B00OPGSMHI EBOK

by Unknown

  “So the Grail hasn’t interfered with the instruments?” he suddenly asked.

  “As you can see, no,” Neti replied, pointing to the empty plot. “I’m not detecting anything I’d call our elusive particles.”

  “There was something you said this morning I’ve been thinking about.”

  “Oh yes? What was that?” the professor asked.

  “You said that the composition of the Grail meant there was no need to invoke dematerialization to explain the shroud.”

  “Yes, that’s true. The neutrinos—”

  “That’s not the part I was thinking about,” Arthur interrupted. “It’s the concept of dematerialization. Let’s say that Jesus’ body wasn’t stolen by his disciples or anyone else. Let’s say he really disappeared from the tomb. Is there any rational scientific basis to say that could happen to a body, his body?”

  “Beyond Star Trek?” Neti joked.

  “Real world, real physics.”

  “Look, a lot of interesting possibilities emerge from the recent work of theoretical physics. A lot of possibilities are lurking in the equations of supersymmetry models and string theory. I’m a particle physicist, an experimentalist, and some of the math is beyond me but I can see the shadows of what’s possible.”

  “And what is that?”

  From the burial chamber Claire answered, “Multidimensionality.”

  Arthur laughed. “Come on, really?”

  Neti peered over her reading glasses into the burial chamber. “Claire can probably explain it better than I. It’s a very modern theory and she’s a young person who’s closer to it, I’m sure.”

  “I’m not an expert either,” Claire said, “but the concepts come from superstring theory, which we talked about in Modane: the mathematical attempt to unify quantum mechanics with the peculiarities of gravity into the elusive theory of everything. It was something Einstein was hoping to find but never did. We think that we can explain the properties of subatomic particles by thinking about them as different vibrations on a string as though they were tiny rubber bands. The string vibrates one way, it’s one particle. It vibrates another way, it’s a different one.”

  Arthur nodded. “I saw a TV show. But your voice is nicer than Stephen Hawking’s.”

  “Yes, well, he’s more clever,” Claire continued. “One of the features of the theory is that the strings can only vibrate in specific dimensions of space-time. Actually, only eleven dimensions. Any more, any less, the theory breaks down mathematically. Of course, in our universe we can only perceive four dimensions so the other seven must be, well, think of them as curled up and inaccessible to our reality, very hard to describe in words, easier to conceptualize in the formulae.”

  “So there are seven additional dimensions?” Arthur asked.

  “Ah, there’s more to the story,” Claire said. “The equations which arise from an eleven-dimension superstring theory suggest something more amazing. It seems the universe may be a three-dimensional membrane floating in eleven-dimensional space-time and before you get hung up on this impossible concept here’s the important payoff. It raises the very real possibility that our universe exists in a multiverse of other universes. Try to picture a vast collection of bubbles or membranes, each one a separate universe, floating around in an unimaginably massive sea of eleven-dimensional hyperspace.”

  “How many universes are we talking about?”

  “A big number,” Neti said.

  “One estimate is that there could be a googol of them,” Claire suggested. “That’s a one followed by a hundred zeros: trillions and trillions and trillions and trillions of them. Other models suggest it’s maybe bigger, maybe infinite.”

  “Okay, I get the concept,” Arthur said, “but I was asking about dematerialization and resurrection.”

  “Do you want to say more, Neti?” Claire asked.

  “No, you keep going,” the professor answered. “It’s good your boyfriend sees how clever you are.”

  Claire shook her head at the comment and continued. “Normally, communication between each universe is impossible because we’re glued to our own three-dimensional membrane by the physical forces of quantum mechanics like a fly is glued to flypaper. Only gravity, which is responsible for the warping of space-time, can make the jump into other universes.”

  “How far away are they?”

  “Maybe closer than you think. A lot closer than you think. One set of calculations concerning gravity says that other universes can be as close as a millimeter away from us.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No, I’m absolutely serious. The math is very rigorous even if the idea is shocking. We may be only the thinnest curtain away from entire parallel universes. But the curtain can’t be penetrated by us, only by gravity. Unless …”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless dark matter is a bridge.”

  “She was on strong footing until now,” Neti piped up.

  “Go on, please,” Arthur said.

  “There’s a controversial theory,” Claire said, “that proposes that dark matter, which we know is invisible in our universe, is ordinary matter from another universe. There’s also a theory that our Big Bang resulted from a collision between two parallel universes and that this was only one in perhaps an infinite number of Big Bangs to occur in the multiverse. So maybe the two theories are compatible. Maybe dark matter, like the dark matter in the Grail, came to us from another bubble.”

  “You said it was a bridge,” Arthur said.

  Claire shrugged. “Well, I don’t know, but maybe it came across the curtain and maybe it can also take you back through the curtain.”

  Arthur nodded in vague comprehension. “The Resurrection Stone.”

  “Well, it’s just a crazy theory,” Claire admitted.

  Neti smiled. “Now that I agree with!”

  Arthur felt the need to stand. “Let’s say Jesus drank from the Grail. He’s imbued with exotic particles from the stone. He dies, he’s wrapped in a shroud that gets acted on by escaping neutrinos to make the shroud image, and the dark matter somehow dematerializes his body and bridges him to a parallel universe? You’re saying this is a physical explanation for resurrection?”

  “I’m not saying anything,” Claire said. “It’s late. I’m tired.”

  Neti looked at her watch. “Yes, it’s very late and we’ve got nothing here. I think we can rule out the Garden Tomb as being of interest. Let’s pack our things and leave. Tomorrow—actually, it is tomorrow already—I’ve gotten us permission to spend the night at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. When you go back to your hotel I hope you two young people will find something better to do than talk about string theory and the multiverse.”

  36

  Jerusalem, A.D. 33

  Jesus was somber. He knew with blinding clarity what was going to transpire. He had acquired powerful enemies among the Sanhedrin elders even before he wreaked havoc in the Temple by challenging the moneylenders. Now his opponents were in a frenzy and the Romans would have to intervene—and when the Romans were drawn in men died.

  Somehow the inevitability of it all was calming. He knew he would not run away, he knew he would not back down. Either course was anathema to him. So it was certain he would die. And it would not be a quick death, an easy death. It would be a hard death. He would suffer. But he prayed to God it would have meaning. Surely his life had meaning; surely his message of loving God and loving one’s fellow man had meaning. Would he become just another martyr, ground down by the powerful and corrupt and forgotten when those who knew him themselves died, or would he have served a higher, more enduring purpose? If nothing was to be done to alter his fate, then surely his remaining task was to show his devotees that he was at peace and to teach them how a good and righteous man should die.

  So sitting among his twelve closest disciples, men who had risked their own lives to follow him and his teachings, he smiled, determined to bask in a last warm camaraderie, a splendid Passove
r feast among friends.

  They were in an upper room in a fine house on Mount Zion donated for the evening by a wealthy man who, as Thomas had told them, was the friend of their friend, Joseph of Arimathea. Joseph, while not a full-throated disciple of Jesus’ preaching, had shown certain sympathies and made donations here and there to keep the cause afloat. The meal, spread before them on a low table, was simple but wholesome—meat, fish, bread, olives, and some wine.

  They ate mainly in silence, for his followers also knew of the imminent danger, but any sense of despair that may have pervaded the proceedings was washed away by the utterly benign countenance of Jesus himself, who seemed to be enjoying the small pleasantries coming from friendship and a good meal.

  But the room fell into shocked silence when Jesus suddenly stood and said, “One of you shall betray me.”

  The twelve men exchanged glances with one another and first Peter then others launched into denials and fervent expressions of their devotion.

  Jesus nodded and smiled and put the talk to rest by taking a loaf of bread, blessing it, and breaking it into pieces. He said, “Take this bread and eat it for this is my body.”

  Astonished, the men did as he instructed and ate their pieces of bread.

  Then Jesus took a pitcher of wine and said, “Take this and divide it among yourselves. This is my blood which is shed by many. After this night I will drink no more of the fruit of the vine until that day I drink it new in the kingdom of God.”

  The men passed the pitcher from one to another and when it made its way back to Jesus’ hands Judas sprang up and stood over him, clutching a smooth black bowl.

  “I bid you to take your wine from this chalice,” he said to Jesus. “It is a hallowed vessel which comes from the ancient land of Moses.”

  Jesus took it, felt its warmth and marveled at its halo.

  “How did you come by this treasure?” he asked.

  “It is from a man who loved you.”

  Jesus poured wine into the vessel then beckoned Judas closer with a finger.

  He whispered in his ear, “I know it is you who will betray me.”

  Then he took the bowl in his hands and drank the wine to the last drop.

  #

  Judas could do nothing to stop his shaking. He had run all the way from Gethsemane to the boarding house near the Temple where Nehor was staying. Nehor was waiting there with an Egyptian compatriot, an arrogant young man named Sacmis, which, as he liked to remind people, means “one who is powerful.” While Jesus had acquired a following of earnest and high-minded men, Nehor had been attracting a following himself of altogether different sorts with baser objectives. Sacmis shared with his master an interest in the pursuit of alchemy, and though he was a tyro, he counted himself along with Nehor as a Qem, an ancient society that traced its lineage to Pharaonic times.

  Nehor offered Judas wine to calm him but he refused it. He could not even sit to tell the tale of those horrible moments when he led the band of elders and priests and Praetorians to the peaceful olive grove where Jesus was sleeping, how the disciples had fled, and how Jesus had been roughly seized.

  “Do you know what he did before they took him away?” Judas asked. “He kissed me. What have I done?”

  “Did he drink from the bowl?” Nehor demanded.

  “He did.”

  “Where is it?” Sacmis asked. He was muscular and hulking; next to him Judas looked like a boy.

  Judas had it in a shoulder bag. “Here it is.”

  Sacmis took the bag, checked it, and passed it to Nehor.

  “You did well,” Nehor said.

  “No, I am a traitor. He knows I am a traitor,” Judas said mournfully. “I am cursed forever.”

  “Jesus is nothing if not smart,” Nehor said. “Exceedingly smart. I am sure he suspects his martyrdom will advance his cause. He is a man of principles and so am I.”

  “And what are your principles, Nehor?” Judas spat. “You tried to strangle the prostitute, Anah. If Peter and Matthew had not happened by, you would have snuffed out her life. And for this, Jesus rightly cast you from his inner circle. I ask you now, why did you try to commit murder, Nehor?”

  “Because I wanted to be sure, Judas. I wanted to test the powers of my fire stone. When I found it in the desert I knew it was a strange and powerful object. It had a halo. What stone has that? It was warm even when the nights were cold. What stone behaves thusly? I am an alchemist. I am trained in the manipulation of the natural world. So I knew it was special and I carried it with me from Egypt to Judaea where I came to make my fortune. And here I heard of Jesus of Nazareth, the greatest preacher the land has known, a man who is said to be so holy that he makes miracles. This was a man I needed to know. This was a man of possibilities.”

  “So you joined us to profit from him?”

  “This is so, though at times I was almost drawn in myself by the power of his words. Has there ever been a man who could cast so fine a spell with words alone?”

  “But you were never a true believer.”

  “I believe in myself, Judas. I find I am not such an able follower. I am more accomplished as a leader. And one night, not long ago, after an evening blessed with a great deal of good wine, I unwrapped my fire stone from the cloth in which I kept it and I said to it, ‘What secrets do you hold? What can you do to make me rich? What can you do to make me powerful?’ It had the rough shape of a bowl and as I am skilled in working metal and stone I ground it down to make it into an alchemical vessel where I might combine various substances and see if its properties led to promising outcomes. Perhaps, I thought, I might turn base metals into gold. Shaping the bowl was a wondrous thing since each flake of stone dislodged and each piece of dust thrown off had its own tiny halo. I worked through the night and as dawn approached I fell asleep in the dirt behind this very house. I awoke to a pelting rain, soaked to the skin, and when I stood I saw a dog drinking from the rainwater which had gathered in my bowl. A dog defiling my precious crafted bowl! So I kicked the animal and kicked it again and the second blow snapped its neck, causing it to die on the spot. I threw its carcass beside the rain barrel, retired to my bed for a proper slumber and thought no more of it until I awoke and decided to toss the beast farther along the alley so it would not fill my nostrils with the stench of its decay. But it was gone, Judas, gone.”

  “So?” Judas said. “Another animal surely dragged it away.”

  “That is what I thought, of course—until the next day when I set to work on the bowl again to finish shaping and polishing. I rose after a time to relieve myself against the wall and when I turned back to my work the dog was there! By the rain barrel!”

  “How do you know it was the same dog?”

  “It had the same white mark on its snout. It was the same dog, I tell you, risen; and it seemed to remember me because it looked me over and ran away as fast as a creature can run. I never saw it again.”

  “You cannot believe what you are telling me,” Judas said. “Only a crazed man would believe this.”

  The remark angered Sacmis, who cursed at his insolence—but Nehor prevented him from striking Judas.

  “I am of sound mind, Judas. I know what I saw. That dog drank from my bowl and returned from the realm of the dead. And I knew what I had to do. I had to test its powers on a man, or at least a woman. When Peter and Matthew thwarted me with the whore, Anah, my thoughts turned to Jesus. It was all too easy. I would not have to kill him myself and that was a good thing since I do like the man. The Romans will do the job for me tomorrow. I had only to offer him some Passover wine.”

  “My God, what have I done?” Judas wailed.

  “Done? If I am proved right you have given him the gift of resurrection. And you will have given me the gift of immortality.”

  #

  Jesus was crucified on a wooden cross on a Friday in the Roman execution ground outside the city walls in a place known as Golgotha. The Sabbath was approaching, a tomb had to be found for his bloodied an
d broken body, but none of his followers had the means to find him a resting place on short order. A solution emerged when the wealthy Sanhedrin priest, Joseph of Arimathea, came forward and persuaded the Roman governor of Judaea, Pontius Pilate, to let him take charge of the corpse. Jesus was carried to one of Joseph’s unused tombs, near to the execution ground, which he had constructed for members of his extended family who lived in Jerusalem. After Jesus’ body was hastily cleaned, anointed, and wrapped in a linen shroud by the tearful women in his life, the rock-cut tomb was sealed by a rolling stone and left for the Sabbath.

  #

  On Sunday morning, Nehor was nervously reading one of his Egyptian alchemical texts in his room when Sacmis bounded in, sweaty and out of breath.

  “It has happened!” the large man panted.

  “Tell me.”

  “The women, Mary Magdalene and the others, went to the tomb this morning to complete the burial rites. The tomb was empty! It has happened!”

  Nehor calmly put down his text, rose and slipped on his sandals. His face was a picture of control.

  “What are they saying?”

  “Some, that his body was stolen by the Romans. Others say his disciples took it. But some are saying that he has risen.”

  Nehor slung his shoulder bag over his neck and felt the weight of the bowl against his side. He patted it with his right hand.

  “Come,” he said. “Let us test its true power.”

  #

  A throng of men and women were gathered outside the empty tomb of Jesus talking excitedly and milling about, kicking up fine, white quarry dust. From a distance Nehor recognized most of the disciples, and as he drew nearer, Matthew, a long-haired youth with a sandy beard, pointed a finger with the same snarling look he had shown the day he pulled the Egyptian’s hands from the throat of the whore.