by Dave Bartell
The drawing from Giraud’s notebook matched the symbol chiseled in the wall: a bird shape, almost like a child’s kite. Crude, but he could see how this resembled the Aquila constellation.
He reached for his iPhone and it slipped from his hand. He got a foot under the device before it hit the rock floor. It skittered off his shoe. Merde! He scrutinized it in his headlamp—a couple new scratches on its bezel, but otherwise fine. He wiped it off and took several photos of the tube, the shaft and the Aquila before moving on.
The tunnels doubled-back on each other, and he got lost. He ran from one location to another, but kept coming back to the same spot. Jesus, which way? he wondered, as some part of his memory played the warning that it was not safe to go caving alone. He stopped and sat down.
He figured he must be in a braided maze where the lava tubes snaked around, parting and rejoining. He found a block of sticky notes in his pack and stuck them on the walls until he found the entry tunnel from above. As he placed the sticky notes, he found more Aquila symbols. Below each one was another mark that showed a downward direction. He smiled at his own stupidity.
After several hard turns and passage through a tube that was just wide enough to walk through, he reached a natural hole in the floor. This was where lava had drained from the tubes higher up.
Another Aquila symbol almost covered over by graffiti indicated he was to go down. He looked up. The ceiling was solid black with soot, showing that many people had used this tube. Much of the scribbling was just names or marks he could not read.
He paused and sucked in a loud breath:
He sat back on his heels and stared at the rallying cry of the First Crusade: Deus Vult, “God wills it. Estienne, Piers and Jehan go to Jerusalem 1095.”
Here was proof that someone had used the tubes long after the Roman Empire collapsed. These three men had recorded themselves in the same way that young soldiers had done for centuries. He had seen some of this in his studies, including the famous “Kilroy was here” from the Second World War.
He spent the next few minutes taking photos and copying the graffiti in case he lost the photos. The names and dates ranged from 1183 to 760, but nothing else was as spellbinding as Estienne, Piers, and Jehan’s battle cry.
His throat felt hard from the welling of emotions. This was not like the tubes in the Lava Beds National Monument in California that he was in last year. Those were important for sure, but he was looking at something that would change understanding of European history. This was unlike anything he had ever seen or experienced. He was the first person in centuries to read their message. Now he knew why Pasquale and Emelio and every other explorer went on. He had to know the answer and share the discovery. The Lacroix quest had sucked him in.
17
After a couple minutes, he peered over the edge. About four meters to the bottom. He could jump in, but he could never get out. He figured the men who long ago used this tunnel had brought ladders. He looked around but saw nothing. He removed the gear from his pack and set anchors in fissures near the wall. If this was the right tube, the next exit could be a hundred kilometers away.
He stepped into his climbing harness the way Zac had taught him and clipped onto the rope. The line held firm against several hard pulls, and, satisfied it would hold, he backed up to the edge of the window. He placed his shoes on the rim and lowered himself into the opening. The awkward part would be taking his feet off the ledge. Almost upside down, he worked low enough so that his full weight was on the rope. He pushed up on his toes and then pulled his knees in as he dropped and swung hard into the opening.
The sudden release caused him to swing and with a clockwise spin. The lamp flashed on the walls and down the tunnel, further disorienting him. Trying to hold off a feeling of panic, he released the rope, which helped ease the swinging motion. The rotation made him feel dizzy, and he reached down and grabbed the floor. The spinning stopped. He was still, but upside down and his head pounded. He reached up the rope with his right hand to get himself vertical. The dizziness subsided, and he stood.
He was in a lava tube large enough for two giant American SUVs to drive past each other. He unhooked from the rope and looked around. The surrounding rock was all gray tones. No other colors and no evidence of moisture. The utter silence was creepy. He tugged the rope, half expecting it to pull free, stranding him down here. His mind flashed on a vision of finding the skeleton of someone who suffered a similar fate. He shuddered.
Nothing but rock. No odors. He walked about on the uneven floor. It was like a pebbled riverbed that froze solid, no give underfoot. The floor curved upwards into the sidewalls that looked like eroded sides of the riverbed. Striations marked different soil types or, in this case, lava flows, he guessed. Some were shiny smooth and others coarse. The walls arched above him into a ceiling that looked slathered with wet concrete that somehow dried in place.
The air was cool and dry. He sneezed. Long dormant dust swirled in the light cast by his headlamp. A thought seized him: What about oxygen? He looked up at the opening above him. Could he get out fast enough? He yawned.
Wait. Stop panicking, he thought. He was fine but figured that if he began feeling fatigued he could climb out. He made a mental note to carry some kind of air meter the next time he went in one of these deep tubes. He shrugged and began to survey.
The tube ran northwest to southeast, according to his compass. He went the southerly direction first. After a few meters, light reflected and a few more steps revealed shapes that formed straight lines. Uniform blocks were stacked and closed off the tube. A wall.
He turned in the northerly direction. Same thing. His arms hung slack at his sides. Someone had built a wall across the tube. Why would they do this? he thought. It made no sense.
He paced it off, and twenty meters in each direction beyond the hole above, two stone walls sealed the tube. He ran his hands across the smooth rock surface, feeling the joints between the blocks. Master stone masons had fit lava blocks identical to those of the cathedral edge to edge across the tube.
He tried to shove a pocketknife into the cracks and near the edges of the rock wall. Nothing—only a few millimeters of penetration. They used mortar only at the top to seal the smallest of gaps.
Running his hand over the wall, he walked to the center of the lava tube and reached a meter-high slash about five centimeters wide. He pressed an eye to it. His light revealed the wall was half a meter thick, and the slash widened outward toward the other side. It was a classic Middle Ages arrow slit, just like in castles. This must be the firing side. The wider opening on the other side would give the shooters on this side about a forty-five-degree firing angle. Someone had built these walls to keep out invaders. But why?
“Fuck!” he yelled into the slit, beating the wall with his palms. He backed away and slumped against the wall, where he sat motionless trying to figure out what to do.
“You did not find what you were looking for?” asked a deep voice from above.
Darwin jerked and turned toward the sound. Richard Ndebele’s upside-down face smiled at him through the hole in the top of the tube.
“No. Well, yes, but… I don’t know. This isn’t what I wanted to find,” said Darwin.
Richard slid down the rope. He brushed his hands on his pants and walked toward Darwin.
“Go ahead, say it. I can see the dumb look on your face. That was good for a priest, no?” said Richard.
“Yeah, I thought that,” said Darwin.
“I wasn’t always a priest, you know. I worked in diamond mines and was a geologist before I entered the priesthood. So, now, let me ask you again, did you find what you were looking for, because you have violated a sacred space and the Bishop will be furious.”
Darwin tipped his head down and closed his eyes as he said in a low voice, “No.”
“I suggest you begin by telling me. This tunnel is not man-made,” said Richard. The humor had left his voice.
“It’s a lava tube,
” began Darwin.
“Go on, and maybe you should back up to the beginning. Your quest didn’t start here, did it?”
“No,” said Darwin. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time, and if you want my help with the Bishop, you’d better be honest with me.”
Darwin told Richard the story of his grand-père’s research and embarrassment. Richard listened for a half hour straight. Richard was silent for a long moment after Darwin finished, then said, “You have told no one this, have you?”
“No. I don’t want to be embarrassed like my grand-père.”
“You didn’t want to be embarrassed, yet you had the courage to break in.”
“I didn’t have time to wait for permission from Rome,” said Darwin, kicking a pebble into the darkness.
“You did the right thing,” said Richard.
“What?” said Darwin.
“Rome would never agree. I found records in the library upstairs that mentioned the construction of these walls. There are letters from Vatican officials authorizing funds. One letter mentions knowing about these tunnels and the need to close them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“For the same reasons you did not tell me about your quest. Besides, I needed you to break in and find this place.”
“Why?” Darwin repeated.
“I asked the Bishop for permission to explore under the crypt last fall, and he denied me. He was the one who said the souls were not to be disturbed, not Rome.”
“So you hoped I would do the dirty work?”
“And here you are.”
“What now?” asked Darwin.
“The Bishop is a kind man, but he is stern when his trust has been broken.”
“Will you tell him?” said Darwin. In the silence that followed, he thought the worst and looked up at Richard.
“No. I think not.”
Darwin exhaled puffing out his cheeks.
“But let’s document this place, because we may never get back down here,” said Richard, extending a hand and pulling Darwin to his feet.
For the next hour, they mapped the tube section using Darwin’s gear and photographed everything they thought worthy of later examination. Darwin went up the hole first, then tossed Richard the harness. They took more photographs of the graffiti and Richard marveled at the dates of the three guys on the First Crusade.
“I wonder what they did in the tunnels during the Crusades,” said Richard.
“See? The idea is infectious,” said Darwin.
18
A half hour later they were back in Richard’s office.
“The Bishop’s private reserve,” he said, handing Darwin a round glass.
Darwin swirled the amber liquid and let it warm. He sniffed. The alcohol stung his sinuses. He then tipped the glass and rolled a small amount onto his tongue, let it roll around in his mouth, then swallowed. The liquid warmed his insides. He head fell back on the leather chair, and he relaxed his shoulders.
“So how can I help you?” Richard broke the silence.
Darwin considered this for a few moments. Here was a guy who could get him in serious trouble and was offering help instead. He played out the scenarios in his head—how this guy could help, what could go wrong—but his fatigue and the alcohol stymied his brain. He bit.
“What is your interest?” asked Darwin.
“I am a geologist. Well, by training more than formal education. I grew up in South African apartheid, where the black man was used like a poorly cared for machine. When one broke, they threw it away because they had millions of spares.
“I went to work in the diamond mines at ten years old after my father was killed in a mining accident. The company paid for his burial. That was it. School was over for me. I had to support my mother and sisters,” said Richard.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Darwin, looking down into his brandy.
“None of us chooses his starting point in life.”
“I guess. My grandfather always tells me I was born ready to take a penalty kick and missing the goal would be my fault.”
“And I was born the ball,” said Richard.
Darwin’s cheeks puffed out as he tried to suppress a laugh, but could not. Richard joined him.
“Your grandfather is a wise man,” said Richard.
“On some things,” said Darwin.
“On most things, I think, but back to my interest. I had a good head for mining and by sixteen learned to read the maps and technical data. I too had a wise grand-père, a retired geologist whose house my mother cleaned. He tutored me after my mother explained I had a strong will and a head for learning. I also learned that not all white people were cruel or agreed with apartheid.
“Then life turned a bad corner. At nineteen, my tutor died of a heart attack. I saw my only hope of education die with him. I became angry and joined a miners’ strike that turned violent. The government soldiers fired on the strikers and set fire to the slum. My mother and sisters died in the blaze, and I was imprisoned.”
Darwin did not know what to say and remained silent.
“Life entered a dark period, full of rage. I vowed to kill those responsible for my family’s death. It didn’t matter if I died trying. A year and a half passed in that miserable prison. There was no speedy trial for black men. One day I had a visitor, Desmond Tutu. My tutor’s wife knew him from her work in the anti-apartheid movement.
“Here was a black man, winner of the Nobel Peace Prize, sitting with me. We talked for three hours—three hours that transformed my life. At first I raged about injustice and the violence I vowed to inflict if I was ever released. I’ll never forget what he said: ‘Anger at injustice is good, but don’t let anger use you like another stick of wood in a bonfire. The heat of your self-destruction will only burn others. Use your anger to fuel the fire in your mind and soul. Use it to melt the ice of oppression.’
“To cut a long story short, he got me released to a Jesuit mission in Brazil, where I learned to work on injustice without being consumed by it. I pursued my education and the priesthood. Bishop Santos is a champion of human rights, and we have been together now almost twenty years. We will doubtless be in Rome before the year is out. The church is changing its attitude toward women and sexual orientation, and we have work to do.”
“Now, tell me more about why you seek these Roman tunnels. What’s in it for the rest of us?” asked Richard, leaning in.
“To change our view of history. A breakthrough in how the Roman military dominated Europe,” said Darwin.
“So what? Ancient history. People will care for about five minutes.”
“Well, also to find diamonds and gold. That could bring more jobs to people.”
“The last thing the world needs is more greed,” said Richard. “Come on, Darwin, why do you care about it?”
“I dunno.” He hesitated. “It sounds stupid.”
“Try me.”
“I guess to show the world that this is real. I want to be the one to discover the Roman tubes.”
“To make a name for yourself.”
“Yes.”
“And you will stop at nothing to find it?” said Richard.
“No. I’m not like that. I want to find it because everyone thinks it’s impossible for tubes like this to exist. They laughed at my grand-père. They laughed at Amelie’s grand-père. People will laugh at me. But now I know these tubes are here. The Romans knew how to use them and that knowledge passed out of history. But I found them again. I don’t know what we can do with them. Maybe there’s gold, maybe they can be used for transportation, maybe there’s other amazing discoveries, or maybe as you said, people won’t even care. The point is we walk around like everything has been discovered.
“I don’t think that’s right. The world is full of mysteries, and some of them are not new, we lost them. I want to show people. To say, look right here under your feet,” he said, pointing to the floor, “there’s something amazing you did
n’t even know about.”
“I guess it’s not much of a reason,” Darwin finished.
“That’s it, Darwin!” Richard sat forward.
“It’s why the first humans sailed beyond sight of land. It’s why people are trying to go to Mars. It’s why Thomas Aquinas and others explored the spiritual frontier beyond what we see in front of us. The joy of discovery. The challenge of the journey. We don’t need a reason to explore except exploration itself.”
Darwin sat looking out the leaded glass window at the yellowish glow of the city beyond.
“What will you do when you find these tubes?” asked Richard.
“What?” said Darwin. “Oh, I hadn’t thought about it much. I suppose publish all the work.”
“I suggest you think about it while you still have time. Think about how you will tell the world about your discovery. And think about what you don’t want to happen. Remember, people are greedy. Governments are fearful. Opening underground highways that crisscross the Earth will be a messy proposition,” said Richard.
Darwin sat up in his chair imagining presenting the findings.
“But you still have time because I will help you with permission from Rome. Yes,” he said, seeing Darwin’s mouth fall open. “The Bishop will ask Rome, but it will take time. The Crusades were a dark period between two great religions, and there is much instability in the world today.”
“I guess,” Darwin mumbled into his glass.
“Be patient. You are young and have many years to bring this discovery to the world,” said Richard.
They finished their brandy and Richard walked Darwin out of the Cathedral. They shook hands and Richard promised to tell the Bishop what he found and to push for permission from Rome to explore.
Darwin watched Richard reenter the cathedral. After its door closed, he looked up between the steepled towers as if waiting for a revelation. What now? he thought. He was in one of Agrippa’s lava tubes, but he had no means to show people what he found. He needed more than pictures taken in a place he could not reveal.