The Cairo Codex (14 page)

Justine and Amir glanced at each other.

“You will write everything down?” Ibrahim persisted.

“Of course, I will write everything in great detail.” She paused. “What do you think it is, sir?” She kept her voice steady. Patient.

“What you have here is an ancient codex, the ancestor of the book. Think of the evolution of writing as the scroll, the codex, and then the book. You see how the codex opens naturally in the middle?”

Amir added, “Each sheet is a whole piece of papyrus, with a spine created by tying the pages together. You can see that these pages have been forcibly folded for a very long time, causing them to crumble finely along the spine. This cover must be made of sheep or calf leather reinforced by glued layers of papyrus.”

Ibrahim looked up from the codex. “As to who may have written it . . . there are many tests to run and people to consult. Be careful whom you trust,” he warned. “May I keep it for a while?”

“I was hoping that you would want to spend more time with the book—the codex,” Justine said. She forced herself to tamp down her excitement. “But why do you say to be careful whom I trust? Surely I’m not in danger.”

Ibrahim’s expression darkened. “Many of the major finds of the last decades have religious implications. Dangerous territory,” he said.

“Grandfather’s right,” Amir acknowledged.

“Understandable, I guess,” she said, shrugging slightly, though she wasn’t sure she did understand. “What are our next steps?”

Her shrug had not escaped the now-alert professor. “My dear, don’t dismiss the possibility of danger once you’re in possession of a provocative artifact. As to the next steps, we will need to hand it over to the Supreme Council of Antiquities at some point. That’s why I have asked you to carefully document the find. These notes will accompany the artifact when we formally make the transfer. Fortunately, I have enough credibility with the Council that they may not question my decision to do some initial tests. In fact, it will be helpful to them.” He stared down at the codex again, his glasses slipping to the end of his long nose.

Amir glanced at Justine, his eyes revealing a flicker of disappointment at his grandfather’s willingness to delay the transfer to the Supreme Council. She hoped his respect for his grandfather would trump his feeling of obligation to his boss. “What kinds of tests are you referring to, sir?” she asked. “Of course, I’m aware of carbon-14 dating. What others do you have in mind?” She reached for the teapot and refilled each cup.

“Carbon-14 dating of the leather and papyrus is the starting point,” offered Amir. “Translation by experts in Aramaic script, the primary language of the book, will help to identify the language patterns and forms used during the period in question. The contents will provide us with context clues—who wrote it, his habits, behaviors. As you can see, a patina or chemical buildup has formed on the cover.” Justine could see that Amir was becoming equally intrigued by the mystery.

Ibrahim nodded at his grandson, his right hand trembling as he laid it lightly on the ancient codex, his crippled fingers pointing to the glossy part of the surface. “And if you can find the place from which the codex came, the patina on the crypt’s sandstone can be tested as well.”

“Then neither of you think someone might have dropped it in the crypt before I arrived?” Justine asked.

“Unlikely,” said Ibrahim, rubbing his nose underneath his glasses. “An old codex like this, not something to be carrying around.”

Justine nodded and, noting Ibrahim’s exhaustion, reminded herself that he, too, had been through a harrowing experience in the last couple of days. “Perhaps we should be going,” she suggested. Amir quickly agreed. She picked up her purse and canvas bag.

As Amir reached for the doorknob, Ibrahim added, “Andrea LeMartin, the prominent Aramaic script translator from the Sorbonne, is a visiting professor this semester at AUC. We may be able to consult with her.”

As Justine turned back around, she noticed that Ibrahim’s eyes now beamed with the playfulness of a young boy. “Will you take me to my office tomorrow, my boy?” he asked.

“I’ll pick you up at nine in the morning. Now get some rest.”

“I was impressed with how clear your grandfather’s mind is. After all he’s been through,” Justine said on the drive back to the Shepheard.

“He hasn’t had such a rare find in his hands for many years, perhaps since he worked with your father. I just hung around as a kid, but your dad treated me like a son.”

Justine felt a sharp pang in her chest. “The son he never had,” she murmured, but Amir heard her.

He chuckled. “Hardly. But I think I know how you feel. Zachariah was always grandfather’s favorite.” He glanced at her. “Tell me about what happened yesterday.”

Justine swallowed hard and gazed at Amir with affection. She told him of her trip with Nadia to Birqash, the children and their families, the school.

“And three children died in the collapse? Tragic.” He remained quiet for a while, his eyes glistening. “Zachariah was involved in a tragic incident once. He was volunteering at a school in Bulaq and the school bus stalled on a train track.”

“The train couldn’t stop?” Justine shivered as she visualized the impending accident.

Amir shook his head. “Zachariah was with the kids in the back. Six were killed, yet he survived . . . it was hard for him to forgive himself. It’s called survivor’s guilt, I think . . .” He stopped as though there was so much more to say. “I must call Nadia. See what I can do. And I’m due in Shoubra in an hour.”

“The teacher lives in Shoubra. It’s pretty damaged.” Justine watched his profile—his throbbing temples, his reddened eyes. “Just let me off near the train station up ahead. I can walk from there.”

“Thanks,” he said. He pulled up to the curb behind a line of buses and leaned over to open the door. Drawing back, he met her eyes and said, “I understand from Nadia that your apartment will be ready soon. If I can help, let me know.”

“I will,” she said.

It was Wednesday, the third day after the earthquake—a lifetime ago. Nadia would soon be by to pick up Justine for their visit to the school in the City of the Dead. Justine’s cuts were healing nicely, but her bruises continued to spread beyond her bandages into pools of yellow and lavender. She managed to mask the evidence of injury with a long denim skirt and a blouse with wrist cuffs—except for her face, to which she applied more makeup.

Her internal clock was still crazy: she was waking too early and sleeping at odd hours, her dreams filled with strange images. This morning she’d set off at sunrise for a run—her first since the quake—then showered and dressed for a modest breakfast in The Caravan. Now, searching the seams of the magnificent room for earthquake damage, she noticed a vertical crack in the lowhanging balcony, damage that, no doubt, rendered it unsafe. Settling into a window seat, she was astonished once again by the chameleon nature of the Nile, its changing moods and colors—the pinks of morning among her favorites. Fashionable young Muslim women with matching scarves, purses, and shoes passed by on the sidewalk below. “We masquerade devoutness to fool our gods,” Mohammed had said.
I’m sure he meant God. Allah.

“Justine Jenner? Dr. Jenner?”

She glanced up from her morning tea and met the eyes of a man of about average height, not classically handsome, but somehow strangely sensuous. “I’m Justine Jenner. And you are?”

“Nasser Khalid,” he said. “I heard you were in town.” He placed his hands on the back of the chair across the table and leaned forward.

She raised an eyebrow and stared at him. “In a city of eighteen million, you heard I was in town?” The events of the past week had placed her on guard.

“Ah.” He smiled disarmingly. “You could use an explanation. Well, I teach part-time at AUC and your name was being bandied around in the faculty room. So I started asking questions.”

“Very resourceful,” she said. “But how did you know who I was?”

“The clerk at the desk told me you were having breakfast in here. And unless you had changed gender, taken to the veil, or aged thirty years, you were my only choice. Truthfully, I also saw you walk across campus with your dad once. I was a student of your father’s at Berkeley.”

Justine relaxed. “Cross-examination over. Please join me. I’m always delighted to meet a student of my father’s.” She closed the flap of the school project in front of her and moved it to one side.

“Durrell?” he asked as he sat down.

Justine was puzzled only momentarily before she realized he was making reference to Lawrence Durrell’s
Alexandria Quartet
, set in World War II Alexandria. Durrell was legendary in Egypt, making “Justine,” the title of the first book in the series, a popular name. Other than Nobel Prize–winner Naigub Maufouz, he was the most notable writer of the Egyptian scene.

“Two sources, really,” she replied. “My mother thought Durrell’s
Quartet
the best novels ever written, and my grandmother was smitten with D.H. Lawrence. Her name was Laurence. As is the custom in Egypt, her name was spelled with a U instead of a W.”

“You’re fortunate, it might have been ‘Balthazar,’” he said, referring to another title in the series. He gave her a crooked Harrison Ford grin.

“And you? Named after President Nasser, I assume.”

“Guilty as charged. My mother was hopelessly in love with him.” He paused and poured her another cup of tea from her own pot. “What brings you to Cairo?”

The grin stole her train of thought.
What brings me to Cairo?
she asked herself, embarrassedly aware that Nasser was watching her labor over an ordinary question. “I’m working with the UNESCO Community Schools for Girls project,” she finally said. “And you?”

“A unique agenda. Schools for girls. As for me, I’m Egyptian, and this is my home. After I finished at Berkeley, I searched for work with several archaeology teams here, but when that didn’t happen, I accepted a part-time teaching position at AUC. A couple of archaeology classes and one on ancient history. 101 stuff.” He shrugged.

“Do you enjoy teaching?” Suddenly self-conscious about the injury on her forehead, Justine touched her fingers to the discolored area and shook her head slightly so that a lock of hair flowed forward.

“I enjoy teaching, but would rather be digging.” He flashed that grin again.

“How long were you at Berkeley?”

“I finished in ’04. My first two years were on a scholarship at the University of Dayton in Ohio. Then I moved back to Cairo in the fall of ’04 and started at AUC the next spring.”

“What was it like being a student of my father’s?”

“Difficult sometimes,” he said, rubbing the ridge of his nose. “Your father is exceptionally knowledgeable and demanding, but also personable and supportive . . . But enough about me.” He nodded toward her forehead. “How did you survive the quake? I can’t help but notice that nasty bruise.”

“I was trapped in a crypt in Old Cairo. It collapsed around me. Scared me out of my wits,” she admitted. “Fortunate to have escaped at all, and with only a few cuts.” She briefly explained about the church, the darkness, and her escape with the help of the young docent.

“What an ordeal! Are you all right now?”

“Physically, yes, but on Monday we found that three children had been killed in one of our schools in Birqash. It has been quite a week so far.” She found herself staring at the table as a wave of sadness washed over her. She shook her head, forcing a smile. “Shall we order more tea?”

Nasser’s expression conveyed both empathy and charm.
How does he manage that?
“No tea for me now, thanks,” he said. “A horrible few days, but you seem to have survived well. Has it dampened your resolve?” His dark blue eyes matched his turtleneck sweater.

“If anything, it has strengthened my resolve. Witnessing the community of mourners and meeting the teacher face to face—seeing Nadia’s pains and hopes—I am drawn in deeply. Nadia is the woman I work with. These experiences make me feel honored to be a part of it all. But even so, I’m still trying to make sense of these three short days.”

“I almost envy you. Intensity speeds up life and makes it more meaningful,” Nasser said.