The Spirit Well be-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “You like tea?”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Charles. “I do like a nice cup of tea.”

  The elderly housekeeper nodded and disappeared into the house. Left alone, Charles gazed around the room. It was light and airy, if cluttered with knickknacks of various kinds large and small-the accumulation, no doubt, of a life in government service. What sort of official Hana-Li’s husband had been, Charles did not know-only that he had been involved with the British Board of Trade at some time in the past. He wondered why, after her husband had died, his great-aunt had not moved back to Macau.

  Presently the old woman returned with a porcelain pot and two shallow cups and a plate of sugared almonds on a teak tray. “You are far from home,” she said.

  “Yes, I have come a long way to see Hana-Li,” he replied. “Is she coming soon, do you think?”

  The woman bunched her wrinkled cheeks. “Yes, very soon.” She placed the tray on a table and began pouring it out. She handed Charles a cup and then offered the plate of almonds.

  “Thank you,” said Charles, selecting a few of the sweets.

  “I am sister of Xian-Li,” announced the woman, taking a seat in the chair opposite. “My name is Hana-Li.” She offered a broad, gap-toothed smile, enjoying her little jest at his expense. “Hello, great-nephew.”

  Charles sat up so quickly, he almost spilled his tea. “Oh, I am sorry!” he blurted. “I took you for the housekeeper.”

  She laughed. “I know. Little Tam-Ling is housekeeper.”

  “Please, forgive me.”

  She batted away the apology. “You honour me with your presence, nephew.”

  Charles made a little bow. “The honour is mine, dear aunt.”

  “Did you know my sister?”

  “Indeed I did,” replied Charles, remembering. “When I was a little boy, she used to let me feed the chickens on the farm. She was always very proper.”

  Hana-Li nodded over her tea. “Did she have a happy life?”

  “Yes, very happy-quiet, but happy, I think. She was a joy to all who met her.”

  Hana-Li laughed. “You would not say that if you knew her when she was young. She used to pull my hair and scream like a monkey when we fought.” She laughed again. “And we were always fighting.”

  “I brought you something,” said Charles, standing up. He fished in the pocket of his jacket and brought out a small parcel wrapped in blue paper. “I thought you might like this.”

  The old woman took the present, unwrapped it, and opened the box to reveal a jade brooch skillfully carved to resemble a lotus flower. “Oh!” exclaimed Hana-Li. Tears came to her eyes.

  “Do you like it?”

  She swallowed hard. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Xian-Li wore it often. I expect it was her favourite piece.”

  “It was our mother’s favourite too,” explained Hana-Li, dabbing at her eyes. “We were very young when she died, and we were very poor. We had almost nothing from her-but this brooch and a few other small things. Father gave it to Xian-Li when she was married.”

  “Then I am glad I could return it to you.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “A son. He is grown now. No daughters.”

  Hana-Li held out the box. “Give it to him to give to his daughter when the time comes.”

  Charles shook his head lightly. “That is a kindly thought. But I think it means more to you than it ever will to him. I insist you keep it.”

  “Thank you,” she sighed. “You make an old woman very happy.”

  “I have something else for you,” he said. “Excuse me a moment.” He turned away and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt to withdraw a cylindrical parcel no bigger than the palm of his hand. It was wrapped in fine suede leather and bound with a leather strap of the same material. He buttoned his shirt and turned, offering the package to his aged relative. “This is also very precious, but for a different reason,” he said.

  Hana-Li took it and regarded the green suede bundle curiously.

  “You may open it,” he instructed, “and I will explain.”

  The old woman gently closed the box containing the brooch and set it on the table beside her chair. Her wrinkled fingers worked at the leather lace and in a moment had unwrapped the package to reveal a tightly wound scroll of semi-translucent parchment. She gently unrolled the scrap and spread it on her lap, her eyes playing over the oddly ornamented surface-a spray of fine blue swirls and lines and tiny dots. She lifted the thin, papery material and held it up against the light from the window to study the richly patterned design more closely.

  “Have you seen anything like this before?” asked Charles after a moment.

  “These are tattaus,” she said. “I have seen them many times, as you must surely know, for my father was a tattau maker.”

  Charles nodded. “And you know that he created many tattoostattaus — for my grandfather, Arthur.”

  The old woman held the parchment across her palms. “That is true. He would have come many times to have his tattaus made. But I met your grandfather only once-when he came to take Xian-Li for his wife. After that, we never saw them again.”

  “What you hold is a parchment made from Arthur’s skin,” Charles explained, placing his hand reverently on the map.

  The old woman’s mouth formed a perfect O of wonder.

  “It was made to preserve the marks you see on its surface, and it has been in our family for many, many years.”

  Charles went on to tell her how his father, Benedict-then only a young boy-had tried to secure a copy of the special map when Arthur had died unexpectedly while on one of their travels. The parchment had been made by well-meaning priests in order to preserve the map. “It has been in the family ever since,” concluded Charles. “It has proven its worth many times over.”

  The old woman nodded, uncertain what to make of this revelation. “Why do you wish me to have it?”

  “What you hold in your hands is but one small piece of a larger map. I have divided it up into sections, and I bring this portion to you for safekeeping.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you are the only surviving member of my grandmother’s family,” Charles replied. “And because no one will ever think to search for it here.” He smiled. “No one knows about you, Hana-Li, but me.”

  She rolled the scroll once more and rewound it in its leather wrap, then handed it back to Charles. “I will think about it.”

  “Very well,” he agreed, but made no move to take the map from her. “Whatever you think best.”

  “You will stay here with me, and I will tell cook that tonight we celebrate the good fortune of your arrival,” she said lightly. “We will eat together, and you will tell me stories of my sister’s life in England.”

  “I would be delighted.”

  The old woman rose and crossed the room. She lifted a tiny brass bell from a table and rang. Tam-Ling appeared, and the two exchanged a brief word. “She will take you to the guest room, where you can rest from your journey. I will have hot water brought to you.”

  “You are most thoughtful, Aunt,” he said. Taking her hands in his, he pressed them, and added, “I knew that coming here was the right thing to do.”

  They enjoyed a sumptuous dinner together, and while Tam-Ling ferried various dishes from the kitchen to the table, Charles regaled his aged relative with stories remembered from his childhood and other family stories passed down through the years: tales of Arthur’s daring travel exploits; his mother’s winsome, slightly otherworldly ways; his and his father’s childhood memories of the farm and country life in rural Oxfordshire; and much else. Hana-Li relished the tales, clapping her hands with pleasure from time to time as a particular story unfolded; she added her own recollections of her and her sister’s childhood growing up in Macau. The two went to bed that night sated in body and soul.

  Charles arose the next morning to a light rain pattering on the roof tiles; he dressed and went downsta
irs to find his great-aunt waiting for him in the sitting room. She had the leather roll in her lap and was gazing at it intently. He greeted her with a kiss and then, as she clearly had something on her mind, he stood and waited for her to begin.

  “I have been thinking,” she said, still gazing at the bundle on her lap. “I am a very old woman, and I will not live many more years.”

  “You are the very picture of health-”

  She raised a hand and cut off his objection. “No, it is true. Therefore, I am not prepared to accept this duty.” Before Charles could interrupt, she continued. “However, I understand your desire to keep this… ” She hesitated. “This remnant safe and secure.” She raised her eyes to Charles for the first time. “I have a proposal to make to you.”

  “I am eager to hear it.”

  “I want you to take me to Macau,” she said. “It is many years since I visited my home, and I should like to see it again before I die. There is an old family shrine outside the city-my father’s and mother’s ashes are there. We will visit the shrine and there, I think, you will find a place to keep this”-she lowered her eyes to the object on her lap-“in all safety.”

  Charles considered this for a moment. “A splendid idea, Aunt. I think you have devised the perfect solution.” Indeed, hiding the pieces in tombs and shrines seemed not only appropriate but inspired. He stooped near and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “It would be my pleasure to escort you to Macau to visit the family shrine. We could also see the old tattoo shop if you would like-I know I would.”

  “Then I will make arrangements,” replied Hana-Li. She took the parcel and offered it to him once more. “We will visit the shrine first, and you will place this inside.”

  Charles made a little bow and accepted the leather-wrapped scroll. Holding it on the palm of his hand, he said, “That will be a most fitting resting place for this particular piece of family history.”

  CHAPTER 32

  In Which the Newest Member Is Feted

  Chairs had been set up in a neat semi-circle in the genizah to accommodate the small but select group. The centre of the big room had been cleared for the special meeting at which Cassandra Clarke was to be inducted into the Zetetic Society, becoming its newest, and youngest, member. In point of fact, she would become its first new member for over a hundred and twenty-five years-a detail she would have found astonishing, but wholly in keeping with the odd group she was still struggling to embrace.

  It had taken five days, Damascus time, to gather the membership and for them to arrive; the last to appear was a blue-haired, bird-like geriatric named Tess; spry as a spring lamb and feisty as a terrier, she wasted no time informing Cass that she was eighty-four years of age in one world and a hundred and twenty-nine in her home world. “How old are you?” she asked bluntly, her voice betraying the remnants of a French accent.

  “Twenty-five,” admitted Cass.

  The little woman’s grey eyes narrowed and became piercing in their intensity. “Fascinating,” she pronounced. “That’s when it usually happens, you see?”

  “When what happens?” Cass had asked.

  “This!” exclaimed Tess. Regarding Cass’s puzzled expression, she leaned close and confided, “Enlightenment, ma cherie. Enlightenment. True knowledge of the way the world works, insight into the nature of reality.”

  “Oh.”

  The pale-grey eyes grew keen. “Every religious figure in history achieved enlightenment between the ages of twenty-five and thirtyfive. That seems to be when human consciousness comes fully into its own and acquires a finer spiritual perception. Perhaps it simply takes that long to develop. In any case, it’s a well-documented phenomenon. Look it up sometime.”

  “I will,” agreed Cass. “At first opportunity.”

  “Knowledge of the hidden engines of the universe and the spiritual foundation of all that exists.” She winked. “Most people never tumble to it, poor things. I find it tremendously exciting, don’t you?”

  “I think I’m beginning to.”

  Tess grabbed her arm and gave it a squeeze with a bony hand. “You are in for the time of your life, ma cherie. You’ll never look back.” She laughed. “As if one could!”

  There were others too-eleven in all, seven ladies and five gentlemen- all of them golden-aged senior citizens who should have been in their dotage, yet all of them full of beans and vinegar and fizzing with rare vitality. It seemed to be the nature of ley travel that not only did it extend life, but those who practised it enjoyed health and vigour beyond any normal expectation. Mrs. Peelstick introduced Cass to the various members one by one as they arrived for the meeting, which would be followed by a gala supper to welcome the new inductee.

  After a pleasant tea in the courtyard, Brendan called the group to order, and everyone trooped up to the genizah to observe the ceremony. When the august members had been seated, Brendan, looking dapper in a creamy white suit, took his place beside a raised table on which an unlit candle and Bible had been placed. He welcomed the members and banged his gavel on the table, calling the meeting officially to order. “Before we get to this evening’s festivities, I must ask if there is any new business to be discussed.”

  One of the gentlemen-whom Cass identified as Parton-raised his hand. “I have a question about finance,” he said.

  “Oh, Dickie,” chided the one called Maude, “you always have a question of finance.”

  “The financial health of the society is important, Maude, darling.”

  “I agree-which is why I have placed my entire portfolio in Brendan’s capable hands.” She smiled sweetly. “I have more money than God-more than I will ever need, anyway. It might as well be put to good use by the society.”

  There were murmurs of “Hear, hear!” and “Most generous” and “Well done” from the other members.

  “A full report will appear once I’ve had a chance to ascertain the value of the Williams portfolio,” Brendan continued, “as will an official thank-you from the society.”

  Maude batted away the idea like a bothersome fly. “Bosh! I do not need a thank-you-official or otherwise-for something I’m only too happy to do. The society has been my passion for more than half my life, and it is only right that I might in some smaller measure give back to the institution that has given so much and meant so much to me.”

  Again there were affirmations of “Hear, hear!” and “Quite right” and “Maudie, you are a treasure” and the like. Cass was touched by the simple sentiment of the exchange.

  The old woman gazed around the ring of faces. “Well, I didn’t mean to get up on my high horse and make a speech, but there it is.” Suddenly flustered by the attention, she made a shooing motion with her thin hands. “That’s enough. Let’s get on with the reason we’re all here.”

  “If there is no more business”-Brendan paused and looked around the room, then banged his gavel-“done! We will proceed with the induction of our new member.”

  He held out his hand and asked Cass to join him before the group. As she took her place beside him, he smiled and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “Fellow members, it gives me the greatest pleasure to introduce to you Miss Cassandra Clarke, late of Sedona, Arizona, in the United States of America. A palaeontologist by training and trade, she brings to our gathering a keen mind, honed in the rigorous cut and thrust of the academy. She brings also a thirst for a more thorough understanding of the universe and its manifold splendours, combined with a healthy scepticism in service to an exacting search for truth.”

  It made Cass feel self-conscious to hear herself described this way, accurate though the words were. She smoothed the front of the smart blue dress that she and Mrs. Peelstick had bought for the occasion, caught herself fidgeting, and folded her hands in front of her.

  “Cassandra,” Brendan continued, picking up the Bible, “place your right hand on the Holy Bible and repeat after me…” He then led her through a litany of phrases in which she solemnly promised to promote the interests, aims,
and objectives of the society; to further the search for knowledge through study and exploration; to use such gifts as she was given and that came to her for the good of her human family; to offer immediate aid to any of her fellow members in need; to provide counsel and contribute to the material welfare of the society and its members; to keep herself in perpetual preparedness to further the quest at every opportunity; to safeguard all that would be placed upon her and expected of her; and, finally, to fight valiantly against evil in all its insidious forms to the glory of the Creator who made and-by perpetual loving care-continually sustains the Omniverse and everything that lives, moves, and has being within it.

  With her palm firmly on the Bible, Cass repeated the phrases, mentally agreeing with each one and concluded by saying, “I, Cassandra Clarke, make this vow in good conscience and of my own free will, pledging life, health, and strength to the quest set before me, so help me God.”

  As she spoke these last words, it really did seem as if she had taken on a new and different dimension to her personality, indeed, to her very soul. The feeling was confirmed when Brendan handed her an unlit candle and asked her to light it from the larger candle on the table. As she held her candle to the flame, he said, “May this light be a symbol of the Great Light on which you may rely as you make passage through the darkness of ignorance, evil, and death towards the never-ending light of eternity.”

  The unlit wick caught, and the candle flared to life with a bright yellow flame. Cassandra turned to face the gathered members once more.

  “Ladies and gentleman of the Zetetic Society,” Brendan announced, “please welcome our newest member, Cassandra Clarke.” To the accompanying applause, he shook her hand, and then each of the other members came forward to shake hands and welcome her into the fold.

  Then it was over-a simple ceremony, but satisfactory in every regard. Cass did feel as if she had joined a band of fellow travellers and friends on whom she could rely in the days ahead. A fine meal of Syrian delicacies followed-flat bread with hummus, baba ganoush, roast lamb with rice, broad beans with tomato and mint, fatoush, and chicken kabobs-which Cass enjoyed, but not as much as the company of her fellow diners, who all made it a point to approach and offer her special words of wisdom for travelling the leys: wear loose clothing and carry a change of underwear; gold is the universal currency, always have a few sovereigns or Krugerands at the ready; a Swiss Army knife with a corkscrew is a lifesaver; a no-nonsense cotton scarf can work wonders; sturdy, high-topped leather shoes won’t let you down; secure a broad-brimmed hat… and so on.