He responded to their request for help and went on to spread the good news beyond Jerusalem. True to the promise in the sample bag there was never to be room in his life for wife or family. His bag of suffering just kept filling but he also had great success and was loved by many people. It was not all bad. I cannot go back to that time so if you want to know more you can read it for yourself in The Ancient Book of Writings, in the section titled Acts.
Right now I must hurry. I’ve got some packing to do, so goodbye reader. Go and have a cup of coffee and when you come back you will find me in Jerusalem.”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE- DEPARTURES
Bailey opened her eyes. She closed them again and shook her head. She rubbed her eyes, opened them again and looked around. It took her a while to get her bearings. She had been expecting to see her familiar things all around her. It didn’t take long for the realisation to hit. She was not in her room. She was on a plane, sitting back in a very comfortable seat, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
She was feeling a little stiff, but nothing that a good wriggle wouldn’t fix. She liked flying. She felt safe and secure, even with the realisation that there was nothing preventing her from falling except the pressure of the air on the wings of the machine she was riding in. Below there was nothing but water.
She looked around. People were reading or listening to head-nodding, foot-tapping music through their earphones. Maybe she would do some of that later, but right now she would revert to her favourite pastime of remembering and daydreaming. She liked the company of her own imaginings and she knew she was safe here because she had told her reader to wait for her in Jerusalem.
For Bailey, today had been a real rollercoaster ride emotionally. When they had left Rockhampton there had been a strong wind from the north. That meant that they had to circle back to get onto the southerly course that would take them to Brisbane where they would change planes for Singapore. That had proved to be a good thing because it allowed her to have a good view of the city she loved best. She knew that this day would leave memories that would stay with her for a lifetime and wanted to savour every moment of it. Her memory of that circuit of Rockhampton was still vivid in her mind. As she had looked out the window of the aircraft, she remembered getting her bearings by locating Mount Archer, which is situated just to the east of the city. She let her eyes take her west until she saw what she was looking for, her house. It had been a strange feeling, watching that house recede into the distance. One part of her seemed to be left behind there, while another was way ahead, anticipating her arrival in Jerusalem. The bit of her that was left sitting in the airplane seat watched until the house that was her home could be seen no more. When it disappeared, it didn’t leave a blank space. It left an ache.
That feeling, almost of bereavement, was repeated even more strongly when she took off from Brisbane and left Australia behind. As she watched the land shrink until it vanished in the distance, she was aware of a strong sense of loss. This event took longer to happen than the disappearing house trick. Australia is bigger. It took longer. I had never thought about it before but, by the ache in my heart, I determined that I must be a real dinkum Aussie, right to the core.
After that I must have gone to sleep. I know that has to be true because I have just woken up.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO- THE MEN ON THE PLANE
When I woke, I found it comforting to look around and see the now familiar sight of the cabin which had become my temporary safe place. To my left there was a vacant seat between me and the aisle. My little bag of belongings was still there on that vacant seat. I had put it there for a purpose. It was to protect me from the possibility of Mr. Mc Sleaze moving across and sitting on that seat.
It hadn’t taken me long to identify him as the enemy. He was seated across the aisle, one seat back from me. I placed him in the mid-thirty age group, a little plump and slightly bald. With a sly sort of an inner smile I also placed him on the slip sliding away side of being attractive. I guess some women would have still found him desirable, if it hadn’t been for his eyes.
Those eyes kept straying in my direction. All too often his gaze remained on me longer than I felt comfortable with. I did not need to look his way to know when he was focussed on me. I could feel his eyes sliding over me like a cold slime of evil intent. I do not think he really intended me any harm. He is just a self-centred and ignorant man. Then again, perhaps that is the most dangerous kind of enemy to have. He can cause you harm, purely out of self-gratification, without even knowing he has done it.
I will tell you how I came to brand him with a nick name. My mind had begun to search for ways of describing him. You have to understand that, in the deep recesses of what is me, I have a nasty mind. It can retaliate with worse than anything you throw at me. So watch it buster.
My mind began to wander around looking for a definition of what I was seeing. I decided that he had to be defined as falling within a species group that was close to human – species humanus, sub-group sleazii. So for ever, in my mind, he will be named Humus Mc Sleaze.
Of course not everybody on the plane was like Humus. For instance, there was a fellow sitting about three rows ahead and on the same side as Humus. He quickly drew my attention. I put him as being about three or four years my senior, dark skinned, or heavily tanned and unlike Humus, on the ascending scale of attractiveness.
There is something about him that shouts out a proclamation that the ageing process will be to his advantage. I think that if I were to meet him again in twenty years’ time he would be an even more outstanding figure.
I don’t have a name for him yet but if he comes past here I will casually remove my belongings from the seat next to me and see if he accepts the invitation. If he does I will know that he is both intelligent and discerning. There is no harm in dreaming.
There is one thing for sure, nothing like that is going to happen, not now. The fasten seat belts sign has come on. We are coming in to land at Singapore. The next stop will be Tel Aviv and then a bus to Jerusalem. I probably won’t talk to you again until I get to Jerusalem, unless something exciting happens. I have a lot of work stuff to read. I won’t have time for talking.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE- NEW THINGS
Well I’m here, in Jerusalem. Finally, it has come, the big B-W Day – begin work day, the day I have looked forward to with dread and excitement. I have just come down from the steps of the Hotel Bizentine. It is just a small hotel which will do me until I discover if it is what I will really need. I suspect it will suit fine.
Here we go, the first street on the right, yep that’s it, Hillel St. Now it should be just about here, spot on, perfect. Now, if I’m right I should just go through that entrance and up the stairs. Yep, right again. That has to be the door I’m looking for. It says the right thing – B.T.P.L. Enterprises. Now I’m really scared. Will there be friendly faces? So I mumble, “Courage Bailey,” and go through the door. Inside I find a desk, but nobody in attendance. There is a corridor going to the right and another going to the left. I don’t know which way to go.
I have to admit to feeling a little put off by that but what did I expect. This is not exactly a public access company. We are not here to sell a product to the public. The selling has already been done, mainly to museums throughout the world.
I look around. There has to be some provision made for the occasional person who makes their way up the stairs. Yes, there it is. A bell button is set onto the top of the desk. I give it a press and wait.
I waited for what seemed like forever. It was probably about a minute in real time but the truth is that I was not operating in real time. I was in super-anxiety, slow-fast, not coping well time.
Then a young woman appeared as if by magic through an opening behind the desk. I smiled in relief. She didn’t look scary at all. She put me at ease by asking one simple question. “Am I guessing right to think that your nam
e might be Bailey?”
“Spot on,” I said.
During this exchange she had come through to my side of the desk. “Follow me. My name is Mizpa, sometimes shortened to Miz.” She led me down the corridor to the left. “There are two essentials that you must know about this place. The first is right here.” She showed me into a spacious room and said, “This is where a lot of our work is done.” She waved her hand around in what seemed like a gesture of ownership and said, “The coffee room.”
Across the hall from the coffee room was a large open room which looked more like a real work space. There were desks, computers, charts and volumes of books and papers. Then she yelled out, in a voice that seemed too big for the person I had just been talking to, “Scrivs! Come and meet your new best friend.” A head slowly emerged from behind a screen at the end of the room. She said to me, in a voice that I am sure he was meant to hear, “Don’t let him treat you as his second in command. He is your equal, with the same qualifications and position as yours, Research Analyst.”
The head that emerged from behind the screen, slowly developed into a whole person as he unwound into view. There was a slight frown which seemed to be permanent on his brow. I hoped it came from worrying about his family, not his work. I didn’t want to develop a frown like that.
Waving his arm in an expansive gesture and pointing down at me from his great height, he said, “I know who you are. You are Bailey.” He seemed to make up his mind immediately. “We will get on well as long as you don’t try to lord it over me with your more lately obtained and no doubt superior university degree.
You will know that you are thoroughly approved of when I come up with a name that suits you better than Bailey. Come with me while I think about that.” He led me across to the coffee room mumbling things that sounded like, “Bale, straw girl, cow- chow.” I was beginning to like this man.
The chat that eventuated in the coffee room proved to be very constructive. I became more orientated to what lay ahead. The room we were in began to feel comfortable. I was beginning to realize that it might indeed be a place where a lot of our work could be done. Its informal atmosphere was conducive to clear thinking which was what our work was all about.
A few things had become clear while we chatted. The girl I met when I first came in, Miz, is called the receptionist, although she probably talks to no more than three people each week at the front desk. She would probably be more correctly termed something like Office Co-ordinator as she spends most of her time on the phone making all kinds of arrangements to ensure that work flows smoothly and orders are dispatched and received correctly and on time. The way Scrivs speaks of her, she is infallible, entirely essential to the function of the place.
However, it appears that there are two reasons for her being called receptionist. Both of them relate to Sir. Firstly, Sir has the title of Project manager and Office Co-ordinator, so that title is not available for somebody of Miz’ status. The second reason is that it would put her into a higher wage bracket.
I have yet to meet Sir. His real name is Ronald Crisp, son of the Principal of the Organisation. It would appear that he has been given a job that sounds important and keeps him as far away from the effective running of the business as possible. He only comes in now and then. There are other responsibilities that he must attend to but nobody seems to know what they are.
I am beginning to dislike him but trying to reserve judgement. He can’t be as bad as the impression I have been given but I have tucked everything that I have heard about him away into an easily accessible part of my brain. Scrivs says never to call Mr. Crisp anything other than Sir and to do all my work at a desk, never in the coffee room or anywhere else informal when he is on the premises. This applies even if it means that the work is not being done effectively.
I suspect that this is all some kind of new girl information, designed to make me look silly when I meet the boss. I withhold judgement.
I am glad that I like Scrivs so well and find him easy to talk to because we will be working together a lot. The project we will be working on is that of compiling a body of information for a display about the origins of Christianity in Jerusalem.
I am still vague about what will happen to it after it leaves my hands. I understand that it will all be fed into some mysterious quantum computer which will convert it into an interactive display for a museum in New York. It sounds very ambitious and involves more than just gathering information. But more of that later when I have learned how it works.
Tomorrow we will do a field trip, like real tourists, into Old Jerusalem to visit the places where it all happened. If what Scrivs has told me is right I can be sure that all the necessary papers, passes and authorisations will be ready and waiting for us in the morning. I’m beginning to think I am going to enjoy working for the Beetle as I am beginning to think of the organisation. It’s certainly easier on the tongue than having to refer to it as B.T.P.L. all the time.
I can imagine Dad rolling around the floor in laughter when he reads my reference to the Beetle. I have just sent him a text.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR- SCRIVS AND THE TEMPLE SITE
Next day, true to his word, Scrivs arrived at my door at eight o’clock to pick me up for the day’s outing. He was driving a very nondescript little Suzuki four-wheel drive. It didn’t give much status to the employees of the Beetle but I guess it was appropriate. He said that it was best not to attract attention as we approached the Islamic sector.
We did not drive into the Islamic sector. We went on foot. I have to admit that I did not feel as safe outside the vehicle. This was foreign territory to me. No, I did not feel safe. I can’t run very fast.
Scrivs was well protected by his British passport. He is British by birth, but Jewish by religion and nationality. This dual citizenship gives him flexibility in travel. The permit and permission documents, so adequately provided by Miz, were held in reserve.
Somehow, against all reason and knowledge, I was disappointed as we stood in the area where the old temple must have been. Even though I had known that there was nothing there, my disappointment was not lessened. The destruction had been complete. There was no trace of the old structure, not even a lingering sense of The Presence. I found the sense of loss was quite overwhelming.
For a while I was totally stunned. Scrivs was patient. He had been here before but I could see that he still felt loss for the destruction of what had been the core of his Jewish heritage. He suggested that we call it enough but I would not let him.
I began to walk around in a circle, or as much of a circle as the existing structures on the site would allow. I was no longer looking for signs of the temple. I was looking for anything else that seemed familiar. My eyes were turned out, away from the temple sight.
Scrivs followed me. He reminded me of Duncan who used to follow me like that. In my mind I was so much back in the old temple times that I forgot myself for a time. Just for a moment I thought that it was Duncan following me and turned to him and said, “Do you scent anything?”
I saw his stunned look and was about to apologise when I noticed something. The look on his face was not what I would expect from someone who had heard something inappropriate. It was, rather a look of amazement as if something completely inexplicable had happened. “How did you know?” he said. “It’s like a stench in my nostrils. I can feel it on my skin. I need time. Would you sit with me for a while? I want to see if you can feel it too.”
So we sat there for a while forming our own little spectacle for the tourists. I guess they’re used to seeing weird things here. At first I felt nothing except a slight embarrassment and then something began to penetrate my awareness. It was not quite a smell or tingling of the skin. It wasn’t physical but it was real. It reminded me of that time when I was with Bear and Duncan in The Before and we found ourselves becoming aware of The Great One and the multitude of beings who were with Him. T
he difference was that felt good. This felt bad. The evil was almost visible, rising out of the ground like a mist.
Trying to answer the question I had sensed within him, I said, “Scrivs, you are not mad. I can feel it, intense anger and fear rising up out of the ground.”
In his present, vulnerable state Scrivs was ready to take all the blame. There was confusion in his voice when he said, “How can this be. I can still see no satisfactory alternative to the action my people took way back then, when they condemned the one you call Saviour. How can the anger of your people remain so strong in the land after all this time?”
I responded without even thinking, “No! No, it is not like that. When Saviour died he prayed forgiveness on your people. Surely, when someone forgives, nobody else has the right or ability to take that back or change it. No. This has come from somewhere else.
Consider what has happened here. From the time when your people first established a nation this place has been at the heart of your people. Over and over again you have been driven from this spot. In the short period leading up to and following the destruction of your temple and this city by the Roman forces in seventy A.D. thousands of Roman soldiers were slaughtered and hundreds of thousands of your own people.
Anger, hatred, pain and grief are what I feel rising from this ground, the pain of your people, the pain of Roman families, the pain of Christians and Islamic people who followed.”
We sat in silence until Scrivs said, “What are you doing?”
I hadn’t realised that I had been doing anything, but all the time we had been sitting there I had been muttering away under my breath. I thought we had been sitting in silence. I had to respond to his question. “I’m praying.”
The Biovantic Bear Page 11