The Abyssinian Proof (30 page)

“What is it?” Elif whispered.

“The bastard has shut us in. It’s a gate. Avi, can you squeeze through?”

Avi pushed through his leg and arm, but his head and chest wouldn’t fit.

“If we can’t go forward, we go back,” Kamil announced.

“That room had a lot of shadowy corners,” Elif said. “I was looking for escape routes, but it was too dark to see properly.” Kamil admired her calm. He wondered, though, about the glimpse of violence he had seen earlier, a darkness he could only guess at.

They turned and felt their way along the wall until they encountered an opening. The smell of oil was stronger here. They entered the room where Amida had held Elif. She put her hands flat against the wall.

“We can start here and work our way around.”

“There’s a slight breeze. Maybe it’s coming from above ground. Let me see if I can trace it. Stay where you are.” Kamil put his hands out in front of him and took five steps directly into the darkness. He stood for a few moments, turning his face slightly, trying to catch a current of moving air, but he was sweating and could discern nothing. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out the lead case, and stuck it into the waistband of his trousers. Then he took off his jacket and shirt, placed them on the ground by his feet and stood again quietly, eyes closed, this time letting his body listen to the atmosphere. The air felt good against his naked chest. He turned slowly in a circle. Like a dervish, he thought, communing with the divine harmony.

It was barely noticeable, a fraction of a change in temperature against his skin, but the air was slightly cooler, the force of it infinitesimally stronger from one direction. He walked slowly toward the flow of air until it was right above him.

“It’s over here. Come toward my voice.”

“Keep talking,” Elif said from somewhere to his right.

Kamil began to sing an Italian aria he had heard performed several times in a small establishment in Galata. He sang it badly and loudly.

By the time Elif and Avi arrived beside him, they were laughing softly.

Elif’s fingers settled on Kamil’s chest, grazing his nipple. Startled, Kamil stepped back and the hand withdrew.

“I’m so sorry,” Elif said in a thick voice, her breath fluttering on his chest.

“Don’t be.”

He felt her step away from him, but imagined he could still hear her breathing.

“You’re right,” she said, her voice coming from a few steps away. “The air does seem to move more here. Where is it coming from?”

“I’ll look,” Avi offered.

They could hear him scrabbling about, his feet bumping up against stone, scraping noises, then clambering. A falling brick landed with a soft chalky explosion.

“Be careful,” Kamil called out.

Suddenly, there was a shower of bricks. They jumped back and both called out Avi’s name.

“I’m up here. I’m in a chimney, I think.”

Most likely it was an air shaft. “How did you get up there?”

“There’s a pile of bricks on the ground. They must have fallen out of the chimney. I was following the air and it came from up here somewhere, so I climbed up the bricks.”

“Does the chimney have stairs?” Elif asked, still puzzled.

“No, but there are a lot of gaps on one side where the bricks have fallen out. You can put your feet in them and hold on.”

“How wide is it?” Kamil asked, already visualizing their escape. “Can we fit through?”

“Sure, bey. Want me to climb up first and see where it goes?”

“Yes, but be careful.”

They listened as the scuffing and tapping sounds of his climb became fainter, then disappeared altogether. They settled themselves on the floor to wait. Kamil wished he had his shirt and jacket, but didn’t want to leave Elif alone while he searched for them.

“Do you have the Proof of God?” she asked.

“Right here.” He pulled it from his waistband and patted it with his fingers like a dull, flat drum.

“I wonder who built this tunnel. And imagine that iron gate!” she exclaimed. “They must have had a lot of enemies to go to all that trouble.”

After a few minutes, Kamil called Avi’s name, but received no response. “I hope that’s good news.” Kamil was more anxious than he let on.

He searched the darkness for Elif’s hand. He was chilled to the bone. Her hand was cold too and he rubbed it between his.

After a while, they heard scratching noises; Avi was coming back. They jumped to their feet.

“It goes outside.” Avi’s voice announced happily. “There’s a small tunnel that crosses the chimney halfway up. We can crawl through there.”

“Wonderful,” Kamil exclaimed. “Well done.”

Kamil consulted with Elif. “I’m going to lift Elif up, Avi,” he called. “Can you guide her so she has something to hold on to?”

“Sure, bey. Don’t worry, Elif Hanoum. Nothing will happen to you.”

“I feel safe in your hands, Avi.”

Kamil cleared a space to stand in the middle of the pile of bricks. He wrapped his arms around Elif’s legs and lifted her.

“Stop,” she called out. “I have to find the opening first or you’ll break my neck.” She was as light as a child.

She felt around the ceiling with her hands. “Avi, say something so I can find you.”

Avi began to sing a lullaby. “Dandini dandini dastana. The cows are loose in the vegetable garden.”

“To the right,” she directed Kamil. “Back a little.”

Kamil pushed bricks aside with his feet and moved sideways.

Avi kept singing. “O gardener, drive them away, so they don’t eat the cabbage.”

“Here it is. I found it.” Kamil could hear the tears in her voice. “Lift me up now.”

He put his hand under her foot and hoisted her above his head. She bounced twice in his hands, then was gone. He could hear her breath laboring as she pulled herself up through the shaft.

“I’m in.” Her voice sounded distant. “How will you get up? I can’t reach down that far.”

Kamil had already started stacking bricks. “I’m making a platform.” The haphazard edifice Avi had clambered up had collapsed, and Kamil had kicked most of the remaining bricks out of the way to make room while he hoisted Elif into the shaft. The opening was little more than an arm’s length above his head, but he needed a stable base to reach it. He marveled at Avi’s agility. The boy must have thought himself up into the shaft.

As Kamil fumbled around the floor for more bricks, he sang a few lines of the operetta, but soon stopped. Building in the dark required all his concentration. Before long, he was out of bricks. When he tried to climb the platform, the loose bricks shifted beneath his weight and came apart. He stood for a moment, sweat cooling on his bare chest, wondering how to stabilize the platform. Then he took off his shoes, socks, and trousers, and tucked the Proof of God into the front of his linen drawers. He wrapped the trouser legs tightly around the pile of bricks, but there wasn’t enough material to tie the truss in place. Frustrated, he tried again to climb, barefoot this time, his toes seeking crevices among the bricks, but then one tilted under his weight and Kamil toppled backward. He cursed as he landed awkwardly, twisting his ankle.

He had a sudden idea. “Elif, throw me your sash.”

After a few moments, a length of soft material brushed his face. He pulled it down and measured it with his hands. As he had hoped, it was a single piece of silk, more than long enough. When he had secured the sides of the platform with the sash, he climbed up and, head bowed beneath the ceiling, scraped his fingers across it until he found the opening. He put his head inside and stood up straight. The shaft ended just below his shoulders.

He slid his fingers over the walls of the shaft until they encountered some broken brickwork, hooked his fingers into the gaps, then hoisted himself up. He swung his legs up, wedging them against the opposite wall. Back braced against one side, feet against the other, he worked his way up the shaft crabwise. He was sweating profusely and his fingers started to slip. He tried not to think about falling.

Elif’s hands touched his shoulders. “Almost there. Here’s the ledge. Can you follow my hand?”

Kamil pulled himself onto the ledge. He lay there for a moment, waiting for the spasms in his muscles to lessen. The skin on his back was shredded and throbbed with pain. He sat up.

“Watch your head,” Elif warned. “It’s high enough to walk, but only if you crouch.”

In the cramped space, he felt Elif’s hand brush against his naked leg and then the Proof of God. He heard her small cry of surprise, followed by soft laughter.

“What’s so funny, Elif Hanoum?” Avi’s voice came from the darkness ahead.

“You’ll see later, Avi. Why don’t you show us the way out?”

I
SMAIL
H
ODJA COULDN’T
hide his excitement when Kamil placed the flat, featureless lead container on the table before him. Kamil moved stiffly, hindered by the bandages on his back and arms. He had decided it would be a waste of time to chase after Amida when they knew he was meeting the Frankish dealer tonight in Galata. Amida was only sugar water to attract the bee. Besides, Kamil had to find out what it was that so many people were hell-bent on stealing.

Beside him, Elif was draped in one of Karanfil’s charshaf cloaks. Kamil had been reluctant to bring her along to Ismail Hodja’s office, but she insisted she had earned the right to be present when the container was opened. Karanfil had bathed Avi, who was almost unrecognizable under a coating of dirt and brick dust, then bandaged his hands and put him to bed.

Elif let the veil fall to her shoulders. Kamil noticed her hair was still dark with moisture from bathing. They sat expectantly on the divan, watching Ismail Hodja as he ran his fingers carefully over the container, examining it from all sides.

“This is the only damage.” He pointed to a dent on the top. “That’s remarkable, considering how old it is.”

“That mark was left by the tip of a knife aiming for my heart,” Kamil explained. “I had the box in my jacket pocket. It saved my life.”

“Did it now?” Ismail Hodja smiled benignly at Kamil. “Well, then, we already have proof of its miraculous powers.”

Kamil let himself believe, just this once, in the miracle of coincidence.

“You said it had an outer casing, a silver reliquary. That must have protected it. Did you find that too?” he asked Kamil.

“We’re still looking for it. Malik said it was important to prove the validity of the document.”

“Any proof of its credibility would be useful. But no matter. I’ll be able to tell something about it from the paper and ink and other signs, but above all from what’s written on it.”

Jemal refreshed their tea and then stood by the door, his powerful arms crossed, watching his master.

“Jemal, are all the windows closed? If this is as ancient as they say it is, the slightest breath of air might prove harmful. Indeed, we’re taking a risk by opening it at all. You said Malik had taken the papers out to examine them?”

“He wanted to copy them in case the originals didn’t survive.”

“It’s a terrible dilemma.” Ismail Hodja’s hands hovered over the box.

Jemal finished checking the windows. “All shut.”

Where Yakup was companionable, Kamil thought, Jemal was taci-turn, yet there was a bond between Ismail Hodja and his servant. Jemal sometimes seemed to know what Ismail Hodja meant even before he spoke, and Kamil had noticed how protective he was of the old sheikh.

Ismail Hodja took out a thin blade and inserted it into a nearly invisible seam at the side of the container, twisting slightly. Then he gently prodded and pulled until the lid slid lengthwise along a track. When the container was open, he sat for a long moment and simply stared at the contents.

Kamil sensed that everyone in the room was holding their breath.

Finally, Ismail Hodja shook himself and seemed to return from a distant place.

“You have no idea how much it means to me to be allowed to see this.”

He took a piece of writing paper and slid it slowly and carefully into the side of the container underneath the document, then lifted it and placed it on the table.

Kamil and Elif cautiously approached. On the paper was a short stack of irregular brown parchment pages covered in writing, their edges black as if they were slowly combusting.

Ismail Hodja examined the papers, careful not to touch them. “There appear to be twelve pages. Would you be willing to leave them with me? I can read them and then tell you what they contain.”

No one spoke.

“If you like I can try to translate them now, but it won’t be exact, you understand.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Kamil said politely. “We’re all curious.” He was also worried about leaving the Proof of God unguarded. He wanted no harm to come to Ismail Hodja.

“Very well. Give me a few moments.”

They moved back to their seats and waited, watching the scholar’s bearded face hovering above the ancient text. He got up several times to consult a book, then sat again and continued to read, using a clean piece of paper to lift each page slowly and carefully so he could read the one beneath.

Kamil took his string of beads out of his pocket and ran them through his fingers.

Elif sat back with her eyes closed. Kamil wondered if she was asleep.

When Ismail Hodja finally looked up, it was with a puzzled frown. “I don’t understand this at all. I can read it, but…” He shook his head in consternation. “Is it possible?”

Elif sat up. “What is it?”

“In the name of the merciful and compassionate God,” Ismail Hodja read, “their reckoning comes ever closer to men, yet they turn aside heedlessly.” He lifted his head and said, “That is the opening verse of the al-Anbiya Sura, The Chapter of the Prophets.”

“It’s a copy of the Quran?” Kamil asked.

“No. If the text is to be believed, it was written six hundred years before the Quran was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad, blessings upon his name. Listen.” He continued to read. “To every renewed message from their Lord, they listen to it as in jest. They say, let him bring us a Sign like the ones that were sent to the Prophets of old.”

Ismail Hodja stopped and read quietly for a while, consulted a book, then nodded and began to read the text out loud again. “Before thee, the Apostles we sent were but men, to whom we granted inspiration. We have revealed for you a Book in which is a Message for you. This is the Message of those with me and those before me. He has ordained you the religion that He commanded to Noah, Abraham, and Moses, and revealed also to the servant of God, Jesus of Nazareth, whose testament lies revealed before you.”

“What?” Kamil rose and went over to stand beside Ismail Hodja. They both stared down at the text.

“It’s written by Jesus?” Elif asked, astounded.

“Apparently. It’s in an untutored hand, but it’s clearly legible. I’m certain that’s what it says.” He continued reading. “We have sent down to you a Book in which is a reminder for you. He it is who created the night and the day and the sun and the moon, each floating in the sky. We will place just balances upon the resurrection day, and no soul shall be wronged. Though it be the weight of a grain of mustard seed, we will bring it.”

Ismail Hodja looked up from his reading. “I can almost recite this from memory,” he said. “It’s not exactly the same as al-Anbiya, but many of the basic elements are there, sometimes word for word. It’s also interesting that the language is more sophisticated than one would expect from the handwriting.”

“As if the author were copying down something being dictated to him. Why would he do that?” Kamil sifted possible explanations through his mind. Jesus as an untutored scribe?

“The Angel Gabriel dictated Allah’s words to the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him,” Ismail Hodja reminded him.

“But the Prophet didn’t write them down. He recited them. They weren’t written down until much later. It’s unlikely that Jesus was literate.”

“It’s possible that this too was dictated to Jesus and that he then recited it to someone who wrote it down before he died.”

The notion of Allah dictating through an angel was not one Kamil gave any credence to. There had to be an explanation for this text written by a person of flesh and blood who knew how to wield a stylus.

Ismail Hodja continued reading, sometimes stopping to reflect on a word. “Man is created out of haste. I will show you my signs, but do not hurry me. We gave to Moses and Aaron a light and a reminder to those who fear. And we gave Abraham direction, for we knew about him. They said, ‘Burn him.’ We said, ‘O fire, be thou cool and a safety for Abraham.’ We brought him and Lot safely to the land that we have blessed for the nations. We bestowed on him Isaac and Jacob and made them righteous persons. And we made them leaders to guide men. We inspired them to do good deeds and be steadfast in prayer, and to give alms. And they served us. And when Noah cried out, we delivered him and his family. And to Solomon we gave judgment and knowledge. To David we subjected the mountains and the birds to celebrate our praises. To Solomon we subjected the wind to run at his bidding and devils to dive for him. And she who guarded her chastity, we breathed into her of our Spirit, and we made her and her son a Sign for all peoples. To her son we give this Prophecy that we have revealed to others before him. Verily, this your nation is one nation and I am your Lord, so serve me.”

When Ismail Hodja stopped reading, no one spoke. The light from the windows was gray and the room had become dark.

Jemal came in with a lamp.

“Put it on the other side of the room, Jemal,” Ismail Hodja directed. “The light will damage the document.” The brown parchment had already begun to crumble and the paper on which it rested was covered in fine dust.

Ismail Hodja carefully replaced the pages in the lead case and shut it.

“Malik was right. These should be copied. The exposure to air has set their decay in motion. There isn’t much time.” He looked hopefully at Kamil.

“Of course, but remember that other people are after this box. Are you sure you want to keep it here? You could be in danger.”

Ismail Hodja looked over at Jemal, who shook his head very slightly. “I’ll speak to Hamdi Bey and see if we can take it to the Imperial Museum tonight. It should be safe there and I can consult with the conservator about preserving it and having it copied.”

Kamil nodded, relieved to have found a safe hiding place. Jemal slipped out of the room, presumably to fetch Hamdi Bey from his home or office.

“Is it a fake?” Kamil asked. “Someone who knew the Quran and copied it out in Aramaic as a kind of joke?”

Ismail Hodja looked at the box thoughtfully and said, “It’s possible. But I’ve had the privilege of studying a number of old documents written in Aramaic. It’s very hard to create a fake if you aren’t a scholar of the language, of Aramaic as it must have been spoken eighteen hundred years ago in the time of Jesus. I have only limited knowledge, of course, and it was such an unfathomably long time ago. But despite the unsophisticated lettering, this document has none of the errors you’d expect if it had been written by someone trying to adapt a later form of the language, that is, trying to make it appear older. I doubt any scholar would have attempted such a thing. A joke like this would have taken a lifetime to accomplish.”

“So you think this really was written by Jesus?” Kamil was in turmoil. His mind categorically rejected this possibility, but he respected Ismail Hodja too much to dismiss his opinion.

“Or someone from that period. Yes. That’s the simplest explanation.”

“But what does it mean?” Elif asked. “How could Jesus write or dictate part of the Quran, when it didn’t even exist?”

“Ah, Elif Hanoum. You’ve come right to the heart of the problem. In the al-Anbiya Sura, Allah tells us that there were many other prophets before Muhammad, praise be upon him, including Jesus, and that they were all given the same message by Allah, but that they were ignored or worse by the unbelievers. In the Night Journey Sura, there’s a passage about people who refused to believe in Allah because he sent them a Messenger who was a man like them, instead of an angel.

“The important point is that all the prophets were given the same message. In the Consultation Sura, it is written, ‘He has established the same religion for you as that which he enjoined on Noah, on Abraham, Moses and Jesus. Namely, that you should remain steadfast in religion and make no divisions therein.’” He shrugged. “Of course, it’s pointed out that the people did become divided, but the idea is that Allah will bring them together again. The Islamic, Jewish, and Christian God is the same God.”

“An optimistic message for our time,” Kamil commented dryly.

“Well, there’s also plenty about the ungrateful unbelievers and doubters and their unenviable fates in the flames of hell.” Ismail Hodja stood by the table, looking down at the lead container. He reached out and laid his fingers on it. “My eyes are privileged.”

“I still don’t understand why it’s so important if it just repeats what’s in the Quran,” Elif insisted.

Ismail Hodja surveyed the room, his eyes shining. “It proves that Allah exists,” he said slowly.

“What?” Kamil exclaimed. “How does it do that?”

“Think about it rationally, Kamil, as you always like to do. How else would Jesus have been able to produce such an exact copy of the text? Allah dictated it to him, but he was killed and unable to deliver the message, so another Messenger had to be found. That was the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. Allah revealed the same message to him and he was able to deliver it.”

“Could the Prophet have known about this text?”

Ismail Hodja thought about that for a moment. “There are teachings about a Christian monk named Bahira who, it is said, happened to meet the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, when he was a child and recognized even then his coming greatness. Some say he taught the Prophet the Psalms of David. But this is quite a different matter. These aren’t just lines that refer to similar things, but an entire text word for word. I think either this text disappeared soon after Jesus died or it was hidden by his followers who replaced it with their own gospels. If the Azhar chronicles about the Proof of God are right, then it was first hidden in Jerusalem, where the Christian armies found it and took it to Abyssinia to keep it out of Muslim hands. It came to Istanbul much later. So until then, it was in a dry climate that must have helped preserve it.” He thought for a moment. “It’s possible that the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, knew of the existence of this document, but given what we know of its history and the Prophet’s movements, I think it unlikely that he ever saw it.”

Kamil’s eyes rested on the deceptively simple gray container on Ismail Hodja’s desk. “I’ll have to give this some thought.” He felt engaged and excited by these revelations, but still deeply skeptical. He found himself hoping, but not believing, that Ismail Hodja was right.