I’m sure I now had everyone convinced I was losing it. But really? How many Indiana Jones-ish adventures do people get to take in their lifetime? And I bet Greg was just as energized as I was. He just wasn’t showing it. But my excitement was in super-drive and it was affecting me in a weird way. I was really going to have to work on staying calm, like Greg, because this was getting ridiculous.
“Let’s go,” Greg boomed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The glowing orange colored sun hovered over the horizon, bathing the dry Jordan Valley in a soft, flickering apricot light. Stretched out before us, miles of desert, dry and still, gave way to patches of lofty green palm trees. The air shimmered as the heat rose from the ground. I watched out the side window as the tires of the Hummer kicked up the dust along the treacherous roads to Qumran.
Four miles into the Valley the macadamized road led us to the desolate Wadi Qumran. My breath caught in the back of my throat as the first glimpse of the ruins emerged.
Out of the car and standing atop of the sand-colored caves cut from the cliffs northwest of the Dead Sea, we were reverent of its vastness. The force of its stillness held us almost immovable. I instinctively brought my hand up to cover my eyes from the glare of the setting sun, and was in awe as the caves that filled the side of the canyons materialized through the haze.
No wonder the Scrolls stayed hidden for so long.
Michael’s voice wafted through heat filled air, “C’mon let’s get going.”
The excavations going on around the caves turned out to be a good thing because with so many worker coming and going security checks were at a minimum. And once the sun went down, it was difficult seeing the back of your hand, let alone four people climbing in the caves. Still we had to move furtively.
The side of the canyon that led to the caves seemed impossible to traverse. But Michael’s two black duffle bags seemed to have everything we needed. He had ropes, flashlights, batteries, lanterns, knives, food in tin cans (which I would not have eaten), climbing belts, a first aid kit and even a map that marked and numbered the caves where the Scrolls were found. My gut had been right - you can always count on a Marine to be prepared.
And we were definitely prepared for whatever. Including my ineptness.
Greg and Michael had a hard time getting me into the cave. Michael had to pull a few tricks from out of his black bags. I usually am so good at that sort of stuff, especially after spending so much time in the field. And, still, after giving up field work I walked everywhere and exercised regularly, well at least I did before that depression hit me. During that time, I didn’t do anything but lay around, eat and generally not take care of myself, and it was evident today. On the other hand, Claire, who spent her day sitting in a lab, didn’t have any trouble at all. She had always been such a tomboy, and I think she could probably still climb the old silver maple in our parents’ backyard.
Out of breath and shaky, standing at the mouth of the cave, I tried to catch my breath. The cool desert evening air helped steady me. Greg came over with a big smile on his face. He had been yelling and generally being mean to me all day so I didn’t expect him to say anything nice. I stood and awaited his rude comment.
“Aren’t you glad we brought a ninja along?” He smiled as he wiped the sweat off my face with his bandana.
Boy, isn’t he full of surprises.
“So, this is the infamous cave that the Scrolls were found in, huh?” Michael flashed his flashlight around the inside of the cave.
“Only some of them,” I said still winded.
“Why would Dr. Yeoman put something in here?” Even Claire seemed annoyed.
“I guess he figured it survived here for more than two thousand years. Maybe it could survive another two thousand.” Actually nothing that man did seemed logical to me.
“I can’t understand why he would do something like that. Doesn’t that seem unprofessional?” Michael asked as he passed around flashlights to the rest of us.
“Yes, it does. But evidently whatever he found in those manuscripts was enough to scare him into hiding them from the world.”
Turning on our flashlights we followed Michael a few feet farther into the cave. There was a large area with rocks and a slightly noxious smell probably coming from the salty Dead Sea.
“Yeah, but something made him not destroy them.” Michael said.
“Ethics. I’m sure that’s what it was.” Greg spoke. “Logic and ethics. You know all scientists are not raving lunatics.”
I guess that comment was about me.
“That man had no ethics, because if he did, he wouldn’t have put them here,” I said. “But whatever his reasons, he is driving me nuts.”
“Why drive, Justin? It’s a short walk for you,” Greg said.
I sneered at him.
“Okay, you guys, spread out,” Michael instructed. “Look behind rocks and along the wall for anything out of place.”
We had only searched for a few minutes when Michael called out, “Over here. Look at this. I think I found them.”
There, behind a cluster of rocks, in a dark corner of the cave Michael found the manuscripts folded up in a small, metal container. For a brief moment I was elated at our discovery but once he opened it up and shined his light on them my elation was instantly crushed.
Michael put them atop one of the rocks where we found them. Everyone gathered around to have a look at them.
“He may as well of destroyed’em.” I winced at the sight. “This is terrible.” I picked up a piece of the manuscript.
“I don’t understand. How come they’re in such bad shape? They lasted two millennia in the same exact cave.” Michael said what was on everyone’s mind. “What happened?”
“Yeah. I mean the letter said the manuscripts were intact. Maybe we have the wrong ones?” Greg flashed light around the cave.
“No, I’m sure these are the right ones.” Anger bubbled inside of me and blew out like the uncorking of a bottle. “He should have taken better care in returning them to the caves. What was wrong with that man? And they lasted before because they were in clay pots. Metal will eventually go through chemical changes and affect its contents. He should have known that. And look at this,” I banged on the metal container. “He drilled holes in the container so air got in. This - - stupid, demented, idiot folded them up, placed them in a metal container under some rocks and just left them here. Ooo, I could just kill him. He was so stupid.”
“Yes, Justin we get it, you think the man stupid.”
“Oh hush up, Greg! He was stupid, and you’re stupid too if you think he wasn’t.”
“Justin, it’s not so bad.” Michael was looking at the pieces of the manuscripts. “The lettering is faded but you can still see it.”
“No, you can’t.” I went to the other side of the cave and plopped down atop a large rock. Of course by now I was crying.
“Justin,” Greg said, “Don’t start that stupid crying. You can see some of it.” Greg took a piece of the manuscript to get a closer look.
“Not good enough to make copies of it. And will you guys stop handling it, you’ll ruin what we have left. This is just too much for me to copy by hand before we leave on Friday.”
“Can’t you just remember what it says?” Greg looked at me.
Here we go again.
“No.” I shined my flashlight directly in his face.
“Get that light out of my face.” He waved his arm. “And, why do you keep saying you won’t remember? You know you can.”
“It’s in too many different languages. I see words. I don’t even know these words. I have no reference base.”
“Why? What language is in?” Claire finally spoke. She concentrated the light from her flashlight over the pieces of the manuscripts.
“I don’t know.” I hadn’t really looked closely at it, no more than just to see that it was in pieces. But I remembered that the second letter had said that different languages were used. I got up of
f the rock and walked over and picked up a piece of the manuscript and studied it closer under my flashlight. I saw Deus adiuva nos, I knew it was the Latin phrase from the journal entry. “It reads, ‘God help us.”
“Does it really say, ‘God help us?’ Let me see.” Claire came and took the piece from my hand. This doesn’t say ‘God help us.’”
“Do you know Latin, Claire?” Greg looked doubtful.
“No.”
“So, how do you know it doesn’t say that?” I said. “You can’t read it.”
“Do you know Latin?” Michael asked me.
“No. Dr. Margulies told me what it says.”
“Dr. Margulies? You talked to him? How did he see the manuscripts?” Claire’s confusion was so annoying.
“Claire! My goodness, you know he hasn’t seen this, how could he have. We just found them. Oh my Lord, now you’re driving me nuts.”
“Well, how do you know that’s what it says?” She doesn’t give up on her quest to drive me mad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“C’mon Michael,” Greg said. “Let’s get this stuff packed up and ready to travel. Where is the stuff we brought?” He started looking through the duffle bags for the protective coverings for the manuscripts that I made sure we purchased before coming out to the caves. At the time it seemed like smart thinking, but now I don’t think they could get anymore damaged.
We got everything together and headed back to the hotel. I didn’t say a word the entire trip back. Everyone, including Greg tried to be extra nice to me. But nothing helped. We all went to me and Claire’s room.
Greg started unpacking the worn documents. “Here, Justin, take a look at this.” He brought it over to me and I took it and sat down on the bed.
“Can you make anything out of it?” Michael came over and stood next to me.
“Show me the part Dr. Margulies saw,” Claire said.
“Claire,” I said. “Dr. Margulies didn’t see it. He told me that after reading the journal entry. The Latin words ‘Deus adiuva nos’ were in the entry. Don’t you remember?” I guess my irritation was showing through because Greg interjected.
“Why don’t you go and find ‘Aazi and talk to him?” Greg purposely tried to annoy Claire by mispronouncing Ghazi’s name. “He’s probably lurking around in the hallway somewhere.”
Even in my disgust I had to swallow a laugh. I remembered Ghazi hanging in the hallways the first time I met him. I never told Greg. Were Ghazi’s idiosyncrasies that obvious? Claire didn’t find it funny.
“His name is Ghazi,” Claire emphasized the guttural sound made when saying the “Gh.”
“Claire, go take a bath or something,” Michael tried a different approach.
“Go ahead, Justin. See what you can figure out.” Greg folded his arms and cut his eyes at Claire as a warning to keep out of it.
I looked down at the fragments. The other languages looked familiar, some sort of dialect of Aramaic and Hebrew. Greg started taking other pieces out and was trying to fit them together on the bed like it was a jigsaw puzzle.
“So, what order does this stuff go in?” Greg glanced up at me.
What a stupid question. I didn’t know what they said and they were in pieces. How in the world was I supposed to know what order they went in? He was turning into Claire.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Sooo, don’t they have to go in some kind of order for you to know what they say?”
I looked at him. “Really, Greg?”
“Well, how do you think you’ll get anything out of this? You do have a plan, right?”
“Yeah, well. No. I mean, there are different techniques to figure out which order they go. Things like matching up the pages by electronic means. But, I don’t have anything like that here. And this is so badly worn.” I looked over at him. “No, I don’t have a plan and actually, I don’t even think I can get anything from them.”
Greg shook his head. “We did not come all this way for you to just give up,” he said. “So stop looking pitiful and acting unglued and figure something out.” Greg gently picked up the pieces and returned them to their plastic covering.
The phone saved me from more chiding. It was Mase. It was so good to hear his voice. Even long distance he could rescue me from Greg. Of course he wanted to know all of the day’s events. I told him we found the journals but not much else. I kind of made it sound like we got them as easy as if we checked them out of the library. If Mase knew I was over here pretending to be Indiana Jones, searching for hidden manuscripts, climbing into caves in the desert and running around acting like a schizophrenic, he would probably have me committed, and Greg, I’m sure, would help.
When I hung up from Mase, a mischievous grin crossed Greg’s face. “What exactly did you tell your husband about this little trip?”
“I don’t lie to my husband if that’s what you’re insinuating.” I looked him in the eye, feigning innocence, but chastened by the smidgen of guilt I felt. “I told him we were coming to hear Claire speak and to take another look at the journals.”
Greg laughed. “Keeping secrets are we?”
“Shut up, Greg.”
I could tell Mase anything. And he knew the real reason I came back, even if I didn’t actually say it. I decided I would tell him everything as soon as we got back home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We ended up staying about a week and a half. I really had planned to stay only a few days, until Claire’s seminar was over, and then I figured we could all fly home together. But Greg and Michael wanted to stay and make a vacation of it.
While Claire spent a lot of time trying to help me, Greg and Michael went sightseeing. I guess they figured their job was done. Greg made a ritual of finding me several times a day, though, pointing his finger at me and telling me to, “Get it figured out.” That’s all the interest they showed in the manuscripts. Sometimes I made Claire go with Greg and Michael, no need of her frustrating herself along with me. I didn’t leave the room. I just sat and brooded over the manuscripts.
Most of the fragmented manuscripts looked as if the black ink had gone right through the papyrus and spread, and the paper had rotted. There was no way I could even read what was written on them. And something I hadn’t mentioned to anyone, they weren’t written in Hebrew and Aramaic, but a dialect of the two. It was something that I had seen before but not something I could just read. So, what it boiled down to was that most of the intact manuscripts I couldn’t make out because they were smeared. And the parts I could make out I probably wouldn’t ever be able to figure out thanks to the mix of languages used to encode them. And the Latin was going to kill me. Dr. Margulies was the only person I knew who could read it but I couldn’t very well ask him for help.
Thinking I could translate this thing was a joke. It would be next to impossible. Good thing I was going crazy, because no sane person would’ve ever attempted to figure them out.
I took notes on the manuscripts and went to the library and found some information on the dialects. This thing was maddening. Forget about Dr. Yeoman trying to hide the manuscripts. Whoever wrote it didn’t want anyone to be able to read it. And, whoever wrote this was quite the linguist. But who could have written it? The Essenes seemed to have been their keeper, but who was the author?
It was getting close to the time to go home and I was starting to get nervous. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know whether to return the manuscripts to the caves and just forget about them (was that even possible?), give them to the Dead Sea Scrolls Committee, or take them home with me. That, I decided would be criminal but probably not get me into as much trouble as turning them into the Committee. No telling what they would do to me.
How would I explain me having them? But if they had them, they could at least take care of them and translate them, I reasoned. I sure wasn’t having any luck. Certainly, they had better resources and tools to do it than I did. Then I thought, bad idea. If my conspiracy theory was right, th
ey already knew about them and were keeping them hidden like Dr. Yeoman had. And what about that translator that died? I didn’t know what length anyone would go to keep these documents hidden. They might just kill me, too.
I shook off the thought.
I decided I would put the documents back in the cave. I would try to translate them from what I had in the notes that I had taken, even though I really didn’t need the notes because I remembered each and every word that I’d seen.
We were leaving early Saturday morning to go back home. We left Jerusalem and went to Tel Aviv on Thursday. Greg wanted to get to the casinos and enjoy the night life in Tel Aviv. It was closer to the airport anyway and I didn’t care what we did. Michael and Greg put the manuscripts back in the cave for me on Wednesday. But this time I made sure that they wouldn’t deteriorate any further. I stored them properly. I took the clay pot that someone had donated to the university. How fitting, I thought. Back in the same vessel it had spent the last two thousand years in. I had Ghazi help me get it and I didn’t tell Greg. He thought I got it from the University store. Yeah, so maybe a little illegal, but I figured it couldn’t be as bad as what Dr. Yeoman did. I made sure that they would survive until the next millennium. I brought Dr. Yeoman’s journal and letter home with me. Greg didn’t know about that either.
We got into Tel-Aviv late and rented a suite. Me and Claire shared one of the bedrooms and Greg and Michael the other. Before we could settle in, the boys were ready to go out. They talked about what to wear, sampled each other’s cologne, showered and primped for over an hour.
“They act just like girls getting ready to go out,” Claire said.
“I know, Claire. Maybe we should see if they want to borrow a pair of earrings to match their outfits.”
“Yeah, right. I’m not asking them, you ask them.”
In the Beginning: Mars Origin I Series Book I Page 10
