The Genesis Key (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Cambridge, Massachusetts.

“W
here are we going?” Kathleen asked, struggling to keep up with Dr. Eskridge. They had already walked six blocks from the Oriental Institute Museum and were now almost halfway across the Harvard campus. It was cold and damp outside, and the campus was not particularly well lit.

“Just a bit farther,” Eskridge replied.

Eventually, they reached a series of intersecting walkways at the center of the Harvard Yard, and Kathleen followed Dr. Eskridge as he strode quickly along one of the dimly lit paths. Two minutes later, they arrived at the steps of the Harvard Memorial Church, a classic New England redbrick structure with four prominent columns supporting a Greek-style pediment, and a tall spire above.

“A church?” asked Kathleen incredulously.

“Yep. Come this way.” Eskridge made his way around the side of the church to an unlit service entrance in the back.

“Is it even open?”

Eskridge smiled and retrieved a large bundle of keys from his pocket. “The rector is a former student of mine.” Moments later, they were inside.

Without turning on any lights, Eskridge made his way along a short corridor and up a narrow flight of stairs to the clergy offices on the second floor. Kathleen followed close behind.

“This way,” Eskridge said quietly as he entered a small, windowless room on the left. When they were both inside, he shut the door softly and flicked on the lights.

They stood inside a small, high-ceilinged library with parquet floors and five rows of bookshelves on each wall. Above the bookshelves were twelve dark oil paintings mounted on the yellow walls, each depicting a black-roped clergyman. To varying degrees, the twelve men bore serious, almost angry expressions, some bordering on downright scorn. The library smelled of oil soap and furniture polish. A solitary square table occupied the middle of the room, situated beneath a dull bronze chandelier.

Eskridge was already busy pulling books from the shelves and stacking them on the table in front of Kathleen. “People have written entire
books
about the Nephilim,” he said as he scanned the shelves for additional volumes. “It's one of the oldest, most enduring mysteries in all recorded history.”

“Hard to believe I've never heard of it,” Kathleen said quietly.

“Well, don't feel bad. Unless you're a divinity major or an Assyriologist, the Nephilim aren't exactly a topic of dinner conversation.” He reached up and pulled another book off the shelf.

Eskridge ran his fingers down the large stack of books he'd just assembled on the table, drawing a deep breath and exhaling loudly as he did. “Okay, let's start . . .
here.
” He pulled a large black leatherbound volume from the middle of the stack. The words H
OLY
B
IBLE
were embossed in gold letters on the front cover and the spine.

Kathleen took a seat at the table.

Eskridge flipped the book open, thumbed to a certain page, and began reading aloud. “The original King James version of the Bible, Genesis chapter six, verses one through four.” He read the verses slowly, heavily emphasizing certain words and phrases as he went:

And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the
sons of God
saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose. And the Lord said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, for that he also is flesh:
yet his days shall be a hundred and twenty years.
There were
giants in the earth in those days
; and also after that, when the
sons of God
came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became
mighty men which were of old, men of renown
.

“Now,” Eskridge said, looking searchingly at Kathleen, “what do you think that passage means?”

Kathleen laughed dryly. “Honestly? It means nothing to me. It's a fable . . . folklore . . . a work of fiction. As a scientist, I don't find any meaning in it.”

“I see.” Eskridge looked away for a moment and then quickly turned back to Kathleen. “Well, let's assume it
is
a work of fiction. What would you say the
plot
is?”

Kathleen was surprised by the question. She hesitated and then slowly pulled the Bible toward her. She read verses one through four silently to herself and then looked up. “The plot is . . . a group of men—chosen men, sons of God, if you will—marry a bunch of beautiful women and have children who grow up to become famous and powerful. Half the soap operas on TV have the same plot.”

Eskridge smiled, but he kept his eyes locked on Kathleen's. “And what about the part about the giants?”

“Metaphor,” Kathleen said with a shrug. “Perhaps giants of industry. Political giants. Giants of culture, arts, athletics. Could be anything.”

“And the part about man's days being one hundred and twenty years?”

Kathleen was stumped by that one. She read the passage again and thought for a while. “I have no idea,” she admitted finally.

By then, Eskridge had retrieved another book—also black and embossed in gold. “Now, here are the same four verses from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible. Listen for the differences.” He once again read aloud, carefully emphasizing certain words and phrases:

When men began to increase on earth and daughters were born to them, the
divine beings
saw how beautiful the daughters of men were and took wives from among those that pleased them. The Lord said, “My breath shall not abide in man forever, since he too is flesh;
let the days allowed him be one hundred and twenty years.
” It was then, and later too, that the
Nephilim
appeared on earth—when the
divine beings
cohabited with the daughters of men, who bore them offspring. They were the
heroes of old
, the men of renown.

“Notice how giants became Nephilim in the Revised Version?” Eskridge asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“And how the sons of God became divine beings?”

“Sure.”

“So, according to these versions of the Bible, the Nephilim were the offspring of divine beings and human women. And they were renowned men of old. Not ordinary men of flesh, mind you, whom God had limited to a hundred and twenty years. Do you follow so far?”

“I
guess
so.”

“Now, since you have that Bible already open in front of you, go ahead and look at the next few verses in Genesis chapter six and tell me what happens next . . . you know, in the
plot
.”

Kathleen skimmed the next few verses. “Well, it says that God saw that man was wicked, so he decided to destroy all of mankind and every creeping thing on earth.”

“What else?”

“It says that Noah had found grace in the eyes of God, so God decided to spare him. Told him to build a big ark—one hundred cubits long, fifty cubits wide, and thirty cubits high—load a male and female of every animal on board, and then get ready for a big flood.”

“Right,” Eskridge said, “the
Great
Flood.”

Kathleen shot him a curious look. “You know, Dr. Sargon mentioned the flood, too, the other night. He said it corresponded to an actual flood that took place in Mesopotamia several thousand years ago.”

“And he was right about that. The great flood in the twenty-ninth century
BC
was a singular event in the ancient world. We find it recounted again and again in ancient Sumerian texts, in the epic tales of Gilgamesh, which were handed down from generation to generation, in ziggurat carvings, in cuneiform symbology, and, of course, in the Old Testament of the Bible, as well as in the Quran.”

“All the same flood?”

“Well, that's what many scholars believe . . . including me.” He inched closer to Kathleen. “You see, folklore is almost always based, at some level, on
fact
.”

Kathleen pursed her lips and weighed that idea in her mind, tilting her head equivocally from side to side.

“Take one of my favorite folk heroes,” Eskridge continued, “Paul Bunyan. A giant lumberjack from the Northwest. Legend has it he was so big that his footprints created ten thousand lakes in Minnesota. And he dug the Grand Canyon by dragging his axe handle behind his giant blue ox, Babe.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Now, did such a giant lumberjack ever exist?”

“No.”

“Of course not!
But
. . .” Eskridge held her gaze for a moment. “There
are
ten thousand lakes in Minnesota. Eleven thousand to be exact. And there
is
a Grand Canyon.”

Kathleen smiled slightly.

“Do you see my point?”

Kathleen nodded halfheartedly.

“Paul Bunyan is folklore, but he was created to explain true facts.”

“Okay,” said Kathleen begrudgingly. “But the ark? The animals?”

“Maybe it happened that way, maybe it didn't. That's the thing about folklore—you have to decide what's real and what's fiction. The flood—in my opinion—was real.”

Kathleen turned the idea over in her mind. It did make a certain amount of sense that the story of the Great Flood could have emanated from real events in Mesopotamia. And, if so, it seemed reasonable to assume that certain facts had been embellished over the centuries by storytellers and eventually spun into religious folklore, namely the story of Noah and the ark. Kathleen could at least accept that possibility without abandoning all notions of logic and reason.

“Now,” Eskridge continued, “let's talk about the Nephilim. What do you think: fact . . . or fiction?”

“Fiction,” Kathleen said quickly.

“Are you sure?”

Kathleen rolled her eyes. “C'mon, Dr. Eskridge.
Divine beings
breeding with humans? What are we talking about? Angels? Demigods? Aliens? I'm sorry, I just can't accept it.”

Eskridge shook his head and sighed. “I think you're missing the point. The question is not whether angels actually came down from heaven and bred with humans. The question is whether that story was created to explain something
real
. Something that people in ancient Mesopotamia actually observed but were unable to explain . . . at least not without resort to mythology.” He paused for a few seconds. “Think about the Grand Canyon. Think about the ten thousand lakes in Minnesota. Those were
real things
that people observed, and then invented myths to explain.”

Kathleen sat motionless in her chair as the wheels in her head began to spin. New thoughts were forming quickly, bridging to old thoughts, connecting previously disjointed ideas together. “Okay,” she said slowly. “So what you're asking is . . .
Why
was the Nephilim story created in the first place?”

“Precisely.”

Kathleen became aware of a new idea percolating just below the surface of her consciousness. Every time she tried to grasp it, however, it evaporated. It was as if this new idea could not break through the thick barriers of logic and reason she'd constructed in her mind through years of dogged scientific inquiry.

“Before you answer,” Eskridge said, standing up, “let me show you something else you might find interesting.” He repositioned the stepladder to the other side of the room and climbed all the way to the top rung. Then, stretching his arm to the highest shelf, he pulled down a bound academic paper, two inches of yellowed typewriter paper sandwiched between two brown covers. “Your mother, Becky, wrote her Ph.D. thesis on this
exact
question.” He descended the ladder and returned to his seat.

“What question?”

“The meaning of the Nephilim story. Who created it, and why.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“Nope. It's right here.” Eskridge held up the binder momentarily, then opened it and read aloud. “ ‘An Anthropological Study of the Origins of the Nephilim in Sumerian Mythology. Rebecca A. Sainsbury, Department of Anthropology, Harvard University. Presented May 12, 1971.' ”

Kathleen stared blankly. It was strange to hear her mother's name spoken aloud. “Sainsbury,” just like her own.

“I was her thesis advisor,” Eskridge added.

Kathleen was suddenly lost in thought. Her mother—an expert on . . . Nephilim? It seemed beyond coincidence, beyond serendipity. It seemed downright inconceivable.
Did fate bring her here tonight?
No.
She rejected the idea instantly.
There's no such thing as fate.
She cleared her throat—which had begun to tighten involuntarily—and gestured toward the thesis. “What does it say?”

“A lot, actually,” said Eskridge, jabbing the bound volume with his finger. “This thesis was really groundbreaking stuff at the time.”

“How so?”

Eskridge drew a deep breath and put the thesis aside. He picked up the Bible again. “Let's start with some biblical ages. Remember our friend Noah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'm reading now from Genesis, chapter seven, verse six. It says here that Noah was
six hundred years old
when the flood of waters came on the earth.” He glanced at Kathleen over his glasses. “Pretty old, huh?”

“Sure, if you take it literally.”

He flipped back a few pages. “Noah's father, Lamech, was
one hundred and eighty-two years old
when Noah was born, according to chapter five, verse twenty-eight. Pretty virile guy, wouldn't you say?”

Kathleen shrugged.

“Here's Genesis chapter five, verses thirty and thirty-one. ‘Lamech lived after he begat Noah five hundred ninety and five years, and begat sons and daughters. And all the days of Lamech were
seven hundred seventy and seven years
: and he died.' ” He looked evocatively at Kathleen.