The Year of the Great Seventh

by Orts, Teresa

  This was it. I may not have another opportunity to bring it up. “Yes, I started a paper about Cleopatra’s prophecy.”

  “Oh, I see. I remember you mentioned the crabs from Cleopatra’s Needles in your email.” His eyes glowed with admiration as if I’d shown a piece of candy to a little child.

  “Well, now that I’m in New York, I thought I could visit the obelisk. I was so disappointed when I learned that two of the bronze crabs had disappeared and the other two are in the vaults of the Met.”

  “It’s a tragedy that we’ll probably never recover them.” Professor Silverman nodded, disappointed.

  I didn’t have time to go around in circles. I had to ask him directly. “Has anyone discovered the exact meaning of the prophecy?”

  He shuffled through some papers, grabbed a folder, and pulled out a paper.

  “You see, the first part, ‘Ammateus, marked by the legend of Orion, will suffocate with his own hands the life that guides him,’ supposedly refers somehow to the suicide of Cleopatra and Mark Antony. They decided that if the Egyptian Empire came to an end, they would end their lives together. ‘He will bring the sons of Satan back from the dead, marking the end of it all.’ It is believed that refers to Augustus, who persuaded the Roman senate to attack Egypt, bringing hell to the Egyptian people and ending a three-thousand-year empire.”

  Dr. Silverman grabbed my transcript again as if he had nothing else to add on that subject.

  “And the part where it says, ‘Only the divine stone found where heaven meets earth will save her. The salvation to both lies beneath?’” The words tumbled out, exposing my eagerness for an answer.

  “That part is thought to refer to Cleopatra and the crabs. As you already know, whatever was supposed to save her didn’t work because she died at the fall of the Egyptian Empire.”

  “So no one knows what the crabs meant? No one was ever able to piece it together because two crabs were missing?”

  “There are several interpretations of what that last sentence meant, and not all involved the crabs. Some historians think ‘The salvation to both lies beneath’ meant the King of Armenia was supposed to side with Mark Antony and Cleopatra in the Battle of Actium. This is the battle where Octavian defeated Cleopatra and Mark Antony’s army. The other interpretation to what ‘lies beneath’ is the crabs. However, no one’s ever been able to explain what the crabs exactly mean.”

  The first interpretation sounded weird because Armenia is north of Egypt, not beneath. I couldn’t explain why, but I knew the crabs’ interpretation was the right one.

  Aware that this was my only chance to persuade Professor Silverman to take us to the vaults at the Met, I decided to ask him directly. “Do you think you could help me get access to the two crabs at the Met? They said the paperwork could take up to three months, and I’m here only until Sunday.”

  “I don’t have access to the vaults,” Professor Silverman said simply. He rested his elbows on top of his desk as though his hands were really tied on this.

  This was our last chance to discover what that dammed prophecy meant. My disappointment must’ve been obvious.

  “But there is a book in the New York Public Library that has drawings of the four crabs. It was made in 1879 before the two crabs were stolen.” He half-grinned as my eyes must have lit up.

  After all, there was no need to get access to the Met’s vault if there were drawings of the original crabs. We had to go to the library as soon as possible. There was no time to waste.

  I decided to get straight to the point. From Professor Silverman’s perspective, I was supposed to be here to discuss the scholarship, and once we were done with that I could leave. “What do you think about my grades? Do I stand a chance of getting the Arcadia Scholarship?”

  “Well, about your transcript, what exactly happened this year?” He turned the paper toward me so I could see the bottom part.

  “You see… impressively, you’ve gotten straight A’s until this semester.” He pointed at the C’s and B’s that appeared at the bottom.

  I needed to go to the library, but I also knew that I had to use this valuable time that Dr. Silverman offered me to defend my academic disaster. My parents were going to kill me, and Nate wasn’t going to be very thrilled with me either. I had to do it for them. I couldn’t throw my life overboard after having worked so hard.

  “I got a bit distracted, but I’m going to get back to straight A’s.”

  Professor Silverman nodded his head from side to side as he stared at my transcript.

  “I mean, what difference can it make to have a couple of B’s and C’s amongst so many A’s? Anyway, what matters is the last semester of the year, right?”

  “Sophie, I’m aware how badly you need this scholarship, but as I told your dad, there’s not a lot I can do. We receive hundreds of applications for the Arcadia Scholarship. It’s very competitive and I can’t pull any favors.”

  Oh God. I’d known I wasn’t the favorite candidate after how I’d performed this semester, but I definitely thought I still stood a chance. I started imagining the different ways in which my parents were going to punish me.

  “You know, it’s not the end of the world. There are other magnificent colleges that offer scholarships for history majors.”

  I knew I was going to pay a high price for walking out of this office without persuading Professor Silverman that I was the right candidate for the scholarship. But I really had to get going. I knew the answer to all our problems was waiting for us in the library, and Nate’s time could be running out.

  “I’ll talk to my teachers and see if I can fix what I did last semester. I’m planning to clear those B’s and C’s from my transcript no matter how much studying it takes.”

  Professor Silverman looked up, slightly confused, as he probably expected me to beg him to consider me for the scholarship.

  “Thanks for your time, Professor Silverman. There’s a panel of current undergraduates at four o’clock that I really want to attend. I’ll ask Dad to send you my transcript at the end of the year.” I stood up and picked up my transcript from his desk. “It was very nice to meet you.”

  “Send my regards to your father.” Professor Silverman watched me leave.

  I darted out of the room and sprinted down the stairs as if the building were on fire, dodging the students coming up the stairs.

  “Sophie!” I heard someone calling, but I doubted they were referring to me. I kept running down the stairs.

  It was four o’clock and if the New York Public Library was like those in L.A., it would close at five. We had to get to 42nd Street as soon as possible.

  As I reached the lobby, I heard someone coming down the stairs, calling my name again. I looked around the lobby, but I couldn’t see Nate. Where was he? He should’ve been here by now.

  “Sophie!” Someone placed their hand on my shoulder from behind. I turned around to find Paul.

  “Are you okay? I saw you running down the stairs.”

  I should’ve been glad to see him, but I didn’t have time. I needed to get to the library.

  “Why were you running? Is everything all right?” He tightened his grip on my shoulder.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take it from here.” Nate appeared out of nowhere and removed Paul’s hand from my shoulder, replacing it with his.

  I’d never been so glad to see Nate. He looked as beautiful as always and seemingly thrilled to see me. There was something about Nate’s aura that brought peace to my soul. I didn’t know how he managed, but the moment he appeared, Paul had become invisible to me.

  Paul stood there, unsure of what was happening.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Nate tugged my hand and led me to the door, ignoring Paul’s presence.

  Paul stared at us from the middle of the lobby as we left the building. Nate seemed aware of Paul’s wandering eyes as he brought his arm over my shoulders to send a silent but obvious signal.

  “Who was that guy? What did he wa
nt?” Nate put on his Ray-Ban sunglasses as we stepped into the street.

  “Nothing. There’s no time to waste. We need to get to the New York Public Library on 5th Avenue and 42nd Street before they close,” I said as I hailed a cab that cruised down the street.

  “Why?” Nate asked hesitatingly.

  “There’s a book with the drawings of the original crabs. There’s no need to get to the vault of the Met after all.”

  Nate couldn’t hide the spark of hope I saw in his face.

  As we careened up University Place, I glanced back at the NYU flags dangling from the buildings. The moment we took a corner and the NYU campus disappeared behind us, I had the undeniable feeling that my NYU dream was history, just like my major.

  But it only took one peek at Nate’s dark, piercing eyes to reassure me I’d made the right decision.

  “You seem upset. Did that guy say anything to you?” Nate glanced at me, trying to read my face.

  As much as I wanted to share with Nate that I’d made the crucial decision of choosing him over the scholarship, and by doing so, I’d officially destroyed my future, I couldn’t put that on his shoulders. Knowing Nate, he was going blame himself for it, even if it had been my sole decision.

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  Professor Silverman’s words, my future, my parents, my friends, my grades, and my life were swirling out of control, but there was only one person able to keep it all together: Nate.

  By the time we got to 42nd Street and 5th Avenue, it was already 4:15 p.m.

  We didn’t have much time to find the book and as it stood at the moment, it seemed that every hour mattered. As soon as I stepped outside the taxi, I recognized the library building from TV shows and movies.

  The library was behind Bryant Park and occupied two whole blocks from 40th to 42nd Street. A set of stairs led to the main entrance, which was guarded by two stone lions. The building was made of white marble and was two stories high. Three arches with Roman columns adorned the façade and led you to the main entrance. Resting on top of the building was a classical pediment. A line of arched windows and Roman columns ran from each side of the three main entrance arches.

  I held the taxi door open as Nate waited for the driver to give him back his change.

  “Come on! We need to hurry!” I said impatiently.

  “Keep the change,” Nate said.

  I ran to the entrance and glanced back to Nate. Something caught my eye. In a taxi right behind ours, I thought I saw Preston.

  I stopped and turned around. Standing on the first step to the library, I held my hand to my face to shield the glare of the sun, but the traffic light changed on 42nd Street and the taxi disappeared down 5th Avenue.

  “What is it?” Nate asked, puzzled.

  “I thought… It’s not possible,” I mumbled, spinning through the library’s revolving doors.

  The entrance hall, known as Astor Hall, was a large space with two white marble staircases on the sides that reached the mezzanine. Three marble arches reached up to the ceiling. A gigantic glittering Christmas tree lit up the room under the middle arch.

  “Which way?” I asked, coming to a halt at the foot of the right staircase. I had no idea where to start.

  “Let’s do it Nate and Sophie’s way.” Nate pointed to the information desk beside the left staircase.

  Thankfully, this time there wasn’t a line at the information desk like the day at the Met. It was almost closing time and people were wrapping up for the day.

  We rushed to the information desk, and the woman at the desk frowned at our urgency.

  “We need to find a book. How do you suggest we start?” Nate rushed.

  The woman tugged her hair behind her ears as if she was trying to imagine why two teenagers would be in such a hurry to find a book.

  “Hi,” the woman finally managed to say. Her mouth curled into a smirk as if she’d suddenly decided our attitude was cute. “I don’t have access to the catalogues here, but I suggest you try the catalogue room on the third floor.”

  Nate and I gazed at each other and sprinted up the right staircase. I could feel the woman still staring at us. Nate was a few steps ahead of me, as he was climbing the steps two at a time. I couldn’t keep up with him. My legs were much shorter than his.

  “Come on! Hurry up!” He stopped at the top of the second floor, waiting for me catch up.

  “This way,” Nate said, crossing under the arched door.

  The catalogue room was an open space with high ceilings and open shelves split into two levels: the ground level and the balcony level. Gigantic windows illuminated the room and chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Long wooden tables with desktop computers and brass lamps were aligned on the left side of the room. On the right side, there was a long wooden desk and shelves crammed with files—probably for the administration of catalogues.

  “Computer or information desk?” Nate said as if asking himself while he glanced between the two.

  The woman behind the desk was probably in her sixties. She was looking at a small piece of paper over her glasses. She moved the paper closer to her face, then away, as if struggling to see what was written on it.

  We looked at each other and spoke at the same time. “Computer.”

  I sat in front of one of the computers, and Nate dragged another chair next to me, making a loud scratchy noise.

  The old lady at the desk looked at us over her glasses as a warning.

  The white screen with the perpetually blinking cursor next to the word “search” was absolutely intimidating. Nate tapped his fingers on the table while we both stared at it.

  “How do we do this?” Nate said, breaking the silence and hinting that I was going to be the one driving the boat.

  I moved my chair closer and stared blankly at the computer. I didn’t know where to start. There were probably thousands of books related to Ancient Egypt.

  “Let me think for a moment.”

  Nate’s gaze resting on me just added to the pressure.

  “Obelisk? Cleopatra’s Needles? Caesareum?”

  “Okay, I need a moment to think it through,” I said. My eyes fixed on the hypnotizing cursor, daring me to give it a try. “What about this?” I cracked my knuckles before beginning to type.

  I entered Cleopatra OR Obelisks OR Crabs and clicked search.

  The screen went completely white as if the computer had frozen. We held our breath.

  “Damn,” Nate whispered to himself, staring at his watch.

  The library was emptying quickly. Most people at the tables were packing up as library hours were coming to an end.

  The computer finally showed the results: 1,500 books matching your criteria. It was 4:40 p.m. I had to be more precise if we were going to find the relevant book.

  “Let’s try this.” I typed Cleopatra AND Obelisks AND Crabs AND Needles.

  “Wait, don’t put needles,” Nate suggested, pointing at the word on the screen. “The obelisks were only known as Cleopatra’s Needles since 1879 when they were transported to New York.”

  I deleted needles and searched for Cleopatra AND Obelisks AND Crabs.

  The computer returned forty-five matches.

  “I think this is going to work.”

  I typed again, Cleopatra AND Obelisks AND Crabs AND Needles AND Ammateus.

  The computer screen flickered for a few seconds and finally… bang… two matches. I scrolled down to the titles. One of them was called the New York Obelisk, the second one, the Unsolved Caesareum Prophecy.

  “Let’s try the second one: 1144EZD,” Nate said, reading the locator code.

  We sprang to our feet, aware that the library’s clock had just hit the three-quarter mark.

  “Where can we find 1144EZD?”

  The woman pointed at the top balcony where the upper bookcases were located. The balcony went around the room, but I couldn’t see any ladder to access it.

  “How do we get up there?” Nate leaned over the des
k as if to make the woman realize we were in a hurry.

  The woman retreated slightly from Nate to recover her space.

  “Over there.” She pointed at a door.

  We rushed to the door and climbed another set of steps that ended in yet another door. We pushed it open, and there it was: the access to the top balcony and the upper bookcases.

  We ran along the balcony, which had a metal bar around the edge. A few people left in the catalogue room tables observed us as our steps clattered on the wooden floor.

  When we got to the corner shelf that was tagged as EZD, Nate knelt down, and bobbing his head sideways, he dragged his finger along the row of books on the bottom shelf.

  “1144,” he muttered, squeezing an antique red book out of the jammed shelf.

  He sat down on the floor, crossing his legs, and placed the book on his lap. His jeans fell low on his hips, revealing the top part of his boxers.

  I squatted behind, looming over him. My long hair fell over his shoulder.

  Nate opened the first page of the book, but apparently not knowing where to start, he tilted his head back. “You do it. I don’t know what exactly to look for.”

  “We’ll do it together. Go to the index,” I ordered as Nate began to turn the pages with such momentum I thought he was going to tear them off.

  He followed the index with his finger until he got to section eight: the crabs of the obelisks.

  Nate turned pages until he got to the right section. The first page was a drawing of eight crabs. It explained that there were two Cleopatra’s Needles: one that now rested in New York and the second one located in London. Strangely, the four crabs below the now-London obelisk were plain crabs, but the crabs from New York had a different symbol engraved in each.

  “It’s weird that from the eight crabs, they stole two of the ones with symbols,” Nate said, turning to glance back at me.

  “Yeah, it seems too much of a coincidence.” My heart drummed inside my chest. What if there was someone out there who didn’t want the prophecy deciphered and we were stepping into hostile territory?

  “Okay, let’s see.” I grabbed the book from Nate’s hand to analyze the crab symbols closer. I rested the book on the floor and grabbed my phone. Then I searched on the Internet for “most common Ancient Egypt symbols.” I scrolled down and right at the bottom were the four symbols. “Enemies, Mars, realm, and blood.”