CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I hurried back to my museum and called Greg at his office. I had figured it out, I had to tell him. His secretary, Anne, answered the phone.
“Lawson, Jackson and Klein.”
“Hello Anne, this is Justin, is my brother around?”
“Sure, Justin. How are you?”
“I’m doing well. How about you?”
“I’m good, thanks. Hold on, I’ll get Mr. Jackson for you. Just a moment.”
Greg answered the phone. “This is Mr. Jackson.”
He sounds so professional when he’s at work. I wondered if his clients knew what a knucklehead he really was would they still do business with him.
I just said one word. “Indians.”
He said, “Hold on,” and clicked the phone. Some kind of weird music came on in the background.
“I hate being put on hold,” I said after he finally came back on the line.
“Girl, you hate everything. Now, what do you want? And, what kind of greeting is that, ‘Indians?’”
“What kind of music is that?” I asked. “The music that was playing when I was on hold is really raspy.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No.” I said.
He laughed. “A lot of people say that. I’ve been meaning to call in and listen to it. The guys who put in the new phones tuned in the radio station.”
“Well, it’s awful. I would never give you my money to retain you if I thought you listened to music like that.”
“And, I would never accept you as my client if I knew how loony you actually are.”
Trying to act annoyed, he asked again, “What do you want?”
“Indians.” I said again.
“So what, you got some tickets for the next season?”
“No. Indians are the one race of people that populated the globe.”
“Duh. Having psychic revelations now?”
“I mean in the manuscript. They are the people.” I was so excited that my thoughts were moving faster than my mouth.
“I don’t get it.”
“Think about it. Whenever there was a ‘discovery’ of a new land, what kind of people already populated it?
“Uhmm,” he was thinking it over.
“Indians, Greg.” I gave him the answer. I couldn’t wait while he tried to figure it out.
“Doobie says that the world was first populated with black people,” he reminded me.
“You don’t believe that do you?”
“No, but I can’t say that I believe you either.”
“Why? How could you say you don’t believe me?”
“There were other kinds of people found.”
“When? Who?” He didn’t know what he was talking about. That was okay though. I was going to straighten him out.
“The entire known population was in the Old World,” I said. “Including the ‘original’ or first known Indians who live in India.”
“How come there were other races in the Old World? Where did they come from?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I do know that after people started exploring other unknown parts of the globe that they stumbled upon only one race of people. Indians.
“Indians were everywhere,” I continued. “Indians out in the middle of the ocean on islands, Indians populated unknown continents during the European explorations. ‘Indians’ were found in South America, like the Mayans and Incas. The Caribbean had the Caribs, the Awarks.” I was talking fast now. I was really excited about my revelation. “In North America there were the Inuits and Native Americans. Australia had the Aborigines. Greenland, the South Pacific, the Hawaiian Island, all had Indians. I don’t know why I never saw that before.”
We were both quiet for a moment.
“And how did they get there?” I broke the silence.
He was silent for a couple of seconds, “Well, I thought that all the land was connected at one time and they just walked across the poles or whatever.”
“Pangaea.”
“What?”
“That’s the name given the connected land masses.”
“So, they walked over to the western hemisphere across the Pangaea. Mystery solved.”
“Okay, say that’s true, Greg, what about the Islanders? Those islands were formed from volcanic ash. How did the Indians get there?”
He took a breath signaling he was getting ready to speak. “Wait,” I put my finger up, as if he could see it over the phone, “If they did cross the Pangaea, why did only Indians come?”
He was stumped again. I was certainly winning this argument. Maybe I didn’t need that stupid manuscript, maybe I could figure it out on my own.
“So, this is the ‘one people?’” He was remitting.
“Yes. ‘T here will be a perfect world and one people will occupy it . . .’” I quoted Dr. Yeoman’s journal.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. I’d won that round. I wish he could see this big grin on my face.
“So, what does that mean?” He hesitated before he continued, “So, okay, you figured out who the ‘one people’ were, but now what does it mean?”
I lost the grin. I took a deep breath and sighed. “Oh, I don’t know that.” He always has to act like he has the superior thinking capabilities.
“Bye.” I hung up the phone before he could say anything else.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Embers danced around the fire, crackling as the heat from the fire Mase started in the fireplace bathed us in warmth and ambience. We had turned off all the lights, lit a couple of candles, put on some Luther Vandross and sank down into the huge pillows of our big cushiony family room couch. I curled up next to Mase.
A quiet evening at home with nothing to do but sit and snuggle with my husband was rare. The holidays were over and everything was getting back to normal. The kids had gone skating and I didn’t even have to go and pick them up.
“I wish Dr. Margulies was here,” I said seemingly out of the blue. But thoughts of those manuscripts stayed with me all the time. “I know he could figure out what’s in them.”
“So, whatever happened to ‘I’m never touching those manuscripts again,’” he mimicked my voice and gestures, “I don’t care what secrets they hold, those manuscripts are nothing but trouble.” He stared laughing at his imitation of me.
“You’re not funny,” I said sitting up and looking at him. I let him know that I was not impressed with his brand of humor.
“Okay, okay. But I knew that attitude wouldn’t last long.
“Well, what about the computer program Sean got for you? Didn’t that help you with the translations?”
“Help me to do what -” I winced at the thought of my attempts. “Put fifty words from fifty different places in the manuscripts together and make a sentence out of it? I’ll never get anywhere like that.”
“Do you do that? That doesn’t sound right.”
“Yeah, well, it’s all I got, unless maybe you can suggest some other method I can use. You know if it wasn’t so much Latin, I wouldn’t have to skip around so much.”
“Oh,” I sat up and clapped my hands together. “Did I tell you about those magazine articles that Claire found?”
“No, what were they about?”
“Dr. Yeoman.”
“Dr. Yeoman?” he thought for a minute. “Oh yeah, the guy whose journals you found. He’s the one that started this whole cover-up, huh? He was the first Editor-in-Chief of the Dead Sea Scrolls translators?”
“That’s him. Well, Claire found out that in 1972, Life Magazine did an article on him and in January of that year he was voted Times Man of the Year.”
“Really?”
“Really.” It was unbelievable.
“Well, they didn’t know what he had done.” Mase always wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt. The bad part is that he said in the interview that there were not any new revelations found in the Dead Sea Scrolls.”
“He said that?”
I nodded my head. He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “So, if there weren’t any new revelations found, why did he go to so much trouble to get rid of those manuscripts that the other interpreter had translated?”
“Exactly and he won the Nobel Prize for his work on the Dead Sea Scrolls.”
“Get out of here.” His mouth dropped open and he made his eyes real wide.
“Yes. Can you believe it?” I leaned back on him.
“So, where is this Dr. Yeoman now?”
“I don’t know. Probably dead, as a matter-of-fact, I’m sure he’s dead. The articles were written in 1972 and he was seventy-nine then and that was twenty-six years ago so he’d have to be what?” I did a quick calculation in my head. “A hundred-and-five.”
“He’s dead,” we said it in unison, and I laughed.
“God help him,” I said, and then thought, if those manuscripts could talk they would say “touche.”
Mase stroked my hair and rubbed my shoulders as we cuddled quietly, listening to music and watching the flicker of the flames. I breathed in and closed my eyes, letting the sweet smell of the vanilla candles and the woodsy scent of Mase’s cologne invaded the tense thoughts of those wearisome words in the manuscripts. And it felt like it was working. The warmth from the fire made every part of me relax and let go. A quiet, yielding smile made its way across my face as Mase kissed my hand, my hair, my neck and his firm and gentle touches sent tingles down my spine. Luther was singing in the background, “Always and forever. . .” My heartbeat quickened. I licked my lips and my head went limp and rested on the back of the sofa. I slowly exhaled and my body arched.
“Ma. What are you and Daddy doing?” I jumped and bolted upright. Micah was standing staring at us and putting his hand in front of Logan’s eyes. I hadn’t heard them come in. I felt the blood rush to my face. Calmly, or so was my attempt, I wiped one hand across my lips and straightened out my hair with the other.
Good things don’t last long. I looked over at Mase, the kids coming in didn’t seem to bother him. He hadn’t moved.
“Either one of you wanna wash the dishes before you go to bed?”
“No thanks.” They both answered.
“I can’t believe you didn’t wash the dishes yet,” Micah continued. “If we waited until nine o’clock at night to wash dishes, our new address would be Lakeview Cemetery.”
“That’s right so you just make sure you don’t try it.” Mase got up off the couch and tugged down on his grey rayon knit fitted shirt and on each pants leg of his jeans. He walked past Micah, balled up his fist, gave him a little nudge and headed out to the kitchen.
“So did you have a good time skating?” I asked.
“Yes.” The both gave the one word answer and nothing more. I guess now I was prying into their business. As if they had some.
“Okay, you guys can get your things ready for school tomorrow, get a bath and go to bed,” I got up and headed off to find Mase. Evidently no conversation with them. “Don’t worry about the dishes, we’ll take care of them.”
“Oh, we weren’t worried about the dishes,” Micah didn’t even think before he spoke. He couldn’t have.
I turned around and pointed my finger. “Goodnight, mister.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I found Mase in the kitchen starting some dishwater. I handed him a dish towel and bumped him to the side with my hip. “I’ll wash, you dry.”
This time Mase brought up the manuscripts.
“So, what are you going to do about deciphering that thing?”
“Cry. Isn’t that what I always do? If only I could just get some help.”
“Just ask for some help.” As if that was as easy as asking someone to pass the salt at the dinner table.
“Who can I tell about this?” I took my hands out of the sudsy water, flicked the water off and took each hand to wipe the suds off the other. I leaned forward on the sink, turned and looked at Mase.
“Come on Mase, for fifty years this had been hidden because two very learned scholars felt the information contained within was an eye-opener, to put it mildly. Plus, I took all this stuff from the University, went on my own little treasure adventure with my dysfunctional family and found something that no one wanted found. I don’t need any more accomplices. Really. Who in the world could I get to help me translate this without subjecting myself – and them, to criminal liability?” I stuck my hand back in the dishwater.
Mase laughed. “Maybe I could take one of those ‘Learn Hebrew in a Week’ courses. Then I could help you out.”
“I wish you could,” I said, handing him a plate to dry. I don’t think anyone could help with this mess.”
“It’s like I take the few things that I have translated and try to make some sense out of it, you know? Even with my haphazard way of translating, I have gotten a few things out of it. Like ‘fourth world,’ ‘new earth,’ something ‘colored-heavens,’ I think . . . burnt red? I’m not sure. Then the word ‘accident’ and some other things, but it’s so sketchy, it’s like what in the world could those things mean? And the manuscripts were in so many pieces that there’s no continuity anyway. Who knows which part goes with what? I had Michael doing some research for me at the library since he’s right there by one every day, but I haven’t heard from him yet. I had him looking up some things about Mars.”
“Mars?” He frowned, slowly reaching up to put the plate he was drying into the cabinet.
“Yeah. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know.”
“That’s help.”
“Not the kind I need.” I purposely poked out my lips and made sad eyes. Mase patted my shoulder and walked over to the stove to grab a pot with some leftovers in it. He grabbed a big wooden spoon and started to scrape it into the trash. Just then the telephone rang. I glanced over at him, he didn’t even look up so I dried my hands and answered it.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Justin.”
“Hey, Michael. Speak of the devil. Me and Mase were just talking about you.”
“Really? Better not have been anything bad,” he said.
“Nope. Nothing bad.”
“So, what’s up? Are you busy?”
“No, just washing some dishes. What’s up with you?”
“You wanna have lunch with me tomorrow?”
“Sure. You don’t have to go to work?”
“I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in the morning so I took the whole day off.”
“You okay?”
“Oh yeah. I’m fine. It’s just my yearly check-up.”
“Oh, okay. Well, lunch is fine. Is Regina coming, too?”
“No, she’s gotta work. I’ve got some information for you and some stuff for you to see.”
“What did you find?” I was trying not to get too excited unnecessarily. Might not be anything major. I waved and snapped my finger a couple of times at Mase to get his attention. I mouthed “Michael found something.” He came over and I held the phone out so he could listen.
“I’ll tell you when I see you,” Michael said. He had to know that wouldn’t sit well with me.
How would I be able to sit still until lunchtime tomorrow? I hate surprises, but if I kept asking him, he would probably taunt me with some minuscule piece of information and I’d be even more anxious.
“Okay, where do you want to eat?” I faked nonchalant.
“Uhm, I don’t know, how about the Boarding House?”
“Sounds good. What about 12:30, or 12:00. I think 12:00 is better. Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said.
“Okay. Come over to the museum and we’ll ride over to the restaurant together?”
“Okay.”
“Alright, Michael. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I hung up the phone and looked at Mase wide-eyed. “My goodness, what did he find? He sounded excited didn’t he?” I was being hopeful.
“He didn’t sound excited.” Mase was bein
g truthful.
“Well, he sounded like he found something good, didn’t he?”
Mase looked at me.
“Oh,” I grunted. “Maybe he just sounded like Michael, just like he always does. I’m probably making more out of this than it is, huh?”
“Just don’t get your hopes up too high. That way you won’t be too disappointed.”
Mase was right. I would try to contain my enthusiasm until I found out something concrete.
I went back to washing the dishes. Mase went upstairs to stop a shouting match that Micah and Logan had gotten into. All they do is yell. I don’t know where they get all that yelling from, it’s such a bad habit.
Before Mase went upstairs, he made me promise that I would call him as soon as I found out what information Michael had for me. I played with the suds in the sink and thought about what Michael had said.
It really amounted to nothing. He just said that he had some ‘stuff’ for me to see. What did that mean?
‘Stuff.’
What do I think it means?
What do I want it to mean?
Maybe it doesn’t mean anything I think it does.
Maybe it means nothing at all.
That’s probably what it meant – nothing. A low grunt escaped from my throat. I hadn’t had any success translating the document, why would something good happen now? A pained frown came across my forehead. Worry was setting in. The hole between my throat and stomach seemed to open up and sent a hot flash up to my head.
“Oh,” I grunted again, louder this time and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. “How could I wait until twelve o’clock tomorrow? Then I decided that I really had nothing to worry about because by noon tomorrow I would be dead from anticipation anyway.
I finished up in the kitchen and went upstairs to bed. Maybe if I sleep fast, it’ll hurry up and be tomorrow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I was standing outside of the museum when Michael got there at noon. It was so cold, and the ice was crunchy under my feet. When the clock had hit noon, I had grabbed my stuff and ran out to the front of the museum. I hadn’t bothered to put on boots, and left out without buttoning my coat or putting on my gloves and hat. My teeth were chattering as I wrapped my scarf around my neck and mashed my hat down over my head. It was so cold that I had to practically march in place to keep the blood flowing and not get frostbite.
In the Beginning: Mars Origin I Series Book I Page 15
