Beloved Gomorrah

by Justine Saracen

Maryke jerked away from her suddenly, and Marion heard her sudden outcry through the mouthpiece. Marion froze in horror.

  The arms of the “Great Balance” were tilted at a forty-five-degree angle, as if in final judgment. The higher dish, containing the feather of Maat, swung gently in the current. But the other dish had fallen to the floor, weighed down by the body of a diver caught in its chains.

  After a moment of terror and paralysis, Marion approached to investigate. A man in a wetsuit lay face-up, his outstretched arms rising and falling puppet-like with the movement of the water. His regulator mouthpiece dangled in the water next to him. He wasn’t tangled in the chains so much as caught by them, as if he had floated past and simply snagged.

  Maryke shone her light on his pressure gauge. The needle still showed half a tank. She pressed the purge valve on the mouthpiece, and the rush of bubbles from it showed that it, too, was working properly.

  She shook her head, puzzled. Diving theory offered half a dozen explanations for the death, but only a medical examiner could determine the cause for certain. But she’d had enough. She signaled end of dive and they ascended.

  They were both silent as they hauled themselves back into the inflatable. She started the motor while Maryke shivered at the bow, muttering, “Horrible, horrible.”

  Shaken also, Marion couldn’t bear to look down toward the black water and stared instead at the night sky. The constellations that sparkled overhead seemed silent witnesses.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Mei sprawled on the bottom of the dinghy clutching her flotation jacket while her mother steered the outboard motor. “What a shame you’re selling the Hina. I’ve had the time of my life on it this last week. I mean, once the police inquiry was over and Bernard was buried. We’re a family again here, away from the press, and we can invite who we want on the boat. It’s our little home. ”

  “Is it because you need the money?” Kiele, sitting next to her with knees drawn up, looked anxiously at Kaia.

  “Well, I’m not poor.” Kaia concentrated on finding the correct buoy. “But it is a bit of a monster and very expensive to keep. I never wanted anything that grandiose. But don’t worry, I’ll get a smaller one, just for us, once I get all the finances straightened out.”

  Mei pressed. “How are you going to sell it if you’re not here?”

  “Darling, people don’t sell their yachts in person, not when they’re this size. A broker does it. Hamad will take it to Sharm el-Sheikh tomorrow, where there’s a company that handles that sort of thing for a commission. It’s all done by Internet these days.”

  Joanna glanced up from the diving vest she was adjusting. “It’s a shame you can’t also do the inheritance stuff in absentia, instead of flying all the way to New York. It would be so much nicer to spend the next two weeks getting settled in London before rehearsals begin.”

  “Yes, but the legal issues in this case are daunting, and I’ve got to face them personally. I have to meet with tax lawyers about the inheritance, business lawyers about selling the agency, and finally the entertainment lawyer who’s going to be my new manager.” She chuckled softly. “I’ll be a major financier of the legal industry.”

  “Is that going to be a problem, selling the agency, I mean?”

  “I doubt it. Bernard and I were the sole shareholders. ICM has been trying to buy us out for ages and should be happy to take over, especially since it means they’ll be getting me. But it’s definitely something you want to do with lawyers in the room.”

  “What about your contract with the Royal Shakespeare?”

  “That’s an agreement I made personally, and whatever happens in the next weeks doesn’t affect it. I’ve agreed by fax to the contract they sent me. The New York lawyers would laugh at the salary anyhow. I’m not doing it for the money.”

  “What about the New York press?” Kiele said. “I’m sure they’re going to be all over you about the tragedy last week. You’ll have to play the grieving widow, but at least you’re not under suspicion.”

  “No, thank God for that. With Jibril’s testimony, the Egyptian police had no trouble declaring it an accident, from careless filling of the tank. Nobody has to ever know it was an attempted murder that backfired.”

  “The bastard,” Kiele muttered. “Well, what goes around comes around.”

  Kaia bumped shoulders with her. “Let’s talk about more cheerful things, shall we?”

  “I’ve got something cheerful,” Joanna announced. “I’ve applied with the Saint Tropez Art Museum to do another piece of underwater art. This time off the Côte d’Azur. Underwater art exhibits seem to be all the rage now. If they accept, it’ll be in September.”

  Kaia drew the boat up to the buoy and turned off the motor, while Mei tied up to one of its rings. “That would be fantastic. What piece did you propose?”

  “Something to do with Atiyah. I’m not finished with her yet. For most people, she’s still only Lot’s wife, even after all these thousands of years. I want the world to know her name and her story. I want her to have justice.”

  “Justice,” Kiele murmured. “Definitely satisfying, even when it’s a long time coming.”

  “Haven’t you had enough controversy? I mean about the tablets,” Kaia asked, opening the valve to her tank.

  “Oh, I surely have. The museum managed to publish the translations on the day of the opening of the exhibit, and The Independent carried the news the next day. The speed of the reaction was astonishing. The day after that, people were screaming that the museum, if not science in general, has embarked on a war against the Bible.” Joanna checked her pressure gauge, then slid on her fins.

  “Well, let’s not dwell on that right now,” Kaia said. “This is our last day together in Egypt, and I want us to enjoy it. Kiele, Mei, you know how to get back in the dinghy from the water?”

  “Ma, of course we do. We’ve been snorkeling from the boat all week, and we even made those little dives from here with Peter and Oliver. We’ll be fine.”

  “Everyone’s done the safety check? Air tanks open, vests inflated, weight belts in place? Don’t want to lose anyone today.” Joanna waited for all three heads to nod.

  “Okay, over we go.” Four somewhat awkward backward plops brought all of them into the water. As they descended, Joanna monitored the two younger women making the slow descent and equalizing of ear pressure.

  She felt a vague and deeply comforting sensation, and it took her a moment to realize that it was the sense of family. Not the typical dynamic of parents and children, because they were all adults. It was simply a sudden awareness of cohesion and caring, of planning a future around the hopes and needs of several people, not just herself.

  Joanna led the way to the slope where Lot was just about to fell Atiyah with his rock. Lot, with Charlie’s face, and Atiyah with the face of Kaia. She wondered for a moment if it wouldn’t have been more accurate to use the face of Bernard for Lot. Certainly their characters were parallel. But after reflection, she realized she would not have wanted to immortalize the face of a thug.

  While the girls scrutinized the stone copy of their mother, Kaia had already lost interest in her alter ego and was paddling toward the fountain. Joanna joined her in locating the tube to the air reservoir and pumped air into it from her regulator.

  A moment later, a stream of bubbles gurgled from the statue’s mouth, to the amusement of the girls. Signaling their approval, they paddled down to sit with their mother on the rim of the fountain. The water was unusually clear, and from their vantage point, Joanna could see the entire city. In a moment, they would make the tour, seeing it all again with two fresh sets of eyes.

  Kaia suddenly gripped her arm and Joanna glanced up. Three dark forms were just emerging from behind the Egyptian temple. Joanna froze.

  She recognized the largest shark immediately by its torn dorsal fin. It was her shark, she was sure. Two others flanked him, like gang members.

  A dozen thoughts shot through her mind: coul
d they evade them by remaining motionless, could they fight them with a blow to their snouts, how hideously ironic for them to reappear on this final day, which had seemed so triumphant. In her terror, she was breathing faster and expelling more bubbles than usual. They all were. Could the sharks detect their fear?

  The largest of the predators passed directly in front of her, and he seemed almost to recognize her, for he paused, one of his small, cold eyes focusing on her. Then he slid by, made a circle and returned, this time over all their heads, his companions swooping by in opposite directions.

  They repeated their tour, round and round, in varying ellipses, changing the angle of their orbits. It seemed a game, a shark theme-and-variations to a terror-captive audience. Then, as if completing a dance, all three curled briefly over the fountain in a sort of triple helix and swam off.

  Joanna took Kaia’s hand, and gratitude settled over her like a blanket. They had come close to death before, she from Bernard’s carelessness and Kaia from his rage. Yet they had both survived and had brought Kaia’s daughters home as well. They were united now by a new secret, the knowledge that fate itself had come around and brought them justice.

  Moreover, Kiele had met her own “lost boy,” Mei was set to plunge into the mystery of subatomic particles, and Kaia was about to become the magician Prospera, as if to prove that the best kind of father was one who was a mother.

  And to top it all off, she herself had made a damned good sculpture. She ran one hand along the still-smooth surface of the fountain rim. The underwater fountain of air was an inversion, a variation of the normal, even as her love of Kaia was, but the scene was also a declaration of truth, finally granting justice to three grievously wronged women.

  Joanna removed her mouthpiece and signaled Kaia to do the same, for a final lover’s kiss at the fountain of Gomorrah. Then the four of them ascended together.

  About the Author

  Recovered academic Justine Saracen started out producing dreary theses, dissertations, and articles for esoteric literary journals. Writing fiction, it turned out, was way more fun. With seven historical thrillers now under her literary belt, she has moved from Ancient Egyptian theology (The 100th Generation) to the Crusades (Vulture’s Kiss) to the Roman Renaissance. Sistine Heresy, which conjures up a thoroughly blasphemic backstory to Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel frescoes, won a 2009 Independent Publisher’s Award (IPPY), and was a finalist in the Foreword Book of the Year Award.

  A few centuries further along, WWII thriller Mephisto Aria was a finalist in the EPIC award competition, won Rainbow awards for Best Historical Novel and Best Writing Style, and took the 2011 Golden Crown first prize for best historical novel.

  The Eddie Izzard inspired novel, Sarah, Son of God followed soon after. In the story within a story, a transgendered beauty takes us through Stonewall-rioting New York, Venice under the Inquisition, and Nero’s Rome. The novel won the Rainbow First Prize for Best Transgendered Novel.

  Her second WWII thriller Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright, which follows the lives of four homosexuals during the Third Reich, won the 2012 Rainbow First Prize for Historical Novel.

  Waiting for the Violins, her work in progress, tells of an English nurse, nearly killed while fleeing Dunkirk, who returns as a British spy and joins forces with the Belgian resistance. In a year of constant terror, she discovers both betrayal and heroism and learns how very costly love can be.

  Saracen lives in Europe (“where History comes from”) in an adorable little row house on a winding street in Brussels. Her favorite non-literary pursuits are scuba diving and listening to opera. She can be reached by way of www.justinesaracen.com, through FB justinesaracen, and at Twitter as JustSaracen.

  Acclaim for Justine Saracen’s Novels

  “Mephisto Aria could well stand as a classic among gay and lesbian readers.”—ForeWord Reviews

  “Justine Saracen’s Sistine Heresy is a well-written and surprisingly poignant romp through Renaissance Rome in the age of Michelangelo. …The novel entertains and titillates while it challenges, warning of the mortal dangers of trespass in any theocracy (past or present) that polices same-sex desire.”—Professor Frederick Roden, University of Connecticut, Author, Same-Sex Desire in Victorian Religious Culture

  “…the lesbian equivalent of Indiana Jones. …Saracen has sprinkled cliffhangers throughout this tale…If you enjoy the History Channel presentations about ancient Egypt, you will love this book. If you haven't ever indulged, it will be a wonderful introduction to the land of the Pharaohs. If you're a Raiders of the Lost Ark-type adventure fan, you’ll love reading a woman in the hero’s role.”—Just About Write

  “Saracen’s wonderfully descriptive writing is a joy to the eye and the ear, as scenes play out on the page, and almost audibly as well. The characters are extremely well drawn, with suave villains, and lovely heroines. There are also wonderful romances, a heart-stopping plot, and wonderful love scenes. Mephisto Aria is a great read.”—Just About Write

  Sarah, Son of God can lightly be described as the “The Lesbian’s Da Vinci Code” because of the somewhat common themes. At its roots, it’s part mystery and part thriller. Sarah, Son of God is an engaging and exciting story about searching for the truth within each of us. Ms. Saracen considers the sacrifices of those who came before us, challenges us to open ourselves to a different reality than what we’ve been told we can have, and reminds us to be true to ourselves. Her prose and pacing rhythmically rise and fall like the tides in Venice; and her reimagined life and death of Jesus allows thoughtful readers to consider “what if?”—Rainbow Reader

  “Mephisto Aria, brims with delights for every sort of reader. …At each level of Saracen’s deliciously complicated plot, the characters who are capable of self-knowledge and of love evaded their contracts with the devil, rescued by each other’s feats of queerly gendered derring-do done in the name of love. Brava! Brava! Brava!”—Suzanne Cusick, Professor of Music, New York University

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  The Princess Affair by Nell Stark. Rhodes Scholar Kerry Donovan arrives at Oxford ready to focus on her studies, but her life and her priorities are thrown into chaos when she catches the eye of Her Royal Highness Princess Sasha. (978-1-60282-858-2)

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