The Cairo Codex (34 page)

“I’ve found it so,” said Isaac, alternating hands as he smoothed his wiry goatee.

“And the Holocaust, Isaac?” snapped Andrea. “You’ve found a reason?” As soon as the words left her mouth, regret washed over her face.

“No,” said Isaac, turning away.

“I’m sorry,” said Andrea, catching Ibrahim’s glare. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. Her voice trembled.

What just happened here? I’ve never seen Andrea diminish herself, even when her own words stung or discounted others. There is so much here I don’t yet understand.

Ibrahim moved slowly across the room, parting the painful divide between history and self. “I will order tea from my new man,” he said, “and then we will have another story.” He lifted the phone, requested tea. The others shifted as well; their moods were grave, and a theatre cast change was needed to alter the tempo of the dialogue.

“So,” began Ibrahim after a short break, cups of tea scattered across the table. He lowered himself into a rickety chair at the end of the table and reached into his pile of notes. “This large bird is an eagle, to be sure,” he said, holding up a poorly sketched drawing of a bird with extended wings. The bird was perched on top of an ornate gate. “According to the author—and her drawing is better than mine—this is the gate to the temple in Jerusalem. Apparently, when Herod rebuilt the temple area, he had this image of an eagle placed on top of the gate. The Jewish population was inflamed, as you can imagine,” he said, glancing at Isaac, who had regained his composure.

“The Jews seethed with anger at the audacity of a craven idol,” continued Isaac. “A group of young Israelites climbed the gate and James pulled down the offending bird. Herod’s men sought out the offenders, torturing and crucifying them all. But Joseph’s son, James, was only nine at the time. He was released in deference to his youth.”

“So this is why they left Palestine?” asked Amir, somewhat impatiently. “This makes more sense than the biblical story assuming a chase by Herod, who, judging from historical records, died before Jesus was born.”

Ibrahim nodded agreement. “One of the reasons, to be sure, my boy. Along with a collapsing economy and oppressive Roman rule. The author expressed her fear of James’ impulsiveness and Joseph’s yearning to travel to the land of Moses. To Egypt. Listen: ‘My Joseph says the land of Moses will embrace us. We prepare to go to Egypt, a long journey, difficult . . .’ the following segment is blurred, then: ‘Rachel will be at my side.’ We believe Rachel was the midwife who delivered Jesus.”

“No command by Herod to kill all baby boys under the age of two? No angel Gabriel telling them when to leave and when to return?” asked Justine, pacing the conference room in agitation. She paused occasionally to grip a chair as though she intended to sit down, which she did not. “As it is written in Matthew?”

“So it would seem,” confirmed Isaac. “I’m acquainted with the incident of the eagle and the Temple gate, but of course I didn’t know that James was involved.” When he spoke, he often stood as well, drawing himself up to his full height, which, beside Justine and Andrea, accomplished little.

“As we know, James became one of the key leaders of the Christian movement after his brother’s death, but as a young man he appears to have been impulsive, impatient,” said Ibrahim, leaning forward and rubbing his knees to relieve their stiffness. “Now I must ask: How will our people, even our colleagues, handle this information? This diary shakes the foundations of both Christian and Muslim faiths. It undermines the credibility of the New Testament and the Koran: it changes why and how the Holy Family left Palestine and how long they remained in Egypt, and it presents Mary as the mother of more than one child.” His tired eyes drifted toward the tall, open window, fixing his stare on a hoopoe bird perched in one of the garden’s majestic date palms.

Amir motioned to the others that the time had come to adjourn the meeting. None of these questions would be answered quickly.

As they prepared to leave, conversations sparked and passions varied. For Isaac, unearthing the Messiah mythology and confirming a portrait of Jesus as a practicing Jew was not a displeasing idea. Andrea was captivated by the myth-shattering significance of this find—and its implications for her career. She, and Justine as well, gladly embraced Mary’s independence and strength. Ibrahim and Amir, on the other hand, were experiencing a more difficult struggle: the pull of professionalism against a lifetime of Coptic indoctrination. Amir seemed more open to evidence than his grandfather and more able to reconstruct some of his most basic assumptions. Ibrahim now seemed fatigued and reticent, growing more silent, yet Justine knew how deeply moved he must be by touching a book that had been handled by the Mother of God.

Justine rose and moved closer to Andrea. “What was that business with Isaac?” she asked. “Your remorse? Your apology?”

Andrea swallowed and looked down. “Certain topics are beyond the pale, Justine. Too painful to broach. Isaac’s parents and two sisters were exterminated at Dachau. But he was caught in a protective bubble of air between the bodies of his parents and rescued by a girl of nine—a girl who would eventually become his wife. A woman he loved, but whose face reminded him daily of his slain family.”

Andrea left quickly to teach a class across campus; Isaac moved more slowly, taking each step in turn as he aimed for a bench in the garden where he would await his friend. Justine stopped at the garden’s edge and stood still for several moments. Amir waited. Justine pivoted and asked him to return to the conference room with her. “I want to talk with your grandfather.”

Amir’s eyes narrowed, but he turned around without comment and followed her back upstairs.

They found Ibrahim still sitting at the table. Head down. Justine pulled up a chair beside him. She spoke gently. “You took the pages, didn’t you, Ibrahim?” Such a confrontation of an elder was not in her nature; in fact, she could not remember ever having done it before. None of her grandparents had ever witnessed an indignant granddaughter.

Amir cringed, but remained quietly standing.

Ibrahim glanced up with watery eyes and nodded. “I’ve disappointed you. My grandson. Myself.” His eyes implored her. “When I read those first few pages, the gravity, the burden of my beliefs, weighed down on me with such force that I felt alone in the desert. Perhaps I thought I had misinterpreted them, that further examination would change their meaning, I’m not sure . . . but in that moment, I couldn’t let those pages out of my possession.”

“What gravity? What burden? What information startled you so much that it caused you to act irrationally?” Justine demanded, if softly, her voice falling. “What do those pages say to you, sir?”

Ibrahim stalled, rubbing his knees yet again, staring at the bulging floorboards.

She turned to Amir. “You knew all along.”

Shadows filled the room, dimly lit by a single hanging bulb. She could feel his avoidance. “I didn’t know who else could have taken the pages, since it had to be someone who could read Aramaic and had access to the codex. The choices were limited.” His voice trailed off, as if in disappointment.

She turned back to Ibrahim. “It doesn’t seem like the behavior of a man who pursues the Tao, who understands that there are many truths.”

Ibrahim flinched. “I know, my child. It sounds more like the young boy who was a true believer, who became frightened by so great a challenge to his beliefs . . .” The evening glow against harsh artificial light carved his wrinkles into a macabre mask. “That young boy has come back to visit me recently. He deeply believed the story about the Mother of God being a virgin—Jesus’ avoidance of the human struggle for breath, of the birthing process. I found myself confronting the lingering question, the haunting question: Does the revelation that Mary was not a virgin mean that Jesus was not the Son of God?” Ibrahim paused breathlessly, sagging further into himself, into the small upright chair.

Justine gasped. “So that’s what’s in those few pages—that Mary was not a virgin?”
That’s what Zachariah meant by Mary’s purity.

Ibrahim nodded. “I know the legend of the ancients about immaculate conception isn’t essential. God works His wonders in many ways, and yet . . .” He murmured this almost inaudibly.

“Who sits here before us now?” Justine asked more gently.

He grinned weakly. “Professor Ibrahim El Shabry, a man in his eighties who has put away his younger self.” He paused, and his next words surprised her. “It may help to talk to your mother.”

“To my mother? Why?” Justine was taken aback.

“Lucrezia’s a wise woman. I’ve watched her negotiate difficult situations over the years. She may have some helpful insights about the codex.”

The codex? What does she know about the codex?
As she watched the resignation in Ibrahim’s eyes, Justine felt something that she’d hoped never to feel for someone she admired: pity. With this realization, her anger began to dissipate. Without further comment, she patted Ibrahim on the hand, picked up her belongings, and headed for the door.

Amir walked her to the top of the stairs. “Justine, wait . . . I’m the one who placed the missing pages on Andrea’s desk this morning.” Without saying more, he turned back toward the conference room and his grandfather.

“D
AD
? I
S THAT YOU
? W
HERE ARE YOU
?” Justine asked into her mobile phone. Curled up in her bed since 5 a.m., she’d been sporadically watching the early edition of BBC news and thinking about the team meeting set for this morning. How would they react to the findings in Mary’s diary? She was apprehensive.

“I’m in Cuzco,” Morgan Jenner said. “First time in months I’ve been near a reliable phone. I’ve taken a warm shower, poured a scotch over real ice, and settled in for a talk with my favorite daughter.”

Her father’s warmth and good humor inevitably made her laugh. “Your only daughter, I assume.” She could imagine her ruggedly handsome father slung carelessly into a large armchair, staring at the Cuzco lights framing the night skyline.
How much I’ve missed him.

“Still sassy, I see.”

“Learned it from the best of teachers. Any earth-shaking news from the Peruvian front?”

“Too early to tell, but some interesting clues. We’re digging near Chinchero, an important population center during Inca times. What at first looked like large niches for holding bodies, much like a crypt, may turn out to be scroll niches, an essential feature of a library.” Whenever Morgan Jenner was desperately trying to be casual, his voice revealed an unmistakable, suppressed excitement.

“That’s what you were hoping to find, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions. You know I like to be careful.”

Justine’s mind raced back to comments made by Nadia, Ibrahim, and even Zachariah about her father and his finds here in Egypt. Had he concealed something for political or religious reasons, or refused to bring it to light due to lack of evidence? “Dad, there are a few persistent rumors here about a possible find made by you and Ibrahim years ago. At Darshur. About the Passover and whether it happened at all.”

A long pause. “That old dog? I’m amazed the rumors are still alive. Nothing to it, honey. We found something of interest suggesting a bargain of sorts.”

“I’m surprised that you weren’t more careful. Didn’t take any photos . . .”

His voice was edgy now. “Didn’t think of it at the time. Just made a few notes.
Why
is this so important to you?”

That question was hard to handle.
Why is it so important?
“It seems to go to credibility. My credibility now. I don’t like defending you without all the facts.”

“
Defending me?
Forget about it—it was a long time ago. I made some mistakes . . .”

She could tell by his voice that the topic had come to a close, but she had little doubt that he had been careless, perhaps even complicit. Justine felt a gripping pain in her chest. “How long will you be there?” she decided to ask.

“I’ll need to stay in the area for quite awhile, but may try to meet you somewhere in Europe for a short visit around Christmas.”