The Pilgrim Conspiracy

by Jeroen Windmeijer

  He decided to buy the book. It would give him something to read over dinner later.

  Peter had never found it easy to sit passively and just stare into space, except perhaps when he was smoking a cigar. But smokers were so in the minority these days that there was almost nowhere where he could enjoy one in peace. He’d only found the opportunity to do so once or twice over the last few weeks.

  The enormous bookstore spanned multiple floors, and during his time in Boston, he and Judith had literally spent hours here. They had roamed the stacks separately, each selecting piles of books before meeting back up in the store’s café to make their final choices over coffee.

  But today, Peter headed directly for the floor that housed the theology and archaeology books to find and buy one specific book.

  There’s no such thing as too many books …

  He paid with his credit card, something he rarely did in the Netherlands except for booking flights and buying concert tickets. But here in America, he’d used it to pay for even the smallest things, like cups of coffee.

  I’m probably going to be in trouble as soon as they start to question me. If I tell them that I got on that bus, then I’ll have to account for a couple of missing hours somehow. Although … I could say I was in Judith’s apartment, and she wasn’t home so, ‘unfortunately’, there aren’t any witnesses. Then, I could say that I went out later to buy this book and get something to eat at Starbucks.

  He left the bookstore with the book tucked under his arm and crossed the street to the coffee shop, which was busy as usual. He ordered two sandwiches and a medium latte and took them up to the first-floor seating area. Two people got up to leave just as he arrived, freeing up a comfortable two-seater sofa with a view over Harvard Square.

  He unzipped his jacket, releasing a musty smell, like the stink of wet laundry left in the washing machine for too long.

  He ate his sandwich unhurriedly, drinking his coffee between bites.

  Each time he closed his eyes, his mind replayed the scenes of his struggle on the water with Tony.

  He noticed that his breathing was shallow and high in his chest. He gripped his coffee mug to control the trembling in his hands. He remembered the feelings of hate and rage that had given him just enough energy to lift himself out of the water, like an invisible force had been pushing him upwards. He saw the dumbfounded look on the deranged Tony’s face as he’d realised what a huge mistake he had made by leaning so far over to watch him. Grabbing Tony by the ears had been a smart move. The outer ear was very sensitive, and he had been rendered completely powerless. There was a good reason that teachers used to drag their troublesome pupils out of class by the ear.

  How could I have just left him there? How could I abandon someone like that? And where was that maniac anyway? How long can a person actually stay underwater?

  Peter had to force himself to think about something else.

  Fay.

  It had been a good idea to spend some time apart. They had emailed each other every day and texted too. And although their tone had been somewhat formal, it had been nice to stay in touch with her while he was away. They had skyped a few times, and it had been great to see her face, but they had both found it slightly awkward. There was something artificial about having a conversation that way. At home, you could comfortably say nothing for ten minutes while you both read the paper, for example, but in a video call, you were obliged to chat continuously. So there had been lots of small talk, but they had also talked about themselves and their relationship … They had resolved to make a fresh start when he got home. Agapé had wandered into view a couple of times during their calls; she had waved at him so cheerfully and looked so happy when Peter waved back that his heart had melted on the spot.

  Peter had brought up Fay’s emails with Coen again and explained that her secrecy about them had made him feel distanced from her.

  Fay had apologised, but not entirely convincingly. In her opinion, everyone had a right to keep some secrets, even within a relationship. The idea that you had to be absolutely open and honest about everything was an outdated ‘1960s idea’, she had said. A partner who told you everything would be impossible to live with. If every irritation, every thought and idle fancy was spoken out loud, where would it end? Every fantasy that you had about someone else, every daydream about a life without your partner, or a life with someone else …

  ‘I think it’s good that you don’t know everything about me,’ she had said. ‘And that I don’t know everything about you.’

  And she was right.

  She had told Peter that the email conversation with Coen had been frustrating because Coen had died before whatever he’d been hinting at in his messages could be brought to fruition. Something monumental had been about to happen. He’d wanted to tell her things, make her a part of something historic. But he had expressed his thoughts in vague terms without ever explicitly saying what he meant. She had reread the emails again and again and concluded that they actually said remarkably little.

  But Peter now had a strong suspicion that he knew exactly what Coen had wanted to share with Fay.

  Something that would have involved a visit to a tattoo studio …

  His coffee mug was empty. It was completely dark outside now, but Peter still felt reluctant to go back to Judith’s. He would be going back to an empty apartment, so he might as well stay here.

  He picked the book from the table and read the back cover.

  Searching for the rightness of the Bible, two Jewish archaeologists found a different reality.

  Finkelstein and Silberman have written a fascinating book based on the most recent archaeological research into early history as we know it from the Bible. It was not the intention to test the reliability of the Bible texts, but to place the relationship between those texts and the archaeological finds in the right light. Finkelstein and Silberman show the story the stones tell, but that is a different story than we find in the Old Testament.

  This book shows that the descendants of David rewrote history for political and ideological reasons. The remains found in the soil tell the real story. Without sensationalising, Finkelstein and Silberman describe how biblical fiction and historical reality became interwoven.

  There is no evidence that Abraham existed; nor is there any other patriarch. And the same goes for Moses and the Exodus.

  He found the chapter on the Exodus and started to read. It was a well-known story, for him at least, about how, after more than a century of digging, archaeologists had not found a shred of evidence for the presence of such a large group of people at the time and location that the Exodus was supposed to have taken place. There was nothing in the Egyptian annals about thousands of slaves departing en masse, and furthermore, research had proved that, genetically, modern Jews were identical to Palestinians, so the idea of them as a separate people was highly disputable. The people of Israel had simply been one of the dominant tribes in the area at the time. To cement their dominance and to create more national unity, they had invented a mythological history around the storm god Yahweh – his wife Asherah was left out of this story but still appeared in surnames like Asscher – and the religious rites and rituals in the Temple in Jerusalem.

  Having a story in common, a shared history, is essential for forging a mutual bond among a country’s inhabitants. That’s as true today as it was in ancient times, Peter thought. A nation needs stories and myths. They don’t necessarily have to be true as long as they highlight the character and identity of its people. For us in the Netherlands, that’s the story of the Batavian revolt against the Romans, the Dutch revolt against the Spanish Empire, the suffering and resistance of the Dutch people during the Second World War. But it’s also the celebration of King’s Day, watching the Dutch squad play in international football matches, remembering those who died in the two World Wars on May 4th, and celebrating Liberation Day on May 5th.

  Time passed, and the more absorbed he became in the book, the calmer he
felt. The thoughts of his terrifying ordeal at sea faded into the background.

  He tried not to think of Tony’s body and how it was probably floating in the water, rising and falling on the waves as it was carried along by the tide. He tried not to think of the boat that had probably run aground on Egypt Beach by now and would surely be found in the morning.

  He was due to check in at 9 a.m. the next day, and his flight would leave two hours later, first to New York, and from there to Amsterdam.

  If only it were tomorrow already …

  He closed the book. He had been so engrossed in it that he hadn’t noticed that almost all the other customers had left. The staff were already tidying up around him.

  It was almost 11 p.m. Judith would surely be home by now.

  Peter left the coffee shop and followed the tall, wrought-iron railings that led to the Harvard yard entrance gate. The next day, he would leave the campus via the main gate.

  From below, he could see that there were lights on in Judith’s apartment, but in the hallway rather than the living room. That meant that she was probably in bed already.

  Slightly crestfallen, he let himself in and went upstairs. He turned the key in the lock as quietly as he could, and carefully opened the apartment door. The light in the hallway was on.

  Judith’s bedroom door was ajar again, but this time, he saw that she was tucked up under the covers.

  He silently closed the front door.

  Laboriously, he peeled off his clothes and hung them up around the bathroom. He would make sure to wash them all thoroughly when he got home. He took some dry underwear from one of the shelves that Judith had cleared for him. The T-shirt that he had been sleeping in while he was here was hanging on a hook on the bathroom door.

  The noise is bound to wake her up if I take a shower …

  He considered resorting to a strip wash at the bathroom sink, but he desperately wanted to rinse off his entire body, as if it might wash away his sins.

  It didn’t take long for the water to heat up. He stepped under the shower and felt the familiar comfort of hot water flowing over him. He soaped himself up thoroughly and scrubbed his body so vigorously that his skin turned bright red.

  Oh God, what have I done?

  He rinsed the suds away, turned off the shower and dried himself off.

  He brushed his teeth, and then he tiptoed back out of the bathroom, wearing only his T-shirt and boxers.

  Judith had kicked off her bedsheet in her sleep, and now most of it was on the floor. She was lying on her side facing the bedroom door, wearing a long T-shirt that reached almost to her knees. He watched her chest calmly rise and fall.

  Peter couldn’t stop looking at her. He held his breath, afraid that it might break the spell.

  I should go to my own room now, he told himself. He exhaled slowly.

  Just as he was about to move, Judith opened her eyes.

  ‘Hey, you,’ she said sleepily and smiled.

  ‘Hey,’ he said back. ‘I was …’ He felt himself turning red, caught standing there at her door in his boxers, staring at her.

  Dirty old man …

  Instinctively, he sucked his belly in.

  Judith laughed. ‘You don’t need to hold your tummy in for me, you know.’

  She was wide awake now. She sat up and pulled the sheet loosely back around her. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said. ‘Tell me about your day.’

  Peter went into her bedroom, trying to act like this was a perfectly normal situation.

  What can I tell her? It’s all in the past now … The fewer people who know about this, the better … I’ll be on a plane back to Holland tomorrow.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘How was your presentation?’ he asked. ‘Did it go well?’

  ‘Yeah, it was good. Interesting. Good questions afterwards, good discussion. I think they were happy. Happy that they got their money’s worth, I mean. That they gave the grant to the right person. They’re going to get two papers out of it. So yes, it was a lovely evening. But what about you? You’re back late.’

  ‘It’s been a long day,’ Peter said. ‘You should visit it, you know, Plimoth Plantation. It’s really worth the trip out there. You could go with Mark when he’s here.’

  She nodded. ‘Was it exhausting, spending the whole day with Tony?’

  Peter swallowed. ‘No, it was okay, actually. He was on his own turf, and he was clearly in his element. He knows a lot of people there, so he was constantly shaking people’s hands, introducing me to everyone we met. He ended up having to take care of some business in Plymouth, so I got the bus back on my own. I grabbed a coffee and a bite to eat in Starbucks, and then I bought a book at the Harvard Coop.’

  ‘Don’t you have enough books already?’ she said and smiled. She lay down again. ‘I’m glad you had a nice day,’ she went on, without waiting for a reply. ‘Tell me more about it tomorrow? I’m a bit tired,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, no,’ Peter said quickly. ‘Don’t worry. I’m going to go to sleep too. I just need to make up the sofa bed.’

  She slid an arm out from under the bedsheet and patted the mattress.

  ‘Why not come and sleep next to me?’ she said without opening her eyes. ‘Save you the bother of sorting your bed out.’

  Peter swallowed awkwardly. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. He cleared his throat. ‘All right.’

  How often have I fantasised about this?

  Judith opened her eyes and smiled. She held the sheet up invitingly. Peter lay down and pulled it over him.

  ‘So. There we are,’ Judith said.

  Yes, here we are, Peter thought. Now what?

  He lay on his back with his hands folded behind his head, smiling awkwardly. He lay still, trying to avoid touching her.

  But Judith moved closer to him.

  Without thinking, he stretched out his right arm so that Judith could put her head on his shoulder.

  I’m so glad I took that shower, he thought.

  Judith threw her arm over him, and a few moments later, she rested her right leg on his thigh. ‘Goodnight, dear Peter,’ she said and pressed a kiss onto his chest.

  Peter felt the heat from her hand spreading over the skin on his torso, the softness of her breasts pressing into the side of his body, the warmth of her belly touching his thigh. He gingerly moved his arm so that he could stroke her back.

  She responded to his touch with a low ‘mmm’.

  Peter could only think of how natural this all seemed. This feels so good.

  ‘It’s so nice, lying here next to you, Judith,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yes, nice,’ she murmured, already half asleep.

  ‘I’ve wanted this for so …’

  Judith slowly opened her eyes. ‘Long?’

  ‘For so long, yes. Sorry. From the very first time you walked into my office twenty years ago.’

  She smiled, and drowsily closed her eyes again. ‘Oh,’ she said.

  ‘Haven’t you?’

  ‘Sometimes …’ she said. ‘Well … Maybe, yes. But this, what we have now …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Imagine that there had been something between us. If it hadn’t worked out,’ she said, ‘we’d probably not want to have much to do with each other now. But instead, we have this lifelong friendship. And that’s better than …’ She left the words unspoken.

  Better than what, Peter wondered. Better than having a one-night stand or a relationship that hits the rocks after two years? Maybe she’s right …

  But there had been plenty of moments when he would have chosen the one-night stand or the relationship that eventually hit the rocks, given the option.

  ‘Or maybe, just once, we could have … Ah, well …’ she said wryly. ‘Now it’s too …’

  ‘Now it’s too what?’

  ‘Now it’s too late for that, isn’t it? That ship sailed years ago. Now you have Fay, and I have Mark …’ She snuggled closer to him. ‘But this is lov
ely. It really is.’

  He moved his hand down from her back to her bottom, felt its fleshy softness and the firm muscles beneath. He fought the urge to squeeze it.

  ‘Goodnight, dear Peter,’ she said again. She gave him another kiss on his chest, and he replied by kissing her hair.

  ‘Goodnight, dear Judith,’ he said. He hardly dared to move. He gently pressed his lips to the top of her head and breathed in the smell that had become so familiar to him.

  What if … he thought. Was ‘Now it’s too late for that, isn’t it?’ a statement or a question?

  What would it be like to reach over and pull her on top of him now?

  We would lie quietly in each other’s arms, at first, he imagined. Then, shyly kiss each other’s necks, moving higher and higher … kissing all around the ears, my lips brushing her cheeks … one careful kiss on her lips, then we hold each other close again … And then, our mouths meet at last, like two magnets, inevitably and irresistibly drawn to each other. Gentle first kisses, teasing bites on the lips, tongues tentatively probing. And then which of us would give in first? Give in to kisses so passionate that we almost devour each other, stopping now and then to gaze at each other. Is this really happening? To us? Finally, after all these years! Laughter that turns into soft moans. My hands under her T-shirt, over her back, on her bum. She rises up slightly, tries to take off her T-shirt with her lips still pressed to mine … so delightfully awkward … red blushes on her neck … She helps me to take off my T-shirt before lifting her own over her head. She’s wearing a thong, embroidered with flowers … So sweet … Then, at last …

  Two bodies, one desire. She lies on top of me, and her beautiful breasts feel soft and warm against my chest … Then she sits up, and I see her, glorious in the moonlight. I feel the weight of her body against mine and the heat between her legs. My erection is undeniable now … I hear a soft ‘mmm’ in my ear. ‘Well, that seems to be working just fine,’ she laughs. She teases my crotch with her fingertips … Almost painful, but what a wonderful, delicious pain. And there’s no embarrassment between us … How beautiful you are, my friend, my love. Your lips are like a crimson ribbon, and your mouth is lovely. Your cheeks are like the halves of a rosy pomegranate when you smile. Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle. You have ravished my heart. You have ravished my heart with a glance of your eyes. Come here, my darling … I bury my face in her breasts, and she entwines her fingers in my hair. I cup her breast with my hand, take her nipple between my finger and thumb and pinch it gently. It hardens instantly. She leans even closer into me, pressing her pelvis into mine … We roll slowly from one side of the bed to the other and back again like we’re lying in the waves on the waterline as the surf plays with our bodies … My hand on her bottom, inside her knickers, on her bare skin, firm and muscular but still soft … I gently squeeze … I reach down with one hand to take off her knickers, and she helps me with one hand … Then we take off my boxers … She rolls off me and lies next to me. I trace her belly with my fingers and see a small tuft of hair … She grabs my hand and moves it downwards …