True Raiders

by Brad Ricca

  It was a small statuette of a head, with a strange, upturned face that had a look of horror on it.

  “A Hellenistic pagan idol,” said Father Vincent. “Fascinating.”

  Everyone had their attention on the worker as he managed a sheepish look from within the circle of people closing around him. The man said that he found it in one of the baskets of dirt they had been passing back to the surface.

  That it had been missed when the rubbish was being cleared at the head of the line made his story very suspicious, especially given the rapid circulation of the baskets. This piece was also quite striking, and unusual. The Turks moved closer, and the frightened man cringed. Stealing from an excavation was a great crime. The worker cried out something in Arabic. Macasdar stared at him.

  “It might have fallen out of somebody’s pocket,” Macasdar related to the crowd, his eyes still fixed on the man.

  As they argued, Father Vincent crouched in the dust, staring at the head.

  Captain Parker was motioned to come over. As Macasdar explained, Captain Parker looked the worker over, in his dirty clothing and terrified gaze, and narrowed his eyes.

  “Just don’t do it again,” he said.

  The matter was left there. The discipline of the works was a two-way street. Monty went over to Father Vincent, who was still studying the find.

  “It’s from the time after Alexander the Great conquered Palestine, around 300 BC.” He held the unsettling face up to the sun, where it glowed orange and red.

  Seventeen

  Dr. Juvelius

  JERUSALEM, 1909

  Dr. Juvelius stood in the doorway of his hotel and looked up at the gray sky, frozen with marbled clouds. They had somehow reached October, and the heat’s ferocity had finally lessened. Juvelius put his hands into his belt. He had pushed off his leaving for the Moses trip, but he had decided that in a week or so, he would finally be going home. Though they had not yet found the Ark, there was just too much digging left to do before they could go in and freely explore the tunnels. Juvelius had his obligations back home and could put them off no longer.

  Juvelius was still working on his written report to Mr. Parker. He had been writing it himself, in English, with his friend Uotila’s help over many long nights. Meanwhile, Mr. Parker had again suggested that Juvelius pay a visit to the famous rabbi in Jerusalem. Juvelius finally agreed, hoping it would put him in good standing with Mr. Parker once the report was finished. So here he was, holding a rolled-up piece of paper with the rabbi’s address on it. The meeting had been arranged for today.

  The hotel door behind him opened and out stepped Uotila, dressed in white robes and a scarf. He was going to accompany Juvelius to see the rabbi.

  “Is our guide here yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  Juvelius had put this visit off as long as possible. He knew that Mr. Parker was really sending him in hopes that the rabbi might fact-check the cipher. Juvelius knew such an action was completely unnecessary. But he could nod his head for an hour or two if it meant that Mr. Parker would take his final report more seriously.

  A dark-haired Jewish boy of about thirteen walked up from the street and looked at them quizzically. Juvelius handed him the paper. The boy looked at it, nodded, and began walking. Juvelius and Uotila followed at a short distance.

  Although reluctant to admit it, Juvelius knew that there could be some value in seeing the rabbi. There were some references in the Talmud he was not completely sure he understood. Juvelius was also most interested in what happened in that time—the lost time—during the persecution of the Jews in the first century AD under the Roman emperor Hadrian. Juvelius wondered what ancient knowledge had been lost during that time. And could be yet retrieved.

  “What do you think?” Juvelius asked Uotila. “What things should I touch upon?” Juvelius knew there had to be some subject that would not give away their plans and yet perhaps provide some help or insight.

  “Maybe a recipe?” joked Uotila. Juvelius scoffed. “What about the number two?” asked Uotila, referring to the endless Christian debate of the nature between the Father and the Son.

  “Too much,” said Juvelius.

  “What about Moses? The unspoken name you mentioned?”

  Juvelius went quiet for a moment as they walked in the finely ground dirt.

  “Perhaps,” he answered, “Though there is great danger about such a question.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask. Why was the name ‘unspoken’?” asked Uotila.

  “Because it could not be uttered. Even its shape was original and could not be known. The mystics said that the name produced a divine creative power. One just needed to write the name on a papyrus leaf, putting its letters in different combinations for different purposes. Then you could create—make from scratch—whatever you wanted.”

  Uotila paused, then laughed. He was used to such things from his friend Juvelius.

  “There was a woman in the texts,” said Juvelius, “who created a calf for herself with the name, which she later ate!”

  “I think I should do that for myself.” Uotila laughed. “The hotel’s lunch today was a bit too sour.”

  As they walked along, the scenery began to change. The rabbi lived in Jerusalem’s poor block. Juvelius thought it the dirtiest and most rambling section he had yet seen. He could smell the horse stables, which were too close to the street. They walked down the public bazaar, through the crowd, and turned a broad corner filled with heaping piles of vegetables. Juvelius could hear the mewling of something being butchered in the back of one of the shops. Uotila gently held a handkerchief against his mouth.

  Their guide led them down narrow, complex lanes. There were several skinny long-bearded men who sat in the dust and begged for alms. An older boy began to follow them, his hand outstretched, shouting bakshiish! bakshiish! before collapsing in the road.

  They went from street to street, stepping over offal in the dirt and feeling the wind from every corner. They eventually came to a hidden cul-de-sac.

  “Here,” their guide said, pointing to a low house. He took his money and went off on his way.

  The shallow board gate was set into a dilapidated wall. It looked almost like the tunnels back at the dig. Juvelius tried the strange gate and was surprised to find it unlocked. Uotila said he would wait outside. If anything went wrong, he would knock on the door and come to get him. Juvelius thought that was unnecessary.

  “Don’t be useless,” Juvelius said. “The rabbi is a civilized man. I’m only going to talk about serious cultural history.”

  “You’re going to talk about things you don’t have the right to know,” claimed Uotila. Juvelius grumbled as he walked through the door. His friend knew him too well.

  “Don’t be too long!” said Uotila.

  After passing through the gate, Juvelius stepped quietly into an outdoor area separated into two courtyards. The palms above him cast curved, swaying shadows onto the floor. In the first yard, there were nine shallow stalls made of loose cobblestones covered with sticks, twigs, and clay. Juvelius guessed these were for the donkeys.

  Juvelius stopped. Straight ahead of him was a young Jewish woman staring directly at him with large eyes. She held a nursing baby. Juvelius was unnerved but nodded and continued past. He didn’t look back. At the end of the second courtyard was the house proper, a single-story building. The door opened, and a dark-haired, nicely dressed young man greeted Juvelius. Curls hung down each side of his face. Juvelius had decided to use German on this visit, but for the sake of certainty, he tried some Yiddish.

  “Ahlan,” said Juvelius. The smiling young man stretched out his hand. Juvelius realized what was being asked and fumbled for his card. He gave it to the man and asked—this time in German—if the rabbi would accept him. The young man nodded and retreated into the house.

  Juvelius waited for a few moments, trying not to appear anxious. He looked back, but the woman was gone. Finally, the door opened, and the man motioned for J
uvelius to enter. He walked through the door and through a small dark room into a larger one. The floor was covered with sand. Instead of windows, there were two tall openings in the wall. Juvelius saw some benches and a side cupboard with some pale china on top. There were long benches against the wall; in the middle of the room was a large table with a few stools that were covered in red cloth. The rabbi, a disheveled man, sat on a stool at the table. His face and smile projected a great warmth. The rabbi pushed aside a black book and welcomed Juvelius, who bowed.

  “What a great honor it is to meet with such a famous scholar and expert,” blurted out Juvelius, in German.

  Juvelius regarded the wise man before him. He knew that this rabbi was very famous—and yet, to live so modestly. He could not believe it. Juvelius had expected the man to be stooped with age and in possession of an unkempt, frizzy gray beard. But the rabbi looked to be only forty-five years old. He was lean and, though somewhat pale, seemed the picture of vigor. His beard was soft and full, and his brown eyes were kind. He wore a fine, long robe tinged with black fur.

  Juvelius sat down and, faced with an audience, began to talk. He chose his words carefully at first but was so disarmed by the situation that he quickly reached a state where he was not quite sure what he was exactly saying. In mere moments, his careful plans to check his output for the sake of security had dissipated to mist in the rabbi’s presence. Juvelius felt a need to impress the man, so when the rabbi asked what his own work entailed, Juvelius nervously told of his theory that the biblical calendar was wrong because historical dates had been changed during the Jewish slavery by the Romans. Juvelius hardly knew what he was saying. He stopped and had to take a breath.

  The rabbi moved visibly in his seat. He then spoke in a soothing voice.

  “Yes, the reign of Emperor Hadrian was a severe test for us…,” but he then suddenly cut off his speech and looked at Juvelius. “Why do you ask?”

  “I…,” stammered Juvelius. “I’m interested in the unspoken name.” He silently cursed himself. Uotila was always right.

  “Yes,” the rabbi said. He then got up from his seat. He paused for a moment, considering his words. “I must apologize for accepting you here. I am, as usual, here for some of my care. But maybe I can invite you as a guest.”

  The rabbi opened the simple door on the back wall that Juvelius had thought was a closet. The rabbi passed through the narrow frame, and Juvelius followed through a dark hallway to a large, handsomely decorated room. All around him were richly ornate wall hangings and furniture in the Eastern style. Juvelius realized that this was not the man’s house but a place he would come for relaxation or remedy. Juvelius felt himself to be in an almost completely different plot of the tale. The rabbi showed Juvelius to a low sofa next to the wall. A Persian carpet shrouded the wall, then descended softly in folds over part of the sofa and all the way to the floor. The rabbi walked over to a smoking table, picked up some cigars and matches, and sat down on a small purple blanket on the opposite mattress.

  The rabbi lit his cigar and leaned over to do the same for Juvelius. They puffed for a moment.

  “Your reflections are quite interesting,” mused the rabbi, looking into the mingling smoke. Juvelius wondered if this change to an interior room had just been to allow the rabbi to collect his thoughts about a topic that had clearly disarmed him.

  Juvelius exhaled. “There is a very old bust of Moses that has the first line of the letters of the name drawn on it,” he said. “Two or so are clear, but the rest are vague or incorrect. But at least it tells us that the unspoken name had six letters.”

  “Six letters,” said the rabbi, sucking in on the cigar so that its tip burned orange. “That doesn’t go far.”

  “Of course not,” said Juvelius. “The Hebrew alphabet of twenty-two letters in six-letter combinations would yield an enormous number of possibilities! The most reliable way would be”—he drew on his own cigar, carefully pausing to consider that he was saying too much again, but he had to know—“the most reliable way would be to try to find out about the tomb of Moses. I have written some about it, actually.”

  The rabbi glanced at Juvelius’s belt. Juvelius looked down, confused. He kept talking. “The scholars talk about the human death of Moses, so it is clear that the details of his grave were, in the past, known to certain chosen persons. It also shows that the tomb of Moses was, at least during that time people were writing about it—and probably still today—untouched. What is there could be found, if one could only find the key.”

  Juvelius looked up to see the rabbi’s face turn to a very strange expression.

  “Have you learned the key?” the rabbi said, gently.

  “I’m just talking about—my reports,” stammered Juvelius. He had gone too far.

  The rabbi held his cigar and stood closer to Juvelius’s ear. He lowered his voice almost to a whisper.

  “Are you—no, you are not?”

  “No,” answered Juvelius, understanding his question. “I am indeed a Christian.”

  The rabbi drew back and stood in front of Juvelius, his eyes tightly closed. When they opened, Juvelius saw fire in them. He remembered what Uotila had said and realized that he had said far too much about unauthorized subjects. He could not help himself. He never could. But he had to know what the rabbi knew.

  With an altogether changed voice, the rabbi said, “Ah, I have been a very rude host! I’m so absentminded! A thousand times sorry! Please wait a moment!” He stood up and slid behind the heavy curtain.

  Juvelius looked around anxiously. The room was dark enough to feel like dusk. If he shouted, would Uotila hear him? He had to compose himself. It had not come to that yet. Juvelius heard a buzzing whine of a mosquito as it circled behind him, then surged past his ear with a wail.

  Endless minutes passed until the rabbi returned. The rabbi lightly apologized, sat down, and started talking again. Juvelius sighed. Everything seemed to be fine. The rabbi talked about the great merits of the Talmud and its versatility. “It is a microcosm,” the rabbi said, “that encompasses all of heaven and the world. The Talmud urges its readers to study and, above all, to explore.” Juvelius felt relieved, but noticed that the rabbi’s gaze flashed, once or twice, toward the door.

  The door finally opened, and a woman entered the room, bearing a silver tray. She was young and dressed in a white muslin dress. A crimson silk belt twisted around her waist with a tufted head hanging down the curve of her left hip. At her feet she had turquoise adornments on her saffron-colored slippers. Juvelius found himself staring.

  “Ah, some refreshment!” said the rabbi with a glad voice. The girl dropped her round tray upon the cedar table. The tray had mother-of-pearl inlay and held a water siphon, a bottle of whiskey, and a Greek Santorini wine. She placed a tall Venetian crystal glass and a shiny earthenware bowl onto a golden base on the table.

  Juvelius was entranced by the girl, though he wondered if she was older than seventeen. Once she had placed the items, the girl retreated to leave, and Juvelius thought that she had silently caught his long glance. At the same time, Juvelius thought he saw—though he could not be sure—a small, almost imperceptible hand gesture exchanged between the rabbi and her.

  Or, Juvelius thought, was she trying to signal him?

  The rabbi got up politely and gestured to the tray.

  “Come!”

  Juvelius stared at the wine.

  “No, thank you,” he said. Juvelius stood up and excused himself for taking too much of the rabbi’s time. He said he was honored to speak with him about his own silly whims. As he began to walk away, Juvelius looked back.

  The rabbi said, in a kind voice, how equally pleasant it was to make Juvelius’s acquaintance. He asked if he had been in Jerusalem for a long time? He would like to see his writings.

  “I am leaving soon,” said Juvelius. “I have, unfortunately, not any writings with me. I left them back in my country. I deposited them to three people in three banks. Just to be ca
reful.” His voice trailed off. The rabbi moved to usher his guest through the curtain-door, but Juvelius did not move.

  “I get lost so easily in the streets here, so I would rather leave the same way I came.” Juvelius bowed his head, then walked—more quickly than normal—through the hallway, the door, and the corridor—much faster now—until he was through the courtyards and outside the gate, where Uotila was waiting.

  “It’s good that you came back,” his friend said. “If you were three more minutes late, I would have broken in.” He was smiling, but his face turned serious when he saw Juvelius.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I thought it was … it was fine. There was a beautiful Jewish girl.” Juvelius was breathing quickly. Uotila pushed his friend along and they left the cul-de-sac. Once they passed the corner market and onto familiar streets, Juvelius began to calm down and was able to speak more clearly.

  “The rabbi offered me some refreshments, but I didn’t take them,” Juvelius said. He paused. Things were making sense only now, after the fact. “I really have reason to think he wanted to put me to sleep, to study my papers. I guess I would have found myself later in some alley. I told him that all my papers are in my country, to be used after my death.”

  “That was wise,” said Uotila.

  As they walked, at a slower pace, Juvelius felt relieved. He was glad he had not fallen for the trap and he was glad that no one knew his papers were back at the hotel. He was also glad that he was going to file his report to Mr. Parker soon. Juvelius exhaled again. He felt that he was in control of his destiny for the first time in a long while. Until Uotila nudged him in the arm.

  “Don’t look behind you. At that corner.”

  Juvelius stole an awkward glance and saw the young man in curls who had previously given him entrance from the courtyard.

  He appeared to be following them.