The Hunt for the Tree of Life (Book One 1)

by Zulu, Arthur

  The many rare water-loving cats in the lake were among the onlookers. They had been deprived of the water that they cherished. Bad news for their specie.

  For the Americans and the Chinese, it seemed a cul-de-sac. They had been three months at the lake, yet found nothing but fishes, which they had been roasting and eating at intervals.

  They now met each other at the center of the lake, where the shallow eastern side descended to the deep west.

  The initial animus between both sides now began to thaw. Why should they not be friends? There was nothing to fight for. The tree was still elusive. There was no victor and no vanquished.

  So both parties exchanged greetings, smiled at one another, and shook hands like good sportsmen and women, as they enjoyed their roast fish and wandered about the bed of the lake.

  There is a tenth century Armenian church in Akdamar Island South of Lake Van, called the Church of the Holy Cross. But because of the mystery surrounding it, it was called the Mystery Church. The church was attended by the royals who ruled in the old Armenian kingdom that flourished there.

  A large cross stands on top of the ancient church and the church windows are made of circular glasses. The church is in a state of dilapidation, having been battered by the elements through the centuries.

  There is a monastery in this church. Many monks lived there in the early history of the church. But today only one monk lives there.

  None of the natives can say they have seen the monk in his coming and going. No one knows how he gets by. Or indeed how he survives for that matter.

  Yet, the locals believe a monk lives in the church. Because there is a lamp hoisted at the church entrance shining continually. Also, folks who dared sail close on their boats have said they heard the ringing of a church bell at the early hours of the morning. No one has seen the ringer of the bell or why he did so. It was not meant to be a call to prayer for no one attended the church.

  The only monk in the church is in his eighties, always devoted to prayers, and reading a worn-out discolored Bible marked at every page.

  His daily chores included the reading of his favorite Scripture—the book of Genesis. It is a simple, yet difficult, book to him. God’s awesome power was displayed there. He would always wonder about the amount of energy that went into the creation of the terrifying cosmos. And the wisdom in the orderly arrangement of the billions of different galaxies in the universe amazes him.

  The earth itself is so marvelous that there is no planet of its kind in the vast universe. Everything about it—its vantage position in the Milky Way Galaxy, its right distance from the sun, the desired tilt that causes change of seasons, the rich vegetation and mountains, the diversity of land and sea creatures, the protective ozone and the sustaining gases of the earth, are all meant to support life. That is God at His best!

  “. . . He the [true] God, the Former of the earth and the Maker of it, He the One who firmly established it, who did not create it simply for nothing, who formed it even to be inhabited . . .”—Isaiah 45:18

  That is one Scripture that he loves to read. Yes, God gave the earth to humankind to live and enjoy. He wondered why Adam and his wife, Eve, refused to take advantage—why they chose to eat a forbidden fruit and got quitted from the beautiful garden. Did they not have plenty delicious fruits to delight their palate in the garden? They must have been ungrateful. Since then, man has set the exquisite earth on the part of ruination, and dying like their fore-parent, Adam and Eve.

  What if Adam had got hold of the tree of life? He and his wife and all their offspring would still have been living happily on this earth today. He will soon pass on and another monk would take his place—to keep the ancient secret that leads to the tree of life.

  The tree of life was in the Garden of Eden. This garden is supposed to be around the Lake Van region. But after Noah’s Flood, it vanished.

  And that two-line Methuselah poem that points the way to it? The monk would always laugh. Methuselah? He never wrote it! The church fathers did—to mask the exact location of Eden and the tree from investigators—and spread the story about the Methuselah stone in the lake and sea. Who would be able to guess the way to Eden with such a confusing poem and symbol? It is not God’s wish!

  Then he would check a vault where a papyrus written in Armenian language contains the direction to the tree of life. Of course, it is always in the vault. It’s rusting now. Who would ever dream that the secret to Eden lies in this old Armenian Church on this desolate island?

  Next, he would take the church telescope to scan the night skies and the lake region—first to admire the beauty of creation and second to make sure that nobody was lurking around. Having satisfied his curiosity, he would pray and go to sleep—rising the next morning to ring a bell of blessing to God, and resume his Bible reading, vault checking, and sky viewing.

  But it seems that he has been seeing some strange faces around the lake area recently. What could the curious strangers be searching for? The tree of life? How did they get the hint to come this close?

  Man is very adventurous, he thought. Do they hope to find the concealed tree and play God? He would always take the telescope and peep at them.

  Well, let them keep searching. They will only reach a dead-end. The church has the key!

  Cheung and Hunter met each other at the middle, holding their digging sticks. They exchanged pleasantries and shook hands. However, it was strange that none of them mentioned the object of their quest – why they were both in Lake Van. It was a taboo subject. How could they talk about the tree of life now?

  “It’s a big lake,” managed Hunter gesturing at the lake to Cheung as he ate his fish.

  “Yes, it is,” answered Cheung taking a bite at his roast fish, too. “But it’s dry now. Can we call it a pit?” he said jokingly.

  “You are right. Let’s call it a giant pit,” replied Hunter.

  “You have the deep side and we have the shallow part,” Cheung said, carrying on with the joke.

  They both laughed.

  “Yet, we both have conquered nothing,” said Hunter.

  Cheung knew what he was alluding to but chose a different topic.

  “We have conquered fishes,” he said.

  They both laughed again. They were enjoying the diplomatic banter.

  “The fish is delicious,” said Hunter.

  “Yes, tastes good, despite the salt,” replied Cheung. “This sediment must contain history,” he continued, driving his stick into the bed beneath his feet.

  “Yes, history of the millennia– things we will never know,” Hunter said.

  However, Cheung was not listening. His stick had suddenly struck something hard—not smooth sediment. He held the fish in his mouth and pushed the stick harder with both hands into the bed.

  “What is it?” Hunter asked.

  “I found something hard below,” Cheung replied.

  What could that be? Hunter thought.

  “Then, hold it, friend, let’s dig,” Hunter said to him. He was calling him friend for the first time.

  The wandering Americans and Chinese saw their leaders stooping over and examining the bed, and rushed down to give them a helping hand. This was getting interesting. They were going to discover this mysterious tree of life together.

  They dug gently below. A stone came in full view. It was lying vertically on the slope like a blackboard on a wall. They were agitated.

  Sure, they were secrets in this lake and they had found one of them!

  A faint writing was visible on the tablet. In their haste, they did not pull it out, but rinsed the surface to satisfy their immediate curiosity.

  Wonderment! It was the second slab of the Methuselah poem that they had just found. This was the two-line confusing poem which reads accordingly in Hebrew:

  השיטפוןבא, וטיאטאאתהעץשלחייםהלאה, אפילועדן+o

  עדיין, הגןוהעץנשארים, כ/כפישאלוהיםפסקבהתחלה+o

&nbs
p; Consternation, bewilderment, and disappointment followed. Why? Had they come to a fork on the road? Had they traveled all the way to Turkey to stare at a stone with a head-scratching message? Imagine the risks and the trouble!

  For a moment, everyone was motionless. What story would they tell back home?

  Then came the moment of acceptance—it was all over now. Fate had done its worse. This tree of life must be a piece of mystery.

  The Chinese did not understand Hebrew. They only guessed that it was the Methuselah poem. Were they two slabs? They never knew.

  Mr. Hunter now wanted to help, wanted to remove a little veil off the eyes of the Chinese. But they would first have to understand English.

  With his stick, he wrote the English translation of the Hebrew poem on the dry ground for them to read:

  The Flood came and swept the tree of life away, even Eden+o

  Yet, the garden and the tree remain, as God decreed at the beginnin’+o

  For the first time, the Chinese saw the correct translation with the ending symbols. And they could not help looking with consternation.

  The curious folks came down the lake to look.

  And at the old Armenian Church known by the local people as the Mystery Church stood the old monk at one of the circular windows with the church telescope.

  He, too, was looking . . .

  The Hunt for the Tree of Life: Book Two

  Free Sample

  Chapter One

  Shocking news! Professor Cramwell stared wide-eyed at Professor Muse, his friend, after listening to a replay of the CD of their bugged telephone discussion. He was dumbfounded to learn that the two beautiful ladies he chatted and shared drinks with were spies. Talk about close shave and dinning with the devil! Was the world so full of secret agents that a man could innocently walk into their waiting hands?

  Professor Cramwell started recalling the events of that day. “I was sitting down with a bottle of cognac at the hotel bar expecting your arrival when the two women walked up to me and politely asked to keep me company,” explained Cramwell to Muse. “And I thought they were heaven sent and quickly obliged them because you asked me to keep two women on arrival during our telephone conversation.”

  The two friends were discussing what happened on Cramwell’s first visit from Boston to meet with Muse in Citizens Hotel, Washington. During that last visit, they didn’t have a chance to talk before Chinese agents kidnapped Muse as soon as Muse arrived to join Cramwell and the women at the hotel. And here was Cramwell listening to a taped discussion that they both earlier had which gave their secret meeting place away to the Chinese abductors.

  Cramwell pinched himself hard to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Yes, it hurt; it was for real that he was sitting on a summer afternoon in his longtime friend’s parlor in Washington who had invited him over for the second time from Boston. They used to be together at Harvard before Muse left for Washington for an assignment unknown to Cramwell.

  “Yes, you played into their hands. They heard our telephone discussion and knew everything. They already learnt we needed two women for the night and that I was coming to meet you at the hotel,” replied Muse. “They were many as you now know. It was a well-planned operation and I was the prime target.” He was sorry for only one thing.

  Cramwell kept mum. He was still trying to compose himself.

  “Ignorance is a bad thing and I regret thinking you scripted my kidnapping,” Muse continued. “That’s what I actually told the U.S. ambassador in Beijing after my captors released me to him. I only found out the truth when I played the CD that we listened to. It was a parting gift from the Chinese agents to me. I was surprised to discover when I played it in my room on the night of my release that it contained our recorded telephone discussion!”

  “I’ve never played traitor all my life. I accept your apology. And to think that they even gave you the taped discussion as a gift? Can I be sure that we aren't being recorded right now?” asked Professor Cramwell, his eyes sweeping the large room.

  “You don’t have to worry. Everything’s secure here,” Muse assured his friend.

  “It’s good we spoke in Harvardspeak in that recorded discussion,” remarked Professor Cramwell, referring to their invented language at Harvard. “They won’t understand a thing.”

  “Yet, it’s no secret anymore.”

  “Yes, your kidnapping made headlines. But you haven’t disclosed what the whole thing is all about. What brought you from Harvard to Washington? What’s this secret thing that you are doing for the White House that triggered your abduction by the Chinese the last time? We even thought it was either Cuban, Iranian or North Korean spies that did it. Those ladies deceived me into thinking that they were North Koreans on vacation in America.”

  “It was a dummy that the Chinese sold to the American government and they bought it, which made my kidnapping successful because the FBI wasn’t looking for the Chinese. As to why I left Harvard to Washington, that’s why I actually asked you to come over. And that was the reason for my call to you that was taped by the Chinese. Now, let’s begin the story. Did you hear today’s breaking news?” asked Muse.

  “Yes, it said Chinese spies were imprisoned at Lake Van in Turkey,” answered Cramwell.

  “You're going to be involved in this thing.”

  “Have I joined the U.S. Navy Seal to embark on epic rescue missions?”

  Professor Muse laughed. “I don’t care if they all perish there anyway,” he said. “I suppose my kidnappers would be among the number. Any rescue attempt would be the business of the Chinese government, not the duty of the U.S. army.”

  “How did they end up there in the first place?”

  “We all heard the breaking news together. There were no details. It's a developing story; we'll get the full information later,” replied Muse.

  “Well, be kind to the spies anyway. They set you free after all.”

  There were many things that Cramwell didn’t know. He suspected his friend knew what went wrong but wasn’t telling.

  “So what’s this thing that I'm supposed to do?” Cramwell asked.

  “Good question. Can you leave Harvard and come over to live here in Washington? The president wants you to join me in my assignment. Will you?”

  “You're my friend but you haven’t told me what it’s all about.”

  “I can’t tell you anything now. I took an oath before taking up the work. You'll have to take an oath of secrecy after you agree, too.”

  Cramwell gazed at his friend and wondered which came first. Shouldn’t he be told what the work was before taking the oath?

  And why tell him to forsake his Hebrew classes at Harvard for the unknown? Has Muse moved house and suddenly forgotten his friend’s love for the language? Does the Potomac make Washingtonians forget? If for anything, he loved the rambunctious students, and they won’t let him go.

  In fact, Cramwell had penned down a set of debating Bible questions for the semester. He remembered the argumentative questions: “Do souls eat food or not?” “Did the sun really stand still over Gibeon?” “What’s the difference between hell and hell fire?” The students would sure tear one another to pieces over the questions. Just as they had argued over how many times God made light and how many times the Israelites crossed the Red Sea.

  Professor Cramwell had also started the students’ Hebrew-to-Greek vocabulary building. They had known, for example, that the Hebrew word Sheol means Hades in Greek, besides several other words. But now they were going to do Greek-to-Hebrew words. He wanted to ask the students to find a Hebrew word for the Greek word Anastasis. In fact, he planned to hold up one hundred dollar note as the prize for the best answer.

  As he thought of it, he remembered a particular female student who liked screaming and who will keep shouting to drown the others with her answer. And he had knowledge of a male student who will jump to snatch the dollar bill from him without making any attempt at the question. Students! He, too, was one.

&nb
sp; Professor Cramwell enjoyed all of these. So why was his friend telling him now to abandon what he knew and loved to what he wasn’t familiar with?

  Cramwell thought that Muse asked him to fly from Boston to Washington to recite the Bible to politicians, earn some good money and return to Boston. That would have been fine. He would stand there in the Capitol Hill and recite from Genesis to Revelation!

  “I can’t think of anything that'll make me leave my students at Harvard,” he replied.

  Then Muse knew that he would have to tell his friend what he liked to hear. And indeed what he was going to say was true.

  “It’s a work you'll enjoy doing. It’s all about these things,” Muse said pointing to the bookshelf in his library. “The only difference is that you won’t be teaching students at the university. You’ll only need the books to explain some writing.”

  “A kind of literary interpretation?”

  “That’s the word. Interpreting some quaint Hebrew literature.”

  At the mention of Hebrew literature, Cramwell’s face lit up.

  “You'll be living right next to me. Come, let me show you,” Muse said to him.

  They rose, walked across the sitting room to the window, and Muse raised the window blind.

  “That guarded apartment will be yours for life. You'll have a cook and house servants like me. And there'll be a library of Hebrew literature for your consultation.”

  Cramwell’s face lit brighter.

  “And what's more?” Professor Muse continued. “We've an opportunity to travel round the world!”

  Professor Cramwell smiled broadly as they strolled back to their seats. How could he reject the generous presidential offer? Wasn’t he ashamed when two globe-trotting ladies, who he now knew as Chinese spies educated him about East Africa?

  “Tell the president I'll gladly accept the offer. I need some drinks right now. Let the belated Champagne Summit begin!”