St Paul's Labyrinth

by Jeroen Windmeijer

  There were starry skies, suns, moons, bulls and Mithras, but also images of God as a shepherd with a lost sheep on his shoulders. There were paintings of a young man surrounded by lions that nuzzled him like overgrown house cats. Daniel in the lions’ den …

  A staircase at the end of the tunnel led downwards.

  ‘We’re almost there,’ Daniël said, as though this was a guided tour and he was trying to build the excitement for the highlight of the trip.

  The staircase brought them into a small room where Peter noticed a knife and a chalice among the objects on a stone table. Robes were hung on the wall. They walked through this room and into another much larger space. Its mysteries were still hidden in the flickering shadows cast by the torchlight.

  Daniël walked around the room, lighting the torches on the wall with the flame from his own.

  Peter’s jaw literally dropped in amazement, as though he was miming the word in a game of charades.

  This was a Mithraeum, exactly like the ones he had seen in images on the computer in the Ethnology Museum, but real and completely intact, painted in bright colours, as though a museum had gone to great effort and expense to give visitors a vivid experience of the past. It was all here: the ceiling covered in stars, the two long benches for the worshippers to recline on, the mosaic of the seven grades on the floor, a statue of Mithras conquering the bull, with a fresco of the same scene painted on the wall behind it.

  ‘But she’s not here,’ he said disappointedly.

  ‘No, I don’t think she’s here,’ Daniël said.

  He walked down to the furthest end of the temple, where wooden planks formed a square on the floor.

  As Peter got closer to it, he noticed the sound of flowing water.

  Daniël gave Peter a confused look. ‘We shouldn’t be hearing water. Not now,’ he said. He started to lift up the planks.

  Peter hurried over to help him.

  Removing the wooden boards revealed a metal grate, and below that, swirling, foaming water.

  ‘This isn’t—’ Daniël said.

  Then suddenly – a horror film director could not have timed it more perfectly – Judith’s deathly white face rose up out of the water, gasping for breath. Her head hit the iron bars with a loud thud. The water was just a couple of centimetres below the metal grate now.

  Judith’s eyes were wild with fear. She pressed her face as close to the bars as she could in a desperate attempt to fill her lungs with air.

  The men leapt off the grate.

  Peter screamed her name and began to frantically tug at the bars, but they didn’t move a millimetre.

  Daniël ran over to where the splintered remains of two wooden rods stuck out of the wall. ‘Damn!’ he cried. ‘These are supposed to turn the water on and off. And open the drain. They’ve been broken!’

  What sort of monster would do something like this, Peter wondered. Deliberately let someone drown … ‘Do something!’ he screamed.

  ‘There’s a door! There’s a door!’ Daniël yelled back. He took a torch from the wall and ran down a staircase next to the water-filled pit.

  ‘We’re coming!’ Peter screamed, fighting back tears. But Judith had already disappeared back under the water.

  He followed Daniël down the stairs into another passageway and found him trying with all his might to lift the latch that was holding a door closed.

  ‘There’s too much pressure behind it!’ Daniël yelled.

  Peter grabbed the torch from the ring on the wall where Daniël had left it. He banged the end of it into the latch arm until it started to move. The torch flames licked at his skin and he smelled the acrid odour of burning hair.

  After a few well-aimed blows, the latch was almost entirely out of the hook. Peter hit it once more and it came loose.

  The door flew open with such force that it knocked Daniël backwards onto the ground.

  Peter managed to step aside fast enough to avoid the door, but the water surged through the opening so powerfully that he was knocked over too. He struggled to hold the torch above his head and out of the reaches of the raging water.

  Like a birth in reverse, Judith’s legs emerged through the door first, followed by the rest of her body. The water dragged her a few metres down the tunnel, and then she stopped and lay like driftwood left on a beach by the ebbing tide.

  The heavy deluge was over now, but they could still hear water pouring into the cell.

  Judith lay on her stomach, white as a sheet, with her arms stretched out in front of her.

  Peter rolled her on her side and shook her hard. ‘Judith!’ he shouted, ‘Judith!’

  Daniël scrambled to his feet.

  ‘She’s not breathing,’ Peter said desperately. ‘She’s not breathing.’

  ‘Mouth-to-mouth!’ Daniël cried. ‘Put her on her back, tilt her head back, hold her nose and breathe into her mouth.’

  Peter passed the torch to Daniël and began to breathe into Judith’s mouth, but nothing happened. He did it again. And again. Then Judith’s body convulsed, and he looked at Daniël hopefully.

  ‘Keep going!’ Daniël shouted.

  After a few more breaths, Judith’s head jerked upwards. She spluttered and coughed out a wave of murky brown water. And then another. Judith breathed deeply, in and out, like a baby taking its first breaths. And then she began to cry.

  Peter took her in his arms and cried along with her, rocking her gently and whispering, ‘Judith, Judith.’

  She looked up at him for a moment and smiled weakly. Then she closed her eyes again.

  ‘Some maniac opened the valves,’ Daniël said. ‘The Sun-Runner. It must have been him. The Father would never have intended this to happen!’

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ Peter said.

  ‘This way,’ Daniël said. ‘It’s the shortest route.’

  Daniël helped them both up. Judith tottered like a new-born calf still trying to find its balance. The two men held her steady. Her vulnerability seemed all the greater because she was wearing only a skirt and bra. Peter could see goosebumps on her skin.

  Daniël let go of Judith and started to walk down the passageway in front of them. He came to a stop at a blank wall. He took a few more hesitant steps and then stopped again.

  With his arm still wrapped around Judith, who leaned heavily against him, Peter tried to see why Daniël had stopped.

  A dark form lay on the ground next to the wall. At first Peter thought it was a pile of clothing, but when he looked more closely, he saw legs, arms and a head. It was clearly a man. He was groaning.

  The water was just a couple of centimetres deep here. It lapped up against the man’s side, making him look like a shipwreck survivor washed up on a distant shore.

  ‘Jakob?’ Peter heard Daniël’s shocked voice say.

  Perhaps roused by the chill of the cold water seeping into his clothes, the man, who was apparently called Jakob, slowly began to stir. There was a large, black balaclava lying next to him.

  Daniël helped the man to sit up. He had a sizeable wound on the side of his head. His hair was matted with congealed blood.

  ‘I’m …’ he tried to speak. ‘They … I was knocked out.’

  Daniël looked up at Peter, but Peter didn’t dare to let go of Judith. Eventually, Daniël managed to help Jakob to his feet himself. He leaned him against the wall, and only let go when he was sure that he wouldn’t fall down again.

  ‘Where did that … where did that water come from?’ Jakob asked. ‘It was dry when I …’

  The stink of stagnant canal water hung in the air.

  Daniël expertly pressed and pulled the bricks in the wall, then pushed it open.

  The simple brilliance of it impressed Peter all over again.

  When they had gone through the opening in the wall, they could see light in the distance. They were almost back at the hole in the tunnel under the Nieuwstraat. Peter recognised it from the bricks that he and Daniël had stacked into piles the day befor
e when they were rescuing Raven.

  A journey of a thousand miles ends with a single step, he thought.

  They slowly made their way along the tunnel behind Daniël. Jakob was a strong man and able to walk unaided, although he still needed to steady himself on the wall now and then.

  Every few metres, Judith stopped and rested her head on Peter’s shoulder. She didn’t open her eyes.

  Daniël reached the opening first. The rope ladder was still there. He extinguished the torch so that he had both hands free to climb up.

  ‘Hello!’ he cried, looking up through the hole. ‘Is anyone there?’

  Within seconds, the faces of two policemen appeared above them and looked down into the tunnel, their eyes wide with disbelief.

  ‘It’s us,’ Daniël said, climbing up to the surface, rung by rung. ‘We found Judith Cherev. And Peter de Haan too. He’s still down here but he’ll be out shortly. And there’s someone else.’

  Peter took off his coat and put it around Judith’s shoulders. Together with Jakob, who looked terrible but otherwise seemed to be completely recovered, he helped Judith up the ladder.

  He sighed with relief as he watched her climb up to the blue sky and the fresh air that she had so desperately been gasping for just minutes earlier. Although her feet missed the rungs a few times on the way up, she eventually made it out onto the street.

  Jakob followed her, so that now only Peter was left in the tunnel.

  Jakob knelt at the side of the pit and held out his hand to help Peter up. But before Peter could grab hold of it, the rope ladder came loose and tumbled towards him. He had to jump aside to avoid it hitting his head.

  Except for the brief sleep he’d had at the police station, Peter had been awake for almost thirty-two hours now. Strangely, although he felt exhausted, hungry, and thirsty, he was surprised to find that he also felt relieved and proud that he had been able to rescue Judith, as a novice, an initiate who had successfully completed his quest.

  From out of the darkness in the tunnel Peter heard a voice, so clear that he almost believed that the speaker was standing right next to him. ‘Know that I am with you and will keep you safe wherever you go.’ He peered into the distance but there was no one there. Then he looked up, but saw no one above him either. He shook his head and blinked. His tiredness must have been getting the better of him.

  But then he heard the voice again. ‘I will give you bread to eat and clothes to wear. You will come home safe to your loved ones, and I, the Lord, will be your God.’

  He was suddenly overcome by a powerful feeling of peace and tranquillity.

  He looked up.

  Jakob’s face appeared over the edge of the hole. He lowered a length of red and white police tape towards him. ‘Tie the ladder to this and I’ll pull it up!’ he shouted.

  Peter did as he said and, a few seconds later, the ladder was lifted upwards. The police tape stretched and strained perilously, but it didn’t snap.

  When Jakob had securely fastened the ladder to the pavement with the steel pins, he let it fall back down again.

  Now Peter was able to climb the ladder that connected him to the sky above him and the ground below his feet.

  Half way up the ladder, he paused.

  Hanging there between heaven and earth, he felt like a bird hovering in the air.

  And the thought revealed itself to him:

  I am a Raven.

  THE SEVENTH VISION

  And behold, I saw the man in his cell. He knows that his mission has been successful. The Jews are fighting amongst themselves. The followers of the Way are increasing in number. Nobody obeys the laws or has themselves circumcised. They eat what they want, which angers the Jews and angers the people who knew Jesus.

  For two years, he writes letters, dictates so many versions of the story of his life to his secretary that he no longer knows which parts of it truly happened and which did not.

  What is the truth?

  He was called Paul, then Saul … allowed his manhood to be mutilated for a woman, that serpent. And now he bears the name that his parents gave him once more.

  And as Paul, he travels to Rome. He writes the report of the journey before he leaves, a journey full of ordeals. He writes of a shipwreck and of floating on the waves clinging to the wreckage of the ravaged ship. He tells of a winter spent on an island, of raging storms at sea, of hunger and thirst – a story worthy of Odysseus.

  And he goes to Rome. After a journey of no more than a week or two, without so much as a ripple on the azure waves of the Mediterranean, he arrives in Ostia.

  In Rome, he speaks to the Jewish community. Here too, he succeeds in confusing the hearts and minds of many, and here too, he drives a wedge between them.

  Father is set against son, son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, the mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.

  And hark, he challenges them and says: ‘The Holy Spirit was entirely justified in saying to your ancestors through the mouth of the prophet Isaiah: “Go to this people and say: You will indeed listen, but never understand, and you will indeed look, but never perceive. For this people’s heart has grown dull, and their ears are hard of hearing, and they have shut their eyes, so that they might not look with their eyes, nor listen with their ears, nor understand with their hearts. Because otherwise they would repent and I would heal them.” Let it be known to you then, that God has already sent this message of salvation to the Gentiles and they will listen.’

  And behold, he stays in Rome for two years, in the house that he has rented himself, and welcomes all who come to see him, proclaiming the kingdom of God and teaching about his Lord with all boldness and without hindrance.

  After two years, he has been forgotten by everyone. No judge bothers him, no court case hinders him on his path. His accusers did not ever come to Rome.

  The Jews’ only fight is with the Roman rulers in Israel. They are waiting for the Messiah who will one day come to free them from the uncircumcised heathens.

  And behold, Paul bids a warm farewell to his brothers and sisters. He gives his final instructions and he travels to Hispania. The money he had collected is almost gone. He has only enough to pay for the crossing.

  He is a pater patrum now, the father of fathers. He has shown others the way and wants nothing more for himself. ‘Your will be done’ is his motto.

  He is summus pontifex now, the bishop, the magus. With the ring on his finger and the staff in his hand, he waves to his disciples on the quay, his children, for the last time.

  And behold, he turns away from them so that they cannot see his face. He smiles, because he is cunning and he has got the better of them by guile.

  He turns his face to the sky and lets himself be warmed by the rays of his Lord, the invincible sun.

  He travels through Hispania, not as Paul, not as Saul, but as a man with no name. The journey is almost over, his task is almost finished.

  And behold, he takes his seat in the stands to watch the games. He sets the earthenware jug of wine at his feet. He observes how the bull is slaughtered in the arena, how the offering is made anew. ‘His blood be on us, and on our children,’ he prays, in the hope that they will also taste the joy brought by the random sacrifice. Then he says: ‘And you have also saved us by shedding the eternal blood.’

  He catches one of the hunks of bread that has been thrown into the crowd. He tears off a piece and puts it in his mouth. ‘Take this and eat; this is my body which is given for you,’ he prays, chewing the bread contemplatively before swallowing it.

  Then he picks up the jug from next to his feet and fills his mouth with wine. ‘Drink, this is my blood poured out for many.’

  He drinks until the jug is empty. ‘He who does not eat of my flesh and drink of my blood, so that he remains in me and I in him, shall not know salvation.’

  And behold, while the people climb onto the benches and wave white cloths, cheering for t
he bull killer, he gets up. He takes one last look behind him.

  Consummatum est, he thinks, satisfied. It is finished.

  I am the Father.

  EPILOGUE

  Friday 28 March 2015, 3:00pm

  When a second attempt was made to install the underground waste container outside the public library, Mayor Freylink was once again invited to do the honours. Ever the good sport, he accepted. The hole he had made in the foundations during the first attempt had been closed up.

  This time, the set-up was much simpler. The container dangled in the air from a steel cable, like a net full of fish above the deck of a ship. The burgemeester held a glass of champagne in his hand and when he was given a signal, he threw the golden liquid at the side of the container. The dozens of spectators who had turned up to watch applauded politely.

  It took the police some time to reconstruct the events of the 20th and 21st of March.

  They were unable to form a complete picture of what had happened, but it was clear that Judith had been kidnapped by Tiny Strauss and one or more accomplices. For reasons that were unclear to the police, Peter de Haan had been given the task of finding her within twenty-four hours. He had eventually succeeded, helped in the final hours by two members of Strauss’ group, Daniël Veerman, the city archaeologist, and a man called Jakob. After the three of them had emerged from the tunnel, Jakob had apparently vanished from the face of the earth.

  The archer had died after being hit by a police bullet. He turned out to have been the leader of a small group of men who had rebelled against their spiritual leader. Another rebel had met his end in the Hortus Botanical Garden when he was accidently shot with an arrow. Yet another was burned alive in one of the tunnels. The two men, who according to Peter’s witness statement had been with this last victim, had not been found. Eventually, only two men were arrested: the man who had been with the priest in the Coelikerk, and the other man who had stood guard at the church door.

  Both men were still in custody, one of them in connection with his possible involvement in Arnold van Tiegem’s death. The role the second man had played was still being investigated. Neither could give the police any useful names. Everyone involved in the operation had used a pseudonym, much like members of the war-time resistance had taken a nom de guerre in case they were ever caught.