The Emerald Tablet: Omnibus Edition

by JM HART

  “What’s wrong?” Sophia crouched beside him and wrapped her arm around him.

  “I need my backpack, my heart pills.”

  “I’ll go.” Joe rushed off. He swiftly jumped down over the trees and rocks and up the other side of the glen. In a short time, he was back with three backpacks.

  “There in the side pocket,” Father McDonald said.

  Sophia fished them out and gave him the bottle. His hand was trembling, and he couldn’t get the lid off. Sophia took the bottle from him and pushed a pill into the palm of his hand. He swallowed; they all waited. His color started to return and he said, “Just a few months ago, I carried you into the church and laid you down on the very pew you were born on, and today I can hardly lift up my own arm. I have aged a hundred years over the last few weeks.”

  “You’ll be right, old man,” Joe said patting him on the back. “You just need to catch your breath, and let those pills work their magic.” Joe waited till Father McDonald stopped sweating and his body had relaxed.

  Sophia was wiping his brow with the sleeve of her jacket. “How’s the pain?” she asked.

  “Just about gone, and so are my pills,” he said.

  “I’m going to have a wee stickybeak inside the cave, if you two are okay with that?” Joe said.

  Father McDonald opened his eyes and nodded his approval and closed them again.

  Joe pulled out his torch. “I won’t be gone very long. Will you both be alright?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Sophia said.

  “There’s some chocolate fudge protein bars in the front pocket of my pack. Help yourself.” Joe walked into the limestone cave, leaving Sophia and Father McDonald to rest for a while.

  The cave was cold and smelt damp. It opened up into a larger musty chamber. The further he penetrated, the more the air became stagnant. Joe took one of the tunnels branching off the main chamber that led east, further away from the coast. This is what he imagined as a kid. He stopped to lay his hand on the rock face, feeling for its heartbeat. There were more passageways branching to the left and right, but he went straight ahead, then took the second left for twenty-five yards. It started to curve and the air became sour, his eyes watering. He covered his mouth, and imagined a gutted animal that had come in to die. A real exploration of the caves would have to wait for another time, when his brother could be with him. Then he remembered the blood on the kitchen floor. His brother was dead. Lots of people were dead, and more people were going to die. He was on borrowed time; there was no later.

  All of a sudden he felt claustrophobic. He had only been gone about ten minutes but it felt like an hour. He started to make his way back to the main entrance. He stopped at a junction and now couldn’t recall if he had gone left or right. He stood looking down each tunnel trying to decide which way to go. Making choices wasn’t his strongest trait: there were always too many variables, too many choices to weigh, so his brother, a man of action, had usually taken care of the decisions while he Joe did the hard yakka. He chose the passage on the left, but it soon became colder and unfamiliar. Joe quickly turned around and went back the way he came, moving towards the right. He arrived back at the same point and without hesitation took the right passage, and it wasn’t long till he could see it opening onto the main chamber. He could see the light from outside and the silhouette of Father McDonald leaning against the cave wall, and Sophia standing at the opening tossing something into the scrub. Sophia turned towards him and he couldn’t see her face; she had a glow about her. “I thought you had gotten lost.” she said. “Father McDonald was exhausted so he’s drifted into a deep sleep.”

  Joe sat down beside them and pulled out a peppermint chocolate protein bar from his backpack. He tried to rip it open, rustling the wrapper and making a considerable amount of noise. His big hands were searching for a good place to pinch the sides and pull it open, with no luck. He smacked it down on his knee hard and the bar popped out the other end. “Do you want a bite?” He offered the bar to Sophia.

  “No, I’m good,” she said. “I’ve just been enjoying an apple. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “No, not at all.” He nodded towards Father McDonald. “Is he okay?”

  “I hope so.” She sat down next to the priest and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. Joe sat against the opposite wall of the entrance, and waited with Sophia for Father McDonald to wake.

  *

  “Tell me again about your red string,” Sophia said.

  She watched Joe look down at his wrist and start running his finger underneath it. She copied him, twirling the knots between her fingers; it was soft and she found the motion relaxing.

  “It was wound around the tomb of Rachel, the matriarch,” Joe said, “for her protection and blessings. For me, it is a reminder to treat people how I would like to be treated. Not to bully or judge. To forget about jealousy, because it’s poisonous and makes you old and bitter. It keeps me positive. We all have negativity, we all need to duck and weave from the evil glances of others. It’s also a constant reminder of my mother, my childhood, and how important it is to try and see the good in the chaos around us, especially in times like these.”

  Sophia watched his face change with each thought. He actually believed in what he was saying, she realized. The energy around him changed: he had started with bright vibrant shades of earthy colors and now they were softening, becoming cool blue and violet. The dominant color in the central part of his being was a glowing green. It moved like a turning crystal in the sunlight. She wondered what it would be like if what he said was true. She fiddled with her red string and wished it would come true. All the dark angels would starve and flee; they would choke and burn in hell because of the mass consciousness sending out good thoughts and desires. The world would light up like a Christmas tree every day. Could it be that simple?

  “What you have to do is have certainty,” Joe said.

  “Certainty in what?” she asked.

  “In whatever it is you’re doing. Like how you said I would know which way to turn, back there. You had certainty; you didn’t doubt it for a minute, did you?”

  “Well, no.”

  “That’s what you have to feel. That feeling where there is no possibility for anything else, no room for doubt. You have to have certainty and go for it. I had doubt and glimpsed your reflection in the rear-vision mirror. You were struggling internally and at that moment I had certainty in you.”

  “They should teach us this at school,” Sophia said.

  “Something is guiding you beyond my vision. There’s something that surrounds you, a magic that floats just out of my sight, Sophia.”

  She saw his energy change and his muscles tense.

  The sound of a couple of larrikins screeching and laughing across the paddocks could be heard through the forest canopy. Joe stopped. “They must have seen the car.”

  Sophia could hear the slamming of doors and the jabber about who might own the vehicle, and where they were. A dark cloud hung above them, masked by the trees but Sophia could sense it. She woke Father McDonald. “We have to go.”

  Father McDonald was dazed, unsure of where he was. Joe was suddenly by his side, supporting him and picking up his pack, tossing it over his shoulder and his own bag over the other.

  Sophia could hear the sounds of the hooligans getting closer. “We have to go.”

  Father McDonald’s face looked worn and old and her heart was breaking; this was too much for him. She held back her tears as she flung her backpack over her shoulder. She had forgotten how heavy it was. She locked her arm with Father McDonald’s and Joe supported him on the other side. They hung onto him while he took a moment to balance himself. His Bible fell out of his pocket. He pointed at it and Joe gracefully — for a big fellow — scooped it up and put it inside Father McDonald’s coat pocket for him. Sophia was worried. The only place to hide was inside the caves.

  Joe took the lead, remembering the turns he made the first time h
e was there. They could hear the sound of the gang entering the caves behind them.

  They yelled, “Here we come, ready or not,” and laughed.

  Sophia turned, faced the last passageway, and focused on blocking the entrance by unfolding her energy. She felt it traveling around her body from the center of her being, down her shoulders —like sand running down her arms — and into her hands. She projected the energy outwards until it touched the walls and ceiling, creating a mirror image of the cave wall.

  Sophia, Joe and Father McDonald walked deeper into the caves, then stopped to listen. They heard the fading sounds of yelling and laughing. Sophia, holding onto Father McDonald’s arm, wondered who was guiding whom. She didn’t know any more, but she had to protect him. He was the only one left who knew her family; he was her family. Sophia missed Mother Catherine and she wanted to cry remembering all she had lost in such a short time. She felt angry at God for taking her friends and family, she was angry for the pain and suffering Father McDonald was going through. She had never dared before to be mad at God. She lifted her left hand up to push strands of hair behind her ears and wiped at her eyes, and noticed the red string on her wrist. Suddenly she felt old, as if she had been fighting a battle that spanned many lifetimes, and she felt that the image she treasured of running through the streets with other kids on a hot summer’s day was a mirage, an illusion. Sophia hadn’t realized she was still fixed to the one spot and that they were both shining their torches at her.

  “Sophia, what ya doing? We have to keep moving, hen.”

  Father McDonald turned off his torch and placed it in his pocket. He looped his arm tighter around hers and patted her hand. He started to tell her favorite story.

  “On a fresh Saturday afternoon,” he began, “before the end of autumn, amongst the fallen leaves, beside the lake, your mom and dad laid down a checked red and blue rug. Your sisters set out the contents of a picnic basket; they were all excited, and you stood a few steps back from the blanket, just out of their reach, taking off your diaper and clothes. You were wriggling out of your diaper when your sisters, who were supposed to be keeping an eye on you, noticed you had stripped. They yelled at you to stop. Sure enough as soon as everyone was watching, you started to run butt-naked across the fields, laughing. I was fishing one last time before the lake froze for the winter, and had a bird’s-eye view of your devilish behavior. You were hysterical with laughter. Your sisters gave chase and you ducked down, hiding in the long green grass. You burrowed under the fallen leaves, waiting for your sisters. You popped up with splayed fingers in front of your face and roared like a lion. Quickly, you ducked back down and covered your eyes with your tiny hands, thinking no one could see you. Your sisters hid in the grass around you and when you jumped up you couldn’t see them, so when they sprang up from the tall grass you fell over backwards in fright. You started crying and they were laughing; you slowly stopped crying and started laughing a little too. Your big sister scooped you up in her arms and carried you back to the rug.”

  Sophia couldn’t help visualizing the images even though she had no memory of that day, but he had told her the story so many times, it was easy to see it in her mind’s eye. She suddenly realized she had lost track of time listening to the tale as well as her sense of direction, it seemed. She searched back along the tunnels in her mind and waited. The young hooligans were lost and had given up their pursuit.

  “We should go back now,” Joe said.

  “No,” Father McDonald said, “we have to keep going.”

  “We can’t, we don’t know where we are going.” Joe’s voice was filled with panic. “We’ll end up dying down here.”

  “I had a dream, a terrible dream,” said Father McDonald.

  Sophia looked at both men and wondered why adults freaked out so much. “We have to keep walking and you are to guide us, Joe,” she said.

  “This is suicide,” he replied.

  Sophia watched Father McDonald walk up close to Joe. She tried to peek inside Father McDonald’s mind, inside his unique room, to quickly search in his grand old library amongst the polished shelves for the dream he had mentioned. But it was locked and she could only see a hardwood door with a shiny new lock. She felt suddenly ashamed and pulled out, but not soon enough. He turned towards her as if sensing what she was doing. He frowned with disapproval; she looked away, avoiding eye contact, but sensed he was also pleased that she was still practicing using her gifts. She looked back, watching the two men and wondered if she should have a peek inside Joe’s head. She pushed the thought away as quickly as it had come. She trusted Father McDonald, and even though he seemed to have aged terribly, he was strong mentally and spiritually. He showed little fear and there was no doubt in his eyes. She had followed him this far and he had protected her.

  “We should turn off our torches, save the batteries,” she said. “That will give us a few days with light so we don’t end up in total darkness all the time.”

  Joe looked at her and back at Father McDonald. “A few days?”

  “No doubt,” she said. He was such a big cuddly bear she just wanted to wrap her arms around him.

  “Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?” He looked up at the dark blank roof of the cave and back at her. “You’re special, I’ll give you that, but hen, you’re mighty cheeky.” Sophia watched him turn to Father McDonald to say, “If death wasn’t walking the streets, I wouldn’t stay, I have to tell you, I would hightail it out of here. We’re not prepared for a hike through these caves.”

  “We’re prepared enough, the best we could ever be,” Father McDonald said.

  Sophia fumbled with her torch and Joe caught her smile before she found the off button. “We love you, Joe,” she said.

  “Remind me never to play cards with you,” he replied.

  They had to take a minute for their eyes to adjust to the light of one torch; darkness suddenly seemed a little closer.

  “How am I supposed to know which way to go? Shit!”

  Sophia couldn’t see much and stayed close to Father McDonald. They continued walking, the air cooling the deeper into the tunnels they went, turning down different passageways. It seemed hours had passed when Father McDonald stopped reciting from the scriptures and suggested they take a rest. They crouched by the wall shining the torch at the roof and shared protein bars and some water. Joe kept checking his watch, afraid he would lose track of time.

  “It’s still daylight,” Joe said, aiming the torch at his watch, “but down here I suppose it doesn’t matter. I wonder what the stars would be like tonight. I can just imagine them now.”

  Sophia watched him tilt his head up as if he had a sweeping view of the sky. This was their second day travelling south-east through the musty caverns. They were exhausted and covered in sweat. The rations Joe had brought were ample: the protein bars were chocolate, mint, cherry and orange flavors, but they were now running out of water.

  Sophia was wondering how they were going to get to Israel. She wondered about Kevin and Jade and how they were going to meet. Sophia didn’t have the answers; no pictures flashed across her mind, except for images of flames and everything burning; a wall of scorching heat. She closed her eyes and started to fall into a dreamless sleep when she unexpectedly jolted awake as a chill raced up her spine and instantly she was worried for Casey.

  6

  Doorman for death: Shaun. Australia.

  Shaun sat on the roof, dangling his legs over the gutter, and watched the flashing police lights leave Kevin’s place, only to stop in the next street. It had been days since he had seen the two retards disappear into thin air. He had waited for them to reappear after those other jerks had killed that poor German Shepherd dog. He was surprised to find he had slept through the night in the bush and had missed any reappearance of Kevin and Tim. His cheek had been throbbing so he had left his hiding spot and headed home for the comfort of his own bed and a couple of painkillers. He wasn’t anxious about them; they were complete losers, bu
t he couldn’t help being curious. He was surprised to see them a little while ago walking down the middle of the street with the barefoot girl. Where had they been and who was she? Mostly he wondered, Why do I care? People were just disappearing, and he wished his dad would disappear. He could hear him inside the house and could smell his cigarette smoke.

  “Shaun, is that you up there? Come here, I want to show you something.”

  Shaun looked over the side, thinking about climbing down and hightailing it out of there, but he didn’t feel like wandering the streets tonight, or riding the trains. He looked over his shoulder at the solid mass of cloud boiling up over the horizon; it moved like a flock of birds rising up from the ocean and migrating towards the city. He climbed down off the roof back through the attic. His dad was standing at the bottom of the stairs holding an old photo album.

  “Have you seen this picture of your mother? She’s just your age.”

  Shaun cautiously went down the stairs looking for a hidden agenda. His dad was drunk as usual, but his words weren’t as slurred. “No, I haven’t,” he said.

  “Well, come on, boy, why you walking so slow? Take a look.” He sat on the bottom step and moved across for his son to sit beside him. “Look how happy she is.”

  Shaun was afraid to move and he worried about his choice of words, in case they were taken the wrong way. He scratched his groin and rubbed his eyes. “She looks pleased.” She was at the beach and had star-jumped off a grassy embankment; she was in mid-air, her toes pointing down towards the white sand.

  “This was the first time we met,” his dad said. “I was on holidays from university, and had just got back from an archaeology field trip to Peru. The last thing I wanted to see was more sand. My friend dragged me along saying it would be good for me. He was right. I met your mother, and she was the best thing in my life. I took the photo on an old instant camera, and we shook it to help it dry. I told her about Peru and she said she wanted to see the Nazca Lines.” He turned the picture over and written in her handwriting was her name and phone number, with a smiley face drawn inside a flower. “I called her that very night.”