In the Beginning: Mars Origin I Series Book I

by Abby L. Vandiver

  Sean looked at me questioningly. I closed my eyes, shook my head and waved off the comment as if to say ‘Don’t pay any attention to him.’

  Mase answered. “It’s for work, Sean.” Sean nodded. “And, I think this is all very exciting,” Mase came over and put his arm around me, “because when she gets back we plan on writing an article on this historical event. It will be the first collaborative writing effort of the Dickerson family.”

  “Mase, now I understand why you can’t see that your wife is nutty,” Greg said, and started laughing. “You are, too.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mase and I left Claire’s around one in the morning. It was always late when we left from family gatherings. Claire was all about family. Already she had planned another family get-together. I told her it would have to wait until I got settled back in and Courtney went off to school. Her planning gene went into overdrive. “Great,” she had said, “We’ll make it Courtney’s going away party.” I just shook my head. Hadn’t I just told her not until after I got Courtney off to school? A going away party would have to be before.

  I watched my husband as he drove. His lips moving as he softly sang the words to the song playing on the radio. He seemed so calm, so happy - probably not one troubled thought in his head. Mine was full of them.

  Mase was a writer. He has always loved to write. When we were younger he used to write me these long love letters and poems. I thought he was going to be the next Longfellow. Now he writes a syndicated sports column. I asked him once what happened to the poetry. He said, “Sports is poetry in motion.” Always the romantic.

  I ran my hands though my curly hair and inhaled and slowly let it out.

  Greg was right, I was going crazy. That is, if I hadn’t already arrived. I was feeling frazzled and useless. Mase says that I shouldn’t feel like that. He says that I’m an educated woman making a contribution to the good of mankind. I have a husband and children who love me. I have the support of a loving family and there is nothing in this world I couldn’t accomplish. He says he will always be here for me and whatever it is I’m going through, we will work it out together. He’s so understanding.

  Man, I hate him.

  Who needs understanding?

  Maybe the trip to Jerusalem was just what I needed.

  Dr. Margulies had been my professor and was still my constant source of information and encouragement. I can’t remember one time he didn’t have time to take out for me when I went to him for help. I respected him more than anyone I knew. I loved him and no matter how depressed I got, I could always find the wherewithal to get up and help him. I never wanted to disappoint him.

  There was a certain rugged handsomeness to Dr. Margulies, with his olive skin, stubble along his jaw line, square face and lopsided smile. His stark blue eyes always sparkled as if he was the only one to get the humor hidden inside life. He had a good heart, a hearty laugh and he called me “Lizzy.”

  Lizzy, short for Elizabeth, my middle name, was what he came up with because he just couldn’t get a handle on me being a “girl with a boy’s name.”

  In that fateful phone call, Dr. Margulies had asked me to come with him for the Jubilee commemorating the 50th Anniversary of the finding of the Dead Sea Scrolls. He wanted the American Consortium of Museums of Ancient History, of which we were both members, to sponsor a tour across the United States and while we were in Jerusalem he planned to procure artifacts of antiquity that would be a part of the tour, including, he hoped, the Scrolls. I was this year’s chairperson of the consortium, a position that I tried to give up when I decided to run away to Boston.

  But none of that mattered after Dr. Margulies called. He said that he needed me at the museum to oversee the year-long tour. He told me that if I was still unhappy after the tour ended he would help me find a position in another city or even on another continent if that’s what I wanted. I stayed because he asked me to. We were to stay in Jerusalem for about a month. I, personally, couldn’t wait to have a look at those Scrolls. Just thinking about it was making me feel better.

  Then I saw our house. And that momentary happiness went out the window.

  I noticed it all the way from the corner of our street. It looked like a beacon for “Neighborhood Watch.” Every light in the house was on. We pulled in the driveway and when we walked in, the TV was on, but no one was downstairs. There was a pizza box and empty pop cans on the kitchen table and music was coming from upstairs that was louder than the television.

  We went upstairs and no one was in sight. I went to turn off the light in the bathroom and there was black hair dye in the sink, on the vanity, in the toilet, on the floor and on two towels that hung over the bathtub.

  “Courtney must have dyed her hair.” Mase looked at me.

  “Nothing gets by you, Mase.”

  I turned off the light and headed to Courtney’s room. She was asleep, radio blasting, wearing one of her father’s shirts, hair still wet.

  “Courtney,” I shouted over the music. She didn’t move. “Courtney.” I reached over and shook her. She woke up and squinted her eye, looking from me to her father and back.

  “Yes?” she asked sleepily.

  “Turn the radio down.” She reached over and turned it down. “Do you know you have hair dye all over the bathroom?”

  She looked at me as if she didn’t understand a word I said. “That’s the way I always dye me hair,” she said.

  She should have been Claire’s child.

  “Well, you better get up right now and get it cleaned up. Now, Courtney!”

  As she pulled herself out of bed, we followed a phone cord from Micah’s room to our room, where he and Logan were asleep in my bed with the TV on. I turned off the TV and started to yell their names. Mase, touched my arm, “I got this.” He roused them and got them to their rooms using a little less energy and a lot less yelling than I would have.

  After they left, I got ready for bed. I was so happy I was leaving tomorrow for Jerusalem. Going to do what I loved and getting away from this group. So what they didn’t invite me to the Jubilee, I thought. I’m going and I’m happy. And even happier knowing that in the morning I would let everyone know how irritated I was, relieving the stress that had amassed from having to endure Mase’s friends at the book signing party, Greg’s chiding and from coming home finding my house a mess.

  My flight was at 7:00 am. Mase was taking me to the airport. I would make sure my yelling would have everyone up by five.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jerusalem 1997

  It was mid-July when I left for Jerusalem.

  Big time scholars from around the world were meeting in Jerusalem to commemorate the half-century mark of the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and I was going, too.

  For years there had been mystery surrounding the scrolls - the stealthy actions of the publication committee, slow interpretations and the delay in letting the rest of the world see them. I had even read that some speculated the Scrolls contained damaging evidence that might destroy Christian beliefs. But, that had been debunked and now, fifty years later, they were being liberated.

  I never thought of myself as in the same class as the group of scholars who were initially chosen to translate the Scrolls. I was, however, adequately prepared and I could have probably rubbed elbows with the best of them. I had a BA in Ancient History, and Anthropology with a concentration in Archaeology. I went back to school after Courtney was born for my masters in Religious Studies and Linguistics, and during the time my son Micah came along I worked on my PhD in Biblical Archaeology. I spoke seven languages, including Hebrew, and Greek, the languages of the Bible, and was pretty proficient in reading Eastern Old, and Jewish Aramaic. And, I could hold my own in deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphics. My ability to translate documents was very exact. But I did have one advantage.

  I had an eidetic memory. I could remember virtually anything I read. It’s like I could picture it in my mind and hold on to that image. I don’t appreciate
it though and I tried very hard not to use it. Others seemed more impressed with it than I was. At times it seemed selective, probably because I’d gotten so good at blocking things out. Actually, the whole thing was really quite annoying to me. I didn’t like to remember all the things I saw. There were so many other things going on in my mind that there was just not enough space to store a plethora of information that I gleaned just from looking at it.

  The flight to Israel from Cleveland was twelve hours long. Once there, the first week of the commemoration events would be preliminary assemblies. There were to be speeches about the history of the find, lectures on the invaluable contribution the Scrolls had been, and slides and talks on the excavation of the site. And, finally we were to learn what happened during the initial slow, arduous process of getting the Scrolls readied and translated. The remaining weeks were designated as the time that visiting scholars would have the opportunity to aid in the translation of the remaining manuscripts and collaborate with the other scholars. And, even though I would have to spend a lot of time working with Dr. Margulies to get the tour underway, I would make sure I had a look at them too.

  Once I arrived Jerusalem, I was to meet Dr. Margulies. He had left a couple of days before me and told me he would have a friend of his, Ghazi, pick me up at the airport.

  I got into Ben-Gurion International Airport about ten-thirty in the morning. I was so tired when I finally got there. I had left home in the morning, traveled all day, and when I arrived in Tel Aviv it was morning all over again. Although I had slept on the plane, it made me feel so out of sorts. My day started again without ever ending.

  Coming down the ramp from the plane, I immediately noticed the man Dr. Margulies had sent. He was standing at the gate with a huge, bright, pink sign that covered the entire upper portion of his body, including his face. The sign had large, black, all capital lettering that read ‘I AWAIT DR. DICKERSON I AM GHAZI.”

  Dr. Margulies had told me that Ghazi was a very quiet man who he would be very helpful, and whatever I needed he would take care of for me. This sign, however, was very loud and very annoying. I hesitated in announcing myself to him. Perhaps I could find my own way to Jerusalem. I had been here many times. I could just walk right past him, out the door and pretend I never saw him. But explaining to Dr. Margulies how I could have missed him with this big, pink board would require a lie bigger than the stupid sign. I just wasn’t sure if I could stand to be bothered with someone of this mentality for any length of time. He was really aggravating my already fragile mental well-being just with his initial actions. But Dr. Margulies had sent him and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful so I went up to him and asked him to please put down the sign. I told him that I was Dr. Dickerson.

  Once he put down the sign, I immediately noticed teeth, very white teeth which contrasted beautifully with his smooth, honey-colored skin. He had this wide grin on his face.

  I wonder had he been smiling all the while he had been behind the sign?

  Ghazi looked to be about my age, tall, well-built and very handsome.

  “Shall I call you . . .” he paused and cocked his head to one side, “Lizzy?”

  “No,” I said emphatically. “Call me Dr. Dickerson.”

  Upon my introduction, he nodded his head, acknowledging me but not saying a word. Then he turned and started walking away. I followed him. I didn’t know what else to do.

  He walked so fast, I almost had to break into a trot to keep up with him. As he walked, he folded up the sign and when he passed a trash can he pushed it down into the can. He walked over to the baggage area and once there abruptly stopped and turned to me.

  “Do you have any luggage?” I almost ran into him he stopped so quickly.

  “Uhm, yes, I have three bags.”

  He looked down at the one I was carrying and then up to the satchel on my shoulder. “Three more bags?” He seemed amused.

  “Yes, three more.”

  “You point them out and I will get them.”

  I pointed to my suitcases as they passed on the conveyer belt and he picked each one up and sat it on the floor. After he got all three off the belt, he looked at me and said, “Wait here.”

  So I waited. I stood there and didn’t move, just as I was told. I hadn’t the faintest idea where he was going or what he was doing. I really felt foolish and for some reason he made me so nervous. He didn’t speak much and when he did he was very soft spoken. He spoke English very well, nothing like the English on that sign he had held up. Something was definitely different about him though. He returned with some guy who didn’t even look as if he worked at the airport and without saying a word to me, they picked up my bags, turned and started to walk away. I figured I better follow. So, again, I was trotting behind this guy feeling very stupid.

  He had a car parked outside the baggage area. He opened the back door to the car and took my satchel and carry-on bag and put them in the back and stood there looking at me, not saying a word. I guessed I was supposed to get in the back with my bags. So, I climbed in and sat obediently to wait. He and the guy took the rest of my luggage and went to the rear of the car, opened the trunk and seemed to spend an eternity behind it. I couldn’t see them or hear them. I didn’t know if they were going through my bags or what. Just when I thought I should go and see what they were doing, he came around the other side of the car, got in, turned, flashed a smile and took off for Jerusalem.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The airport I flew into was in Lod, just outside of Tel Aviv. It was about forty-five minutes from Jerusalem. The short ride in the car was relaxing, enchanting and invigorating all at the same time. The countryside from Tel-Aviv to Jerusalem was beautiful. Looking at it was like taking an aphrodisiac. The colors of the landscape possess all the hues of brown, gold and green and it stretches out so far that it seems to run right into the cerulean blue home of the soft, white clouds, which appear as if God had streaked them across the sky with His paintbrush. Looking out toward the horizon you can see the sun as it made its way down to the earth. Its light twinkling – flickering, making the ground sparkle. As you inhaled the heat, which can be seen rising up from the caramel-colored ground, you become drowsy, awakening to find a transformation of your imaginings of antiquity to a reality right before your eyes. You realize that this is the same untouched landscape that Christ walked upon. God’s history becomes alive.

  As we neared Jerusalem, I could see the hills that encased the city rising and falling like a heartbeat. Once there, the modern buildings sit side-by-side with the ruins. Bustling noises made from the people, the merchants, the shoppers, and the passerby, who could have walked the streets of the city today or so many yesterdays ago. I could feel my disagreeable demeanor and vacillating disposition that had been me as of late, melting away. It made me even forget about this Ghazi person.

  The convention was at the Mt. Scopus Campus of the Hebrew University, which is in East Jerusalem, and I was staying at the Hyatt Regency at Mt. Scopus.

  Dr. Margulies was across the city in West Jerusalem at the Holiday Inn Crowne Plaza. Some of the events were also going to be held there. Not many, but it was close to the Israel Museum which housed the Dead Sea Scrolls that had been translated, and where he would meet with the curators to talk about the tour. There were also several other museums of antiquity in Jerusalem and in the surrounding cities that were important in our endeavors, such as the Rockefeller Museum. We’d probably visit them all.

  Ghazi pulled up in front of the hotel, I got out of the car, stood in front of the hotel and took a deep breath. This is what I needed. Dr. Margulies said he had reserved a room for me at the Hyatt because he knew I would appreciate it. I did.

  Ghazi put the bags on a cart and took them into the hotel and started for the elevator. I stopped at the lobby desk to check in and pick up my key, but before I could speak with the desk clerk, I saw Ghazi, out of the corner of my eye, stop the cart and come over to me.

  “No need,” he said. He reached i
nto his pocket and pulled out the key to my room and handed it to me. I looked up at him, and still holding the key in my outstretched hand and a look of surprise on my face, watched him turn and go back to pushing the cart toward the elevator. Now why did he have the key to my hotel room in his pocket? What was this guy up to? I decided I would check my bags and room thoroughly once I got rid of him.

  The elevator came and Ghazi got inside. I quickly collected myself, and my things, ran over, so not to miss it, and got on the elevator. I stood in the back of the elevator and Ghazi stood right up front next to the panel of floor buttons, facing forward. I looked at the back of him, standing erect and looking straight ahead. What was he looking at? I wonder is he still smiling. Man, he’s so tall. I glanced down at his legs. That’s why I was always trotting to keep up with him, his legs are so long. I took a deep breath and nodded to myself. I decided my original observation was correct – he is strange. Very strange.

  He had not spoken two words all the way from the airport. He seemed so reticent and obsequious, and that made me uncomfortable. I would have to tell Dr. Margulies that I didn’t need, rather, didn’t want him around any longer. I would just get around on my own. Actually, I was beginning not to like him and I didn’t want to have to run behind him for the rest of my trip.

  “Thank you very much,” I said. We were at my hotel room door. He was just standing there and I didn’t know what to do with him. But my words didn’t make him go. So I dug in my purse and came up with some money. I hadn’t exchanged any currency yet, but I figured everybody loves American money. I tried to hand it to him.

  “No thank you,” he said, smiling. “Dr. Margulies has taken care of that.”

  Oookaaay, I thought, so why are you standing here?

  “Well, I guess I’ll get unpacked and get settled in,” I said.

  “Very well, I will come back in one hour.”