Copyright © 2012 Shondra C. Longino
All Rights Reserved.
This eBook is intended for personal use only, and may not be reproduced, transmitted, or redistributed in any way without the express written consent of the author.
In the Beginning is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, organizations, real people - living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. All other events and characters portrayed are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ISBN: 09895463-1-4
ISBN: 978-0-9895463-1-7
Library of Congress Cataloguing Data
2013942619
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To My Beloved Mother,
Leslie Vandiver
1914-1998
Here, you will live forever.
I love you.
PROLOGUE
An excerpt from Manuscript #109, 1 of 4, Cave. 4
It was a world without interference. Efficiency universally governed. Symbiosis gravitated toward reason. There was no conflict, but peace. We created Paradise. We ourselves created Eden.
It was an experiment, one of a multitude set to prove our superiority. But for whom did we need to produce such evidence? Perhaps that is why we are destined to die. In our dubious need, our contrivances instigated our own destruction.
God Help Us.
It happened only by accident.
But how could that matter now? It was done.
We had, in arrogance, destroyed our place among the stars. And to continue, we needed a place to wait for God to redeem us. To come again and make us whole. The irony of it now as we look to Him.
But where else could mankind find his hope? We shall wait for Him there. The place where we once ruled as gods. Where we now will be forced to remember our place.
What was once, shall be again. It shall be as “In the beginning . . .”
CHAPTER ONE
Israel
October 22, 1949
The Editor-in-Chief sat behind his desk. His hands trembled as he closed the notebook. He took off his glasses slowly, trying to conceal his unsteadiness, but the involuntary shaking of his leg gave away his uneasiness. A fear that chilled his blood had welled up inside him each time he turned a page. And by the time he’d read the last page of the notebook that fear was edging on anger.
He placed his glasses on the top of the worn leather notebook and pushed it and the manuscripts to one side. Using a handkerchief he retrieved from his pants pocket, he wiped beads of sweat from his balding head. He studied the man that paced before him. This man had not stood still the entire time he had been reading the translation. Now, he knew why.
It rained fast and hard outside the window adjacent to his desk. The drops of rain hitting against the window pooled along the edges of each pane of glass. An awkward silence lingered as he tried to compose himself, the only sound coming from his old wooden chair, which squeaked with each movement of his leg.
The metal lamp sitting on the desk dimly lit the room, casting distorted shadows. But the periodic lightning showed glimpses, sharp and clear, of the man pacing before him.
The Editor-in-Chief turned his gaze to the window and stared out into the darkness. He tried to calm himself. After a long while, he blinked and blew out a deep sigh. He checked the time on his watch. It was late, after seven thirty, and it was the Sabbath. He should have left more than two hours ago. Even his wife had urged him not to leave home.
“It’s not a day for work,” she had said. “And, there’s going to be a thunderstorm.” For a short time only, he had reassured himself, just to check on things. And then he had discovered this little man waiting for him. Glancing back out the window, he wished now he hadn’t come in.
Finally he spoke.
“Well, this is interesting,” he said, looking over at the man, his calm voice masking the rapid beat of his heart.
“I know. That’s why I asked you to look at it.” The man’s voice was strained. His slow, nervous pace exacerbated his slumping posture and his gestures showed desperation, agitation - hesitation. His face had become a grayish ash which matched his rumpled suit. He stopped. Standing in the middle of the floor, his eyes darted from the notebook on the desk, to his perspiring hands, to the floor, never meeting the eyes of the man behind the desk. He slid his tongue over his dry lips and rubbed his hands together.
“So, Dr. Sabir,” the Editor-in-Chief cocked his head and peered at him out the side of his eyes, “what have you to say? What conclusions have you drawn from your translation of these manuscripts?”
“I don’t know if I should say . . . If I can say,” he answered.
Anger reached up from the Editor-in-Chief’s belly and almost choked him. Slamming his hand on the desk he stood up, walked over to Dr. Sabir and pushed his face close into his, his voice escalating.
“Well, Doctor, if you can’t say anything, or think you shouldn’t say anything, why did you bring this to me?” He glared at the man.
“Who could have written this? What is it?” he continued. “This isn’t anything like what was found in any of the scrolls or manuscripts from the other caves.” His face was red, his brown eyes appeared black, and droplets of saliva spewed as he spoke. “This is agnosticism. Are you to have me believe that this is of our God and His people?” He stood chest to chest with the man, his fist balled up at his side as he fiercely tried to muster some restraint.
Dr. Sabir’s usually bright blue eyes were dull. He lowered them, almost shutting them, and stood very still. The Editor-in-Chief took in a sharp breath and blew it out into Dr. Sabir’s face. Breathing in again, he relaxed his fists and after a long moment returned to his desk and sat down hard in his chair.
Dr. Sabir began to pace again.
The Editor-in-Chief pulled the notebook over to him, put on his glasses and flipped through its pages.
“Who is this ‘we’ and ‘us’ that are mentioned throughout?” he said swiping his hand across the page. “Are you trying to approximate it to the wording in the Book of Genesis? I may be mistaken, but I thought you said it was the Q, that imaginary document that the Christians are looking for to substantiate their ludicrous belief in the New Testament. Is it the Q?” He barely paused for an answer. In a clearly agitated voice, he asked one question after another, not giving the man a chance to answer, not that he attempted to.
“There doesn’t seem to be any mention of their Christ by name or reference. And,” the Editor-in-Chief continued. “With that in mind, I would find it easier to believe in the existence of the Q than what you’ve translated.”
“No, there isn’t any mention of Christ,” Dr. Sabir eked out a barely audible response. “And yes, at first, I thought it may have been the Q because it was so different, but after the first few verses were translated, it was plain to see that it was not.” He stumbled over his words and bowed his head. “N-no mention of Christ,” he repeated, “but it is surely not like anything we have ever known.”
The Editor-in-Chief knew his verbal attack did not help the good doctor to gather his wits or ease his anxiety. But, he couldn’t help it. This was beyond belief.
Dr. Amos Sabir, renowned archaeologist, author, pundit and now the bearer of this revelation. It was understandable that he looked as he did because announcing this revelation would be catastrophic.
And with that thought, he yanked off his glasses
and forcibly pushed the documents across the desk.
He knew it, too.
There was no doubt in his mind that what Dr. Sabir had written in the notebook was what the manuscripts revealed.
He placed his open hands at the center of his forehead, and dragged them down each side of his face. Yelling at this man was not going to help. He needed to calm down. But what exactly would help? He didn’t know. Perhaps he could try to convince Dr. Sabir that they were fake?
Perhaps he should try to convince himself.
“Nothing is unknown, Dr. Sabir,” he said, finally, calmly. “This appears to be older than any of the earliest manuscripts found of the New Testament, so that could lead us to believe that it is some part of the Q. Or, seeing that the manuscripts are even older than the Old Testament documents we have, perhaps it is a non-canonized book of the Old Testament,” he said, voice even, as if speaking to a child. “Or,” he took a deep breath, “perhaps this is a hoax. Perhaps someone has perpetrated a cruel joke on you and on all of us.”
“I beg to differ. This is not a joke.” Dr. Sabir said. “I had thought of these things as well, but none of the other manuscripts suggest what I have divined from these documents. There isn’t anything in the Bible that has ever suggested anything like this. Nothing in any history book. Nothing anywhere. And something I had not thought of previously, in my excitement, I overlooked the simple fact that the Q would not have been written in any of these languages. It would have been written in Greek, the language of the New Testament. This is not the Q. This is just what you think it is.”
“What I think it is? Doctor, what do you think this is?” he asked, his eyes piercing, offended by the boldness of his daring disregard for the sanctity of their endeavors.
“These manuscripts describe the creation of man on Earth by man himself,” Dr. Sabir answered.
“That would be impossible,” the Chief Editor said. “Please, Doctor, don’t be absurd.” He rested his elbow on the desk, and rubbed his brow back and forth with his fingers.
“Perhaps I have stated it wrong,” the doctor said. “This has really taken a toll on me. I have gone over it again and again. I know exactly what it is. It is just hard to put it into words, to actually say it aloud. I’ll start again.” He swallowed hard and spoke slowly, deliberately. “It is the continuation of our species. It is a narration detailing the actual beginning of life, rather, of our life, here. This document suggests a new beginning of man, something that, until now, was not known or ever imagined.”
“I repeat, Doctor, nothing is unknown,” he said, his voice escalating again. “There are not any new revelations here.” He slapped an open palm down on the desk.
Listen to him, the Editor-in-Chief thought, taking in a breath to try and quell his anger. So pompous - so sure. Glaring at Dr. Sabir, he felt the anger turn to hate. He wants fame. To make a name for himself. He doesn’t care about the consequences. He doesn’t care what would happen to the Dead Sea Scrolls if this got out.
He doesn’t care what happens to me, either, he thought, because if he did he wouldn’t have brought this to me.
He looked at Dr. Sabir and squinted his eyes - taking in a narrow view of this narrow man. He knew what he must do.
“There is nothing unknown,” the Editor-in-Chief said with finality.
“Why do you keep saying that?” Dr. Sabir said. “To say ‘nothing is unknown’ is quite arrogant. Do you presume to know everything that has happened in this world? This was ‘unknown’ until now.” Dr. Sabir pointed to the manuscripts on the desk. “And, it must be made known to all now that we have uncovered it.”
“This is only your interpretation of what is in the manuscripts,” the Editor–in-Chief said. “And we surely cannot tell the world something based only on what you have interpreted it to be.”
“My interpretation?” Dr. Sabir said, raising an eyebrow. “All my other work has been taken as I have given it. I am an expert in this field. If I wasn’t, I would not be here. I would not have been chosen, by you, I may add, to be here as a lead interpreter for the translation of the Dead Sea Scrolls if I were not qualified. It is as I say.”
“Everyone trusts my interpretations,” he continued. “There on your shelves are books I’ve written that you use for reference.” He waved his hands toward the bookcase. “Are you saying that I now need someone to corroborate my translations? What I know to be true?”
It didn’t matter now that this man had found his voice. The Editor-in-chief had stopped listening. He rocked back and forth in his swivel chair and wrapping his short, stout fingers around his pen, started tapping it on his desk, purposely exhibiting an unassuming air of indifference.
“All I am suggesting, Doctor,” he said in a composed voice so overtly contrived that it was taunting, “is perhaps you need help in finding out its meaning, its true meaning. Your interpretation is, to say the least, quite incredible.”
“You can’t garble this. No matter who else looks at it, it will come out the same.”
No matter who else looks at it? The Editor-in-Chief chuckled at the thought. No one else would ever see this. He would put an end to it, tonight. First though, he needed to find out who else knew.
“Well, I’ll keep the notebook and manuscripts for now, and Monday we’ll figure out how to go about this matter.” He pulled the documents back over in front of him and folded his hands on top of them. “But for now, are there any other copies of this?”
“My interpretation, hmpf,” Dr. Sabir muttered. Then he lifted his head, straightened out his back and looked directly into the Editor-in-Chief’s eyes. “No, there aren’t any other copies.”
CHAPTER TWO
Unable to move for the two hours since this revelation came to his attention, The Editor-in-Chief of the Dead Sea Scrolls Translation Committee pushed his fingers down on the nagging pain in his chest that refused to subside. He shut his eyes and with his other hand tugged at his necktie that seemed to tighten each time he swallowed. He was a short, stubby man who now felt uncomfortable in his dank skin. His breath, shallow and forced, noisily hastened from his nostrils as he reflected on what was before him.
He hadn’t spoken to anyone. He knew he needed to be circumspect in dealing with this situation. And, what would he say? This was incredible.
Outside the rain beat relentlessly against the window pane, a sharp interruption to a stillness that he needed to find. He moved his hands, cold and clammy, up to help support the sudden heaviness of his head.
“Yes, this is a revelation.” He could admit to it now, out loud, he could speak the truth.
He laid his hand on the notebook that contained the translation. This knowledge would change the course of man forever. It would be a terrible thing to let out. And he would be to blame because this was all under his charge.
He had promised the release of the Dead Sea Scrolls. The world was eagerly awaiting a look at what had been found in the caves at Qumran. And they had waited long enough. Now, he would have to stall for more time until he could take care of this. There was no way anyone could know what these manuscripts revealed.
But how would he be able to keep the good doctor from telling what he found? He was an authority on such things, an admired scholar. People would listen to him . . .
He laughed at the thought. No. No one would ever believe this.
Are there more manuscripts of this sort? The sudden thought made him cringe. “I must find out what the other manuscripts contain,” he voiced aloud.
The manuscripts from Cave 4 had only the one translator. But there were eleven caves in all. “My God, what might we find?”
He placed his hands on the notebook and pressed down hard with the palm of his hand and closed his eyes, as if by will he could, through his hand and thoughts, erase what was written inside. He took in a deep breath. Such fantasy would not help. The truth sat here before him. He must go over the rest of the manuscripts from that cave himself. He must take action. He would deal with oth
ers as they came, but he must take care of this now.
And, he would need to find a way to deal with Dr. Sabir.
“God help me,” he said, but immediately regretted it. He snatched his hands off of the notebook as if it burned hot and opened his eyes. That was exactly what was written all throughout the manuscripts - God Help Us.
The making of a plan had begun to formulate and was buzzing around in his head. But how to carry it out? His thoughts raced around inside his head, ramming into his temples, it seemed. He tilted his head to one side and tightly closed one eye to relieve the throbbing.
The notebook was easy to get rid of, and possibly so was the translator, but how could he destroy a document that he had built a career around protecting?
He had sworn an oath to preserve ancient artifacts. These were documents that God Himself had seen fit to keep intact, in a cave, in clay pots, for more than 2,000 years.
He looked over at his name plate, the letters of his name and title written in gold, “Samuel Yeoman, Editor-in-Chief.”
It had been a long, onerous and intricate scheme that secured this position. Truth be told, it should have been Dr. Sabir who had his job. But he knew how to get what he wanted. This gold embossed plate was evidence of that. Deep in his soul was a nefarious and indomitable will that when loosed would tear through anyone or anything that stood in his way. He had no remorse for his actions or compassion for those that suffered because of it.
But the passion for his God did still him at times. Like now. And, he knew that he had been entrusted to ensure that the knowledge gained from the Dead Sea Scrolls was accurate, conclusive and made public, no matter what was found. No matter what was found – that he approved of, he added. And he did not approve of this.
A shrill ring interrupted his thoughts making him jump.
“God help me!” He drew in a breath, blew it out and picked up the phone. “Hello. This is Dr. Yeoman.”
In the Beginning: Mars Origin I Series Book I Page 1
