Authors: Chris Roberson
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Urban Life
Book of Secrets (13 page)
"That's not important. What does it say?" I paused for a beat, then added, "In general terms?"
"Okay, okay, let's see." She pushed her glasses back up on her nose, brought the magnifying glass in close, and then hunched over the page. "Here's something about some scandal, some secrets revealed… some hidden order of men… something about the northern secrets, or the northern mysteries… the book of the one eye… no, 'god'… the one-eyed god…. the revels of the infidels… the god in chains… and…"
Her finger froze over a scribble, and her mouth hung slack. She slowly sat upright, her finger still frozen in place, her mouth open.
"Shit," she whispered.
"What," I asked, leaning over her. "What?!"
"Aeschylus," she said quietly. "Shit."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
She slowly drew her hands in towards her, as though not to upset the air around her, and folded them in her lap. She stared into space for a long minute, and then turned her head to look at me.
"Where. Did. You. Get. This?"
"I. Can't. Tell. You." I answered, mocking her serious tone. "What. Does. It. Say?"
She sighed heavily, her shoulders dropping. "How much do you know about ancient literature?" she asked.
"I had to read
Huck Finn
in high school," I answered.
Huck Finn
in high school," I answered.
"Ancient, you philistine," she countered. "Ancient Greek literature."
"Like the man said to the tailor, 'Eumenides?'"
"Aeschylus."
"Nah, nah, the tailor says, 'Euripides?'"
"Shut. Up." She took a deep breath. "Aeschylus, the acknowledged father of the Greek theater; only something like seven of his plays have survived. Dozens of his plays, praised by the ancient world, are totally forgotten to us." She had lapsed into lecturing, but she was a professor so I forgave her. "Of the ones we have, several survived only in translations made later by Arab scholars." Her eyes darted briefly to the paper, and then back to mine. "When discoveries like those are made, it's like… finding Atlantis, for Christ sake, or George Washington's teeth. Something everyone had read about, but which had been thought lost forever."
"Uh huh," I hummed, pretty much at sea.
"This paper," she continued, and then gestured awkwardly to it with her chin. "This paper," she repeated, "mentions Aeschylus… by name… and then starts talking about the 'revels of the chained god'. That's how they understood plays, Spencer, as 'revels'. The Muslim world had nothing of the kind, and they just thought of them as some pagan debauchery."
"Uh huh," I repeated.
"The chained god," she insisted. "Don't you know what that means?" She could tell I didn't. "Prometheus, you barbarian, Prometheus. One of the surviving plays of Aeschylus is
Prometheus
Bound
, which tells how the god Prometheus was chained to a mountain for helping mankind. It's regarded as one of the true classics of the ancient world. We know… we know that Aeschylus wrote two sequels, three in all–"
Prometheus
Bound
, which tells how the god Prometheus was chained to a mountain for helping mankind. It's regarded as one of the true classics of the ancient world. We know… we know that Aeschylus wrote two sequels, three in all–"
"
Prometheus II: No More Mister Nice God
?"
Prometheus II: No More Mister Nice God
?"
"Shut up, I'm thinking… talking… whatever. Listen. If this is what I think it is" – and this time she didn't even bother jutting her chin at the paper; we both knew what she meant – "then this could contain a fragment of one of the lost Prometheus plays. Maybe both. And from the length… both sides… um…" She did some quick math. "It could well be more than any of the other fragments found before. Maybe even the whole fucking play! Or BOTH!"
She paused, and then seemed to calm down by will of force. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, gazing over at the paper with love in her eyes. "Shit," she finally said. "I'm going to be famous."
Fifteen minutes later I was back outside, less the page. Michelle had agreed to translate it fully, try as much as possible to identify its origins, and come up with some idea of what sort of book it was a part of. In exchange, she would get full publication and "finder's" rights for the completed text, which seemed to her more than sufficient. Before I'd even made it out the door, she was pulling dictionaries and concordances from the shelves, and had begun work on the assignment. I left quietly, pausing only to leer at the receptionist before going back outside.
On my way across campus, I passed the undergraduate library and, realizing that I had a couple of hours to kill, headed over. Something Michelle had said while doing her quick and easy translation had caught my attention and suggested someone else I might talk to, but if he was working at his regular schedule it was much too early in the day to come calling.
Once inside the library, packed to the rafters with panicky college kids trying desperately to fit a semester's worth of knowledge into a single evening, I made for the elevator and headed up to the classics section.
With the help of a very friendly and quietly attractive librarian, I ended up with a stack of books and found my way to an empty table. Spreading them out in front of me, I got to work. Having realized in the course of Michelle's lecture that I knew nothing of use about Greek myths, plays, or writers, I figured it would be useful to see what I could find out about all the names she was dropping. If the contents of that page were any indication of the nature of the book, it might give me some idea who had taken it, and what I was after.
I took a book off the pile at random and flipped it open to the index. There was nothing about Aeschylus, but a couple of listings for Prometheus, so I hunted them down. After a few lines in blank verse about the various and sundry evils of mortal man, the writer went to town:
"But Zeus in the anger of his heart hid the means of
life, because Prometheus the crafty deceived him;
therefore he planned sorrow and mischief against
men. Zeus hid fire; but that the noble son of Iapetos
stole again for men from Zeus, whose counsels are
many. In the hollow of a fennel-stalk Prometheus
slipped it away, so that Zeus who delights in thunder
did not see it. But afterwards Zeus the cloud-gatherer
said to him in anger:
life, because Prometheus the crafty deceived him;
therefore he planned sorrow and mischief against
men. Zeus hid fire; but that the noble son of Iapetos
stole again for men from Zeus, whose counsels are
many. In the hollow of a fennel-stalk Prometheus
slipped it away, so that Zeus who delights in thunder
did not see it. But afterwards Zeus the cloud-gatherer
said to him in anger:
'Son of Iapetos, surpassing all in cunning, you
are glad that you have outwitted me and stolen fire
– which will be a curse to you and the generations
to come. But I will give men as the price for fire an
evil thing in which they may all be glad of heart
while they embrace their own destruction.'
So said the father of men and gods, and laughed
aloud."
I looked over the page to make sure I hadn't missed anything, and I hadn't. Hadn't really caught anything, either, but that was to be expected. I really don't speak poetry all that well, and about the most I'd got out of it was that this Prometheus guy had given people matches, and the head honcho was concerned about how it would affect their job performance. I skimmed down for the next reference, which came a few dozen pages later:
"With shackles and inescapable fetters Zeus bound
Prometheus to a pillar – Prometheus of the
labyrinthine mind – and Zeus sent a long-winged
eagle to swoop on him and devour his liver; but what
the long-winged bird ate each day grew back and
was restored to its full size."
Prometheus to a pillar – Prometheus of the
labyrinthine mind – and Zeus sent a long-winged
eagle to swoop on him and devour his liver; but what
the long-winged bird ate each day grew back and
was restored to its full size."
Not much better, but I was beginning to get the picture. After stepping beyond the boundaries of his job description by giving humanity a light, Prometheus was transferred out of the home office to one of the branch locations. Not a cherry assignment, it appeared. I flipped back to the index again, but came up short. The book went back on the pile, and I started in on another.
The next selection, not a translation like the first but a kind of mythological Yellow Pages written in English of all things, had quite a bit about our boy. I found the chapter devoted to him, and checked out what Robert Graves had to say about him:
"Prometheus, the creator of mankind, whom some
include among the seven Titans, was the son either
of the Titan Eurymedon, or of Iapetus by the nymph
Clymene; and his brothers were Epimetheus, Atlas,
and Menoetius."
include among the seven Titans, was the son either
of the Titan Eurymedon, or of Iapetus by the nymph
Clymene; and his brothers were Epimetheus, Atlas,
and Menoetius."
Then, just when it started to get good, Graves seemed to forget all about Prometheus, and started in on his big brother, Atlas. There was a whole section about him, the big fellow who broke some divine law or other and was sentenced to hold up the sky. He didn't say who'd been holding up the sky until then, and I wondered if it was really necessary, or just busy work. Then, just before he lost me all together, it turned back to Prometheus.
"Prometheus, being wiser than Atlas, foresaw the
issue of the rebellion against Cronus, and therefore
preferred to fight on Zeus's side, persuading
Epimetheus to do the same. He was, indeed, the wis
est of his race, and Athene, at whose birth from
Zeus's head he had assisted, taught him architec
ture, astronomy, mathematics, navigation, medicine,
metallurgy, and other useful arts, which he passed
on to mankind. But Zeus, who had decided to extir
pate the whole race of man, and spare them only at
Prometheus's urgent plea, grew angry at their in
creasing powers and talents."
Okay, I thought, so the guy tends to side against management and with labor, and is pretty free with favors. A regular renaissance man and union boss, all rolled into one.
"One day, when a dispute took place at Sicyon, as
to which portions of a sacrificial bull should be of
fered to the gods, and which should be reserved for
men, Prometheus was invited to act as arbiter. He
therefore flayed and jointed a bull, and sewed its
hide to form two open-mouthed bags, filling these
with what he had cut up. One bag contained all the
flesh, but this he concealed beneath the stomach,
which is the least appealing part of any animal; and
the other contained the bones, hidden beneath a rich
layer of fat. When he offered Zeus the choice of ei
ther, Zeus, easily deceived, chose the bag containing
the bones and fat (which are still the divine por
tions); but punished Prometheus, who was laughing
at him behind his back, by withholding fire from
mankind. 'Let them eat their flesh raw!' he cried.
to which portions of a sacrificial bull should be of
fered to the gods, and which should be reserved for
men, Prometheus was invited to act as arbiter. He
therefore flayed and jointed a bull, and sewed its
hide to form two open-mouthed bags, filling these
with what he had cut up. One bag contained all the
flesh, but this he concealed beneath the stomach,
which is the least appealing part of any animal; and
the other contained the bones, hidden beneath a rich
layer of fat. When he offered Zeus the choice of ei
ther, Zeus, easily deceived, chose the bag containing
the bones and fat (which are still the divine por
tions); but punished Prometheus, who was laughing
at him behind his back, by withholding fire from
mankind. 'Let them eat their flesh raw!' he cried.
"Prometheus went at once to Athene, with a plea
for a backstairs admittance to Olympus, and this
she granted. On his arrival, he lighted a torch at
the fiery chariot of the Sun and presently broke
from it a fragment of glowing charcoal, which he
thrust into the pithy hollow of a giant fennel-stalk.
Then, extinguishing his torch, he stole away undis
covered, and gave fire to mankind.
Zeus swore revenge. He had Prometheus chained
naked to a pillar in the Caucasian mountains,
where a greedy vulture tore at his liver all day, year
in, year out; and there was no end to the pain, be
cause every night (during which Prometheus was
exposed to cruel frost and cold) his liver grew whole
again."
There was still a lot in there I didn't get, but I was beginning to get a handle on it. This guy Prometheus was beginning to look better and better, if not something of a sucker, while Zeus was coming off like a real dick. There were a few end note markings on the more outré names, so I flipped ahead a couple of pages to the end of the chapter.
"Note: Prometheus's name, 'forethought', may orig
inate in a Greek misunderstanding of the Sanskrit
word pramantha, the swastika, or fire-drill, which
he had supposedly invented, since Prometheus at
Thurii was shown holding a fire-drill. Prometheus,
the Indo-European folk-hero, became confused with
the Carian hero Palamedes, the inventor or distrib
utor of all civilized arts (under the goddess's
inspiration), and with the Babylonian god Ea, who
claimed to have created a splendid man from the
blood of Kingu (a sort of Cronus), while the Mother
goddess Aruru created an inferior man from clay."
I finished that up and just shrugged. Sure, whatever, I thought. "Prometheus" means forethought, but also swastika, and maybe even a couple of other things besides. He gets mixed up with other deities at parties, people can't tell them apart, and he has some affinity for fire drills. He has problems with management, and is always getting into some kind of hot water. He was starting to sound like half the guys I grew up with.
I flipped through a couple of the other books, but didn't really find anything in them that wasn't in the others. I jotted down the names of the books, in case I'd need to find them again, and dropped them off with the friendly librarian. Then it was down the stairs, across the mall, and back to the car. I was starting to feel educated, and figured that as good a sign as any to get clear of the university.
It was well after dark before I was out of sight of the campus, which made it just soon enough for my next port of call. Moon & Son, a dive bar and fixture of the local live music scene. I could use a drink or two and, if luck were with me, the man behind the bar would be just the person I wanted to see.
Something Michelle had said had stuck in my head, while all the other stuff about Greek poets and Arab scholars went rolling on by. She mentioned the "northern mysteries," a term I'd heard a million times if I'd heard it a thousand, and never paid much attention to. People in my acquaintance are always rambling on about something or other, and I've learned it's best to just let them run their course and try as much as possible not to get in the way. However, despite myself, one or two things have been known to stick.
The bar was down near the north side of the river, on the last gasp edge of the old commercial district. Once little more than boarded up old warehouses and pitted streets crisscrossed with railroad lines, the area had seen a lot of change since the first time I was there. Just a few short years, and it went from being a last refuge of urban blight in the middle of high rise heaven to an up-and-coming retail and entertainment district with real growth potential. Trendy little restaurants which served food no native Texan would go near, valet parking in front of every bar, hip little "theme" clubs; it was starting to look like Los Angeles, with the addition of about a thousand more pickups and minus the celebrities. Thankfully, the darkened street that was my destination had escaped the ravages of the improvement and still looked threatening to all the yuppies so comfortable just a few blocks away.
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