“Yep. Couldn’t keep us away with a ten-foot pole.” I smiled.
“Come then, let’s get to the matter at hand – those boxes.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Mrs. Margulies led us upstairs to a spare bedroom that had pink walls and a pink, white and powder blue quilt spread across the metal framed bed and matching pillow shams. She walked over to the boxes that were lined up at the foot of the bed.
“Now two of these boxes are Jacob’s things and then the one there,” she pointed to a large box in the corner of the room, “We got from his mother’s house after she died. It’s a box of his father’s things. I would have carried them downstairs for you but they are just a bit much for me.”
“Oh, that’s all right. We can get them,” I said. I went over and looked in the box in the corner. “Yes, I remember you telling me his mother had died. Dr. Margulies didn’t mention it to me.”
“Like I told you, it was all quite strange. I don’t think that Jacob cared much for his stepfather so Jacob and his mother didn’t see much of each other after he left home for college. His real father died in a car accident.”
I think there’s a clipping from the local newspaper here somewhere.” She bent over and searched through the box from his mother’s house. “Oh yes, here it is. It’s in Hebrew. You can read Hebrew can’t you, Justin?” She handed me the newspaper clipping but before I could read it she said, “Jacob’s mother had never approved of her husband’s occupation. She felt it kept him away from his family and you’ll never believe this, Jacob’s father was an archaeologist, too.”
“Really,” I said. “I never knew that.”
“Yes, but you know how that is, Justin. When you’re an archaeologist, you’re always out in the field, in some foreign country or locked up in a laboratory studying the artifacts that you’ve found. His mother just couldn’t handle that kind of life, so after Jacob’s father died she married a man with a regular job and made a new life for herself. She stopped going to the synagogue and started going to a Protestant church. Her second husband adopted Jacob. That’s why our last name is ‘Margulies.’ It was his stepfather’s name.”
“Man, I never heard him talk about his stepfather,” I said. I wondered did I act more like Ty than I realized. Worrying about my problems and not taking time to find out about the lives of the people I really cared about.
“His stepfather died a few years back. They weren’t very close either. Yeah, so, um after she remarried they moved from New York to Virginia. And for some reason, his mother kept a lot of his father’s work. Let me see now, what was his father’s name? Oh yes, Sabir. Amos Sabir. Anyway, his mother packed up all his journals, papers and things, and put them in the attic for storage not wanting her young son to follow in his father’s footsteps. But, as we all know, he did exactly that.”
It must have been in the genes, I thought, because I couldn’t have imagined Dr. Margulies as anything else.
“Although he didn’t talk about it much,” Mrs. Margulies continued, “I think that’s another reason why he and his mother became estranged because Jacob had gone the same route as his father. After his mother died, Jacob brought all of his father’s things up here and started to go through them. He never got the chance to finish because you know, he left us right after that.”
“But one thing he found was this.” She handed me a brown envelope that she picked up off the large dresser. “Jacob’s mother never even opened it. He was very excited and told me he had to get you over here to see this. He said he was going to wait until you got here to open it because you’d be really thrilled about it.” She handed the envelope to me.
As I reached for it, I scrunched up my nose and thought, Why would he want me to be here . . . . But, before I could finish the thought Mrs. Margulies said, “Evidently his father had been one of the original translators of the Dead Sea Scrolls.” She put the envelope in my hand.
I froze.
I stood with my arm outstretched and my mouth open. I had to tell myself to breathe.
Dr. Margulies’ father was a translator of the Dead Sea Scrolls?
I forced myself to listen to the rest of what she was saying.
He had been elated,” she continued, “He had never known. It was the happiest I had ever seen him over a find. I know he would want you to have it.”
I stared down at the envelope and tried to keep focused on the conversation. “Um, yes, he – he called me and . . . uhm, left uh, a message the day before he died.” I spoke slowing trying to get the words out and not give way to the rush of emotions I was feeling. “I didn’t, uhm, get a chance to, uhm, you know, return the call. Uh, ma-- maybe that’s what he wanted to, uhm, tell me about the, uh envelope.” I could barely form the words.
“Yes, maybe so,” she said.
I quickly looked over the newspaper clipping I held in the one hand. It read, ‘Dr. Amos Sabir, a lead interpreter for the Dead Sea Scrolls, was struck by lightning and killed instantly while trying to fix a flat on his automobile in the rain last evening.’ The newspaper was dated October 23, 1949.
I looked at the envelope in my other hand. The postmark was from Jerusalem, dated October 22, 1949. The same day Dr. Sabir died.
And, the same day as the entry in Dr. Yeoman’s journal.
I folded the newspaper and put it under my arm and held the envelope with both hands. I looked up from it and looked from Mrs. Margulies to Claire, back to Mrs. Margulies, my eyes wide, my mind racing. Claire looked at me out the side of her eyes. She didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on with me. But she knew it was something. I walked over and got real close to her and pointed to the date on the postmark. She followed my finger as I guided her across the face of the envelope to the return address. She looked at me, mirroring my emotions, but her furrowed brow and empty eyes told me she was clueless. Mrs. Margulies watched the two of us.
“Fix your face.” I whispered to Claire. Then I tried to fix mine.
I could have been blown over by a still wind. I pushed with all my weight against the floor to anchor myself to keep from fleeing or falling.
“Is that something important you think, Justin?” I looked at her. She smiled waiting for my response. I wasn’t sure if I could talk.
“Oh, I don’t know,” finally speaking, I let the lie slip out. “It’s just old and you know I like old things.” I was singing the words in a duet with my counterfeit calmness. A smile plastered across my face. But curiosity burned inside me. It took all the strength I could muster not to turn and bolt out of that room, running and screaming, to find a place to tear open that envelope and see what was inside.
“Thank you for all of these things. I know I will always treasure them,” I said in a sudden burst, much louder than necessary.
“I know he would want you to have them,” she repeated. She titled her head, placed her hands on her hips and a questioning smile emerged. “And, let me know if you find anything interesting.”
“I certainly will.” I pushed Claire over to the boxes. “Grab one,” I said in a hushed tone.
Once we got the boxes downstairs and by the door where we had left our coats, Mrs. Margulies gave us both a hug. I wondered could she tell how badly I wanted to get out of there, because I was itching to go. Claire wanted to talk, but I did not have time for that. I practically threw her coat to her and in a lowered, very firm voice I told her to, “Get on your boots and let’s go. Stop dillydallying.”
I’m not dilly - ”
I didn’t let her finish. “Let’s go.” I pushed her with my hip as she bent over to pull on her boot. I smiled at Mrs. Margulies and promised we’d be back, while I pulled Claire out of the house.
There were three boxes full of papers, notebooks and books. I made two trips out to the car. Claire made one. She moved like molasses in January. I just wanted to push her out of the way. My adrenaline was pumping so hard I probably could have carried all three boxes all at once, by myself. When I took the last box out, th
e one with the envelope, I grabbed the envelope and held it close to my bosom as I ran back up the walkway to get Claire. She was saying goodbye, again, to Mrs. Margulies, who stood at the door.
“C’mon Claire, it’s too cold for her to be here. Let’s go.”
I waved and smiled goodbye.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
I couldn’t get away from Mrs. Margulies’ house fast enough. It had become gray out and the rushing wind whipped around our legs making us have to lean into it and push against it to stay upright. It was bitingly cold and the ground was beginning to freeze over. We made our way slipping and sliding down to the car. I opened the door for Claire. “Get in.” I had to speak over the wind. I handed her the envelope and shut the door.
A blanket of snow covered the car. I opened the back door, reached in and got the snow brush to clear off the windows. I ran around the car sliding on the icy ground, my arms flailing to help me keep my balance. I just hit at the snow on the windows. I didn’t have time to do it right. I opened my door and threw the snow brush in the back. I turned the ignition, and not waiting for the car to heat up, put the car in gear, clicked on the windshield wipers and pulled off.
As I drove down the street, Claire reached over and turned on the heat. It blew out cold air. I reached over and turned it off. “Stop!” I ordered Claire jerking my head around so she could see that my eyes said, “Don’t mess with me.” My hands had started shaking and I had somehow caught Mrs. Margulies’ butterflies because they were beginning to take flight in my stomach. The icy cold was no match for the burning apprehension that slithered through my veins. Droplets of sweat began to form under my knit hat. I pulled it off and wiped my forehead.
There was no way I could wait until I got home to look inside that brown envelope. I turned around the first corner I got to. I didn’t want Mrs. Margulies to see me stop in the middle of the street in case she was still standing in that door or looking out the window. I pulled over and put the car in park.
“Give me the envelope, Claire.” Smoke came out of my mouth. Claire, shivering, handed it to me.
“What is wrong with you?” She was actually yelling at me.
“I don’t know. I’m nervous I guess.”
“Nervous? Nervous about what? So nervous that I have to freeze?”
“You can’t turn the heat on until the car warms up.” Didn’t she know that?
I stared down at the envelope like it was a precious gem. I took my glove off and stroked it gingerly, gently.
“Justin, what is wrong with you?”
I looked over at her, wide eyed and eager. I spoke softly and slowly, “What about if this is the translation of the manuscripts we found in the cave?” I looked at the envelope.
“What are you talking about?” She was still upset with me. The cold sure did change her usual sweet disposition. “Why in the world would you think that? Every old thing from Jerusalem doesn’t have to do with the manuscripts.”
“Yeah, but this does.” A sly grin crossed my face. I looked over at her and nodded my head knowingly.
“How you figure?” She reached over and turned on the heat. The low hum of the heater got louder as she notched up the fan.
“Don’t you remember, in the journal entry?” I whispered. “It said the interpreter who translated the manuscripts couldn’t tell what he knew because he was dead.”
“Yeah. Murdered, right? I remember.”
“No. Not murdered.” I frowned up.
“Uh-huh. You said -”
“I didn’t say murdered,” I interjected loudly. She looked at me. “Okay, maybe I did say that. But he wasn’t murdered. And that doesn’t matter now.” I waved my hand. “Dr. Margulies’ father died on October 22, 1949, which was the date of the journal entry.” I looked at her. She didn’t get it. “He worked on the Scrolls.” She still didn’t get it. “What if . . . ” I couldn’t even finish my sentence. “You open the envelope because I am too nervous.” I pushed the envelope into her.
“Ooookaaay.” Her brows knitted in slight confusion.
She turned the envelope over and started to open it. I snatched it from her. “I’ll do it.”
She looked at me and laughed. “Girl, you are losing your mind.”
It took me a moment or two to get up the nerve to open it. I just kept stroking my hand across it. Finally, I turned it over and slowly tore open the seal and looked inside. It was a notebook. A notebook that looked no different than the other notebooks in the boxes - old, worn, leather and - - there was a letter. I pulled both out of the envelope.
“It’s a notebook.” Claire said.
I glanced over at her. “No joke, Sherlock.”
My eyes quickly darted across the words on the page.
“Don’t just read it to yourself. Let me hear it.”
I read it aloud.
“‘Ruth,
I have made an outstanding discovery while translating the manuscripts that were found in Cave #4. I plan on telling Dr. Yeoman -’”
“Dr. Yeoman?” Claire interrupted. “The madman himself,” she smiled sinisterly.
“I know.”
“So, it does have to do with the manuscripts?”
“You wanna hear this or not?”
“Yeah.”
“So shush and let me read it.” I spoke to her loudly, but then lowered my voice to read the letter. “Okay. Where was I? Oh, okay, ‘I plan on telling Dr. Yeoman -
‘ . . . and I fear the ramifications of announcing this discovery. If anything were to happen to the manuscripts this information would be lost forever. I have taken steps to ensure that this information will be safe. I cannot of course keep the original documents, but I have done the next best thing. What lies herein will change the knowledge of our history and ourselves, forever. Please find safekeeping for my journal. I shall be home soon - - to stay, I promise. I miss you and our son. Give my love to Jacob.
Your Husband, Amos’”
I handed Claire the letter and started flipping through the pages of the notebook. The notebook was a handwritten copy of the manuscripts that we had found in the cave by the Dead Sea.
It was an exact copy of the manuscripts but in his handwriting.
I felt just like I was in a Nancy Drew mystery.
It was, of course, in much better shape than the original documents I had seen. But they were the same. I knew because, despite what I told Greg, I remembered it exactly.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
I couldn’t wait to get home. I handed the notebook to Claire. “Here, hold this.” I put the car in gear and jerked away from the curb.
“What, Justin? What is it?” Claire seemed frantic.
“It’s the manuscript.”
“It is not the manuscript,” she moaned.
“It’s a copy.” I sang out the words and turned to her and smiled.
“A copy of the manuscript? The ones we found in the cave?” Her eyes got big and he mouth dropped open.
“Your tongue is going to freeze off.” She shut her mouth.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Not kidding.”
“Oh, my God. I can’t believe this, Justin. We went half way around the world looking for a document that was right at Dr. Margulies’ house.” She spoke in a hushed voice.
“You know.” This was unbelievable. “Well, actually they were still at his mother’s house when we went to Jerusalem, but I know what you mean.”
“What now?” Fear creeping up in her voice.
“I’m going home and look through every box and every piece of paper and every journal until I find the translation.”
“You think it’s in there?”
“It has to be.”
“What if it’s not?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” What a horrible thought.
“I don’t know why it wouldn’t be, just maybe it’s not. Maybe the dog ate it.” She held out her hands and hunched her shoulders.
“Claire. Don’t talk to
me.” The butterflies came back, this time with a jolt. They seemed to be gnawing on my insides, trying to get out.
As usual, she ignored me. “Justin, there is a strong possibility, and with what the letter said, a more than likely probability, that there is no translation.”
I just glared at her. When did she learn to talk like that?
“It doesn’t matter, though. Right, Justin? I mean, if the translation isn’t there, you can translate it, right?”
Hadn’t I just asked her not to talk to me?
“Ughh.”
Claire laughed. “What was that?” She reached over and shook my elbow. “Tell me. You can translate it, right?”
“I do not want to have to do that.” I spoke slowly.
Oh my gosh, I thought. I looked over at her and said out loud, “This thing is going to kill me.”
“Don’t say that. I’ll go home with you and help you look for the translation.”
Back to the helpful Claire.
“Thank you. Okay, but right now I want you to watch out for the police because I can’t wait to get home. I am going to drive fast and it is slippery out here.” I glanced over at her. “And, put on your seat belt.”
She fumbled to get it on. “Don’t forget the last person that had the manuscripts died in a car accident.”
“Who? Dr. Sabir? He wasn’t the last person who had it. Dr. Yeoman was. Anyway, Dr. Sabir didn’t die in a car accident. He ‘was struck by lightning and killed instantly while trying to fix a flat on his automobile in the rain.’” I quoted the newspaper article.
“How do you know that?” Her eyes widened. “Mrs. Margulies said he died in a car accident.”
I sucked my tongue and shot her a look with squinted eyes. “I’m clairvoyant,” I said as if she must have forgotten.
She looked at me as if to say ‘Really?’
Oh my Lord, hadn’t she known me all her life? Would I have gone through all this with the manuscript if I could see the future?
In the Beginning: Mars Origin I Series Book I Page 18
