Another charmer, she thought. If rather odd-looking.
Her father touched the rim of his hat and raised his left eyebrow, obviously uncomfortable with Riccardo’s portrayal of him.
“And what is it you’re hoping to learn from this dig, Riccardo?” Justine asked.
“In the best world, God willing, we find a house with scrolls of poetry and a few plays. But I’m dreaming, since no literature remains—burned by early Christians, mostly. And only a couple of Etruscan towns have been found.”
“Riccardo’s a romantic,” said Morgan. “Typical historian . . .” he muttered.
“Why do you think that is, Riccardo?” Justine asked, raising her voice to drown out her father’s rudeness. “That so few verified Etruscan towns have been found?”
“Most of the buildings were made out of wood so didn’t survive. Probably destroyed by fire or dry-rot. Later generations probably used the wood for cooking fires as well. But tombs tell us a great deal about what the homes probably looked like. Come on, I’ll show you.” Riccardo led Justine back over the low-lying fence and toward a nearby tumulus. Her father reluctantly followed.
Riccardo led them into the Tomb of the Shields and Chairs, its large vestibule adorned with intricately carved shields. Chiseled from the rear wall, funeral beds of stone that once held sarcophagi. Nearby, two chairs with footrests gave the enclosure the homey appearance of a bedroom. “Look up,” Riccardo pointed. “This painting of a home with a thatched roof supported by capitals and columns tells us something about how they lived. And, think about it, this tomb was built more than 2,700 years ago. Notice these tools for everyday use sketched here and on many of the other tombs. Clearly, they thought they stayed here for a while before traveling on to the afterlife. So they brought along what they needed for daily life.”
Justine noticed the carving of an ornate mirror as well, and an arched comb with small, graduated teeth. Clearly women were expected to continue their beauty regimens in the hereafter. She grinned to herself, then pointed to the finds.
“Speculation,” grunted Morgan. “There are conflicting theories about how they viewed the afterlife. I can’t imagine that vanity held sway.”
“Many theories,” confirmed Riccardo, unruffled. “I’m drawn to D.H. Lawrence’s . . .”
“The biggest romantic of them all,” interrupted Morgan. “He didn’t know a thing about the Etruscans. A novelist,” he added dismissively.
“Why don’t you come to dinner this weekend and tell us about Lawrence and the afterlife?” Justine extended the invitation without looking at her father. “A friend of mine from Paris is coming in.”
“Love to,” Riccardo nodded, the morning light streaming in, dancing dust particles alive in the air. “I’m sure Dr. Jenner will tell me how to get there.”
Morgan turned away and walked into another chamber.
“Perhaps you can ride together,” she suggested, turning to climb back out into the full sunlight. Maybe they can get to know each other a little better.
Justine following, Morgan led toward the newly ploughed trough and scrambled down a small wooden ladder. Justine followed. Riccardo returned to his work site. Father and daughter sat yoga-style on the damp earth. Morgan removed his gloves and ran his hands over the newly cut earthen wall as though it were a thoroughbred. “This is the moment I love,” he said. “Virgin soil hiding her treasures like Michelangelo’s marble.”
Justine watched her father with fresh insight. “You’re a poet,” she charged.
“In some ways,” he admitted. “When I’m close to the treasures of history, I try to seduce them into releasing their secrets.” He continued to run his palms over the dark earthen wall with witching sensitivity.
“If you seek the treasures of history, why do you give historians like Riccardo such a bad time? Aren’t you after the same thing?” Justine’s hand followed the motions of her father’s, searching for the sense of mystery he felt.
“Not at all. Riccardo would connect finds together and create a story. The story may or may not be true. What we can infer today may not be how people thought back then. For me, each artifact can have value in and of itself. Then I look for patterns. If I find enough artifacts of the same expression, of the same utility, I know it was in routine use. If I find a piece of technology, I know the level of progress of the civilization. There is a valid history of technology, although sometimes even that can be misleading.”
“Such as?” She brushed her hands together to loosen the clinging soil, then wiped them on her pants.
“Well, for instance, the indigenous Americans used rounded objects to grind corn and make pottery, yet they never invented the wheel for transport. Amazing.”
“Amazing indeed.” She nodded. “Which led to a number of misinterpretations of native uses of technology . . . Regardless of some faulty assumptions, though, wouldn’t you say that some histories are defensible?” In spite of the heat, the damp ground soaked through her khakis and chilled her.
“Defensible histories that are straightforward, linear, that use the pieces of knowledge necessary to achieve the next level of advancement, yes. But not quixotic histories that speculate on human motives and emotions. Too subjective for me.”
“Psychological profiles are important to anthropologists. Otherwise, we couldn’t reason out the stories of civilization, understand human motivation. Perhaps there’s a niche for me there.” She shifted from side to side to loosen her slacks from the grasping earth.
“The female brain is hardwired for such endeavors. I’m not.” Morgan was unaffected by the growing dampness. He was in his element.
“Let me see if I get this straight: I’m an unrealistic girl who goes around with her head in a cloud wearing rose-colored glasses.”
“Something like that.” He tipped his hat playfully.
She stood abruptly, brushed herself off, and climbed the ladder. “I’m walking back,” she called down from above. Should I even consider working with him? He insists on such unimaginative thinking.
“I had more to show you, Justine. Don’t be angry. I was just playing with you.” He climbed the ladder two steps at a time, walking rapidly after her, unable to catch up.
As she emerged from the tree canopy into the heat of the day, her scalp began to sweat. The walk back into town didn’t soothe her frustration with her father’s chauvinism. He was either dismissing her work or trying to get her goat. Testing her all the time. She knew he was kidding, but it got tiresome.
Justine opened her car trunk, threw in her jacket, changed out of her boots, grabbed her purse, and brushed the dried mud off her slacks. She headed toward the east side of Cerveteri and a gray stone castle that housed the Etruscan museum.
A small sign indicated the entry through a ground-floor archway underneath the ramparts. She handed three euros to a young woman in a glass booth and stepped inside. An incline led to the upper ramparts and wound into a parapet and eventually a turret with barred windows. Crevices from missing stones offered homes to dozens of pigeons.
In the darkened room, strategically placed lights beamed down on sarcophagi, pottery, tools, and delicate votive offerings behind glass walls. Light streamed in through the barred window onto ancient carved metal mirrors, one decorated with the Etruscan god Tinia, known in Greece as Zeus, holding a feather umbrella and touching the gown of a maiden wearing rose- and disc-shaped earrings and bracelets of gold filigree and granulated crystals. Long rows of perky ducks walked across brooches and fibula. Fingers of light caressed black Bucchero pottery scattered about, designed to serve both utilitarian and decorative function; amphora and drinking cups dedicated to the Etruscan god Fufluns; vases and funeral urns engraved with the names of men and women. Bronze tableware, bowls and pitchers, ladles and strainers. Halfway down the room she came upon a terra cotta sarcophagus that drew her attention with such intensity that chills moved up her bare arms. She stood mesmerized for several moments by the mystery of this scene of profound
union. A man and a woman lounged in each other’s arms on stone pillows, legs extending the full length of a royal bed. He was naked above the waist; she wore a tunic and long braids. His right hand rested tenderly on her shoulder, the forefinger of his hand extended as though pointing toward something they were viewing together through peaceful, yet lively, almond eyes. His left palm remained open as though it had once held a treasured offering of his love. The intimacy of this poised couple makes me feel like an intruder in an ancient boudoir. Behind the sarcophagus were four framed drawings of the floor plan and sketches of the inside of the tomb in which the sarcophagus was found. This Sarcophagus of the Married Couple from the necropolis nearby had been dated to the second half of the sixth century BCE.
She turned around slowly, riveted by a growing consciousness of the story around her. She stared again at the images of men and women on the mirrors and black pottery, some etched with names for both partners, at amphora with dancing partners regarding each other without guile or modesty. She swirled, seeing the room with new lenses, her eyes the shutters of a fast-firing camera. Men and women were in conversation, touching, relaxing together, a natural part of each other’s world. The men assumed no dominance or superiority—no semblance of diffidence or timidity defined the women. The room came alive with the communal existence of humans on a shared journey. If any moment in time can bring an awareness powerful enough to inform everything that comes after, this was such a moment for Justine. Her eyes narrowed, her long fingers formed into a tent that she drew in wonder to her lips. A goddess culture, this extraordinary civilization began as a goddess culture! She felt with great avouchment that she understood the relationship between men and women in Etruria.
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HISTORICAL NOTE
THE COPTIC CHRISTIANS OF EGYPT, as well as the Muslims, believe that the Virgin Mary, her son Jesus, her husband Joseph, and their friends took flight into Egypt immediately after the birth of Jesus. Many believe that James and perhaps other children belonging to Joseph were with them. The Gospel of Matthew tells us that the Angel Gabriel appeared to Joseph and said: “Rise, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt.” According to the gospel, King Herod, having heard that the Messiah, King of the Jews, had been born, ordered the slaughter of all infant boys under the age of two. Herod wanted to make sure that no divine king would challenge his own son’s succession or the preeminence of Rome. According to history, however, the senior Herod died just before the birth of Jesus, so it would have been his son, Herod Antipas, who carried out the horrendous deed.
Arriving in Egypt with the baby Jesus in their arms, the travelers crisscrossed the Nile, stopping at twenty-eight towns—now home to grand churches and monasteries that welcome thousands of pilgrims each year—as they went. The family kept moving, worried that Herod’s soldiers were pursuing them. The Holy Family is believed by Coptic Christians to have resided for a short while—perhaps six months—in a cave that is now a crypt beneath St. Sergius Church in Babylon, the ancient name for Old Cairo.
Matthew also tells us that the Angel Gabriel appeared once more to Joseph and said: “Arise and take the young child and his mother, and go into the land of Israel; for they are dead which sought the young child’s life.” By that time, Coptic Christians believe, the family had lived in Egypt for less than three years; Muslims, however, believe the Holy Family remained in the land for as long as seven years. The Cairo Codex proposes that the family lived in the cave in Babylon well into Jesus’ eighth year.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
IN WRITING THE CAIRO CODEX, I HAD THE privilege to witness the evolving history of Egypt through my own eyes, as well as through the eyes of many Egyptian friends and colleagues. These are some of the Egyptians who made this novel possible: Ambassador Hussein and Nevine Hassouna; Dr. Kawsar Kouchok; Madam Ansaf Azziz; Hanna Ibrahim and Laurence Amin; Dr. Waguida El Bakary; Nadia El Araby and her daughters; Dr. Magda Laurence; Mary Megalli; Dr. Pam El Shayeb; Dr. Mohammed Rabei; Vice-President of Egypt Fathi Sorour; Mohammed Khattab; Hassan Osman; Supreme Director of Antiquities, Zahi Hawass; Dr. Malek Zaalouk; Baher El Awady; the staff of the Centre for Curriculum and Instructional Materials Development, the UNESCO staff, and the staff of the Alexandria Library. I especially want to thank Dr. Samira Hradsky, who served as the Director of North African Affairs for the Education Development Center when I was employed as an educational consultant in Egypt. The voices of hundreds of generous Egyptians resonate in my mind: taxi drivers and shopkeepers, teachers and boabs, priests and imams, tour guides and housemaids, professors and grocers, diplomats and artists. I thank them all.
American friends and family members graciously volunteered to read early drafts of this novel and to provide invaluable insights and feedback. I wish to thank Mary Gardner, who helped with the research as well; Bob and Barbara Blackburn; my son, Tod Green; Zane and Janet Todd, my brother and sister-in-law; Delmo Della Dora; Ellen Johnson, our daughter; Rita King; and Judy Vandergrift.
I especially want to thank my writing coaches, Susan Efros and Ida Egli. Caitlin Alexander, editor, brought The Cairo Codex to fruition.
Most deeply, I want to thank my husband, Morgan Lambert, whose love, patience, editorial talents, and wisdom made the writing of this work a pleasure that we shared as we spent our incredible years together in Egypt and in California.
Linda Lambert, Ed.D.
The Sea Ranch, California
www.lindalambert.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LINDA LAMBERT, ED.D. IS PROFESSOR Emeritus from California State University, East Bay, and a full time author of novels and texts on leadership. During Linda’s career she has served as social worker, teacher, principal, district and county directors of adult learning programs, as well as university professor, state department envoy to Egypt, and international consultant. Her international consultancies in leadership have taken her to the Middle East, England, Thailand, Mexico, Canada, and Malaysia. Linda is the author of dozens of articles and lead author of The Constructivist Leader (1995, 2002), Who Will Save Our Schools (1997), and Women’s Ways of Leading (2009); she is the author of Building Leadership Capacity in Schools (1998) and Leadership Capacity for Lasting School Improvement (2003). The Cairo Codex is the first novel in a trilogy. She lives with her husband, Morgan, a retired school superintendent, on the Sea Ranch, California.
The Cairo Codex Page 36