Authors: Linda Lambert
Strolling back toward the villa, Justine noticed a particularly huge star emitting large spokes of light that made it appear to be a child’s drawing of the star of Bethlehem. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing toward the southern horizon.
“Some say it is a space station, others say the North Star, some say it’s Mars or Venus, others say it’s something even more mysterious, like an alien ship.”
“Others?” she teased. “How many women have you brought here?”
“Just you,” he said.
Justine slipped out of the quiet house the next morning for a run. Back in her room, she stepped into a one-piece black swimsuit and a put on a white cotton shirt. Placing sunscreen, glasses, and a sarong into her canvas bag, she recalled the day when she’d pulled the codex out of a duplicate of this very bag. Little had she known that the small book would pry open her need for adventure even as she attended to her new job and attempted to define her life. She had a devil of a time pulling those three things apart.
You probably can’t have all
, she realized, even though she’d told Nasser last night that she could.
Nasser was waiting with a cup of tea. “Milk? Lemon? Sugar?” he asked, eyeing her appreciatively as she descended the stairs. “Did you sleep well?”
“Just a little milk, thank you. The best sleep I’ve had in a long time. I was quite energized this morning. And you?”
“I slept long and well. Just woke up. I thought I heard you leave the house this morning.”
“My morning run. I’m quite addicted,” she said, somewhat guiltily. She hadn’t invited him. “Join me tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. I’d love to. I see you’re already dressed for the beach—I’ll be ready in a few moments.”
“I’ll just drink my tea on the terrace while you change.” She smiled. In the morning light she could distinguish flowers planted in orderly rows around the paths, leading toward the sparkling water: blazing yellow acacia, a few flamboyant royal palms and fan palms, hibiscus, birds of paradise, oleander, crepe myrtle, and generous bougainvillea climbing up onto several terraces. Two hoopoes drew her attention—beautiful birds, starkly black and white, like little penguins.
Walking with Nasser toward the sea, Justine pointed to small rattan umbrellas scattered like Chinese hats along the southern beach. The atmosphere was buoyant, invigorating, as if the air had more oxygen here. None of it seemed real.
Nasser spread two large towels under an umbrella and set a small chest of water to the side. “Do you swim? What a silly question. Would you like to swim?”
“There are some things I can’t do!” she insisted.
“Such as?”
“I’ll think of something,” she laughed, and ran toward the water.
They swam for almost an hour before emerging exhausted from the warm sea and throwing themselves onto the waiting towels. Nasser brushed the sand from Justine’s feet while she dried her hair with the edge of the towel. “Do you know how to play siga?”
“Siga? Never heard of it,” she said, turning onto her elbows.
Nasser rolled onto his stomach and drew four parallel lines in the sand, then crossed them with four perpendicular lines. “It is an ancient Egyptian game.” It looked like tic-tac-toe. He gathered a small handful of shells for Justine and kept an assortment of pebbles for himself. “The objective of the game is somewhat like chess; each player aims to take the pieces of the opponent. Let’s play a practice game.” After Nasser had won three games and Justine the fourth, she called a truce.
Leaning on one elbow, they faced each other. “I’ve been thinking about our discussion last night about the Nazarene Essenes. Will you tell me more?”
“Let’s see . . . what would be of most interest? We believe in what we call an Order of One, meaning that the Godhead is One, yet made up of a sort of trinity: the Godhead, or source, who is neither male nor female; the father, or only begotten son; and the mother, or only begotten daughter. The cosmic union between the Father God and the Mother God brought forth Creation.”
“Only begotten daughter? A woman goddess in the trinity? Has she arrived on the scene yet?”
“I don’t think so. We have something to look forward to.” Nasser smiled at her excitement. “We believe in the equality of women. And, clearly, some women are more equal than others.” He threw a handful of sand across her legs. “We also believe that people with special powers can channel knowledge from the ancients.”
“Such as?”
“Ever heard of Edgar Cayce?”
“A famous channeler, wasn’t he? In the early part of the last century, I think.”
“Correct. He was a Nazarene Essene. Much of our recent knowledge about the time of Jesus Christ was channeled though Cayce. For instance, what Jesus was doing during the ‘silent years.’”
“‘Silent years’?” The ones before he started his ministry?”
“Exactly. Except for the story of his chasing the Rabbis out of the Temple at age twelve, we knew little about him.”
“But you do now?”
“More or less. Cayce revealed that Jesus was not raised as a Jew, but lived among the Essenes, perhaps at Mt. Carmel. That would account for many of his teachings, which seem in sharp contrast to Jewish law at the time. In one of the last years of Cayce’s life—1922, I believe––he gave a speech in Alabama where he noted that DaVinci had understood that Mary Magdalene was an important disciple and painted her to the right of Jesus in his work
The Last Supper
.”
“So that’s where Dan Brown got the idea for
The DaVinci Code
!”
“No doubt. Even more interesting, I think, is what the findings at Nag Hammadi revealed. Those scrolls contained many of the Essene scriptures, such as notions about the Godhead, women, and the symbolism of the resurrection.”
“Those finds are more familiar to me. We learned in Alexandria that some of them are still being translated.”
“Now it’s my turn to be amazed. I had no idea that there might be more scriptures to come.” Nasser smoothed sunscreen on Justine’s back and arms. “These straw umbrellas are deceptive: the sun’s rays come right through them.”
A wave of desire moved though her thighs as Nasser massaged her. “For Lucretius, the poet my mother was named for, truth was the cornerstone of moral behavior and free will allowed us to choose truthfulness. Without choice, we cannot take responsibility for our actions.” As she relaxed under his touch, she wondered where her choices would take her before the weekend was over. “This massage feels awfully good. And that is the absolute truth.” She laughed, turning to brush a curl out of Nasser’s eye.
Tilting his head, he caught her hand as it dropped from his forehead. He pressed it to his lips, gazing at her intently.
A white wooden boat with unfurled, billowing sails appeared on the horizon, drawing their attention away from each other. It moved steadily toward the shallow waters near the shore. Four bare-chested men busied themselves in gathering and folding large fishing nets with aging floats. The fading blue letters on the side said
Isis
.
“The water is shallow here,” Nasser said, raising his hand to his forehead to get a better look. “They’re bound to get stuck.” At the last moment, the boat turned slightly, dropped its sails, and came to a stop as the bow plunged through the watery sand, tilting the vessel in a southerly direction. One of the young men jumped into the water while another handed him a heavy basket that he carried toward the beach.
Justine tensed. She was surprised to notice her own mounting fear at the stranger’s appearance. The incidents in the market and on the desert road had left her quite shaky.
“He has fish to sell,” declared Nasser with delight. “Let’s go see.”
They met the young man at the edge of the water and examined the fish: drug, tahela, blue crab, calamari, shrimp. “What would you like, Justine? We can grill these tonight.” She selected a drug and six giant shrimp. Nasser bargained with the young man, settled on a price, and placed the fish into the small ice chest he’d brought with him. He had been prepared.
The youthful fish purveyor made his way back to the boat, clinging to the side as it moved down the shore toward other sunbathers. Justine’s face was ashen.
“Are you okay?” Nasser asked, frowning with concern.
“I’m fine. I seem to be getting a little paranoid.” She told him about the incident on the desert road.
Nasser was indignant. “This episode sheds a new light on the previous incident. I had almost dismissed those as pranks or misunderstandings. What has been done to catch the thugs?”
“Amir called the police. Although we filed a report, we didn’t feel like we could share the whole story about the codex. Consequently, they’re without a motive. Amir is not hopeful that they’ll take any action. As to why I didn’t tell you—I’ve tried to figure this out myself. I guess I have an aversion to being protected. Probably a holdover from my father’s excessive protectiveness.” She shrugged apologetically. “I do apologize for keeping you in the dark.” She was beginning to lose track of the secrets that she hadn’t told Nasser. Ever since the discussion with Andrea at San Giovanni, she’d been more wary, more cautious.
Nasser reached out and touched her hair. “Do I make you feel overprotected?” His voice seemed far away.
“You make me feel protected.” She smiled, color returning to her face.
Nasser was quiet for a several moments. “Have you had enough sun for today? Perhaps you could rest and read while I clean the fish and finish my novel.” Justine nodded. Nasser brushed the remaining sand off their feet, shook out the towels and threw them over his shoulder, then grabbed the ice chest. Justine put on her shirt and sarong, feeling the warm sand rise between her toes.
“Do you know about fish rice?” Nasser asked as they prepared dinner.
“Fish rice? You mean rice that only goes with fish? Teach me,” said Justine. The shower and nap had relaxed her immensely. She now wore her favorite white linen dress with a flowing skirt, one that she considered exceedingly romantic in an Ingrid Bergman sort of way.
Nasser handed her an apron. He chopped up a red onion and sautéed it in butter until it was golden brown. Justine cut the tomatoes and stacked them on a plate with white cheese, pickles, and marinated eggplant. Sliced lemons were arranged on a separate plate.
“Now, we just put in the rice and add enough water to cook it. Lid on, heat down, and wallah!” announced Nasser, swinging a large wooden spoon in the air.
He seems to have recovered from the earlier slight
, she thought, not at all sure he could forgive her for keeping the desert road incident from him. “Love it,” she said. “Are we ready to grill the fish?”
“Almost. You know, if I were a devout Essene I wouldn’t eat fish or chicken. We’re vegetarians. But I am weak,” he said with a hint of irony.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know—about this weakness, I mean—I wouldn’t have brought chicken last night.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and set her chin on his shoulder.
“Not to worry. Eating living things is not my only transgression.”
Later, Nasser poured another glass of champagne as they enjoyed the last of their delicate morsels of Red Sea drug. Candles and moonlight illuminated the terrace, sparkled the champagne, and lent a radiant glow to Justine’s white dress. She retrieved her matching sweater to guard against the moist chill moving in from the sea.
“It’s been a wonderful day, Nasser. A perfect day, in fact. You’re a terrific cook. I either burn fish or serve it too raw. I told you there were some things I couldn’t do.”
He placed his hand on hers and held it there.
“What was the novel you were finishing this afternoon?” she asked, slipping her sandals off and tucking her legs into the folds of her dress.
“Hemingway’s
Farewell to Arms
,” he said, running two fingers along the inside of her wrist. “Have you read it?”
“Many years ago. Are you fond of him?”
“He has a way of creating conditions that test men. In
Farewell
, he recreated the chaos of war in Italy and showed how men respond to a world where they have no control. Hemingway gets at the depth of character, I think. Make sense?” The bougainvillea curled around the roof and flowed onto the terrace floor. Nasser picked one of the delicate fuchsia petals off her sweater and placed it behind her ear.