The Volcano That Changed The World (11 page)

While the c
aptain sat on a rock and smoked his pipe, Mark and Alexia explored the area, taking numerous photographs of both the local features and the vistas. Mark merrily banged on rocks with his rock hammer and collected several samples of rocks and ash that he stored carefully in his backpack. He would analyze them when he returned to his lab at FSU to determine their chemical signature, or fingerprint. After about a half an hour at the top, they began their descent back to the boat.

After walking about five minutes, Mark felt a jarring rumble under his feet. Bringing up the rear, he looked back in time to see rocks, steam, and dirty, grey water exploding out of the small crater, rising high into the sky. It was as if the volcano had belched, expelling loose matter residing near a hidden opening.

He knew what it was
—a steam-blast eruption driven by the rapid expansion of water flashing to steam. When groundwater came into contact with hot rock or magma it superheated; the resulting explosion would fracture the surrounding rock, thrusting out a mixture of steam and volcanic bombs of rock fragments, but no magma. Steam-blast eruptions generally were rare and relatively weak, but were sometimes a precursor of future volcanic activity.

“Run!
” he yelled as he pushed Captain Baros forward down the slope. About that same time, he felt the shockwave pass them and the earth trembled more violently.

Volcanic bombs began falling all around them, each one kicking up a
small cloud of dust as it hit the ground and rolled down the slope. Many were small, while a few were the size of a bowling ball.

Alexia
rapidly ran down the hill and was quite a distance ahead of them. Mark held back to keep pace with the captain, who was slightly in front and left of him, moving much more slowly than he preferred. Then it happened.

A large rock
fell out of the sky, just missing Mark’s head, and instead hitting Captain Baros’ right arm. Mark felt the heat from the rock on the left side of his head as it passed, and everything appeared in slow motion. The captain grabbed his arm and fell. He began rolling down the trail as Mark ran after him, trying to dodge the rocks raining down from the sky.

The captain’s body finally rolled into a huge boulder and stopped. By the time Mark caught up to him the rain of rocks had ended.
All was calm except for the captain’s moaning. Mark bent down and gently turned him over so that he lay face up.

The captain
winced in pain and Mark was glad to see that he was conscious. But the captain’s arm was badly injured and there was bone protruding from his upper arm—a compound fracture, thought Mark, exposing the bone to air, dirt, and associated bacteria. He removed his backpack and retrieved a first-aid kit as the captain lay on his back, grimacing and groaning. Mark saw a shadow and looked up to see Alexia standing there.

“What can I do to help?”
she asked.

Mark noticed her shirt
still hanging from her waist. “Give me your shirt.”

“
Huh? Why?” she asked confused.

He began to wrap the wound with gauze.
Captain Baros moaned loudly. “We can use it for a sling,” he said somewhat briskly.

“Oh.”
She untied the shirt and handed it to him as Mark put away the first-aid kit.

“Ask him if he can
sit up.”

Alexia
did so.

Mark raised
him with difficulty to a sitting position. Next he gently tied Alexia’s shirt around the captain’s arm and chest so that the injured portion of arm was straight and stabilized against his upper torso. As Mark tighten and tied off the shirt, the captain yelled in pain. Alexia tried to console him.

When the c
aptain calmed down, Mark looked over to Alexia and said, “Ask him if he can walk.”

T
he answer was “
Ne, ne
,” meaning yes, yes.

They both helped the captain
to his feet. He yelled again as his arm repositioned itself against this body. His first steps were tentative, awkward, but he was soon more firm-footed. Alexia and Mark stabilized him, each next to one of his sides. With their assistance, the captain made his way slowly down the path, moaning each step of the way.

I
t took them over an hour to return to the shore of the inlet where the dinghy awaited them. By then the captain was going into shock as he sat with Alexia in the dinghy. With considerable effort, Mark pushed the dinghy into the water and they made their way to the
Isabella
. Mark jumped on first, and with Alexia pushing and Mark pulling, they finally loaded the captain onto the boat, laying him delicately in the bottom. The captain remained still, falling in and out of consciousness.

“I’ll
try to find something to make him more comfortable,” Alexia said as she headed toward the wheelhouse. While she was away, Mark tied the dingy to the back of the boat. Then he searched the captain’s pockets for the keys to the boat. He found them as Alexia returned with two blankets and a bottle of water. She covered the captain with one and placed the other under his head.

“I’m going to
start the boat.” Mark announced, wishing he had paid more attention to the captain’s actions and the
Isabella’s
idiosyncrasies on the trip over.

“I’ll stay here
with the captain,” she said as she tried to give him water.

Mark
first raised the anchor and then headed to the wheelhouse, sat in the captain’s chair, inserted the key, and turned it. The engine sputtered to life. There were two levers. One appeared to be forward and reverse; the other controlled the speed. He placed the one lever into what he thought was reverse and slowly throttled up the other lever. It worked. They were backing out of the inlet. Glancing around, he realized they would have to forego the swim in the hot springs. He felt a slight pang of disappointment.

Once
they were clear of the inlet, Mark switched the lever on the
Isabella
to the other position, forward. Moving slowly at first, then he moved the throttle to near maximum speed. He could see the port of Athinios in the distance and headed directly for it.

He felt a hand
on his shoulder. He turned to find Alexia standing next to him. Bending down to be heard, she said, “I called the port using my mobile phone. They’re going to send an ambulance to meet us there.”

“Great
,” he said, looking gratefully at Alexia before turning back to steer the unfamiliar craft. She again took up a post beside the captain.

Traveling across the open water was easy and fast.
As they neared the port, Mark realized he had a new challenge—docking the boat. That would be much harder than pulling it away from the inlet. He saw the ambulance; the dock was full of people awaiting their arrival.

He cut the throttle. Gently a
pproaching the dock, it felt too slow, so he increased the throttle ever so slightly—but too much. They were now approaching too quickly. He threw it into reverse. Too late.

With a loud thud, the
Isabella
hit the dock hard and bounced away. He placed the gear in neutral as Alexia tossed mooring lines to people on the dock. They pulled the boat back to the dock and tied it off. Mark turned off the engine as paramedics boarded and attended to Captain Baros. Alexia was assisting, speaking Greek rapidly.

As Mark looked a
round, he thought of the adage: any landing you can walk away from is a good landing. He remained in the captain’s seat, staying out of the way. Once the captain was removed, Alexia walked over to Mark in the wheelhouse. “Captain Baros should be fine, but his right arm will take a while to heal. He wanted me to thank you.”

Numb and u
nsure what to say, Mark sat silently. Now that they were safely back at the dock, he couldn’t shake the image of the rock almost hitting his head from his mind. As he watched the captain being loaded into the ambulance, he thought about how easily it could have been him.

Alexia
could tell something was wrong. “You did a great job back there,” she said, trying to cheer him up. She bent over and kissed him on the cheek.

Mark let
his breath out slowly. With Alexia’s kiss, the tension of the last hour and a half melted away from his body. He sensed a special connection with Alexia, then, suddenly he just felt very tired.

“Shall we go?”
Alexia asked.

“Yes,” was all
Mark could say.

As they approached the jeep, he asked, “Can you take the climb up
to Fira a little more slowly than the drive down?”

She smiled. “I didn’t think the drive down
was that fast, but, yes, I will take it more slowly. After all, it’s uphill.”

Upon their return to the Pension St. James, Mark headed back to his room for a nap, but decided to check his email first. In his inbox was a message from Hickenbottom:

Mark,

The hieroglyphs you described are in the archives of the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities in Cairo. There are two sets and both are badly weathered. The attached photographs are the best I could take. Hope these help. By the way, I am using your trace element signature findings for ash samples I have collected in the Nile Delta. Will let you know what I find. Cheers, Brennan.

Forgetting about his nap, Mark opened up the photographs. They were dark and grainy, but he could make out the shapes of the strange birds and snakes and other symbols that made up the ancient Egyptian language. He couldn’t understand them—but hopefully Alexia would.

He
forwarded the email to Alexia and went to find her.

She was in the reception area talking with
Elektra. Mark blurted out, “We have pictures of the hieroglyphs that Solon relied upon in Plato’s story! I just emailed them to you. Do you want to look at them?”

Alexia
frowned at him for interrupting their conversation, explaining, “Elektra and I were discussing our day and were about to go to dinner. Do you care to join us? I will look at them later.”

Mark must have looked as
dejected as he felt, because Alexia laughed and added, “I promise you, Mark, I will look at them, but this has been a long day and I need to eat—and so do you.”

He remembered now that
in the chaos of the ordeal on the island they had missed lunch. The thought of food made him suddenly ravenous. Reluctantly, he agreed. “You’re right. Shall we head for the beach? I think I’m ready for a drink as well.”

“A drink sounds good to me
too, maybe something a little stronger than wine; perhaps ouzo.”

They all began to leave, when
he added, practically begging, “But afterwards, will you please look at the photos Brennan sent?”

Alexia
simply nodded as they headed for the beach, taking Elektra’s arm and leaving Mark trailing behind.

Chapter Eight

To uphold a tenet that contradicts reason is to undermine one’s credibility. To contradict empirical evidence is a still greater fallacy.

—
The 14
th
Dalai Lama

Santorini, June 1998

Anxious to learn what secrets the hieroglyphs might reveal, Mark had trouble sleeping. Rising with the sun, he pulled on shorts and a tee shirt with “Geology Rocks” on the front. He exited the hotel and headed for the beach to jog. As he ran, he couldn’t stop thinking about Brennan’s photographs.

Even the sounds of the waves against the beach and the beauty of the
budding sunrise did little to distract his relentless desire to unlock the mystery. Why was Plato’s story, which obviously happened during the Bronze Age, set thousands of years earlier? And why was Plato’s Atlantis an order of magnitude larger in size than Crete, the island Mark strongly suspected was the basis of the Atlantis tale? These nagging questions kept repeating in his mind, causing his run to pass quickly. When he returned and stopped jogging, the discrepancies were still unresolved. He felt sure the hieroglyphs held the answers and was anxious to talk with Alexia.

For
his cool down, he walked the familiar trail from the beach to the St. James. Hands on hips, he let his breathing slowly return to normal. The sun was now fully up, bathing everything in a warm morning glow. His pace slowed as the hotel came fully into view. He was still twenty yards away, partly shielded by the corner of a building, but had a clear vantage point.

As
he slowed to take a deep breath, Alexia’s door opened, capturing his attention. His pulse jumped as he stood and watched intently.

But instead of
Alexia, Elektra stepped across the threshold. She turned back as Alexia stepped up behind her in an oversized tee shirt. They hugged and kissed each. As they pulled apart, Alexia looked up. Her eyes caught Mark’s. Their gaze held for a second, and then she said something to Elektra and closed the door. Elektra walked away, never noticing him.

Mark
continued staring at the closed door. He was momentarily confused, trying to sort out what he had just witnessed. Had he totally misread Alexia’s banter with him? He had sensed a spark between them. But how could that be? He couldn’t understand his feelings; logic failed him. After a while, he slowly returned to his room. The hieroglyphs no longer held his undivided attention.

              As was their routine, they were to meet for breakfast in the lobby. Mark arrived still feeling a little uncomfortable. He didn’t care about her sexual preference, but he did feel slighted. After all, hadn’t she been flirting with him just the day before? He was hurt and a little jealous but had no real reason to feel so. He was angry with himself for having these emotions.

             
Elektra happily said, “Hello.”

             
Mark responded with a subdued, “Hi.”

             
“Are you okay?” the chipper voice asked.

             
“Yes, I’m fine,” he lied. The truth would accomplish nothing.

             
Alexia entered the lobby, but said nothing, not even to Elektra.

“Good morning,
Alexia.” Mark initiated the conversation, trying to keep his voice even.

There must h
ave been some discomfort on Alexia’s part as well, for her greeting was very formal and short, and she didn’t meet his gaze.

             
“Good morning, Mark.” But, she still greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.

             
That was weird, he thought. Cultural habit, probably, but still. Part of his brain wanted to ask her how she had slept but another part censored him. Finally, he asked, “Shall we go?”

             
Alexia nodded. They set off to their favorite place on the beach to eat breakfast.

             
A confused Elektra yelled from behind them, “Have a great day.”

             
Neither of them responded.

             
The awkward walk to the beach was made in silence, a stark contrast to their usual chatter and banter. Mark didn’t know what to say, fearful that he might overreact to the situation and say something he would later regret.

             
Once they were seated and she had her tea and he his coffee, Mark finally asked in a business-like manner, “Did you have a chance to look over the hieroglyphs sent by Brennan?”

Before she could answer, Mark added
, the reprimand in his voice surprising even himself, “You do know there are other archeologists who are claiming that Atlantis was located in the Doñana National Park in southwestern Spain, right? For support, they point out that the park is near the Atlantic Ocean, near where Plato described Atlantis’ location. They also point out the problems with the size and time discrepancies that challenge the theory that Crete could have been the inspiration for Atlantis. Alexia, it’s important that the hieroglyphs be reviewed to see if they can help resolve these inconsistencies.”

Alexia
stared at Mark after his harangue. Restraining herself, she slowly responded with pursed lips. “I’m aware of this other theory. And, yes, I did look over the hieroglyphs.”

She hesitated and then said, “I think we need to talk about this morning.”

Mark already felt uncomfortable and a conversation about the morning’s event had not even begun. He was fine not having that discussion. It was easier that way. “I’m okay with this morning. No discussion is necessary,” he said dismissively.

She leaned forward in her chair
, forcing him to look into her eyes. “But I feel I owe you an explanation.”

C
utting her off, he said, “No. No. You don’t owe me anything.”

He should ha
ve stopped there, but the “uncensored” part of his brain wanted to defuse the situation with an attempt at humor. Driven by hurt and confused feelings and before the other part of his brain could stop him, his fear of saying something he would regret was realized.

H
e blurted out, “After all, everyone knows about the Greek island of Lesbos.” A slight chuckle then escaped from his mouth; it felt and sounded foreign, like someone else had laughed.

As soon as
the words came out, the more mature portion of his brain informed him that he had just made a big mistake. It was too late to take it back and, aggravated, the mature compartment of his brain was apparently being spiteful, not providing any ideas on how to recover. It was as if that portion of his brain was saying, “You’re on your own, buddy; whatever happens, you deserve it. Maybe next time you’ll pay more attention to me.”

Alexia
leaned back in her chair, stung. She understood Mark’s reference to the nearby island where, long ago, Sappho had written poems describing the joys of the company of other women rather than men. Lesbos was still a popular destination for lesbian couples, much to the chagrin of the conservative Greek Orthodox who inhabited that island.

Her voice was hard.
“Fine, as you desire. We do not need to discuss this anymore, but this is a private matter and I need you to promise me that this will not go beyond us. I work in a male-dominated field and Greek men tend to be very macho. If this information were to become public, it could potentially impact my career, and my personal life. I don’t want that to happen. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” responded Mark,
nodding his head.

She continued, “
Do I have your word that you will keep what you saw to yourself?”

Serious now, Mark promised.
“Of course, you have my word. What you do in your private life is no one else’s business.”

Alexia
watched him for a moment, evaluating his body language.

“Thank you,
” she finally said curtly, clearly still upset with him.

Once again,
an uncomfortable silence fell over their table as they ate.

Following breakfast,
this time Alexia broke the stillness, “I discovered something about the hieroglyphs last night that I want to discuss with you.”

Mark looked at her expectantly.

“Why don’t we take a walk and I will explain?” Alexia said.

Like a
little puppy reintroduced to its favorite play toy, Mark’s renewed excitement over the Egyptian text caused him to momentarily forget about the morning’s event.

He spoke ra
pidly, asking, “What did you find? Does it help resolve the discrepancies? Did Solon have the date incorrect?”

Alexia
simply shook her head.

When she didn’t answer, Mark said, “Okay
, let’s take a walk.”

After paying,
they removed their sandals and headed toward the water’s edge.

As they walked
barefoot on the black sand, Alexia asked, “How familiar are you with hieroglyphics?”

“
All I know is they’re pictures drawn to represent different things.”

              “That’s partially correct,” she said. “Hieroglyphics are symbols, some of which are logograms and some of which are phonograms. Logograms represent ideas, like words. Phonograms represent sounds, just as in our alphabet today, and can be combined to make words.”

As a wave washed over their feet, Mark said, “A
ncient Egyptians must have had an extensive collection of symbols.”

“They did, as evidenced by glyphs
either carved into walls or painted onto clay pots.”

“So how do you read them?”
he asked.

“
First, let me give you some background; a little perspective will help. Egyptian hieroglyphics appeared at least five thousand years ago. Deciphering them has been challenging. Many early translations were incorrectly based on the misinterpretation that all hieroglyphs were more symbolic rather than some being phonetic writings. That’s the same assumption you made when you answered my question about hieroglyphics.”

She let that sink in
, and then added, “Also, some early symbol explanations were simply wrong. This was especially true of some early Greek translations, like those that Solon would have relied upon. Even after the Greeks, translations by others continued to be hampered by the fundamental misconception about what hieroglyphs represented.”

Mark interrupted, “I’ve seen the Rosetta Stone in the British Museum.
” Recalling what he saw, “It’s a highly polished slab of black basalt, hard and fine-grained like other extrusive igneous rocks, with writings on it. Didn’t it help with deciphering hieroglyphics?”

Nodding, she agreed
, “True, that’s when the real breakthrough occurred. It was not until 1799 when the Rosetta Stone was discovered during Napoleon’s ill-fated Egyptian invasion. The Stone ended up in British hands after Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo.

“Yes,”
Alexia responded to Mark’s confused look. “In 1798, Napoleon set sail with a large army intending to seize Egypt, which was at that time a province of the Ottoman Empire. His ultimate goal was to cut off the land route to the British colony of India that passed through Egypt. The British navy under Admiral Nelson fought back, destroying much of the French fleet shortly after the soldiers disembarked near Alexandria. You’ve probably heard of the Battle of the Nile?”

“
I think so. There may even have been Americans on those British ships. During the Napoleonic Wars, Great Britain frequently kidnapped and forced American sailors to serve in its navy. But what about the Stone?”

“Well, what had been
a costly military debacle, despite a short-lived victory for the French, turned out to be a scientific triumph due to the discovery of the Stone by a French soldier. And now the Egyptians want it back—but I digress.”

Alexia
smiled at him for the first time that morning. When he reciprocated the gesture, she continued, “The Rosetta Stone was inscribed with the same message in three different languages—Greek, hieroglyphic, and demotic—the native script used for daily life in Egypt. Because Greek and demotic were already known in the early 1800s, the Stone was completely deciphered. From this process, it was established that hieroglyphics is a complex system of both representational symbols
and
phonetics.”

She added, “It is too bad that a similar discover
y has not been found to decipher the Minoan language.”

“True.” Mark asked,”
What do we know about how the ancient Egyptians wrote numbers? The major discrepancies between Plato’s story and what we know about Crete are about measurements of time and size.”

“
Mark, you always go right to the crux of the matter. Like ours, Egyptian mathematics used a base-ten number system because that’s how many fingers we have.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Mark, “digits. Digital
.” Again, they exchanged smiles. Mark was over this morning’s episode and was back to his normal self, and it appeared that Alexia might be, too.