Marjorie Hart and the Tree of Life

by Amanda Vink

  The snake! I should’ve known, she thought. Dr. Baxter had been behind her cousin’s injury this whole time. An explosion of anger coursed through her. She must’ve made a move for her firearm, because Frank’s hand found hers. He squeezed tight, and the bones in her hand crushed together.

  “Not now,” he pleaded, his voice a whisper in her ear. “Later.”

  Seif took a long moment, and then he responded. “I hope for both our sakes that you’re right, Doctor.”

  Seif left the tent then, but Dr. Baxter lingered a little longer. Finally, he left too. He crossed in front of their tent, and Frank pulled Marjorie to him. They remained unseen and waited a long time to move again.

  “Are you alright?” Frank asked finally. His hand still rested in hers, warm and comforting, although his face held the same venom that must’ve shown on hers.

  “I don’t know,” Marjorie admitted.

  Frank wrapped his arms around her in one swift movement. She could’ve melted into the embrace, but it didn’t last long enough. “We’ll get the bastard,” he said, removing his arms. “But first we’ve got to find Amna and Hamid.”

  Marjorie rubbed her forehead. “I hope they’re alright.”

  “Me too. Let’s get out of here before they come back, yeah?”

  Marjorie nodded, looked, and then darted out of the tent. Frank was right behind her.

  The sun was getting low in the sky already. Most of the diggers remained on site, in tents that were erected for the purpose. From a distance in the gold light, Marjorie watched Dr. Baxter get in the passenger seat of a roofless car. The car took off, heading toward the exit of the dig site.

  Out of the darkness, Amna, Hamid, and two other men appeared. Amna’s voice was quick and scolding. Hamid said, “She says you should’ve stayed in the tent.”

  “You should’ve stayed in the tent, boyo,” said Frank. Flustered, his accent had grown even thicker. He then turned to Amna, attempting to plead with her in Arabic.

  Marjorie missed the conversation. Instead, she glared at the back of Dr. Baxter’s car, which became smaller and smaller every minute. Finally, it disappeared.

  Frank interrupted her thoughts of revenge. “Amna’s team is ready. This is Baraz and Taavi. She says they are like brothers to her, and that she trusts them with her life.”

  Baraz was very tall and so skinny he looked like a long pole someone had stuck into the ground. He had a shy expression, and he nodded to Marjorie and Frank without saying anything. Taavi, on the other hand, started talking the moment he was introduced.

  Hamid said in a conspirator’s tone, “Amna says he can be quiet when he needs to be.”

  Marjorie smiled.

  “Are you ready?” Frank asked her.

  “One moment,” she said, and hurried back into the tent where Dr. Baxter had been. She delighted to find her father’s map still there along with its carrying case. She wasted no time in grabbing it then returning to the team.

  Marjorie studied their small band, about to do the impossible. She probably should’ve felt fear. Maybe it was the leftover anger that fueled her. Maybe it was the excitement of an adventure. Maybe it was the memory of Frank’s hand in hers—she could still feel her fingers tingling from where their skin had touched. Whatever it was, she felt ready.

  ***

  Bonfires and gas lanterns appeared in the darkness. The moon waned overhead, and night covered everything not close to the small beacons of light. This worked just as well for group’s purposes.

  The small band made their way to the tomb. They went quickly, only carrying the most necessary items. Without a single lantern to guide them, they needed to take careful steps. At any moment a rock or shrub could disrupt their path. They brought one lantern to use when they were a good distance inside the tomb. But first we have to get there, Marjorie thought.

  That involved climbing the scaffolding that sat before the tomb entrance. The diggers had constructed it around the tombs since the tombs themselves were so high off the ground. Marjorie guessed the height was at least three stories, but it was hard to tell in the low light.

  First Amna and then Baraz and Taavi climbed. They brought with them digging tools, suspended in packs around their shoulders. They moved up and down the ladders with ease, clearly experts after having spent days working at the site.

  Marjorie took to the ladder next. It was more structurally sound than she first imagined. Slowly she progressed one rung at a time. Hamid ascended close behind her, and when Marjorie got to the top she turned and offered him a hand. Afterward, bringing up the rear was Frank.

  By that point, Marjorie’s eyes had adjusted to the dark somewhat, and she noticed that Frank stood with his back straight as a razor.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” she asked.

  “Ah, no,” he said, too quickly, “Just a tiny bit afraid of myself falling.”

  Hamid stopped at the entrance to Darius’s tomb, his mouth agape.

  Four columns supported a small balcony outside the entrance, etched into the rock. It was too dark to see now, but Marjorie knew from her father’s journal there were carved reliefs atop the columns. They showed Darius in front of an altar, praying to a god. Twenty-eight figures representing the nations that were ruled under the Achaemenid kingdom carried the platform where Darius stood. Once again, she had the feeling of being very small. That was just what Darius the Great must’ve wanted—to show his grandeur with size. The door to the tomb was the height of three men standing on top of one another.

  After a moment, Hamid spoke, his eyes focused on the entrance. “My ancestor. King of kings.”

  Marjorie wondered what he must’ve been feeling, standing under the shadow of his distant relative.

  Frank put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come on, boyo.”

  They moved deep into the tomb. At least now they could light their lantern. Almost immediately the tunnel descended, straight into the heart of the mountain. It was a narrow path, wide enough for a few people only. Once again they moved slowly, careful of each footfall.

  From her place among the group, Marjorie could see almost nothing, but this was likely to be the case whether they visited during the night or day.

  The inside was sealed off from all natural light, its own history relived each day to an audience of the dead.

  It wasn’t long before they hit the tomb’s antechamber, a small rectangular room formed by great stone slabs. It was small and crowded with all of them inside, but also cool—though the air was stale. Not many people have breathed it, thought Marjorie.

  “Is something supposed to be here?” Hamid asked. He looked with disappointment at the bare walls. No carvings adorned them.

  Frank rubbed Hamid’s hair, and the boy’s eyes narrowed. Frank explained: “These tombs were decimated by soldiers belonging to Alexander the Great. You won’t find much here, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh,” said Hamid.

  Frank, translating for Amna, said, “She wants to show us what she found.”

  Amna ran her hand along one wall. Finally, she stopped and her fingers worked the stone. When she pressed down, the stone shifted. Moving aside, a small chamber peeked over her shoulder. Carved into it was a shape roughly the size of a person’s palm.

  Marjorie knew that shape—the ox.

  Amna spoke rapidly, running dusty fingers over the shape. Frank translated, “She suspects there’s something behind this wall. She says this looks like some kind of key.”

  “Oh!” Marjorie exclaimed. But then her heart fell, and she sat back on her heels. The ox was back with Nadine, miles away from this place. “We came all this way for nothing,” she said.

  Frank kneeled beside her and rested his palm on her shoulder. He swore.

  Hamid sat cross-legged on the floor, a smirk on his face. Then he pulled his bag around his body so that it rested in between his legs. He flipped the top open, and from within, he pulled out something.

  Marjorie gasped. “How did you get that?”
In his hands sat the very statue they needed.

  Hamid’s mouth creased into a smile, and he held the ox statuette toward her. She reached out, taking it in her hand, then slid it into the wall. She breathed a sigh. It fit perfectly.

  Once the ox was nestled in place, a back panel popped open, revealing an inch of space between this room and another room behind it. They had to dig dirt from around it—dirt that had piled up over many years.

  It took all of them to move the heavy panel separating the sections. Any dirt they dug up around it they placed in bags to later take out of the tomb. Once they had created a space big enough to move through, Marjorie entered first.

  The room was long and narrow, and unlike the antechamber, the walls here were richly carved. In these images, Darius himself appeared. Marjorie traced them with her eyes—she could see it was the story of Darius’s life, at least as he wished it to be portrayed.

  At the far end of the long corridor stood a platform with a box on it. Marjorie took one step forward, excitement taking over now.

  “Wait,” Frank cautioned. He stood next to her now, completely covered in dirt after slithering through the small opening after her. “Don’t you read books in America? It’s never this easy.”

  Amna examined the walls of the chamber, starting from the top and working her way down. Next she kneeled on the floor and pointed to an abnormality in it. She spoke in Arabic, and Marjorie watched as Frank tilted his head, listening. “She doesn’t think it’s … formed?” he questioned.

  After more words from Amna, Baraz and Taavi retrieved a long wooden plank from the scaffolding outside. Amna helped them place it along the floor. A good thing too—when the slightest pressure of the plank pushed against the floor underneath, a large area of floor fell in.

  “It’s fake!” Frank said, clapping.

  Marjorie shot him a look. Noticing this, he shrugged. “I’ve read about booby-trapped tombs but haven’t seen any yet.”

  “Maybe we should wait to enjoy it until after we’ve left this place,” said Marjorie.

  She turned to Hamid, who looked ready to cross the wooden beam, which now spanned either side of the room. Around it, empty space hinted at a miserable fall if unlucky enough. Anyone who had that misfortune would likely break a bone, Marjorie imagined with a wince. Worse still, there would be no way out once you fell—only the knowledge of starvation ahead. “You stay here,” she ordered Hamid, and his face fell.

  “We’ll hold the fort back here, huh?” Frank said to him, wrapping an arm around the boy and tousling his hair. Based on the look on Hamid’s face, that wasn’t much comfort, but Marjorie relaxed knowing that at least he would be looked after. She next took off extraneous things—her jacket and the gun she had tucked into the back of her trousers—and placed them on the floor. Then she turned to Amna, “Ready?”

  She nodded and crossed the wooden plank. There were no dangers beyond it, so Marjorie prepared herself. She knew she would have to move quickly to maintain her balance.

  She stuck her arms out, picturing herself as one long straight line, and pulled her abdominal muscles in tight—that helped push her fear down. After taking one deep breath, off she went.

  She didn’t dare look down. The board shook underfoot, but at least it was heavy enough not to move around too much. Still, even after making it to the other side, she was on edge. She couldn’t let herself relax yet knowing she had to go back.

  Amna reached for Marjorie’s hand, bringing her back to the present. She took it as soon as it was within reach and flashed a relieved smile. “Let’s see what we have,” she said.

  The two women crossed to the other end of the antechamber—to the box. A grimy layer of dust covered it, but even that couldn’t hide its value. Or its beauty.

  It must’ve been worth a fortune, Marjorie guessed. The wood had been painted with a stain over and over again until it gleamed in the light. Gold leaf coated the box in elaborate designs—the image of a flowering tree, its fruit bursting and ready to be eaten.

  Marjorie ran her fingers over the box. She picked it up, feeling the weight of it between her hands. She thought about her father—the look on his face as she handed this precious object over to him. She saw the creases in his eyes as he smiled, excited, like a small boy opening a present.

  The box was alluring. She felt herself almost in a dream, and she didn’t want to wake up. Her eyes followed the designs again and again to the tree, back to the fruit. Did this mean the Tree actually existed? What would it be like to taste that fruit?

  There was no key to this box, no way of opening it. Damn, thought Marjorie.

  A warm hand on her arm disrupted her thoughts. She came back into herself. Amna looked at her, worry lining her face. She spoke in Arabic, and strangely enough, Marjorie could understand. She was asking her if she was okay.

  “I’m fine,” Marjorie said, carefully wrapping the box in a cloth. She fit it into her satchel, slightly alarmed at how heavy it felt on her side. She had to shift her weight to compensate for it.

  Going back along the wooden plank was easier—maybe because they were leaving. Or maybe it was because Marjorie already felt like she was floating. This was a significant find. Not the Tree itself, if it was even out there—but one step closer to everything.

  Frank reached out to her at the other end. First, she handed him the satchel, which he put on the ground. Next, she took his offered hand while stepping off the plank. She liked how he smiled at her, all congratulations. He has dimples, she noticed. She wanted to reach out and touch them. The warmth and pressure on her arm comforted her too. “You did well, Miss Hart.”

  “We all did,” she said, the spell broken now.

  Marjorie was the first to go down the scaffolding, but moments after starting, a sound went off nearby. She froze, listening. Someone walking? Maybe the patrol that evening. Soon, two soldiers came into view. They chatted amiably with one another below. Her heart hammered in her chest. She didn’t want to imagine what would happen if they were caught.

  Moments passed, and the sound of shuffling feet and merry voices drifted off. Time to move. She continued down, but once again stopped moments later. Her bag was stuck. It must’ve looped around something when she stopped so suddenly. She couldn’t see it in the dark, but after a few tugs, it came loose.

  She descended once more, and this time encountered no problems. Feet on the ground, she looked up. Hamid was next, with Frank behind him. Amna, Baraz, and Taavi followed at the rear. Finally, they were all back on solid ground.

  They dropped off Baraz and Taavi at their apartment. By the time the four of them got back to Amna’s apartment, it was the middle of the night.

  Amna’s kitchen was small—a corridor, really, that opened into a cramped sitting area just big enough for a table. Amna put coffee on, and soon the air smelled of fresh grounds. Hamid quickly made his way to a cushion Amna had set on the ground. Shoulders sagging, he curled up in a pile. Frank spread a worn and cozy blanket over him.

  Amna poured the coffee and brought it to them. She said something in Arabic, which Frank, as usual, translated: “Here you are, she says.” Then she handed a mug to Marjorie. Just one smell told her the coffee was strong and bitter.

  “Thank you,” Marjorie replied, her voice thin from exhaustion. She wanted to sleep, but even more than that, she wanted to examine what they had found.

  Amna brought a kerosene lantern from her room to make the space brighter. She set it on the table and opened a small panel at the front of the lantern, where the wick sat. Upon opening, the panel squeaked in protest. Amna lit a match, which sparked in a rush, and touched it to the candle within. As the lantern flooded the room with light, Amna shook the match in her hand, extinguishing the small flame. Within moments, the air smelled of burning wood and oil.

  While Amna busied herself, Marjorie retrieved the box from her rucksack and unwrapped the cloth around it. She placed it on the small table, and the three of them stood around it. Then she
unrolled her father’s map, careful not to damage it. She was so grateful to have it back. Finally, she removed the necklace and placed it on the table too. Surely with all these artifacts and clues, they could figure out the next step.

  Frank took out a small pair of glasses and polished them with a handkerchief before placing them on his face. “What?” he asked, catching Marjorie’s stare. A small smile hovered over her lips.

  “You look so different in glasses,” she said. “Almost studious.”

  He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Every once in a while it pays to look professional.”

  They turned their attention back to the artifacts.

  “So,” Marjorie said. “We’re that much closer to finding the supposed Tree of Life.”

  Her eyes rested on the box. She had hoped the key might fit it, but upon closer inspection, she realized the key was much too small. There was no way this was the key to the box. Okay, she thought, so much for that.

  Now she gestured to the map. “What can you tell us about this map, Mr. Ryan?” But he didn’t need to look at it to tell her what she wanted to know.

  “Your father drew that map last year,” he said. “The clues on it are derived from myth. Most scholars in today’s world don’t believe Eden ever existed at all.”

  “Myth is your specialty,” Marjorie pointed out.

  Frank gave her a sideways glance, smirking. “Some believe the Garden of Eden alluded to Babylon. Have you heard of the famous gardens?”

  He retrieved a small book from his things, worn and dusty, and flipped through the pages. Using his pointer finger, he traced the lines. “There!” he said. He showed them: a drawing of a detailed city, a series of squares stacked on top of one another and encased in greenery and flowers.

  He left the book on the table. “We could start there,” he offered.

  “But where is there, precisely? Isn’t this yet another myth?” She rolled her eyes. This was a fool’s errand—probably each clue would only lead to another clue and then to disappointment.