Authors: Kelee Morris
~*~
The archeology department was housed in a long, three-story brick building covered in vines that wrapped themselves around its tall, arched windows. It was how I imagined college would look when I was young, not the enormous, modern, concrete structures that had taken over most of the campus.
I mounted the cracked steps that reminded me of Dr. Stewart’s front porch and pushed open one of the building’s enormous wooden doors. Inside, ugly florescent fixtures hung from tall ceilings. The broad wooden staircase was worn gray from countless shoes. As I climbed, my footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell.
When I reached the second floor, I could hear a class in session. Glancing in, I saw Thomas Cheng at the front of the room, lecturing to unseen students. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but he appeared much more animated than the reserved young man I met at the party.
I ventured further down the empty hallway until I found room 210. The door was open. Nina sat behind a modest desk covered in neat stacks of papers. She looked up and smiled warmly. It was only when I stepped inside her narrow office that I realized Dr. Stewart was also there, sitting off to her side on a wide windowsill. He seemed to be hanging back, as if he didn’t want to be involved in this conversation.
Nina rose to greet me. “Thank you for coming.”
“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Nelson,” Dr. Stewart said, his voice neutral. Our eyes met briefly, but then he turned to Nina. I sensed that something had changed since the last time I saw him. He seemed on edge, like a skater after a hard fall. I wondered if there had been bad news from the North Koreans.
Nina offered me a seat and poured me a cup of green tea from a heavy iron kettle as we exchanged pleasantries. Dr. Stewart sat quietly in the background. I thought I could feel his eyes on me, but it must have been my imagination, because every time I glanced his way, he was looking at Nina.
Nina returned to her desk and opened her laptop. “A friend of mine at the University of Barcelona emailed me last week,” she said. “He heard about our work in North Korea.”
“I imagine there are spies everywhere.” An inside joke, but Dr. Stewart didn’t take the bait. Did he even want me here? Interviewing me must have been Nina’s idea, though I suspected Ashland Stewart was not the type of man who gave up power willingly.
“A few years ago,” Nina continued, “my friend came across a 16
th
Century journal in the rare books library. It was written by a young monk named Álvaro Ferreira. He traveled with Francis Xavier to Japan to convert people to Christianity. According to a contemporary account my friend found, Brother Ferreira was returning from one of the islands when his boat was caught in a storm. He was shipwrecked on the Korean peninsula for almost a year. He kept a journal of his time there, but when he was finally rescued, Xavier ordered it destroyed. Apparently, Ferreira either hid it or made a copy.”
“It sounds fascinating,” I said, “but what does it have to do with Magoa?”
“Probably nothing,” Dr. Stewart said, his voice cool and distant. “Any trace of Magoa had likely disappeared long before Ferreira arrived.”
“Then why bother translating it?” I asked.
“I never discount Nina’s intuition.” Dr. Stewart said. “She thinks whatever Ferreira wrote that made Xavier want to suppress it may have something to do with Magoa.”
Nina looked surprised. “Dr. Stewart thought it was worth pursuing too. He pushed hard to get a translator added to the department budget.”
So he wants a translator, just not me.
“Is this a permanent or temporary position?” I asked.
“If the journal turns out to be useful, then you’d do further work to prepare it for publication,” Nina said. “After that, the job would end.”
I was being offered a temporary job translating an obscure journal that would likely lead nowhere, and I would be working for a man who clearly didn’t want me here.
And there was something else—the feeling percolating just under my skin. I had been able to suppress it since that night, but now that I was in a room with him again... I didn’t want to be attracted to this man. The words of an anti-drug counselor Anna and I heard speak popped into my head.
If it feels wrong, run the other way.
“I really appreciate you thinking of me,” I said, keeping my eyes focused on Nina, “but I don’t think I’m a good fit for this position.”
I stood, wanting to make my escape as quickly as possible.
Dr. Stewart also rose. “Why not?” he asked. He sounded vaguely perturbed.
Because of you.
“I’m not sure if I even have time for a job right now,” I said aloud. “I have a lot of responsibilities already.”
“We can work around your schedule,” Dr. Stewart said. “The hours are very flexible.”
I eyed him. Why did he suddenly do an about face when I turned down the job? “Isn’t there anyone at the university who could translate it? That would save you some money.”
“I think if you knew more about Magoa,” Dr. Stewart said, “you might find this an interesting assignment.” He stepped over to the office door and closed it. He moved back to his perch and motioned me to sit again. I hesitated a moment, then complied.
“Magoa was an isolated city state that thrived during the Three Kingdoms period,” he said. “It was surprisingly evolved. We found numerous iron implements and stone statues. Many of them were figures of women.”
“Were they some kind of fertility symbols?” I asked.
“That’s what we thought at first. But then we uncovered inscriptions. They told a story I never would have suspected. Magoa, we came to realize, was a matriarchy and its leader was considered a goddess.”
The revelation sent a sharp jolt though my body. I wasn’t sure why. “The crown you showed me?”
Dr. Stewart nodded. His eyes drifted subtly downwards. My cheeks flushed at the memory of my dream. “You can understand why Nina was so intrigued by your tattoo,” Dr. Stewart said. “It was a very odd coincidence that, 6,000 miles and two millennia removed, she would meet someone who bore the Magoan goddess symbol.”
As I walked home from campus, I phoned Matt at his office. “They offered you the job on the spot?” he said after I told him about the interview.
“They need someone right away,” I said, even though they hadn’t told me that. “I was their best candidate.”
I could feel Matt frowning at the other end of the line. “How are you going to have time for this?”
“I’ll make the time. Matt,” I said. “I need this. I need to do something for me.”
~*~
That afternoon, I rummaged through the cupboards trying to find something halfway nutritious to turn into dinner while doubts pinged like shrapnel against the inside of my skull. Why had Dr. Stewart seemed so distant, but at the same time wanted so much to hire me? Was it because of my tattoo? But we had both agreed that it was a coincidence.
As I pulled out myriad varieties of macaroni and cheese—shells, Velveeta, organic—another thought sent a tingle down my spine. Ashland Stewart’s strong hands and penetrating eyes had slithered deep into through my subconscious.
Did he feel the same way?
I immediately dismissed the idea. That was the kind of silly fantasy I had indulged in when I was a teenage bagger at the IGA. I would imagine Robin Zander, Bryan Adams, or some other 80s musical heartthrob suddenly appearing in my checkout line. He’d stare at me while I bagged his Doritos and six pack of Coke. (No beer, because Cliff, our balding, tobacco chewing assistant manager, would have to bag that for me.) As he accepted his purchases, his hand would graze mine. His eyes would tell the full story. The tour bus was waiting outside. He wanted me on it. I would be his, to satisfy his needs and mine. He would whisk me away from Bicknell, Indiana forever.
“Can I have some money?”
I turned to see Lily standing in the doorway. She was dressed in black leggings and a cute blue sweater. “What for?”
“A movie.”
I found my purse on a chair in the living room and came back with my wallet. I handed her $20. “Who are you going with?”
“Just some friends.” She stuffed the bill in her jeans.
“Not Chase?” I knew this was an awkward way to bring him up, but it was better than nothing.
Lily glared at me. “I hate Anna.”
“What’s Anna got to do with it?”
“I left my phone on the table and when I asked her if she looked at it, she said yes. She doesn’t even have the intelligence to lie about it.”
“She just never worries about hiding things.”
Lily frowned, as if the concept were impossible to grasp. “I can’t believe I have two more years to endure this.” She turned to leave.
“Lily, I wasn’t trying to accuse you of something. We’d just like to meet him at some point.”
“Fine, whatever.” And she was gone.
~*~
I followed another winding asphalt path that led to the rare books library. I had been to the university’s main library several times. Monolithic and impersonal, it was all concrete and hard edges. Its only personality came from the books it contained. I didn’t realize that its predecessor still existed. The path deposited me in front of an imposing, neo-Gothic building. Its enormous stained glass windows reminded me of a cathedral, which was likely the architect’s intention. It was built at a time when books were honored and worshipped as more than just another form of media to be consumed.
My footsteps echoed in the high-ceilinged lobby as I crossed to the reception desk. Magnificent chandeliers hung overhead. Nina waited there, greeting me with a smile. An attractive young woman who looked like she just arrived from an exclusive prep school manned the desk. Nina introduced me to Caroline Edelman. “I’m here most days,” Caroline said. “We have a very small staff. Not many people come in unless they’re doing research.”
Caroline disappeared in the back. When she returned a short time later, she was holding an ancient, leather-bound volume in white-gloved hands. “It arrived from Barcelona yesterday,” she said, setting it gently on the counter. “You have to wear the gloves whenever you handle it. The paper could be damaged by the oil on your skin.”
Nina picked up a laptop from the desk and we followed Caroline through the gloomy, towering stacks. It felt like I was walking through a mausoleum. There didn’t appear to be another patron in the building.
She led us to a far corner of the library, where a solid-looking table with several heavy wooden chairs around it waited. A single, narrow window high above it allowed a bit of sunlight to splash across the blue carpeting. “I thought this might be a good spot for you,” Caroline said. “You get some sunlight, and nobody will bother you.”
“It’s good,” I said. “I like the peace and quiet.”
“Julia has three children,” Nina explained.
Caroline nodded as if she understood and placed the book on the table. She peeled off the gloves and handed them to me. “I probably don’t need to tell you that food and drinks aren’t allowed in the library. You should never place anything on top of the book, and, of course, never leave it unattended.”
Caroline returned to her desk. Nina watched over my shoulder as I slipped on the gloves and opened the cover. The monk had written his name on the first page in large, flowing cursive. Thankfully, he appeared to have good penmanship, though I knew it would take time for my modern eyes to adjust to this decorative style.
“What do you think?” Nina asked.
“It’ll take me a while to get up to speed, but I should be able to translate it. I just hope it’s not a dead end.”
“It may be,” Nina admitted. She handed over the computer. “But when I got the email from my friend, something told me it would be useful.” She smiled slightly, as if embarrassed by her admission. “When we first arrived at Magoa, I knew there was something mystical about it. Dr. Stewart was surprised when we translated the inscriptions and discovered it was a goddess culture, but I wasn’t.”
“Thanks for finding my resume and convincing him to hire me.”
Nina looked puzzled. “You didn’t send it to Dr. Stewart?”
“No,” I said, confused. “What made you think that?”
“He was the one who gave it to me and asked me to call you in for an interview.”
~*~
“He wants you.”
“Stop it, Van,” I groused as we loaded our groceries into the back of her BMW. The Whole Foods parking lot was crowded for a weekday—mothers taking advantage of school to do some gathering. “If you saw the hot young grad student who was all over him at the dinner, you wouldn’t think that.”
“You’re intelligent, attractive, you’ve got perky tits for someone our age,” Van countered. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
“’Someone our age’ is the operative phrase here. I might be able to hold my own in the senior division, but I can’t compete with a 20-something. Not that I have any interest in Ashland Stewart.”
Van closed the trunk. “I’ve always wanted to have a torrid office affair, but first I guess I’d need to work in an office.”
“My office is a table in the rare books library. I don’t think it sees much action.”
“Then let’s hope you find something steamy in Brother Ferreira’s journal to liven things up.”
~*~
For the next three weeks, I adjusted to my new routine. Monday through Thursday, after getting Mackenzie to the bus stop, I hiked over to the rare books library. The translation went slowly at first as I tried to decipher Brother Ferreira’s handwriting and looked up archaic words and phrases. At three o’clock, I would hurry home to walk CC, meet the school bus again, and drive kids to various afterschool activities. In the evenings, after dinner was consumed and homework was done, I caught up on my PTA responsibilities before helping a recalcitrant Mackenzie get ready for bed. It was exhausting and Matt wasn’t particularly supportive. Of course, he traveled at least a day or two almost every week, but even when he was home, he rarely volunteered to make dinner, do laundry, or clean the house. I resented it and told him so. He grudgingly started to pick up some of the slack.
But the quiet and solitude of the library more than made up for the stress. I rarely saw anyone other than Caroline, who ventured back to my corner once or twice a day to chat about school (She was a freshman creative writing major.), her annoying roommate, and boys. She was sweet, though we had nothing in common. She grew up in a wealthy East Coast family, attended an exclusive prep school, and arrived on campus having never taken a drink, smoked a cigarette, or kissed a boy.
What would his lips feel like? Would his touch be strong or gentle? Could he satisfy me?
I jerked my head up from the journal and quickly scanned my hushed surroundings, afraid that my daydream had just reverberated through the stacks. I tried to focus on my work but my thoughts kept drifting back to him.
It’s harmless,
I told myself.
Nothing’s going to happen.
~*~
Nina was encouraging, despite my slow progress. Every Thursday I emailed her my work. She responded by inviting me to the Friday dinners at Dr. Stewart’s house, but I always found an excuse, telling her that one of the girls had an activity or I was exhausted after the long week. Those reasons were true, but I knew I was also avoiding the gatherings because I didn’t want to stir up my wayward fantasies, and because when I did encounter the real-life Ashland Stewart on campus, I appeared to make him uncomfortable. Two incidents occurred during my first month on the job that confirmed this perception.
On a pleasant fall day two weeks after I started, I decided to eat lunch outside and found an empty bench at the edge of a large, grassy expanse. I ate my ham and Swiss sandwich while I soaked up the fresh air and vibrant colors and watched the students stretched out on the fading grass.
I spotted Dr. Stewart immediately; his tall, mature form stood in stark contrast to the laidback undergraduates. He crossed the quad in resolute strides, his long leather coat trailing behind him like black tail feathers. He was a magnetic presence, and I noticed several students follow his progress.
As he headed directly towards me, I put down my food and waited. I felt like a child standing on the edge of a tall diving platform, my heart beating rapidly. His eyes seemed to grow brighter as they caught sight of me. Or maybe I wanted to believe that. But then, like a sudden shift in a static landscape, he abruptly changed directions, heading away from the archeology building and me. I was dumbfounded as I watched his retreating figure disappear down a path.
What the fuck?
Had he really seen me? Did he avoid me intentionally? A wild thought flashed across my brain.
He knew my fantasies.
Of course, that was absurd. But then why did he avoid me? I returned to the library, confused and angry both at Dr. Stewart for his apparent cold-shoulder and at myself for giving a damn.
A second incident occurred the following week. I was heading up to the archeology building’s second floor to see Nina when I encountered him descending the stairway with Vitoria by his side. “Hi, Julia,” Vitoria greeted me warmly. Dr. Stewart, on the other hand, offered only a brief nod and a curt, “How is your work going, Mrs. Nelson?”
“Good,” I said brightly, refusing to let his aloofness bother me.
I surreptitiously considered his phlegmatic face as I shared some of Brother Ferreira’s journey so far. But as I jabbered away, I became aware of a tingling sensation deep down in my groin.
No, I don’t want him!
I silently screamed, but the moistness seeping through my panties belied my admonition.
I made an excuse and hurried away, my footsteps clapping across the second floor hallway’s scuffed wood floor. I felt his eyes following my retreat, or was it just my imagination again?
I forced myself to stop and take a deep breath before entering Nina’s office.
This is ridiculous. Why is this man upsetting me so much?
Stepping inside, I encountered a small, slender Asian man unpacking two bento boxes filled with sushi. “You must be looking for Nina,” he said, He held out a hand. “I’m her husband, Peter.”
I smiled, praying the agitation swirling inside me wasn’t as obvious as it felt.
As we waited for Nina to return from the department office, I chatted with Peter while my heart slowly returned to its normal pace. Intelligent, if a bit reserved, he was an assistant professor in the Chemistry Department. We talked about school, family, and work. After my encounter with Dr. Stewart, it was good to find someone who seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me.
I saw Ashland Stewart again the following Wednesday, but this time he didn’t see me. It was a bright, crisp day and the afternoon sun had shifted until it was pouring onto my shoulders like warm syrup. I finally closed the journal and carried it and my computer back to the reception desk, where Caroline was cataloging books. I peeled the white gloves off my sweating hands and left everything for safekeeping while I went outside for some fresh air.
Standing on the wide stone steps, I breathed in the pleasant aroma of decaying leaves. A towering elm stood near the building, one of its impressive branches almost reaching what I guessed was my window. Elena stood in its crimson shade, her pale, bare legs luminescent against the foliage that covered the ground. She shifted from one Ugg-clad foot to the other as if she were waiting impatiently for someone.