The Secret of the Ancient Alchemist

by Yasmin Esack

  “You don’t? Apostle Mark said differently, as well as Clement of Alexandria.”

  “Clement was influenced by ignoble doctrines of his time.”

  “Like those of the Gnostics?”

  “They were always adding mysteries to texts and creating mischief.”

  “Clement was a highly regarded theologian of his time. He was amazed by a claim made in the Gospel of Hebrews.”

  “What claim is this, Dr. Hart?”

  “That a seeker of truth will be first astonished. Then he’ll marvel. When he marvels, he will find rest, meaning unity with divine wisdom.”

  “That gospel barely survives. There isn’t much of it to rely on.”

  Hart compose himself. “Professor Donnelly, Newton placed emphasis on the writings of the Corpus Hermeticum, an ancient text that extolls the Hermetic concepts of life, such as the enlightenment of the mind and alchemy. There’s a mystical element that governs the universe. The Gospel of Mary Magdalene says that one should be encouraged in the presence of all forms of matter.”

  “We don’t concern ourselves with the secrets of stars and hidden works of nature, Dr. Hart. It’s a twisted concept of salvation.”

  “What do you think of The Gospel of Thomas, then?”

  “That gospel is not highly regarded among scholars of theology!”

  “And, I don’t care!” Hart was peeved by Dr. Donnelly’s dismissive attitude. “These works contain facts, not fantasy. Our realm is a path to having it all. Now, where’s your information of our kingdom within?” The room was silent as Hart waited. Hearing no one, he continued. “Professors, you cannot give me an answer because it seems the relevant facts pertaining to our lives were ignored.”

  “What do you mean?” Donnelly fumed.

  “Professor, our universe is us. If there’s anything you can add to this, I would greatly appreciate it.”

  The tension in the air lessened when Bartow spoke. “You said you wanted a comment on the Secret Gospel of Mark, didn’t you, Dr. Hart?”

  “Yes, I would appreciate it. It does intrigue me. What do you know of it?”

  “A Gnostic group called Carpocrations went about claiming that there was a gospel that had teachings for persons who were deserving of advanced knowledge, Dr. Hart.”

  “You don’t think it existed?”

  “No, it never did.”

  “But, how could Clement quote from it? How could he speak of human perfection?”

  “The Church of Alexandria founded by Mark does not uphold any of these things and never has. Surely, those teachings would have survived.”

  “No, Professor, for nothing that is misunderstood survives. Go back two thousand years ago, and, I say to you what you see in front of you is in you, or that the universe was in you. What would you have thought? It seems only Magdalene understood or tried to and that’s the reason and the only one she was favoured.”

  “You would not find real evidence of your claims anywhere, Dr. Hart. That’s the problem,” Bartow added.

  Hart got up. “Gentlemen, I must thank you both for your time and knowledge. Thanks again.”

  “Please let us know what Avery Lengard finds with regard to the missing pages.”

  “I will.”

  Chapter 64

  He hurried through the grounds of the university as a light rain came. He recalled the gospel pages he had given Avery Lengard. They seemed real, he thought. His eyes had sought imperfections, but, he didn’t find any.

  Hart grieved. He would not get confirmation of a realm in humans or of other worlds. In transcendental life, there was no need for anything for everything was done with a thought. It was all about human potential.

  His journey was coming to an anti-climactic end and he struggled to deal with it. The ambiance did little to cheer his mood. He felt very alone. The fibres of his muscles were limp. Alas, he told himself, the truth of life would never ever be known. Too many texts were lost. Mankind would forever fumble. No one would know the true essence of human nature.

  He grabbed a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. It was found in LaPlotte’s office and handed to him by Terrance Nash of the FDI bureau. Two people confirmed the handwriting was LaPlotte’s. Two more suggested it was his attempt to translate the missing pages of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene. The contents were in French and scribbled illegibly across the page. He placed it away since it didn’t matter if the pages were forgeries. A buzz came to his ear as he headed to Victoria Station.

  “Tom?” he heard.

  “Yes?”

  “I hate to see you so distressed.”

  “Can’t help it, can I?”

  “The pages may not be forgeries. Don’t dismiss them so easily. I don’t understand why you are doing this.”

  “Don’t know. It’s a sinking feeling I have that tell me they are.”

  “I know matter is your whole life.”

  “We would never know the truth of it, would we? I can’t believe I’ve come this far, only to face this.”

  “Please don’t let Donnelly and Bartow get you down, Tom. Don’t forget, they also have personal agendas, big ones.”

  “I know.”

  “And, am I not here? You treat me as though I don’t exist. But, I do.”

  “You’re right. I‘m sorry if I take you for granted. Nobody would believe me if I told them I get visited by a time traveller who spent years in an Egyptian monastery empowering his mind.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Wait a minute!” Hart suddenly exclaimed. “You’re an ancient alchemist, aren’t you?”

  “I was.”

  “Then, there’s a chance you know the contents of the missing pages.”

  “I’m sorry, Tom, but I never saw that gospel. The powers that existed back then destroyed them all. What you have may be all that survived.”

  “I see.”

  “Besides, I was more of a Hermeticist than a Gnostic. I followed the teachings of the Egyptian God, Thoth. We too were deemed heretics and banished from sight. I spent years at Mar Saba. Everything of Thoth was destroyed. The Book of Thoth, may have survived. People acquired powers from it. Is it still in existence?”

  “Yes, but no one knows where.”

  “It was probably buried with an Egyptian pharaoh.”

  “What exactly did you learn?”

  “Thoth demonstrated how matter could be manipulated by a super-conscious mind. I spent many years in devotion to achieve a super-conscious state. Now, I traverse the heavens by thought. Thoth was versed in Science, medicine, mathematics, geometry and astronomy.”

  “Why’d you choose to connect to me? I sometimes wonder about that.”

  “I am vastly intrigued by your mission. It was what led me to your path. So, Tom, don’t give up now. Those pages may not be forgeries. It’s high time people got to know the secrets of their life and afterlife. So, please, don’t give up now, Tom.”

  “You’re right. I guess I shouldn’t.”

  “Bye, Tom.”

  Heathrow Airport was crowded when he arrived an hour later. He was glad the check-in service at the Virgin Airlines counter he was lined up in was moving swiftly. He waited his turn feeling little else than despair. But he had made up his mind. Even if the pages were forgeries, it would not change his belief that mind and matter were connected, and in them lay the bedrock of creativity. There was a design that hoisted humans to an unprecedented height. If only they knew.

  His mind soon drifted to Olsen. He knew the Dane didn’t want to be a ‘goof of the century’ by announcing a date for an age he wasn’t sure about. But, Hart believed he would spill it soon.

  Half an hour later, he dialled Olsen’s number as he waited to board his flight.

  “How soon before you get to know the contents of the pages, Tom?” Olsen inquired.

  “Lengard told me it’ll take months. I’ll have to wait a while, provided of course, they’re the missing pages of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene.”

  “What? Are
you suggesting they maybe forgeries?”

  “Possibly. What about the Inca date, Olsen?”

  “Hey, I’m through.”

  “I’ll come and see you, then.” Hart shut his phone off and took a seat waiting to board his flight back to New York.

  Chapter 65

  “Get on with it, will you? It’s lunchtime, Ave. Come on, let’s go.”

  Dr. Avery Lengard stared at the petite blonde. Carla Horsham couldn’t digest food without company it seemed. It was a ritual that they had lunch together at the museum’s cafeteria. Now, she stuck her finger out at him.

  “You work too hard, Ave.”

  “Sorry love, but I’ll pass this one.”

  “Alright, then.” She stormed out of the museum’s cramped palaeography room.

  Hunched over a microscope, Lengard stared at the fibres of the pages Hart had given him. He was looking for fibres originating from a sedge plant called Cyperus papyrus.

  Papyrus is the thick paper-like material produced from the pith of the plant. He knew it was possible for anyone to reproduce papyrus. What he was looking for were special features in the fibres that showed they came from an Egyptian Cyperus plant of the fourth century. For that, he would need to have extensive analytical tests done. Still, a preliminary perusal of the document could reveal much.

  Lengard focused on the letters of the document. He wasn’t just looking for Coptic writing but Sahidic Coptic in which most texts were written back then. Coptic was known only to Egypt and was used until the seventeenth century. Lengard stared at a letter. It wasn’t as faded as expected but it did carry the glyphs or distinctive marks of the Greek alphabet, supplemented by the Egyptian Demotic.

  He adjusted the lens of his microscope to a higher magnification in order to make a better estimate of the authenticity of the manuscript page. The magnification gave him a chance to look at its condition in detail. He was looking specifically for fractures and frays in the text. He stopped for a moment of thought, pushing his glasses onto his head of thick brown hair.

  “There aren’t that many fragments in these papyri,” he said in the camphor-scented air. “Surely, one would have expected more.”

  As he perused the outline of pages again, the sound of the door and his assistant’s shrill voice jolted him.

  “You’re still at it?” Carla Horsham snickered. “That manuscript takes up all your time and attention, ever since that tall man brought it in. What’s his name again? Oh yes, Tom Hart. You don’t even notice me.”

  Lengard sighed. “Carla, please call the Smithsonian Institute and ask for Jonathan Bradshaw. He’s the Chief Botanist there. I would definitely need his opinion on the papyrus fibres.”

  “Have you started the translation of the pages?”

  “No, I need to speak with Bradshaw first.”

  “Alright, I’ll call him in a minute, love.”

  “Call him now, Carla, now!”

  Chapter 66

  “Let’s meet for lunch, say in about an hour.” Olsen was on the phone to his girlfriend, Myrtle Foster.

  “Same place?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll be there waiting.”

  It was 11.45AM in California and Olsen’s hunger was starting to stir. An array of fast food was just a block away but it wasn’t much of an option for him. He didn’t like fast food much and hated standing in lines. The things that he missed were Danish coffee houses that served real pastry and recognition from people he knew. He avoided shopping and kept the few things he had carefully.

  It was at a mall purchasing a pizza that he had met Myrtle Foster. Standing behind him with her purse open, she had dropped credit cards and dollar bills all over the floor. Spoilt and aimless were words that fitted her description he had thought that January day one year ago when he had stooped down to pick her stuff up. Now, he loved her and longed for the sound of her voice and antics that were girlish and sweet.

  It was a while since they met. Olsen was too absorbed in his work. Now, he needed to speak to her.

  A dash to the shower and, donning his usual shorts and t-shirt, he headed to a flower shop. A bunch of pink roses wrapped in Baby’s Breath caught his eye. It seemed right for her.

  “Will that be all? Sure you don’t want something more? White Lilies perhaps? We have Azaleas and yellow Vandas,” the sales woman prodded.

  “This is fine, thanks.”

  With a sway of his credit card and forty dollars less, Olsen bolted to his car. A flick of the switch and he was on his way to Santa Monica.

  The highway was his place to think. Alone with his thoughts, he began to feel positive about his life ahead. Though he had spent most of his savings, including the money he inherited from his late mother on his condo, he wasn’t poor and the on-going frustration he felt from being unemployed was starting to lift. Olsen had gotten a job.

  To many, he was nothing but a scientific obscurity. He had never forgotten the new comer to Science from Sardinia who had described him as peculiar. It was, of course, a reference to his work on Inca prophecy. The reality of all that didn’t hurt. It was how little they cared for the world. A proponent of Quantum Physics, Olsen believed that science and spirituality were one and the same, that life was no more than a flash in universal time, an illusion for humans to experience. Instead they conquered and destroyed, spurred on by greed and ego. Humans lived in a physical world that was sputtering and choking to a bitter end. The compulsion to end the suffering could never escape him.

  He drove at a steady pace along the Pacific Coast headed to his favourite restaurant. In the English Manor, he sat alone gazing at cars and folks who wore their wealth well. His natural European reserve didn’t allow him to be friendly like most Americans. He came from a small Danish village called Kerteminde and, for many years, led a quiet, simple life.

  “Uh…Just a coke for now, thanks,” he said to a waiter who appeared. “I’m expecting someone.”

  Through the window of the quaint restaurant, he could see the black Cadillac as it made its way to the parking lot and the face of the young woman who drove it. Myrtle tugged at her skirt as she came out the car and shut the door. Fussing with her hair, she walked briskly to the restaurant. She smiled broadly as she approached Olsen.

  “Hi. Hope I’m not late. I drove as fast as I could.” She kissed his cheek.

  “Sit here,” Olsen beckoned, pulling a chair out for her. “Hope you like these. They remind me of you.”

  “Flowers, how lovely.”

  As she sat, he stared at her. The pink silk blouse she wore matched her tan and dark brown hair perfectly. She looked more beautiful than ever, he thought.

  “I have something to tell you,” he said.

  “What?” Myrtle’s face paled. “You’re not leaving to go somewhere are you?”

  He laughed. “Don’t be silly. I got the job at NASA, the one job I was hoping for. I’m going to be attached to the Jupiter Mission.”

  “You did? That’s wonderful! We can get married now, can’t we?” her eyes pleaded.

  “It’s what I want, you know that.”

  “I’m so happy!” She grabbed his slender hands. Truly, she wanted to bury her head in his chest. She desperately wanted to hold him.

  “But, first,” he began.

  “First? What d’you mean?”

  Olsen angled his body closer to hers. “Look, I…” The words he needed failed him. As much as he wanted to explain things, he knew she wouldn’t understand. “I have a couple of things to do, that’s all,” he said instead.

  “Like what?”

  “I have to go to Colombia, to SARDS, to return an archaeological artefact.”

  “SARDS? What’s that?”

  “A research station and then, to La Joya Island for a while.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “In the Caribbean. Plundered by pirates, I’m told.”

  “Sounds spooky. Are you coming back?”

  “Of course. Tell you what, why don’t …”

/>   He didn’t finish his sentence. They both looked up startled by a waiter.

  “Would you care to order now?” he asked.

  “Let’s celebrate,” Myrtle blurted. Her joyful mood caught the eyes of those around but it didn’t matter to her.

  “Your treat? Well, well.”

  “Order anything.”

  “Hmm, let’s see, a bottle of the finest champagne and some spicy lobster crepes. Let’s throw in a couple of Banana Flambeaux.”

  “Sure.”

  Olsen grinned. “I’m just kidding. A steak and salad would be fine.”

  “Same for me.”

  “So, that’s two steaks, two salads and two sodas,” the waiter said as he wrote the order down.

  “Yes, thanks.” Olsen handed back the menu card as Myrtle grabbed his hands. “When do you start your new job?”

  “In a couple of weeks.”

  “I’m so proud of you. So, I guess you’ll be busy now with all that new responsibility?”

  “At first but once I get a hold on things, everything will be fine for us. Don’t worry so much.” He touched her hair lightly. “I just need some time to get stuff out of the way. Soon, we’ll be together, forever.”

  “I truly love you, Julius. You know that.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Olsen pushed his plate. He turned his thoughts to Josh Marin. The seismologist had asked him to check a most recent California seismic report. He had gone through it many times and each time the results bounced back the same. The coming quake’s epicentre would be Palm Springs. In forty seconds there would be little left. But, there was also a good chance it wouldn’t happen. Seismic reversal was not impossible.

  “What’s wrong?” Myrtle enquired feeling a bit shut out.

  “Nothing’s wrong, love.” He held her hand. For all that Olsen had achieved, he was a lonely person, shut from life’s norms, finding no comfort in things most people did like partying. He was glad she had come into his life. “So, how are you getting along with your Mom these days? Does she still have plans to send you off to Versailles?” Myrtle’s parents knew nothing of their daughter’s relationship with Olsen.