by R D Hathaway
Matthias relaxed in his chair. He cut off a piece of an apple and ate it.
“Professor, I don’t see why anyone is interested in those things, those dead things.”
Professor Justus nearly choked on another bite of apple. “I’m sorry. Those dead things?”
“You know, all those mummies from Egypt. Kenny said their body parts are kept in jars. This Bloomsbury area is right in the middle of all of this, I call it ‘witchcraft.’ It’s too mysterious. I’ll just say that. It’s mysterious.”
Mrs. Whitley’s head rocked to punctuate each of her statements.
“Yes ma’am, the Near Eastern Collection is a fascinating array of ancient artifacts, and you are right about the mystery attached to them.”
“Well,” she interrupted. “It’s more than that. The Temple is not far from here you know, and that is about as mysterious a place as can be. And, the Mason’s place is not far from here.”
Matthias leaned back in his chair. “The Mason’s place? You mean a Masonic Lodge?”
She swiveled around and looked at him. “Do you know about that?”
“There’s a Mason’s organization in Iowa.”
“What! In Iowa!” She shook her hands. “You see; they’re everywhere. These mystery places are everywhere, even in Iowa, in America.”
Matthias chuckled softly. “Please tell me about the Temple. I’m not familiar with that. Is it near here?”
“Oh, no, no. It may be a couple of miles. But you don’t want to go there.”
“Really, why not?”
“It’s an ancient place, full of old things. You know, those knights that were in the Crusades. That was their place, and who knows what’s in there. It’s mysterious.”
“Knights, and the Crusades; do you mean the Knights Templar?”
Mrs. Whitley swung around. She pointed a large knife at Matthias. “Them’s the ones. The Knights Templar. What do you know about them?”
“Well, not much, other than they had a devotion to protect Christian artifacts. You say they have a place here, a Temple?”
Mrs. Whitley turned back to the cabinet. She unwrapped a piece of raw meat and chopped off large chunks. She said nothing for a few moments. She laid down the knife and moved to the sink to wash and dry her hands. The determined little woman looked back at Matthias. “Professor, there is good and evil in the world. One often finds them in the same place, especially if it’s mysterious.”
Matthias swallowed the last bite and put his plate in the sink. When he started to rinse it, Mrs. Whitley grabbed the dish out of his hands.
“Here, now, that’s not men’s work. So, what time do you have to be at work professor?”
“The information letter said that work hours began at 9 o’clock, but I’d like to be there early. I’m not sure how long it takes on Monday morning to get there. It’s only about six blocks or so. Perhaps, if I leave before 8:30 I’ll be fine.”
“Well, it might only be fifteen minutes,” she responded. “But, be careful of those motorcars. They are all over now. They will as soon run you down as they would blast more soot into the air. Did you have a motorcar in Iowa, Professor?”
“I did. It was a Model T Roadster. I got it new in ’19.”
Mrs. Whitley glared at him.
“Well, it was necessary. You see, Iowa is quite rural, so to go from one place to the next, well, uh, …”
“And, I suppose a horse isn’t good enough.”
“Oh, no. I enjoy riding. I grew up on the farm. I’d better get up to my room and get my things together.”
Matthias took a few steps toward the stairs and then stopped. He looked back at Mrs. Whitley. “Thank you, ma’am, for breakfast. I enjoyed it, and I appreciated our visit.”
Without turning around, Mrs. Whitley raised her right hand and gave a light wave.
As Matthias prepared to leave for his first day at the British Museum, Mrs. Whitley handed him a tin box. It was a few inches deep and big enough to hold a large book.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s just a little food, dear. A man’s first day on a new job, sometimes he’ll need a bite, and I don’t know if you’ll be able to get out for lunch.”
“Mrs. Whitley, this is very nice. Thank you.”
“Well, get off then, now. You don’t want to be late for your first day on the job.”
“I will ma’am and thank you for helping me feel so at home in this new place.”
“Professor, you’re paying me well for it.”
Matthias eased his leather attaché bag off a wooden peg in the hallway and swung the strap onto his shoulder. He released a buckle on the bag and lifted the flap to check what was inside. There were two silver pens and a leather writing portfolio with a small stack of writing papers. He placed the metal tin in the bag, looked at the front door of the boarding house, took a deep breath, and headed for his new job.
As he strolled down the wide sidewalk, all of his senses were drinking in the historic city. The roar of the cars and trucks, the chatter of many dialects, the acrid smell of the air, and the dazzling array of clothing styles reminded him he was far from Indianola, Iowa. He was not sure which was real and which was a dream, London or Iowa.
He didn’t notice that people stared at him as he strolled down the sidewalk, with his brisk gait, studying everything. He was in the greatest city in the world, and he was on his way to work at the greatest of all museums.
When he came to the corner of Drury and Broad Street, he wanted to run across the street, but decided to enjoy the pause in his adventure. Standing near him was an attractive woman dressed far better than any he had ever seen. The refinement of exquisite cloth, lace trim, and pearl buttons gave her a regal presence. He tried to observe her without her noticing his attention.
He saw her chin turn slightly in his direction and her eye move, perhaps catching him in her peripheral vision. He reached up and touched up the brim of his hat. “Good morning, ma’am.”
Her chin quickly turned forward again.
“Oh, sorry ma’am. I’m from America, and this is my first trip to London.”
His heart was racing. He turned and looked in another direction. In his peripheral vision, he noticed her chin turn toward him again. The corners of her mouth curled up.
With a break in traffic, he dashed across the street. As he continued down the sidewalk, he looked into the shop windows and then out to the street. He found himself wondering where the woman worked. Was it in one of the shops along the way? Or was she a great lady, and he had committed a serious faux pas?
As he paused at one shop window, he studied the images in the glass to see if she was following down the sidewalk. The street was too busy, and the sidewalk was much too crowded to see her.
At New Oxford Street, he turned left and continued on the path he had charted out the day before. A newsboy ran up to him and paused. “Paper, sir?”
Matthias jabbed his hand into his pocket and pulled out some change. He held it out to the boy. “How much?”
The boy got a sour look on his face. “Why, two pence, sir.”
He stared at Matthias’ hand full of coins and pulled out two pennies and handed him the paper.
Opening it, he scanned the pages with deep satisfaction. Matthias stood in the middle of the sidewalk, ignorant of the people moving around him like a strong river current around a boulder.
He sighed, “my first London Times.”
He tucked the paper under his arm and moved into the flow of humanity, picking up speed and quickly passing others. Walking up Great Russell Street, the entrance façade of the British Museum came into view. A long row of Ionic columns guarded the entry with huge sculptures held above them. Matthias’ pace slowed to a stop. He gazed at the building, feeling full of hopeful anticipation. As he approached the entrance door, he p
aused to read the inscription on a pilaster to the right. It acknowledged the staff members of the Museum who died in the War. He took a deep breath and could not move forward.
A woman’s voice hit him from behind. “Can I help you, sir?”
“What? No, thank you.” Matthias stuttered. He forced a grin at the attractive, young woman.
She tilted her head and looked at him. “Are you sure, sir? I work here.”
“Oh, perhaps you can,” he responded. “I am Professor Matthias Justus, and I will also be working here, for the summer, at least.”
The young woman squinted and leaned back. She was quiet for a moment. “Well, then, I guess we may be working together.”
She turned, went to the door and looked back. “This way, sir,” she said, then entered the building.
“Oh, miss,” he called.
Matthias ran up the steps and into the building. He saw her say something to a man who did not look at her. The man raised his right arm and pointed down the hall. Without stopping, she made a smooth turn and continued down the corridor. The man looked at Matthias.
“Yes, sir, may I help you?” he asked.
Matthias hurried up to him but watched the woman disappear down the hallway. “Yes, thank you. My name is Justus, Professor Matthias Justus, and I will be working here. I need to find a Mr. Kenneth Warrington. Do you know him?”
“I am he, Professor.” The man’s voice was crisp, yet soft.
“Oh, I am delighted to meet you, sir.”
Without another word, Warrington turned to his right and began walking down the hallway. The men strolled down the hall in what was, for Matthias, an awkward silence. He thought of Mrs. Whitley’s comment. Indeed, Mr. Warrington seemed a bit stale.
Warrington gestured in a slow sweeping motion with his right hand. “We are in the Roman Gallery, now.”
“On the other side of the Entrance Hall, you will find the Manuscript Saloon, the King’s Library and various oriental libraries. That area contains mostly manuscripts. There is an early biblical document there that might interest you; a Pentateuch. There are also a variety of Greek and Latin documents; some are works of Plato, Aristotle and so on.”
Matthias’ eyes widened. Warrington turned and continued down the hall.
“As you see here, this is mostly architectural sculpture; about the 5th century, B.C. of course. That is the Archaic Room. The lions and figures relate to Apollo’s Temple; the one at Didyma.” Warrington observed Justus.
Matthias’ head swiveled back and forth as they passed each massive display. He quickly studied the forms and the small cards that named and dated each exhibit.
“Over here, this is the Ephesus Room and over there, that is the Elgin Room,” Warrington’s hand again waved in the direction of another display area.
Matthias stopped for a moment and looked into the room. “Mr. Warrington,” he said, without looking at the man.
Warrington had taken two more steps and looked back.
“Mr. Warrington, are these from the Parthenon? I’ve seen pictures of these.” He held his breath as he waited for the answer.
“Of course, Professor. These were a gift from Lord Elgin. They have been in the collection for over a hundred years. Professor, we will arrange a tour for you later.” Warrington turned and continued down the hall.
Matthias peeked into the room again, then caught up with Warrington. He walked a little behind the man, partly out of deference but also to more carefully observe him. He appeared about 60, with a pale but slightly red tone to his fleshy face. The black, vested suit he wore may have been of good quality, but up close, it appeared to be thin in areas. The pressed, white collar was faded. The man moved with a formal, stiff dignity. It did not seem to be a natural gait. His hair was not smoothly cut. They stopped.
“This may be of more interest to you, Professor. The Assyrian Transept has a few interesting items from the palace of Sargon and an obelisk from Nineveh. The winged lions are from Nimroud. Of course, you know all about that.”
Warrington seemed to await a reply. He continued, “The Nimroud Gallery is precisely the same size and shape as the original room in the palace from which the pieces were removed.”
“Breathtaking,” Matthias said. “Simply, breathtaking.”
“Yes, well, let’s continue, Professor. Over here, we have the Assyrian Saloon.”
Matthias stared in amazement at the large, glass-roofed hall. Massive slabs of sculpture were artfully set throughout the room, providing a heavy base to the airy ceiling. He noticed that Warrington had walked away, so he dashed after him.
“These two halls may interest you, considering the find upon which you will be working. On the left is the Northern Egyptian Gallery and on the right is the Southern Egyptian Gallery. We have three halls on the ground floor devoted to the works from Egypt, mostly larger sculptures, and there are six rooms on the upper floor where you will be working. That does not include, of course, the storage and work rooms that you will be in. The mummies and smaller objects are up there. Is there any particular dynasty of interest to you, Professor?”
“Well, that’s a good question. By the way, do you prefer to go by ‘Mr. Warrington,’ or ‘Doctor or Professor?”
The old man stared at Matthias. “’Mister’ is fine, thank you.” He turned and continued walking.
Matthias again matched his pace. “Very good. I was going to say, the early dynasties are fascinating, such as the fourth, with Khufu, and then there is the twentieth with the Ramses kings. Oh, I’m sorry to digress, but isn’t the Rosetta Stone here?”
A cold intensity suddenly filled Matthias. He touched Warrington’s sleeve.
Warrington looked down at Matthias’ fingertips on his coat and stopped.
“Forgive me,” Matthias said. “As one who appreciates ancient texts, the Rosetta Stone is like the Holy Grail. It changed everything. With it, the ancient Egyptian world was opened to all.”
“Professor, you are in the most important museum in the world. The greatest historical treasures of all time are within these walls. Not only that, but we are receiving now, and soon, you will be handling artifacts that have not been seen or touched in three thousand years. The Tutankhamun find may be the most prolific of all. It will be important that we maintain our composure as we identify and catalog the items. Yes, we still have the Rosetta.”
He turned and began again his slow walk. Matthias quietly followed.
“Mr. Warrington, I assure you that my delight in this opportunity, to serve even briefly here, under your supervision, is a great honor and I will conduct myself in an entirely professional manner.”
“Indeed,” was all Warrington would offer in response.
After a moment, he added, “I imagine any one room here is more impressive than all of Ohio.”
“Yes, Mr. Warrington, it would be. Well, I’m from Iowa, sir.”
“Indeed,” Warrington responded. “Here we are at the northwest staircase. We can go up to your area.”
Matthias held the leather strap of his attaché case with both hands and followed Warrington up the stairs. His eyes nearly filled with tears of happiness. Grief was left behind. Joy was around the corner.
PART TWO
Indianola, Iowa
Simpson College
The Present
II / 1
Rennie hurried across campus toward the library, past students strolling in the sunshine of a warm Spring. She pulled her cell phone from her bag as it blared, and with a twist of her wrist, the screen came alive.
“Hi, Bud. What’s up? Yeah, I’m on it. I’m at Simpson now. Yeah, thanks. I’ll try to be nice. When I finish this little project of yours, you get me an interview with the Speaker of the House. Hah! No, this will be quick. The bleeding hearts will love it. Bud, I’ve got to go. I’m at the danged library. Okay, remember you owe me
.”
Reaching the counter, a student worker on the other side turned toward her. The student had a small chrome ball on the side of her nose and a silver pin pierced through her eyebrow.
“Hi, I’m Rennie Haran from the Des Moines Record. Angie McGrady set aside some materials in a work room for me to review. How do I find those?”
The student opened a three-ring binder and turned the pages. Running her finger down a handwritten list, she stopped at one entry. “Yes, here you are. Second floor, room three. I’ll get the key.”
The young woman turned to the base cabinet behind her and removed a key with a tag attached. “It’s just up the stairs on your left side, down a bit.”
Rennie took the key and climbed the stairs two steps at a time. She found the room and unlocked the door. She hit the light switch and put her bag on a plastic chair in front of a six-foot table, on which sat three cardboard boxes. The end of each box had a large white label with identity and location information. She peered at one and read, “Archive Permanent. Justus, Professor Matthias. Staff. Sec. 4. 2 of 3.”
“Okay, doc, let’s get at it. Tell me and tell me quick.”
Rennie removed the lids from the boxes and set them against the wall. She leaned over each box to review the contents. One held a small, framed picture. As she turned her head to look at it, the door suddenly opened. Rennie snapped up.
“Oh, sorry to interrupt,” the counter student said. “I forgot to give you the gloves. It’s necessary to wear these cotton gloves when you handle items from the permanent archives. Sorry.”
Rennie let out a deep breath. “Fine, okay, thanks.”
Slipping on the gloves, Rennie lifted out the picture frame. It displayed a handsome young couple. The man appeared to be tall with a confident gaze, and the woman was delicate but equally confident. A bouquet of flowers on a short pillar behind them. His right hand held her left. Rennie turned the frame over and looked at the back. There was a handwritten note, “Hope and Matthias, forever.” Rennie turned the frame over again and carefully looked at the man. “Yes, you are a hottie, my friend; and, what happened to you miss?”
