Dead Sea Rising

Home > Literature > Dead Sea Rising > Page 9
Dead Sea Rising Page 9

by Jerry B. Jenkins


  “What’s that mean?”

  “Depression,” Ben said.

  “Got it. Suicidal?”

  “Never actually attempted it, but I was heading that way. It was a dark time I don’t like to think about.”

  “So how did Virginia get to you?”

  “I’d never met anyone like her. I hadn’t smiled for weeks, gave her no encouragement, yet she kept coming back. She’d pray for me, ask me about myself, try to cheer me up. I resented it, frankly, wasn’t going to break, resolved not to cave.”

  “But you did. Why?”

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “Try me. People lie to me all day every day, so I think I know the truth when I hear it.”

  “Well, see, I knew they were church kids and I figured I knew what she was about—saving my soul. So I played the trump card, told her if I wanted to talk religion, I’d ask for a rabbi. Thing was, that was the last thing I wanted to get into. But she immediately jumps on it, tells me she loves the Jewish faith and wants me to tell her all about my experience. Then I had to tell her I was only ethnically Jewish, and—like my parents—agnostic leaning toward atheism. I hardly knew a thing about Judaism really.”

  “That didn’t discourage her?”

  “She took it as a challenge! She starts in with the Jesus-was-a-Jew business, which I’d heard before. But because I was neither here nor there about being Jewish myself, what did I care what some religious figure was? Virginia’s telling me how the whole Christian faith is rooted in Judaism and that they believe Jesus is the Messiah the Jewish Bible predicted thousands of years ago.”

  “But you’re not buying it.”

  “Not caring is more like it.”

  “But you wound up marrying her, and you’re trying to convince me life’s been so peaceful ever since that you couldn’t have had anything to do with what’s happened to her. So you can’t still be on opposite sides of the religious fence.”

  “Of course not. That’s what I meant about her literally being my salvation.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Ur

  Terah put a finger to his lips and pointed to the door. Wedum silently manipulated the handle and helped Terah inside to a chair. He grabbed two candles and lit them from the torch on the wall outside. “Anything else I can get you?” he mouthed.

  “Lots of water and a walking stick,” Terah breathed, quieter than a whisper.

  Wedum hurried off while Terah rested on his right cheek and flexed limbs and digits and felt for puncture wounds everywhere he could reach. His body was a disaster. All he wanted was to bathe, treat his wounds, and change into a fresh tunic.

  Wedum returned with more than a huge pot of water. He had refashioned the wood post Terah found. Wedum had broken off the widest expanses of wood and shortened the rest to where Terah could use it as a crutch.

  But that wasn’t all. “I found Mutuum looking for me. He’s outside and he has news.”

  Terah motioned to bring him in, but again put a finger to his lips.

  The younger, shorter servant’s eyes grew wide in the low light. “Oh, sir,” Mutuum said, “what the dogs have done to you …”

  “You and Wedum will help me, and I will be fine. Now, what news?”

  Mutuum gleamed and could not seem to suppress a grin. “I have become a father,” he whispered. “I have a son!”

  Terah forced a weary smile and shook a fist at him. “Glory to the gods!”

  “With your permission, master, we want to name him after you.”

  Terah was touched. “Are you sure? Are there not other servants’ children bearing my name?”

  “Only two,” Mutuum said. “We would be so honored …”

  “The honor is mine, son.”

  “You are still bleeding,” Wedum said. “I must mix clay and mud for your shoulder. And I will find ointments.”

  “I also need a clean tunic and my wife’s reflection plate.” He pointed to the draped entrance to the room where Belessunu slept. “Just inside the doorway, but be very quiet.”

  Wedum and Mutuum looked at each other, terror in their eyes.

  “It’s all right!” Terah said. “You have my permission. Just do not wake her.”

  The servants finally agreed that Wedum would go outside to concoct a pack for Terah’s shoulder while Mutuum would creep just far enough into the sleep chamber to fetch the items Terah requested.

  Mutuum soon returned with a hand over his chest, as if he had barely escaped and could breathe again. “The mistress snores,” he said, setting aside the shiny plate and the tunic.

  Mutuum helped Terah disrobe and began gently dabbing at his wounds while Wedum applied the mudpack. It felt cool to his shoulder, though the pressure only increased his pain. The bite appeared to have nearly reached the bone, leaving gristly flesh in its wake.

  Mutuum dipped a rag into the water and reached toward Terah’s face.

  “No, let me see first.”

  Mutuum positioned one of the candles so it illuminated Terah, and he finally dared lift the polished plate before him. Oh no! Worse than he’d feared. Much worse. Regardless what his servants did, there would be no masking this before daybreak.

  Caked blood from gouges on his head and face stiffened his hair and beard. Bruises covered his cheekbones, and streaks of color had already begun encircling his eyes. His swollen nose and lips made him nearly unrecognizable. He could only imagine what Belessunu would think.

  “We must do what we can,” Terah said, knowing Belessunu would ask questions he didn’t want to answer. “She cannot see me this way.”

  The servants spent nearly another hour washing Terah’s hair and applying various salves to the punctures in his scalp and face. Yet every time he looked into the plate, his face looked only more dreadful. While they had removed the dried blood from his hair and beard and combed them out, the ugly colors continued to spread. By now the whites of his eyes appeared monstrously red with blood.

  Wedum and Mutuum patted Terah dry and pulled the clean tunic over his head. He took a last look at his reflection. “I cannot believe I actually look worse than I feel,” he said.

  “You do not feel bad?” Mutuum said.

  “I feel terrible!” he said and had to press a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. “I don’t know what will happen with this ankle, but I believe everything else will heal in time. But how long will it take for this face?”

  The servants looked at each other. Two or three weeks, they decided. “Probably three,” Wedum said. “You could stay with me, master. We could tell your mistress you have gone on a three-week lion hunt. Surely you will look better when you return.”

  “A lion attack would only improve how I look!”

  Both servants held their sides and pressed their lips together. Finally, Wedum said, “Shall I prepare a place for you while you heal?”

  “Thank you, but our own child is due soon. My wife will get used to my face in time, but she would never forgive my being away when she gives birth. Anyway, how would I explain my absence to the king?”

  The men nodded. “I must get back to my wife and baby Terah,” Mutuum said.

  “Yes,” Terah said, “and, Wedum, in the morning, can you get to the palace early and summon Ikuppi of the king’s guard?”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “Any guard can point you to him. Tell him you bear a message from me. He is to inform the king that I will return to court as soon as our child is born. And have Ikuppi come here after first meal.”

  “I will, master,” Wedum said, “and—” He stopped abruptly and held up both hands, pointing to the bedroom. It sounded as if Belessunu was rising.

  “Douse the candles!” Terah hissed.

  The light disappeared just before Belessunu came shuffling out, feeling her way to the kitchen. The men sat rigid in the darkness as she pulled a piece of bread from a loaf and poured herself a cup of water. She sat heavily and Terah heard her eating.

  Beles
sunu stopped midchew and turned slowly, apparently aware of the men’s silhouettes. “Lord God, spare me!” she said, her voice shaky and high. “Whoever you are and whatever you want, my husband will be home presently!”

  “Calm yourself, wife,” Terah said. “It is only I and Wedum and Mutuum. They have come to announce the news of Mutuum’s new son. They have named the boy after me!”

  “Oh! Oh!” she said. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

  “We didn’t want to wake you,” Terah said.

  “You’d rather scare me to death?”

  “Apologies!” Wedum said.

  “Yes, so sorry,” Mutuum said.

  She stood. “Praise God for your child, son. I must come and see little Terah soon.”

  “Perhaps after dawn,” Mutuum said.

  “Expect us,” she said. “And tell my servant girls not to come here tomorrow but to meet me at Mutuum’s house.”

  “Expect only her,” Terah said. “I will not be able to rise so early.”

  “Been up praying to your carvings, have you?” his wife said.

  “I did a lot of praying tonight, yes, love. Will you let me sleep?”

  “Of course,” Belessunu said. And she trundled back through the drapery to bed.

  CHAPTER 29

  Grand Central Parkway

  Astoria, New York

  Ben Berman’s knee bounced as he sat next to Detective Wojciechowski in the back of a squad car glaciating toward the Robert F Kennedy Triboro Bridge over the East River.

  “You’re jittery,” Wojciechowski said.

  “This is more free parking than traffic jam.”

  “Goin’ as fast as we can,” the detective said.

  “Don’t suppose he could use the lights and siren …”

  “Yeah, no. Your wife’s stable. This is not an emergency.”

  Ben turned away. “She wasn’t fighting for her life when I left.”

  “Fighting for her …? Thought you were an archaeologist, not some fiction writer.”

  “What am I supposed to think?” Ben said. “First I hear she’s fallen, then rush back only to find out she was attacked. She’s stable, she’s talking nonsense, she’s sleeping again, she’s awake. My head’s spinning. Let’s just get there.”

  “Maybe you didn’t expect her to be conscious. Maybe you need to get there before she says something you have to explain.”

  “So much for just trying to clear me. Why don’t you use every resource to get me there?”

  “I am, Berman. Look around. Carl flips on the siren, where does this traffic go to get out of his way?”

  The shoulder was lined with construction barrels. “It’s just that I flew all night—”

  “And I’m just as anxious to get on with this as you are. Why don’t we use this time we’ve got?”

  “I don’t know what else to tell you,” Ben said. “You’re going to have to talk to people who know us.”

  “I got somebody talking to your assistant right now. Olsen?”

  Ben nodded. “Abigail. Good. She’s known us forever. Nicole put you onto her?”

  “She did. What’s the deal between those two? I can tell from only meetin’ your daughter that she and Olsen aren’t exactly best friends. Nicole can’t even say the woman’s name without lookin’ like she just smelled something.”

  “Okay, they don’t click, but there’s no bad blood. Nicole would tell me.”

  “Doesn’t complain about Olsen?”

  “She gets frustrated with Abagail, sure. Nothing serious.”

  “And what does Ms. Olsen say?” Wojciechowski said.

  “Nothing.”

  “Knows better than to badmouth the boss’s kid, I get it. Better hope Ms. Olsen backs up your happy marriage story. Or does she have a problem with your wife too?”

  “No. They worked together a long time too. My wife kept the books for the foundation for years.”

  “And they got along?”

  “It’s hard not to get along with Virginia.”

  “How about Abigail? Not so easy to work with?”

  “She’s no Ginny, but no problems.”

  “And the bookkeeper bein’ the boss’s wife never got on her nerves?”

  “Well, Virginia was pretty buttoned-down. Had to be with being audited every year. The family connection could look like a conflict of interest. But her books were so clean—”

  “So clean she could get on your assistant’s nerves?”

  “At times, sure. But Abigail knew better than to complain to me about my wife.”

  Wojciechowski seemed to study Ben. “So your office wasn’t exactly Disneyland—happiest place on earth.”

  “We have a great atmosphere, actually.”

  “Uh-huh. Should we be looking at Abigail Olsen?”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake!”

  “Claustrophobic, Ben? You look like you want out. Hittin’ a nerve here?”

  “Why aren’t we moving?”

  Wojciechowski rapped on the Plexiglas. “Hey, Jeff Gordon, how you gonna get the checkered flag if you don’t go over the top of this traffic?”

  Carl reached for his radio. “I’ll find out what’s goin’ on.”

  “Better yet,” Wojciechowski said, “call your dad, Commissioner Gordon, and see if Batman’s available.”

  Ben was not amused. Wojciechowski slapped him on the arm. “C’mon, lighten up. Just tryin’ to do my job here. Go back to your love story.”

  “I don’t see the relevance. Am I doing myself any good with this?”

  “Here’s the thing: Your wife was conscious between surgery and when she conked out for the night. During that time, one my officers—and even your wife’s surgeon—heard her say things that didn’t do your daughter any favors.”

  “Such as?” Ben asked.

  “For one thing, she said your daughter hated her.”

  The squad car had sat idling on the Triboro Bridge over the East River for the last fifteen minutes, and impatient horns blared.

  “Dispatch says there’s a wreck on the other side of the river,” the driver told Wojciechowski.

  “Great,” the detective said. “We got nothin’ else to do today. Don’t know why they call it a river anyway. You can smell the saltwater.”

  Ben was ready to burst. “That doesn’t even sound like Virginia. Plus, it’s not true. They’re close. You’re saying she was accusing Nicole of attacking her?”

  “No. My officer says she was trying to get your daughter to forgive her and stop hating her.”

  Ben shook his head. “Hate is not even a word I’ve ever heard Nicole use, let alone about her mother.”

  “Your daughter claims the only time they even had words was twenty years ago.”

  “That’s true. Nicole was anything but a problem kid, and our disagreements never got ugly.”

  “Your daughter says her mother was delirious and didn’t even know what she was saying. But she’s not the medical expert here.”

  “So what does the doc say? He must have an opinion on her mental state.”

  Wojciechowski raised a brow. “He agrees with your daughter on that.”

  “So why are we still talking about this? You couldn’t use it against Nicole even if she was guilty—and that’s out of the question.”

  “I decide what’s out of the question.”

  “I’d know if there was any problem between Nic and Ginny.”

  “And how about between you and Ginny?”

  “I don’t know how else to say it. Did she talk about me too?”

  CHAPTER 30

  Ur

  Belessunu had returned to bed, Wedum and Mutuum were gone, and Terah sat in the dark on his uninjured side, hands in his lap, head bowed. The crude crutch Wedum had improvised from the discarded fence post stood propped against his chair. He felt every injury. Slashes, gashes, scrapes, punctures, bites, a broken toe on his left foot, at least a sprained ankle on the other.

  Most important now, however, was waitin
g till he knew Belessunu was asleep again before he joined her. Otherwise she would wonder at the commotion, managing the crutch and stifling groans as he tried to stretch out next to her.

  When finally he heard her soft snoring, Terah had to rock three times before he could get his aching body upright and reach for the crutch. It took all he had to hobble from his chair to the opening of the bedroom. He pushed aside the drapery with his head and surprised himself by noiselessly navigating the last few feet. He planted the crutch on the floor next to the sleeping mat and began lowering himself. When his seat reached the mat he couldn’t avoid getting too much of his weight on the bite to his left side. He quickly shifted, whimpered, and lost hold of the crutch. It clattered to the floor loud enough to have awoken the sphynx.

  Terah lay on his back and held his breath as Belessunu’s gentle snoring stopped—then resumed. For the rest of the night he kept rousing, wondering if morning had broken. Belessunu had agreed to let him sleep, but if she got a look at him in the morning light, she would no doubt wake him to find out what had happened. He covered his face with a blanket, determined to break everything to her gently.

  Sunlight invaded not only the window but Terah’s face covering as well. He reached timidly for Belessunu, but her side of the mat was empty. He listened for clues that she was nearby and, satisfied she was gone, stiffly managed to sit up. If Wedum had accomplished his task, Ikuppi would be there soon. Terah hoped he would arrive before Belessunu returned.

  CHAPTER 31

  Parris Island, South Carolina

  1971

  Ben Berman had boarded the bus in New York twelve hours before, and there was no other way to say it—he was full of himself. Eighteen years old, two weeks out of high school, the night before he had told his latest steady not to wait for him.

  In tears, she pleaded, promising to write several times a week. “I’ll stay true to you!”

  “Don’t,” he said, “because I won’t do the same. A marine, on leave, in uniform? You think I’m gonna ignore all the possibilities?”

  “Well, not if you don’t want to!”

  “I don’t,” he said. “Sorry.”

 

‹ Prev