by D B Nielsen
But I knew from the kind expression on the Ice Queen’s lovely face that she was not deceived. She pitied me. Her incredibly blue eyes slid over to St. John possessively.
And in spite of her graceful manner and her loveliness, I decided then, quite deliberately and fiercely, that I hated her.
AT THE ST. JOHN RITBLAT GALLERY
CHAPTER SIX
The following Monday, I found myself seated in the rear seat of St. John’s car as we headed towards the British Library at St. Pancras to view a sacred book containing illustrations of trees. I don’t know how I ended up in a situation where I was literally taking a back seat to Isabella Donnatelli, but there I was, nevertheless, having to put up with the Ice Queen displacing me from my fiancé’s side. I usually loved to spend time at the British Library, which had been resituated to the disused Potato Market next to St. Pancras Station when the original Bloomsbury site was unable to accommodate the library’s growth, but nowhere in my plans had I accounted for another person accompanying St. John and me on this specific visit – certainly not this particular someone!
I also found it disturbing that our quest was being compromised by an opportunistic outsider for the sake of good manners. It wasn’t as if Isabella had anything to do with the Seed. Her desire to accompany us to view a book that she could easily gain access to herself, as an academic in Zoroastrian religious relics, seemed contrived to me – as if she wanted to be with us on this expedition for an entirely different reason. And just watching her flirting with St. John made me fear that I knew her reason all too well. There were too many questions to answer at the present, and the most horrible of them was whether Isabella Donnatelli was trying to steal my fiancé. At this, I could feel my understanding, to say nothing of my patience, stretch almost to the breaking point.
Staring out at the passing London streetscape mindlessly, mired in misery, I was doing my hardest to ignore Isabella’s pretty prattling and the cloying, heady scent of her designer perfume. Listlessly, I twirled my engagement ring around my finger, a gesture that had now become a habit. It was only when Isabella raised her postgraduate studies at the University of Liverpool that I began to pay attention.
‘–difficult to place these in context,’ she was saying to St. John, ‘as a belief in Ahura Mazda promoted the first ecological religion. That’s why the text you wish to view focuses extensively on trees. But, of course, in many religions, the idea of a garden–’
Before I could think better of it, I spoke up. ‘Pardon me, Isabella. What does Ahura Mazda mean?’
Far from being upset at my interruption, Isabella schooled her expression to adopt a serene façade and answered my question. ‘Why, Ahura Mazda is the creator of the universe, Sage. The Wise Lord, or God. Ahura Mazda is worshipped as the Supreme Being. Zoroastrians believe that everything he created is pure and should be treated with love and respect. This includes the natural environment; so Zoroastrians traditionally do not pollute the rivers, land or atmosphere.’
‘So they had a monotheistic religion?’ I enquired, leaning slightly forward in my seat, anxious to understand the details of Zoroastrianism as we were about to look at one of its ancient texts for any secrets it may yield concerning the path to the Garden of Eden. I was willing to overlook the nauseatingly perfect Isabella’s numerous flaws for this purpose.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Isabella, no doubt hearing in my voice a genuine interest, ‘it is not unlike Islam in some respects; that is, Zoroastrianism too has a prophet whom the Lord spoke to; this prophet was Zoroaster himself, though he is not worshipped. But, through his teachings, human beings can become closer to God by following the path of truth and righteousness, known as “asha”. In fact, like Muhammad, Zoroaster had a divine vision. At the age of thirty, whilst bathing in a river during a pagan purification rite, Zoroaster saw on the bank of the river what he described as a Shining Being made of light. The Shining Being led Zoroaster to the presence of Ahura Mazda and five other radiant beings, who are called the Amesha Spentas; the “Holy Immortals”. This was the first of a number of visions in which Zoroaster saw Ahura Mazda and his Amesha Spenta. It is claimed that during each vision he asked many questions, and the answers given to Zoroaster are the foundations of Zoroastrian religion.’
Fascinated, I was quick to challenge her. ‘These Holy Immortals, what Zoroaster perceived as Shining Beings – could they be angels like in Christianity?’
Isabella nodded, confirming, ‘Well, western scholars have likened the Amesha Spentas to the Archangels in Christianity. But, strictly speaking, this isn’t quite correct as they also represent spiritual attainments. They helped fashion parts of creation and relate to particular qualities of the divine. Zoroastrians believe that human beings can know God through his Divine Attributes.’
Yet, from what I understood from St. John and Gabriel, the angels themselves had such knowledge of divine attributes that this led to the Fall. The Grigori had not only taken human females out of lust, they had also given humans power and knowledge in the form of forging weapons, jewellery, and cosmetics. They taught them the art of warfare. They taught the women how to adorn themselves in sartorial splendour with fine, vibrant dyed clothes; hang precious gemstones from their ears and around their necks and wrists; and colour their eyelids, cheeks and lips with glittering minerals and the pastes formed from crushed flowers and insects. Yet, worse still, they taught them how to cast spells and incantations, to use herbs and roots to heal but also to harm. They gave them black magic and dark arts. And they taught them how to read portents in the constellations, how to map the sun and stars, and read the weather. To ordinary humans, these would have been considered divine attributes.
And the Watchers would have been looked upon as gods.
My eagerness and frustration grew. ‘But you mentioned a garden ...’
She smiled as if I had said something that privately amused her. ‘Yes, I did. I wished only to point out that many religions have myths about gardens. In fact, it is generally accepted that in the Abrahamic religions – Christianity, Judaism and Islam – the concepts of Heaven and Hell, and perhaps even the Garden of Eden, were heavily influenced by Zoroastrian belief. Certainly, the idea of the Devil may have come to us through Zoroastrianism.’
‘Really?’
‘In Zoroastrianism,’ Isabella continued to patiently explain, ‘Ahura Mazda has a nemesis, Angra Mainyu, meaning “Destructive Spirit” or, from our perspective, the Devil. Angra Mainyu is the originator of death and all that is evil in the world. Ahura Mazda, who is perfect, abides in Heaven, whereas Angra Mainyu dwells in the depths of Hell. Again, as in Abrahamic religions, when a person dies they will go to Heaven or Hell depending on their deeds during their lifetime. But there’s one major difference between Zoroastrianism and the major Abrahamic religions.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, leaning back into the cool leather of the Audi’s rear seat, waiting with great anticipation for Isabella to help me understand more.
Isabella smiled her serene smile, this time indulgently, as an adult will to a precocious child. ‘Zoroastrian dualism is probably one of the most debated aspects of the religion in the west. Dualism in Zoroastrianism is the existence of, yet complete separation of, good and evil. This is recognised in two interconnecting ways; cosmically, where there are opposing forces within the universe; and, morally, where there are opposing forces within the mind.’
‘Cosmic Dualism refers to the on-going battle between good and evil within the universe,’ St. John said, taking over for Isabella. ‘You need to understand that Angra Mainyu isn’t the Creator’s equal but a destructive energy that opposes creation or God’s creative energy.’
I gave a start. It all sounded very similar to the tales of the Grigori and, in particular, Semyaza. Like Lucifer before him, Semyaza challenged the authority of the Creator out of hubris, lust and jealousy and was cast down into Tartaros. Yet this fallen angel or destructive spirit managed to escape from where he was imprisoned and no
one seemed to know exactly how. Yet now this destructive energy was let loose upon the world and threatened its very existence.
‘God created a pure world through his creative energy,’ St. John’s voice was beautifully modulated yet held a note of gravity as he continued, ‘which the Destructive Spirit continues to attack, making it impure. Ageing, sickness, famine, natural disasters, death, and so forth, are attributed to this. So, with cosmic dualism, human beings have these polar opposites of life and death, day and night, good and evil.’
‘One cannot be understood without the other. Perhaps cannot even exist. Life is a mixture of these two opposing forces,’ Isabella said, and I could not help but dislike the smugness of her statement, even though it agreed with what both Fi and I believed.
‘And moral dualism?’ I asked, keeping my voice sweet and light – it would never do to show Isabella how much I disliked her.
Isabella turned in her seat to face me, gazing at me with a cool, assessing eye. ‘Moral dualism refers to human beings – the opposition of good and evil in the mind of humankind. God’s gift to man was free will; therefore man has the choice to follow the path of truth and righteousness or the path of wickedness. The same dualities apply. Heaven and Hell. Peace and chaos. Happiness and misery.’
St. John affirmed, ‘As with cosmic dualism, we have the polarity of happiness and sadness, truth and deception, and so forth, but with an emphasis on conscious choice. This choice is crucial as it determines whether we are on the side of the Creator or on the side of the Destructive Spirit. Supposedly, when all of humankind chooses the former over the latter, evil will finally be defeated and Paradise on earth will be achieved.’
St. John was being careful with his words. I knew he was referring to the war between the Nephilim races which he had related to me previously. And, I knew also, that I would not be repeating my earlier mistake when I ignorantly asked him which side he was on, leading to our first major misunderstanding. But even if this Paradise he spoke of was unattainable, we had our own earthly Paradise which I refused to relinquish, even for the sake of the Seed.
‘So it isn’t all doom and gloom?’ I prodded gently.
In the driver’s seat, St. John shrugged. ‘Not at all. In practice, modern Zoroastrianism has a positive outlook. It teaches that humankind is ultimately good and that this goodness will finally triumph over evil. In fact, this might be seen as a challenge to the faith’s original purity of dualism.’
‘Of course, it is,’ Isabella announced, waving an elegant hand in the air for emphasis. ‘After all, good and evil are just abstractions.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ I asked, surprised by Isabella’s response.
‘Look around you, Sage,’ the Ice Queen said, growing irritated by my naïve questions. ‘Our world is becoming more secular by the minute. Dawkins has made a strong case against creationism and intelligent design. Without organised religion, there is no good and evil. We are blinded by the myths of man. As Shakespeare penned, “... there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” Quite apt, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘But Hamlet is a prisoner of his own thinking – of his knowledge about his uncle’s act of regicide and fratricide, and also of his mother’s incestuous relationship with his uncle,’ I protested instantly, remembering my study of the text from my last year at school, still so recent I could quote long passages from it without trouble. ‘When he states that “... there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so”, he’s not merely indulging in moral relativism. He’s also wishing for blissful ignorance so he doesn’t have to carry out the burden of revenge. I can’t believe that you, of all people, could be such a ... a ...’
‘A what, Sage?’ Isabella had turned to face me, her startlingly blue eyes narrowed as she studied my expression. ‘Do go on.’
I wanted to say that she was a hypocrite but I settled for, ‘Cynic.’
‘A cynic?’ One pale eyebrow arched.
I carried on recklessly, without any help from St. John who remained as silent as the grave where he sat before me in the driver’s seat. ‘You’ve built a career on studying religious artefacts. You, perhaps better than others, should be able to see how there are shared myths of good and evil across cultures, which must amount to some evidence of a universal moral landscape. How can you scoff at a belief in good and evil?’
‘How can I not?’ she riposted, tossing her head back as she settled into her seat once more. ‘It is very simple. Rationalism. Science. Progress. I can appreciate the beauty of a sunrise and not believe that it is a manifestation of the son of God. I can appreciate the beauty of a garden and not believe that there are fairy sprites flitting from flower to flower pollinating it. And as for what you call good and evil. These values are simply what is socially agreed upon. The conventions of a society in its specific context. Are we to believe that Eve tempted Adam which led to the Fall of Man? Are women really that evil? Are men that weak? Of course not!’
‘I understand your point, Isabella, but you fail to understand mine.’ She seemed to want to push me into a corner and force her opinions upon me. I was having none of it. ‘There is human evil in the world. And human goodness. Morality is not a myth.’
‘I would like to think I am empirically-minded and, therefore, maintain a healthy scepticism,’ Isabella said, smiling with something almost cruel in her manner.
‘So why are you so interested in preserving these religious artefacts?’ I asked, bewildered by her point of view.
‘Because without them we would lose part of our history. The history of humankind,’ Isabella answered. ‘You see, in another religious artefact, the one we call the Bible, Saint John wrote, “In the beginning was the Word”; yet what he failed to write was that the Word needed to be recorded by man and interpreted by man in order to be meaningful. And there has been much interpretation of the Bible. However, I believe it is the role of the historian to record the past, regardless of a belief in a personal God, which, to my way of thinking, is a delusion. Faith is fractured. There are hundreds of divided, bickering, narrow-minded denominations in our world that manipulate the ignorant masses. But there is certainly a need to search for answers to our existence, our origin, and our nature. Delving into these complex questions in an effort to find answers, and to order the past, this is what science and history does. It is what I do.’
I opened my mouth to protest but was prevented from questioning Isabella further as St. John announced that we had arrived at our destination, turning the car into Euston Road and heading towards St. Pancras Station car park. We alighted a few minutes later, stepping out into the cool spring sunshine; a southerly breeze providing a crispness to the air.
Isabella walked swiftly towards the library’s entrance to its vast courtyard, as if she was used to issuing orders over her shoulder to her underlings as they followed her around, whilst St. John and I kept pace a few steps behind her. The sprained ankle had healed quickly, but I didn’t want to arouse suspicion by walking too fast. Besides, I much preferred to hang back to chat privately with St. John.
‘You seem preoccupied, mon cœur.’ His jade green eyes flicked over me, lingering on my pale face. ‘Are you afraid of what we might find when we examine this book? Or is it that you’re concerned about a similar incident occurring as our last visit to the Louvre?’
St. John was referring to my fainting spells which were triggered by my connection to the Seed, made evident to him since viewing the Esagila Tablet. It was another reason why he was so protective of me. At such times, I was at my most vulnerable. I could feel a flush stain my cheeks in response. My mind once more ran over that situation, like a child lost in a maze, hoping that somehow the next turn would be the one that would lead her out.
But, not finding any resolution to my problems, I shook my head and replied, ‘I’m afraid of what we might not find when we examine this book. What if we don’t find anything at all?’
He gave me a surprised look
. ‘And if we don’t? Would that be the end of the world?’
Sighing, I said reluctantly, ‘It might be. When you put it like that. Oh, I know you didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just ... I don’t like to think that I’m leading us on a wild goose chase.’
St. John scowled. ‘Sage, that’s just silly. I trust your instincts. You know I–’
But whatever he thought I knew was never voiced as the Ice Queen interrupted us.
‘I do hope that you haven’t worn any hand lotion or cream today, Sage.’ Isabella was regarding me with tightened lips, though her voice remained honeyed and light.
‘Of course not, Isabella,’ I replied in surprise. She did not look as if she believed me. ‘I do know how to handle rare manuscripts.’
And I did. I had washed and dried my hands thoroughly before I’d left home that morning. I intended to wash and dry them once more before viewing the rare Zoroastrian text. I knew the protocol.
‘Very well, Sage,’ Isabella said, smiling graciously. ‘I really wasn’t trying to offend you. I just remembered what I was like at your age. I’m sure I didn’t know the first thing about old documents. And not being a trained archivist, it’s easy to make a mistake – the images of white gloves are ingrained in the public mind as required wear during a visit to an archive. You’ll back me up on this; won’t you, St. John?’
I understood where Isabella was coming from – the misconception about wearing white gloves to handle old documents and rare books was encouraged by Hollywood and popular fiction. But, in reality, the white cotton gloves that were seen to stand between the filthy hands of academics, collectors and historians were not only unnecessary, they were a danger to the very thing they were supposed to ensure – the safety of such historical treasures. The problem with the white gloves was that it removed any dexterity of the fingers and often resulted in ripping or bending the pages of old and fragile texts. And, worse still, white gloves were more likely to soak up sweat and other oils that could then be transferred to the pages.