The Phoenician Code

by Karim El Koussa

  In fact, this luring presentation rendered Paul breathless. It puzzled him to the very last thought. The materialistic offers the entity had tried to coax Paul with seemed to have succeeded for a moment. For under the great power of manipulation, he vacillated on the dangerous edge of surrender. His imagination met in line with a luring collection of prospects, images, and feelings. He fancied himself driving a luxurious car on that splendid road to his glamorous mansion up in the mountains, creating—along his way—an impact in the minds of others. He delighted, already, in their expressions of awe and admiration.

  Why not? Sailing my yacht across the ocean, and docking at every harbor around the world? Why not? Flying my private jet up in the air, mighty and free, as in my loftiest dreams, and looking down at the world beneath me, so small, contemptible and controllable! Paul felt them, down to his neurons: these pleasurable sensations of power, no man ever resisted.

  What else do I want, really? he inwardly rebuked his own uncertainty. His eyes widened then closed tight on these wonders. He felt the nameless form looming forward, as he flashed his eyes open, meeting the fiery sparks of the entity.

  “What if I grant you the presidency of a huge company? You would then own both power and money,” the words it uttered wheezed out with a stinking smell right into the man’s face.

  It does not give up easily, does it? Paul’s inner voice retorted from within the smoke of chimeras, suffocating his brainpower. He fantasized a life of power and commodities where hardships were laid to rest, a carefree existence where he would never again struggle for survival.

  At what cost? Ask it! At what cost? his inner voice hissed, almost inaudible now. Right… the entity did say it needed something I own. What could that precious thing be, for it to grant me such wonderful contributions in exchange? he wondered.

  “I’ll tell you what!” It jerked Paul’s attention back to its exploitation. “Forget about even working as head of that mega-company. I will open an account for you with unlimited amounts of money and large quantities of jewels; you can keep in the treasury safe of the bank!”

  Paul’s intake of air barely reached his lungs. In a dizzying clap of its hands, the entity launched them inside a bank, right at the doorway of a sumptuous office. ‘Seth Servitor, General Manager,’ he read the inscription on the golden door.

  “All you need to do is come inside with me, and sign one little piece of paper,” it said encouragingly, giving Paul a pleading smile.

  Only a signature? Paul marveled. Without having to work, to produce, or to do anything, I would live, rich as a King! he rejoiced secretly at the tempting notion of sitting down, relaxing all day, and not giving a damn about anything. Why not? Thus, under such irresistible expectations and overexcitement, he pushed the door open, and entered. The entity followed him to the desk, akin a ghostly shadow. The Bank Manager, whose features he could barely notice in his thrill, smiled as he handed him an official paper and a golden pen. Paul smiled back, grabbed the pen, stooped to sign, and then, halted at once.

  Something alarming took hold of him indeed. He heeded some whispers, yet too softly and too vaguely for him to comprehend their meaning. He turned abruptly, and met with angry impatience in the cinder-like eyes of the nameless form. Paul held the beast’s anger for a second then asked, dubiously, “If I sign now, it means I will have everything you offered?”

  “Yes!” the reply came swiftly.

  “Fine, but what is that thing you want in return?”

  Rage flashed from its cindery eyes, under that hideous black hood then vanished at once, as it took control of its temper. It attempted a meek smile, and in a velvety voice that bestowed Paul with more apprehension than comfort, it confirmed that it needed nothing from him. Not persuaded at all, Paul stood his ground, and insisted to know his part of the deal.

  The entity shoved its hood back irately, and nailed Paul with a ferocious glare. The man instantly recoiled at the hideous scene that unfurled in front of him. With its patience gone, it bristled and fumed like a monster; a monster it had physically become, absconding its previous human-like shape. Smoke puffed out from its wide nostrils. Its eyes turned blood-red, and two horns spurted out from its head. Repulsive noise wheezed through the distorted teeth of its mouth. The sound of an explosion, resulting from the claps of its hands, followed them back to the Mystery Chamber.

  “Give me the word!” the creature from hell screamed in mighty wrath, and the walls trembled. So did Paul. “Give me the ineffable secret name, or I shall break you into little pieces.”

  Paul fell back. Terror crawled all over his skin. His lips moved to speak, but no words came out. He gasped for air, but the creature seemed to have had engulfed it all, to increase the power of its scream. Paul’s lungs ached. The hammering of his heartbeat painfully blocked his ears. He didn’t know what the creature had meant by the word, but he guessed it could mean the denial of his faith in Jesus Christ, and so, with an extraordinary exertion, he retained the word, and summoned up all the strength he could muster for his survival. Against all odds, he firmly stood up, back on his feet, and braced himself to fight. “Wretched!” he countered back.

  A stunned silence ensued.

  They each held their ground: the faithful man and the beast from hell. Their eyes initiated a fiery war. Then, the creature pointed at Paul with its long, bony fingers, in an attempt to hypnotize his mind and steal the word. It seemed to have cunningly planned every stage of that movement, and stood there; waiting for Paul to breakdown, as it furiously probed his memory.

  With a desperate effort, Paul amassed every remnant of his dangerously dwindling energy, to resist the powerfully penetrating stare of his enemy, hoping for its demise. However, the creature had previously read his mind. He could do it again! Paul’s heart shivered at that prospect. He knew then that the only way to win was for him to block the beast out completely. Yet, as the minutes ticked away, Paul began to feel an unbearable distortion of his perception. It soon evolved into a terrible headache. The intricate network of the narrow synapses of his brain weakened alarmingly, and his brainpower wavered under the invisible pressure.

  At this point of infirmity, Paul detected nothing more than a blurred image of the horrid entity, standing in front of him. His breath was stifled, as if someone or something was strangling him in the invading darkness. His energy waned. Numbness took hold of his limbs, and spread through his body to the very essence of his existence. He reached the point of no return… almost at the edge of losing consciousness… losing the war.

  Paul collapsed.

  .22.

  The Guardian of the Chamber

  Sunday, October 31, 10:10 AM

  The following day, or so he thought, Paul woke up from the vision he had the night before with a minor headache, yet he felt light, as if a great deal of weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He browsed his surroundings, totally disoriented, the setting unfamiliar to him. The heavenly bodies had disappeared from the ceiling, and the walls were barren of inscriptions and paintings. In fact, the walls he saw now were just ordinary walls, in an ordinary room with a window, a door, a chest of drawers, a closet, a bedside table, and a bed, in which he rested. A bed! Could this be my bedroom? he questioned, startled. Did I dream all those events? he wondered.

  Confusion nailed him to the bed, and a sense of loss overtook him for a long while, until the door opened slowly and noiselessly. A female silhouette moved across the room towards the window. The woman slid the curtains open, and a vivid light rushed in throughout the room.

  “Ah…,” she gasped, as soon as she turned to him, revealing a noble face of about fifty. “You’re awake. Praise the Almighty Lord!” She lowered her green eyes in deference, to perform the sign of the cross on her chest, and then drew nearer. Her voice, soft and serene, added in explanation, “We were worried about you. We thought, after we’d brought you in, and made sure that you were not dead, that you’d be in a coma, but we never lost hope for your awakening. Thank Go
d we did not! You’ve been sleeping for nine days.” She sat graciously on the chair near the bed, and took his hand in hers in a tender manner that took him by surprise. She sighed softly, observing his face, and then imparted somberly, “We found you amidst the ruins of the Great Phoenician Temple.”

  Paul remembered at once; the ruins of the Great Phoenician Temple; the Mystery Chamber, the vision, the creature from hell. Am I dead? Is this Heaven? It cannot be, since the woman had just said that I’d been sleeping for nine days. Who is she? Is she real? Or is this just another trick from that vision? What is going on here? How did I disappear from the Mystery Chamber underground, and appear among the ruins above ground?

  As if reading his mind, she rushed to say in a polite tone, “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself earlier.” With a charming motion, she adjusted the silky blue veil on her head. Her beautiful face held the gracious features of a Lady. Paul gazed at her with respectful admiration. “I’m Mariam. Youssef, my husband, was the one that found you, one early morning. He thought at first that you were dead, but he did not see a death mark on you, so he brought you here immediately. What a great day it is today,” she declared in a light tone that dumbfounded Paul. She stood up, and put her balmy hand on his forehead. Her gesture was as tender as the smile she offered, while adding, “You seem better today, and hopefully, you will be perfectly recovered, and back on your feet again in a few more days.”

  While still in shock about what he had experienced the night before, and what he had just heard, he finally managed to thank Mariam for the help she had offered. “And, please, thank your kind husband on my behalf.” He hesitated for a second, before the benevolence of her gracious green eyes, and then asked for clarification, “How did he… uh… what did he mean by a death mark on me?”

  “I simply don’t know… but don’t worry about that now, my son. I will be back in a few minutes with a hot cup of tea. It will do you good.” Having stated that in a motherly way, she moved out; Paul could clearly hear her, calling her husband, “Gabriel… Gabriel! He is awake.”

  The veil Mariam wore, in the ethnic style of some Lebanese villages, reminded him of his late grandmother, who used to wear a similar veil. Mariam reminded him, as well, of his Aunt, the nun. The sound of footsteps behind the door brought him back from his memories and made him turn his eyes in the direction of the sound. He held his breath then exhaled audibly, after seeing a man of about sixty, entering the bedroom with a joyous expression on his face.

  “Oh…Thank God you’re awake!” His exclamation held all the sincerity Paul could read in his sharp, umber-colored eyes. The man was of middle-height, and had a long tanned face.

  “I’m Youssef,” he said, introducing himself. “This is my house, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” He grinned wittily.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Paul answered smiling. “I’m Paul.” He paused for a moment. “Thank you for saving me,” he added.

  Youssef smiled back at his guest, as he approached the window, looking out. “The weather is fine for a little walk today. What do you think, Paul?” Youssef gave him a look that inspired confidence.

  “I’m all for it, Youssef. I guess a short walk would be great, especially after nine days of sleep.” He chuckled.

  “Great, after you drink your tea then. My wife prepares it very well and she will be here in a minute.”

  “Can’t wait for that, she said the tea will do me good,” Paul said with a smile. “Oh, by the way, I heard your wife calling out for Gabriel. Who would that be?” he asked with curiosity.

  “I am Gabriel.”

  “What?” Paul shook his head in confusion. “I don’t truly understand.”

  “Well, the general public knows me as Youssef. Gabriel is my name in the Society of Keepers,” he explained.

  “Society of Keepers?” the historian wondered, more puzzled than before.

  “Yes. I’ll tell you all about it when you are fully recovered. Now, take it easy, and let’s enjoy the tea,” he turned his attention to his wife, Mariam, entering the room with a silver tea tray. She looked peacefully contented.

  Paul adjusted his position, straightening up in bed so he could enjoy the aromatic tea, and was soon absorbed by the story of Youssef, alias Gabriel. He related how he had found him unconscious, among the ruins of the Great Phoenician Temple. In a pleasant way that contradicted the seriousness of the occurrence, he described his shock at deeming Paul dead, his hope at the prospect of survival, and Mariam’s apprehension when he had arrived with his guest. In spite of the light mood and their amusing jokes, Paul comprehended the anxiety they had experienced, while attending to him, and waiting for his recovery. Their sincere smiles were contagious, so was their laughter, and as all three enjoyed several cups of tea, Paul relaxed in the amiable family atmosphere.

  After that, Youssef and Paul left the house for a stroll, and after a while, sat on a nice wooden bench. Bathed by the sun, Paul looked around, inspecting his surroundings. The house, a beautifully designed wooden cottage, was not too far from the Archaeological Site. In fact, it was perched on a small hill, overlooking the Site itself. The setting made Paul feel safe, away from the ‘BB’s secret agents. They cannot find me here, he thought, and a smile of satisfaction drew on his face. His mind seemed troubled with something, though, as his memory came back to him, little by little.

  “I remember the Mystery Chamber well, the scary vision I had there, and how I fell hard to the floor. Honestly, I just don’t understand how you found me among the ruins!” Paul inquired, perplexed.

  “In fact, I didn’t.” Youssef’s answer came, quicker than Paul had expected, as if the strange man was waiting for this question. “I haven’t told my wife about the Mystery Chamber, for her own safety.” He paused, thinking of something; the love for his wife showed in his eyes. “It’s there that I found you, Paul, lying on the ground, almost dead. Shocked by the scene, I instantly ripped your shirt open, to see if you held the mark, but it was not there. Assured of your safety, I brought you home with me.” He looked at Paul with a smile of affection.

  Paul smiled back at the old man who had saved his life, happy to be alive. “What do you know about the mark?” he managed to ask.

  “Later, Paul. Later.”

  “Who are you?”

  He moved closer to Paul, almost looming over him, his face bright like the powerful Mediterranean sun, his piercing eyes staring into Paul’s eyes with a flicker of intelligence in them, and the words came… close to his ears, “I am the Guardian of the Chamber!” His voice vibrated like the blissful sound of an ancient bell.

  Two days later, after breakfast, feeling much better, Paul excused himself and went for a long walk. He needed to see the open fields and feel the burning sun on his skin. The fresh air had an immediate effect on him, and he felt content that the pain had completely vanished, and that his consciousness had recovered well. He walked along the sandy beach to a familiar rock, which had hosted many of his meditations during the excavation period, and there he sat, his eyes lost in the vast sea ahead. He began to recall clearly now, the Mystery Chamber, and the ugly creature from hell. Oh… how could I have lost the greatest battle of all, the battle against evil? He fretted, in defeat. His shoulders felt heavy, too heavy for him to handle. At that aching moment, he wished for the sea to wash the anxiety away from his soul, and wipe out of his recent past that ugly memory of his downfall.

  He watched the game of the waves, breaking softly on the beach for long hours, until the sound turned to a musical play that soothed his temper, and raised his spirits. It made him realize that losing a battle was not a complete defeat of the will. No matter the complication of geometrical forms, water would still defeat their complexities, and resolve their problems.

  He smiled in silence, and then, a gentle whisper hummed in his ears serene echoes from a long distance. He imagined them coming from the depths of the Mediterranean Sea, after crossing time and space. Tranquil
ity inhabited his being. “He wanted to be like the water,” he whispered back. Like water, he wanted to be transparent and flexible, maneuvering around any possible blockade that might hinder his journey. He wanted to defeat Satan if, indeed, that nameless form that he had confronted had been Satan!

  Then, precipitously, in a series of flashing images, his past appeared before his eyes, like a movie, the way some people experience it on the brink of death. Almost all of his experiences, from the earliest moments of his childhood to the present, rushed through his inner realm within moments. However, he was well alive, and safely breathing in the gleeful air of Gebel.

  He breathed…

  Instants later, Youssef’s voice broke into the peaceful silence from behind him, “Here you are! I have been looking everywhere for you. Would you mind if I join you?” he asked politely, as he stepped nearer.

  “No… not at all, please do.”

  Youssef sat by his side, and gazed wordlessly at the Sea, his eyes impenetrable with that mysterious look of his, a mystery that still puzzled Paul. Maybe he would come to discover it, one day, and know who he really was, and why he carried that other name, Gabriel. He had promised to tell his guest all about the Society of Keepers, and Paul had hoped that, in time, he would come to learn all he could about that mystery.

  “It is a glorious day,” he finally uttered then inhaled deeply with an expression of contentment.

  Now was the time. Paul sensed it, as his mind clearly reminisced about the Mystery Chamber, and the vision of the letter of death. Then, a fretful thought taunted him. Had his defeat to evil snatched away the gift, granted to him, as a Historian, by time and knowledge?

  Guardian of the Chamber… Society of Keepers! The correlation astonished him, as he intently observed the man at his side, hoping for a clue that would lead him to discover the mystery behind his puzzling character. As if reading Paul’s mind, Youssef turned a serious look at him, and then his expression became gentle.