Requiem (21 page)

Ahmed
translated methodically and automatically, transcribing the text into English
almost without cognizance of the sequence of words he pencilled into his
notebook. As an accomplished scholar, he understood that the ancient Hebrew
language was without vowels and that the vocalization of the language required
the reader to supply vowels according to the interpretation brought to the
text. In turn, one's interpretation of the text depended on how the vowels were
supplied. The relationship between reader and text was potentially more
misleading than any number of
djinn
,
and
Ahmed had devised a working technique for mentally standing back from the words
suggested by his scribbled notes. Anything ambiguous or questionable he placed
in parentheses, to be resolved later. Only when he had recorded a few lines of
translation did he attempt to render a coherent sentence.

{Just
as) moths proceed from {out of) garments so does wickedness from women. So {it
is) written. And if {a) menstruating {? yes) woman pass between two men, one
{of they, them)
will die. At 2,000 cubits
from {every) temple must {stand) a house
for the unclean to pray, for
the unclean be {those with) plagues and scabs, the blind, those who recently
[have, had) sexual
intercourse, and bleeding
{
menstruous
) women. So all {of this) is
written.

Ahmed
hardly raised an eyebrow at the misogyny of the text. Such sentiments were
standard for both scrolls he'd seen previously and the writings of the Old
Testament. Two hundred cubits, he estimated, would have been a walking
distance of about half an hour, and this squared with what he knew of temple
building and the usual dictates of the scribes. It was the next section that
surprised him.

True
{Righteous) Teacher {says) these things are not, and proceed from mouths of
{false) and base. They {vile) Pharisees
and
scribes are Liars and hate women. Hate {fear) {they) menstrual
blood, spread on land under {the) sight of moon
for fertility. Blast
vines. Fade
cloth. Blacken {scorch) linen. Rust metal. Bees desert
{their) hives.
Rid fields of {pests). Calm storms at sea. Cure {boils? and something else).
Make {good) a barren woman.

It can do
all this? thought Ahmed. He reached for a smoke.

{They)
(the Pharisees) despise sacred emblem of moon (worship) and women-priests.
Spit at and make whores and harlots of they out of Canaan from the Temple of
the Seven Pillars where (there) True Teacher found me against Liars. The Temple
of
Fountain of Blood and the sacred
{profession, priesthood) he took
me from (there) and from
Ashtoreth
saved me from (their) stones.

Who
is this narrator? thought Ahmed. Who is telling this story? He re-read what
he'd produced and preceded further.

As for glorious things which are not (were not) spoken
by True
(Righteous) Teacher but by
Liar Teacher,
Spouter
of Lies, they (went) recorded
(as if) true. So that he (the Liar) will heal sick, resurrect dead but in his
(Righteous) name. And he says (has said) to him you are LIAR OF JERUSALEM,
Spouter
of Lies, lying tongue and enemy. Then will (his)
brother look East and I will. While he (Liar) looks West. For this did, he kill
him (have him killed - maybe this is a question) and (fulfil the) prophecy (of)
Suffering Servant.

These
short passages represented three hours' work, during which Ahmed had not looked
up. Now he read his notes and instinctively reached for one of his slim,
ready-rolled cigarettes. He inserted it between his lips before changing his
mind, replacing the reefer on the table. He tried for a few more lines.

Old/former
(Righteous) Teacher (made) prediction on middle
day {of, presumably, Solar) year that Sons of Light rain down on
Sons
of Darkness (and) drive enemy from land. Unfulfilled. Fire not {did not) Jail
from heaven. For (crime of) false prophecy he (was?) executed. Disarray all
through the people. He (new)
Righteous
Teacher came and (scoffed) at Pharisees and Liar who
hated women most.
Then (by) this (my?) marriage infuriated he
them,
more because (of) Canaanite wedding rites of Seven Pillars.
When (by
this) he saved this scribe, more (than anything) he offended the Pharisee.

Ahmed
scanned his notes.
Saved this scribe?
In order to establish the identity
of the author, he suspected he would have to go back to the beginning, to the
outer arm of the spiral, and translate the genealogy, the long sequence of
names at the beginning of the scroll, in the hope that it might eventually name
the narrator. Other questions were swimming before him. Who was the Liar? Who
was the Righteous Teacher? But it would all mean nothing unless he had a clue
to the perspective of the person telling the story.

It
was an uninspiring task, and tedious because of the unfamiliarity of names. A
long lineage out of Canaan was established, ending, infuriatingly, with the name
of the narrator's father and mother and the conclusion of a marriage. It did
become clear; however, that the author of the scroll was female, for the scroll
went on to unroll the lineage of the male marriage partner, again unnamed.
This lineage-by-marriage was described as the 'glittering' or 'shining' line,
and the grandfather of the marriage partner was identified as Jacob-
Heli
, a Jewish rabbi and member of the
Essene
sect.

Ahmed
gripped the scroll at its edges. 'Hey!' he said softly. 'Hey!'

35

Jesus could not have
walked the Way of Sorrows, since the pathway through the city was different in
his day. Pontius Pilate could not have said, 'Behold the Man,
^’
from
the Ecce Homo arch because it hadn't been built. The Gospels declare the Hill
of Crucifixion outside the city walls, and while the current site lies well
within, the original line of the city wall is disputed. There is even a
persuasive theory that the Crucifixion took place rather in Qumran, which was
known at the time as New Jerusalem. It hurt Tom to think of hordes of elderly
Greek widows sobbing over the wrong sites.

Tom had gone
up to the alternative site of the Crucifixion known as the Garden Tomb. He'd
given up on authenticity and was prepared to settle for a bit of peace.

After
finding him in a state of shock, Sharon had tried to work on him. He'd been
defensive, unwilling to talk. He'd made her feel like a lock picker. She'd
become angry. Not just about what was happening to him in Jerusalem; she'd
wanted to know all that had transpired in England. Her inquiries betrayed a
prickling new sense of urgency. He was hiding, like one of her patients at the
rehab centre, she'd said. And she hadn't got time to play games.

It
was a serious row, and it had startled him, coming so soon after they'd recast
themselves as lovers. She'd shaken him, literally taken him by the shoulders.
What
is it, Tom? Why won't you tell me what's going on?

Tom
hesitated as he approached the Garden Tomb. Two would-be guides closed in,
beckoning, smiling. 'Hello? English? Hello?'

'Fuck! Get
out of my face!' The guides backed away, scowling.

Why won't
they let me be still? he thought miserably. Why won't they leave me for a
single second? You daren't stop; you daren't pause for a moment. He looked at
the men, who were now staring at him aggressively. He'd over-reacted but
couldn't help himself. 'Piss off if you know what's good for you!'

He ducked
through the entrance to the Garden Tomb and found an oasis of tranquillity. The
circling predatory animals of tourist Jerusalem seemed to respect its boundaries.
No one asked him for shekels; no one tried to peddle information or baubles.

Located
next to the grubby Arab bus station, the place matched the Victorian fantasy of
the scene of the Crucifixion. It was General Gordon's passion. A quiet olive
grove set about with jasmine and oleander, it even offered, carved out of the
yellow sandstone, an excavated tomb. Tom took a seat in a shady bower, his eyes
closed, his head in his hands. Other folk strolling in the garden left him
alone.

Katie,
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. You would have loved this garden. Why didn't we
ever come here together?

He
always seemed to be apologizing to Katie these days. In the flux of memory, as in
the frame of a photograph dissolving, the heat of the Jerusalem morning
retreated and he was on Dartmoor, walking with Katie six months before she
died. They were glad to be wearing stout walkers' boots and rainproof cagoules.
A wind whipped across the moor at right-angles, bringing with it rods of rain.
Portentous, bruise-purple clouds tumbled in towards them, swelling visibly,
filling the sky. They ran for shelter to an outcrop of granite rocks; weird
rocks, rolled like dough into flat, round shapes piled one upon the other. The
rain lashed them as they crouched out of the wind, backs to the rock. Water
drenched their cagoules, ran from their noses. Their inner clothes became
soaked; the creeping, insidious cold penetrated their bones. Katie squeezed his
hand as they crouched.

'I love the
moors when they're in this mood,' said Katie. 'I love them as much as when the
weather's fine. More. I love their menace. Don't you? Don't you love it?'

'Yes,' he said, in a way that meant 'no'.

She
laughed at him, and tried to make him smile, and found a piece of wet chocolate
for him, as if he were a little boy who needed cheering up. It didn't work. 'Be
happy,' said Katie. 'We're wet - so what? In an hour or two we'll be dry. What
does it matter? What's more important than being somewhere with the one person
you love most in this world.'

'Right now, lots of things.'

'Be happy. Tell me you love me.'

'I love you.'

'Not like
that. Look me in the eye; as if this is the most important thing you will ever
say in your life. As if it is the last thing you will ever say.'

But
the storm clouds had lowered
crashingly
, and
darkened, and grouped around them, pressing in. Great curtains of rain lashed
them, and he used it as an excuse to hide his eyes from her, turning away from
her oppressive plea.

'Tell
me, Tom. Look at me and tell me that you love me.’

He
opened his eyes to the matchless skies over Jerusalem, to the dazzling light.
She'd wanted to come here. She'd wanted them to come here together, and he'd
refused her that.

A
small party of visitors was being guided around the garden by a silver-haired,
quietly spoken Englishman. The murmuring voice had rescued him from memory.

'. . . We like to
believe it, and for us it feels right. Golgotha means "skull" or
"place of skull", and if you look at that rock over there, you can
see a skull-like shape. And he would have been crucified in a public place, as
an example, and this was indeed a crossroads in those ancient times.
Crucifixion, you know, was a long, lingering death. A man could hang on the
cross for three days before dying, so long as his legs supported his weight.
Unsupported, the sheer weight on his lungs would cause him to die of
asphyxiation, and this is why as an act of mercy, the Romans would break the
legs of the one crucified, to quicken his end. But it says in John they did not
break his legs, and thus another prophecy was fulfilled, that "not a bone
of his shall be crushed". And if you look over here, you will see the
tomb, which for us, of course, is wonderful because it's empty ...'

The small
party shuffled off to examine the tomb cut in the yellow stone. Tom looked up
and saw a man in a dark suit watching him from the entrance to the garden. The
man slipped away quietly, disappearing behind the reception building. Tom got
up and approached the reception, but the man had already gone.

He left the garden without making a
donation.

36

Ahmed scratched his head
like a man with an infested scalp. His efforts at translating the scroll were not
going well. After leaving his initial endeavours overnight he had returned to
it in a state of dissatisfaction. As a matter of habit, he retranslated his
earlier work and found it steeped in error. In a single section he found he had
seriously mistranslated at least seven nouns and detected four wild grammatical
errors. Even allowing for the usual breadth of interpretation, he couldn't
understand why his work had been so sloppy.

It was
almost as if someone had come along in the middle of the night and rearranged
certain characters of the manuscript. The thought chased him to a small ottoman
chest, where he stored his collection of talismans.

Ahmed
was a collector of talismans: a collector and a believer. He was the curator of
a private and tiny museum of the objects. Many were attached to pieces of
string so that they could be worn around the neck. Some were designed to be
worn as bracelets or rings, and some were dirty concoctions of cloying,
unguessable
perfumes. Still others came in the form of
desiccated creatures, such as scorpions or lizards. His collection included a
shrunken human head and a mummified finger. To people who knew about his
collection he pretended an academic interest, and in the case of these latter
objects his concern was no more than that. But there were other objects in his
possession which, he believed, offered up general protection against the
incursions of the
djinn
.