktor lingered out on the periphery, taking it all in. The glen was crowded with all kinds of people. Mostly visitors, but quite a few townspeople were in attendance, conspicuous in their spotless finery. Is this what these people have been waiting for, to hear this man speak? he wondered. Is this why their dreams have summoned them to Capernaum? Or is this just a way to break the boredom of another day of waiting? Viktor couldn’t be certain. He hadn’t received the summons himself. He hadn’t had the dreams. So he watched the gathering from the sidelines as a few more people trickled in and the chosen ones chatted with the speaker from the bottom of the knoll.
The morning storm was a swiftly fading memory. The sunshine was warm on Viktor’s shoulders, drying the chill from his damp cloak. As his eyes roamed the crowd, Eliana slipped silently beside him, taking his hand in hers. Despite the charcoal smear on her cheek, a mud-splattered robe, and the acrid fragrance of wood smoke, she radiated a purity of mind and spirit. He still marveled at his luck in finding such a woman. No, not luck—a blessing. She glanced at him, a smile touching her lips, an unspoken question in her eyes. Viktor shrugged in reply and they both looked back to the knoll.
The chosen ones had seated themselves at the foot of the low mound, forming a tight semicircle, John and James sturdily anchoring the ends. Across the meadow, the murmur of the crowd died away as the speaker moved to the highest point of the mound and raised his hands above his head. Even the songbird and the honeybee seemed to pause in their duties as the gathering waited in anticipation for what the man had to say.
Viktor listened closely to the speaker’s words…reassuring words, inspiring words, perceptive and powerful words. He had never heard such a voice. Softly spoken, yet the words seemed to go straight from the man’s lips to his ears alone. And from there, directly into his heart. He had heard many speeches by countless military commanders and politicians and sectarian demagogues. With all their posturing and pageantry and electronic amplification, they couldn’t hold a candle to this humble man standing alone on the knoll.
Viktor looked to where Lucilius sat in rapt attention. Not long ago, he was the enemy…a Roman soldier. Now he was like a brother. In fact the whole meadow was filled with brothers and sisters. That’s how the speaker referred to them. And that’s how it felt. The man atop the blossom-covered knoll was an extraordinary orator, surely a rabbi, maybe even a rabbinical scholar or a member of the Sanhedrin, though he surely didn’t look like one. The assembly sat as one. Yet each individual heard the message as if it was meant for them alone. Viktor could see it in their faces. And despite the current situation in Palestine, the speaker’s topics were surprisingly apolitical. He spoke primarily of God and faith and love. He implored the audience to love one another. To love the unlovable. Even to love their enemies. Viktor found the speaker’s words to be inspiring and profoundly moving, words he would never forget, words that would sustain him through the many perilous years to come.
Concluding his address with a prayer and a blessing, the speaker moved once again to the front of the knoll where he spoke privately with the chosen ones. As the gathering broke up and the throng began to disperse, many moved toward the knoll, but the speaker and the chosen ones had already disappeared up a distant footpath. Eliana looked into the awestruck face of her betrothed, tenderly brushing a clump of dried mud from his hair, concern furrowing her brow. He looked so thin. She wondered when he had last eaten. After securing a distracted promise that he would stop at the encampment for some food, she kissed his cheek and headed back to check on the children.
Viktor watched the assembly stream past him toward the pathway to the lake, his mind churning, his heart full, his legs not yet willing to take him away from the place. Suddenly, Lucilius seemed to materialize from out of nowhere, detaching himself from the crowd, tears spilling down his ruddy cheeks. Throwing his huge arms around Viktor’s shoulders, the one-time Roman centurion embraced the former Jewish slave. “I was so misguided, my brother,” the fearsome warrior sobbed. “Please help me atone for what I have done.”
CHAPTER 82
Present-Day Israel
Taking his mentor’s silence for disapproval, Aaron Gitelman rambled on, mortified to be reporting such unprecedented foolishness to an eminent scholar like Dr. Robert Jankowski. “I don’t know how this hoax was perpetrated. How in the world could these scoundrels obtain your DNA, somehow inject it into those relics, and then place them back inside an apparently undisturbed burial vault? And to what purpose? What’s to be gained? It’s simply beyond comprehension. I’m at a loss, Professor. None of my crew was involved in this criminal act, I assure you. I’ll stake my reputation on it.”
“I believe you, Aaron. Surely no respectable archeologist would even think of doing such a thing.”
Gitelman hesitated, the silence stretching as he considered how to frame his next question. “Professor…I have to ask…would you, by any chance, have any knowledge of how or why this was done?”
“No, of course not. Do you think I would condone tampering with artifacts?”
“No sir, I do not. I apologize, but I had to ask. I had to hear it directly from you. Because I’m afraid there’s even more foolishness.”
“More? What else did you find?”
“Just more misguided shenanigans. As I said, the weather caught the site by surprise, and the only way to save the remaining relics was to remove them posthaste. Under those conditions, the field crew did an exemplary job of protecting and documenting the findings. There was no cross-contamination between the crypts. We are certain of that. In the process of removing the remains of this individual, after they had carefully cleared the debris from the damaged ossuary, the crew found a small limestone tablet beneath the bone pile. As you might suspect, it’s in rather poor condition since the lid of the ossuary had probably collapsed many centuries ago. And the tablet’s placement subjected it to the biological degradation of decomposition. Still, it’s surprisingly legible. One surface of the tablet is inscribed with a prayer written in Greek and decorated with religious symbols. It is a priceless and irreplaceable early Christian relic. Sadly, the reverse side was maliciously defaced with a crude inscription. It looks rather clumsy…the engraving is in low relief…the text disproportionate…and it’s clearly written in what, once again, appears to be Modern English. Obviously a contemporary alteration. But the lab tested it, just to be certain. And inexplicably, the patina scraped from inside this appalling desecration carbon dates to the same period as the ossuary…the same period as the obverse side of the tablet…the first century. It has all of us scratching our heads as to how in the world these vandals managed to pull this off. It appears authentic. But of course, it isn’t. How could it be? Modern English didn’t develop until the fifteenth century. And besides that…it’s addressed to you.”
“Addressed to me? What does the inscription say?”
“Let’s see. The site manager emailed me a computer-enhanced photo yesterday. I have it here somewhere. Hold on…here it is. Remember now, this is written in Modern English. It says, Tell Professor Jankowski to rejoice in his faith. For he i
s one of those who has not seen and yet believes. He is truly blest.”
The Emmanuel Project Page 28
