In the Beginning: Mars Origin I Series Book I

by Abby L. Vandiver

“Hey, what are you two in there giggling about?” Greg came our way. We ran in the bathroom and locked the door.

  Claire and I let the boys enjoy themselves, by themselves. I had never been interested in night clubs and I definitely didn’t want to go with them. They hung out all night, and then came in making all kinds of ruckus. They were laughing, coming in our room, climbing all over the beds, waking us up and trying to tell me and Claire about the dazzling casinos, regretting that it was the thrill of the gamble that lured them in and not the beautiful women who they wished had. Claire chased them around trying to quiet them. I propped myself up on one elbow and watched them. Silly boys. They just pulled Claire right in. They hadn’t changed one bit from when we were little. And they call me childish.

  Claire chased them out the room, calling for me to come and help. “They’re going to throw us out of this hotel if you guys don’t stop making all that noise,” was the last I heard. I covered my head up with the pillow and went back to sleep. I guess at some point Claire rustled them down because when I got up in the morning, both of them were sleep in the living room, Greg on the couch, Michael in the chair, fully clothed and snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

  Me and Claire tiptoed around and slipped out early in the morning. We didn’t leave a note, probably a bad idea, but one that was quickly forgotten once we went through the hotel doors and were met with the bright, clear, warm day that wrapped around us and tugged at us to come out and play.

  My hand holding Claire’s arm, the sun laughed with us as we walked the path down to the beach, taking off our shoes and letting the sand squeeze in between our toes. Hellos and smiles followed us all day. We were drawn in by the sweet aroma of fresh brewed coffee at a small café on Dizengoff Street where we sat and talked for hours. Walking down Jordan Street, we stopped at a few art galleries.

  But lingering, in a not so small crevice of my mind, were those haunting, fragmented words of the manuscripts that even the beauty of Monet and Chagall couldn’t exorcise.

  The next day we left to head home. After settling in on the plane, Greg in First Class and me sitting in Coach between Claire and Michael, I took out the notes I’d made.

  “So what did you finally figure out?” Michael leaned over trying to read my notes.

  I sucked my tongue. “‘God help us.’ I couldn’t figure anything else out.”

  “Well, that’s not much. Dr. Margulies had already figured that out.”

  “I know.”

  “So, what does it mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sounds like a plea to me.”

  “You think?” He nodded.

  “So, what else?” Claire asked. “You spent a lot of time in the library, you must have gotten something else.”

  “I don’t know. ‘One people, new earth or world,’ can’t really tell. ‘Third earth, red earth, life, God.” I recalled the vague terms that I gleaned from the manuscripts.

  “Well, what does it mean?” Claire asked.

  “Doesn’t mean a thing to me. Not a thing.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Los Angeles, California

  May 16, 1972

  At exactly one o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, there was a knock at the door of the small, modest bungalow located at 2812 Leeward Ave.

  London plane trees lined the street. A warm breeze circulated the sounds of spring. Children’s voices could be heard as they played outside with their rubber balls and rode their bicycles. Lawn mowers cluttered the air with noise and the smell of fresh cut grass. It was a beautiful spring day.

  “They’re here,” Marianne sang out to her mother.

  “Well get the door, and I’ll get your father.”

  Marianne found two men, in suits, smiling pleasantly on the other side of the screen door. One carried a rather large and cumbersome tape recorder and a portfolio of some kind under his arm. The other man carried a camera.

  “Good afternoon,” the man with the tape recorder spoke. “I’m David Chandler with Life Magazine and this is my photographer, Rudy Gurman. We’re here to interview Dr. Samuel Yeoman.”

  “Yes, I know,” she smiled warmly. “We’ve been expecting you. I’m his daughter, Marianne.”

  She pushed the screen door open, “Please, won’t you come in? My father’s upstairs, he’ll be down in just a few minutes. He doesn’t move so fast these days.”

  She led them into the living room, a small, cheery room with light salmon colored walls and moss green carpeting.

  “Please, have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward two green velvet upholstered Queen Anne chairs that sat opposite a flowered-patterned couch, each covered in plastic.

  As they sat, an old man, half the size he had been twenty years ago came slowly but steadily down the stairs. His pale, nearly translucent, bald head, speckled with brown age spots and tiny green vessels, bobbed up and down as he walked. Bent over from age, his wife held one hand, while the other, somewhat shaky and unsure, slid down the black, wrought iron banister.

  The reporter watched the old man descend the stairs. “He gets around well for a seventy-nine year old man.”

  “Yes he does, and,” she announced proudly, “he’ll be eighty next week.”

  “Wow. This will be a nice birthday present for him,” the reporter commented. “An article in Life Magazine.”

  “Yes it will,” she said. “Here, Mother, let me help you.” Marianne met her parents at the bottom of the steps and held onto her father’s arm, leading him to the couch. Before he sat down, she made the introductions.

  “This is my father, Samuel Yeoman. Father, this is David Chandler and his photographer, uhm -”

  “Rudy,” the photographer offered.

  “Oh yes, Rudy. I’m sorry. Rudy Gurman, right?” He nodded. “And, this is my mother, Miriam Yeoman.”

  Both men stood to greet Dr. and Mrs. Yeoman. “This is truly an honor sir, ma’am,” the reporter replied shaking Dr. Yeoman’s hand and nodding to Mrs. Yeoman.

  Dr. Yeoman lifted up his head slightly and looked at the reporter. He smiled to himself. He had been planning for this interview all week.

  Now to set the plan in motion.

  “Please sit down. Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

  “Thank you.” They took their seats as Dr. Yeoman sat down patting a place on the couch for his wife to join him.

  “Dr. Yeoman,” David Chandler spoke, “To meet with you and have this opportunity to interview you is truly an honor.”

  “No,” Dr. Yeoman smiled pleasantly, “This is an honor for me. I have had so much attention lately I’m forgetting how to act.”

  Having control was like an aphrodisiac to him. He breathed it all in. Yes, he could still do this. He liked to think of himself as a majestic hawk, circling, wings spread, a beautiful creature soaring through the sky with all eyes on him, in awe, until he sweeps down for the . . .

  “And your daughter tells me you have a pretty special birthday coming up. Your eightieth?”

  He let out a breath, clearing his mind. “That’s right I’ll be eighty on the 24 of May,” he chuckled ever so slightly. His age would work to his advantage. People didn’t expect such keen abilities from a man his age.

  “Well, congratulations.”

  “Thank you. Thank you,” Dr. Yeoman replied.

  “So, how does it feel to be Times Man of the Year?

  “It feels wonderful, but an honor not deserved by me.”

  Show humility. One of the important first steps to his plan.

  “Oh, he is so humble,” his wife remarked. “He has worked hard all his life. He is a good man who cares about God and His people.”

  “My wife is my biggest fan,” he said. Miriam Yeoman blushed as her husband smiled at her and patted her hand.

  “Would you like something to eat or drink?” Miriam asked her guests.

  “Something to drink would be nice, thank you,” the interviewer answered.

  “How about a nice, cool
glass of iced tea?” she asked.

  “Yes, that would be fine.”

  “Good. Rudy, would you like something?”

  “Iced tea is fine for me, too. Thank you.”

  “And are you sure the two of you wouldn’t like a little something to eat?”

  “No, no, thank you,” they said, almost in unison. She smiled warmly, and beckoned to her daughter, “Marianne, will you give me a hand?” They excused themselves and headed out to the kitchen.

  “She’s tries to feed everyone that comes her way. Even though you said no, she’ll probably come out of that kitchen with a full course meal,” Dr. Yeoman said.

  Step two, make the interviewer feel comfortable.

  “It’s nice to be in such good company,” the reporter remarked. “So, Dr. Yeoman, I would like to ask you a few questions. Will that be all right?”

  “Well, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “But, I must first ask you a favor.”

  “Certainly, what is it?”

  “You must call me Samuel.”

  Step three, putting him at ease.

  “Ok, Samuel, and you can call me David.”

  As Dr. Yeoman watched David Chandler prepare to start the interview, he sat up as straight as he could, and closed his eyes for a quick moment. Inhaling, he opened his eyes confident that this interview would come out just as he planned.

  “I would like to tape record our conversation today so that I may be able to quote you accurately. Are you comfortable with that?”

  “Yes, that will be fine.”

  “Good. You may also see me taking notes while we talk just to record my personal observations. And Rudy may take a picture or two during our conversation. Now, if you’re all right with all of that we’ll get started.” Dr. Yeoman nodded his head. The reporter placed the tape recorder on the coffee table that sat between them and turned it on. He adjusted the microphone, took a pen out of his inside jacket pocket, crossed his legs and opened his portfolio.

  “Right. First question,” he looked up at Dr. Yeoman. “Two months from now will mark the twenty-fifty anniversary of the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Is that correct?”

  Now, Dr. Yeoman thought, it’s time for the show.

  Dr. Yeoman nodded, “That is correct. The first scrolls were found in July 1947, but more were found up through about 1956.”

  “And, initially, there was a lot of controversy surrounding the pace of the translation and rendering of the Scrolls to the public. Would you say that was correct?”

  He nodded again, “That is correct.”

  “Now, you were the Editor-in-Chief?”

  “I was.”

  “That made you in charge of the translation process and the release of the information to the public. Please comment on the delay and the surrounding controversy. And, with that, comment also on the continued delay as they have yet been made public.”

  Before he could speak, his wife and daughter returned with a tray of tall glasses filled with ice, and a glass pitcher of tea. Mrs. Yeoman passed out the glasses and Marianne followed her filling each glass with tea.

  “I brought sandwiches and cake, just in case you got hungry. Talking uses up more energy that you may think.”

  Dr. Yeoman winked at the interviewer. “I told you she wouldn’t be able to get out of that kitchen without bringing food.” The interviewer laughed.

  “Now, where were we?” As his wife and daughter left the room Dr. Yeoman returned his focus to the interview. “Ah, yes, the controversy surrounding the release of the Scrolls to the public. I’ll be happy to comment on that.” He cleared his throat and took a sip of iced tea. He then placed his glass on the coaster Mrs. Yeoman had placed on the coffee table and took his shaky, but sure hand and rubbed his chin. He began to speak in an authoritative voice.

  “First, I cannot answer for the present Editor-in-Chief and his decisions. As for my role in the publication of the Scrolls, I found being circumspect the first priority. At first we needed to be careful with sharing the Scrolls, not because of any secret revelations, as has been rumored. I would really like to take this time to clear that up and have it on record. There was nothing in the Scrolls to topple Judaism or Christianity or any other tenet that we hold dear to our hearts,” he spoke emphatically.

  “The delay,” he continued, “can be attributed to a number of things. If you remember, someone tried to put the Scrolls up for sale,” he chuckled. “It was my job, I felt, to ensure the sanctity of our endeavors. To keep the manuscripts safe from those kinds of people. Those who wanted to make a name for themselves, or money.”

  “But mostly, and you may be aware of this, the Scrolls were written on animal skins and papyrus, and one was even written on copper. Unusual media that proved difficult to work with, even for the well-educated 1940s scholar. You must remember these documents were more than two thousand years old when they were found. They were fragile and had to be handled with care. They had to be prepared to withstand the scrutiny they would be put up against. We could not just take them from caves and read them as if they were the day’s newspaper.”

  “On top of that, the Scrolls were written using no punctuation and only an occasional indentation for paragraphs. And, in fact, in some cases, there were not even spaces between the words. So, translating proved to be a daunting task that took a lot of time.”

  “Additionally, in 1948, just after the Scrolls were found, Israel became a nation again. You were probably just a young boy at that time.” He smiled at the reporter.

  “We were at the gateway of two historical events and we didn’t want the one to diminish the importance of the other, if you understand what I mean.” The reporter nodded.

  “Many of the interpreters were Jewish, and while the translations were important, we needed to support our countrymen in their endeavors as well.”

  “That’s understandable. So, to back up a little, you say there were not any new revelations found?”

  “No,” he chuckled. “It would have been nice to find the secrets of the universe in those clay pots, perhaps why the dinosaur became extinct or who built the pyramids, don’t you think? But, it was not to be.” Just then, the camera flashed, memorializing Dr. Yeoman at the moment he proclaimed there were no revelations in the find. He smiled and took another sip of iced tea.

  “Yes, I guess it would have been a good thing to find - a secret in the caves near Qumran that would change man’s way of thinking for good.” The interviewer paused, considering such a revelation, and maybe even a Pulitzer for himself. “So, nothing like that, huh?”

  “No, there was nothing that wasn’t already known.” Dr. Yeoman smiled.

  “Now, as I understand it,” David said, “there are some manuscripts left still to be translated. Do you think anything significant will be found in them?”

  “Please, don’t misunderstand me, David. The information contained in the Dead Sea Scrolls was and is very significant.”

  “Perhaps I said it wrong. Let me rephrase that question. Do you think the remaining scrolls and or fragmented manuscripts have any great revelations in them?”

  “No.” His answer was firm. “Even though they are not translated, I have looked over every remaining manuscript myself. I can say with confidence, that there weren’t any ‘revelations’ to be found in the remaining manuscripts.” Dr. Yeoman looked straight into his eyes, and knew he had convinced him.

  “Well, coming from you, I’m sure there will be no more questions in anyone’s mind about that.” He scribbled on his notepad, ‘No new revelations.’

  Case closed, Dr. Yeoman thought. That would be the end of it. Thanks to him, and him alone.

  Now tell me, how important do you think the Dead Sea Scrolls find was to the Jewish and Christian communities?”

  “Well,” he pondered the question. “I am definitely not an authority on the Christian view of the Scrolls. But I can say that the Dead Sea Scrolls truly enhanced what we know of both Judaism and Christ
ianity. The Scrolls represent a non-rabbinic form of Judaism and provided unprecedented comparative material of Christian writings and tenets, especially as it relates to the New Testament. In this find, we learned a firsthand account of Judaism being the root of Christianity and showing, unequivocally, an evolutionary link between the two.”

  “And we knew that whatever was in the find could be equally as important to each community. In fact, there were some that thought, at that time, that a document purported to be a lost text of the Christian’s Gospels may be in with the find. The Quelle, or ‘Q,’ as it’s called. Have you ever heard of it?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  So then, let’s steer you in another direction, Mr. Reporter.

  “Well, it was not among the manuscripts found. And although some Christians believe that it may not have ever existed, there are some that feel it is missing evidence of the authorship of the original texts of the New Testament. So, as you see, it was equally important to both factions.”

  “Well, that certainly takes away some of the mystery. Different people, looking for different things, can make for a little confusion, huh?”

  Bingo.

  “So tell me about your career.”

  “Well, let’s see,” Dr. Yeoman said smiling. “I was the Editor-in-Chief for twelve years, leaving to teach at the Hebrew University for six years. During that time I still had quite a deal of exposure to the Scrolls. After that I returned to the United States and taught at the University of California at Los Angeles until I retired two years ago.”

  “Ah, yes, UCLA. Tell me about your time there.”

  “Well, I started there in about ’65 as a Professor Emeritus of Near Eastern Languages and Cultures. Along about 1969, I worked with several other professors and developed the blueprint for what will be the UCLA Cotsen Institute of Archaeology. It’s scheduled to open next year.”

  “What an accomplished life. A little background I neglected to ask earlier, you graduated from the Hebrew University?”

  “Yes.”

  The interviewer nodded as he wrote on his notepad. He paused briefly then continued his questioning.