THE GIFTS OF EDEN
هدايا من عدن
By
Neon Watson
02/07/2002
هدايا من عدن
By
Neon Watson
02/07/2002
1.
October 1972
In all honesty, I have to tell you it wasn't my fault. Seriously. I know it's hard to believe, all things considered, but it's the truth. All right, I can see that you're skeptical. Maybe I should start at the beginning.
My name is Samual Weatherspoon, and it all started in the fall of 1972 when I was walking to school. I was a new sophomore at Fairmont High, having transferred there from the local parochial school after having been asked not to re-enroll, since my grades were, well, an embarrassment to the institution. I was a little disappointed about being rejected, but I never liked the place; it was too strict and isolated from the rest of the world.
The passing cars were filled with the sounds of Jimi Hendrix's "Electric Ladyland", Pink Floyd's "The Wall", Led Zeppelin's "Hangman" and Black Sabbath's "Iron Man", as I walked along the old streets on my way to class. Approaching the campus, I mused how everybody had long hair (except me, my father wouldn't permit it), how all the girls were throwing their virginity away at parties (except to me), how the parking lot was filled with the aroma of cheap marijuana, and how cigarette butts littered the street corners adjacent to the school in staggering abundance. The air was crisp and cool on this overcast morning, and the surrounding sounds were strangely subdued as I made my trek toward the hallowed institution of knowledge, such as it was.
The old Fairmont community library always struck me as an interesting local landmark. It was squarely in the middle of a massive and perfectly circular plot of land, right at the center of town. It was old, sprawling, faded brown, and surrounded by bushes and trees, which the local children loved to play and climb in. There was a particularly thick concentration of foliage in the rear of the building hiding a secret only the high school students knew about. If one walked behind the dense, green thickets, a massive cave made entirely out of the natural formation of the branches and leaves of the surrounding bushes opened up, completely invisible to passers-by. This clandestine hideaway was where the "stoners" came to party the school hours away on those frequent occasions when the nearby school parking lot was overly supervised by a suspicious faculty. Quite a few young ladies lost their virtue in that hidden thicket of shrubbery over the years. I used to peek inside the roomy, cave-like, leaf-walled clearing in the center out of curiosity from time to time, wondering who might be inside, and up to what mysterious activities.
On this particular morning, I felt so inclined, so I veered away from my scholastic destination in favor of the virtual den of iniquity. As the steam from my breath preceded me into the enclosure of thick bushes, I felt an eerie sense of disconnection from the rest of my surroundings. The ambient sounds gradually faded away, until there was complete silence as I reached the inner sanctum of the refuge. At first I didn't notice, but the air was no longer cold. Around me were leaves and branches of all shapes and sizes, forming the natural walls and ceiling; effectively insulating me from the outside world, and blocking nearly all the daylight without. There were discarded cigarette packs, empty beer cans, several quilts and blankets strewn about on the ground, and a small pair of flowered panties dangling on a branch at the far side of the enclosure. Not a particularly romantic setting, but then again I supposed the teenage girl who had left without her unmentionables was probably just here for the experience and bragging rights rather than a sentimental honeymoon.
I heard a giggle behind me; soft, gay and magical; feminine, playful and enticing. I turned to look, but I was alone. Again I heard the laughter, this time louder, and friendlier than before. I slowly surveyed the entire area, but there was no one there. A third time the musical notes of merriment rang in my ears, and I was fully perplexed.
"Samual, why do you look so bewildered?" asked the soft fairy-like voice.
"Um, where are you?" I asked nervously.
"Close your eyes, Samual. To see me you must leave behind your surroundings", came the fantasy voice again.
Now, I consider myself to be a pretty normal guy. I mean, I've got an imagination as flexible as the next fellow. But this was just plain weird! I chalked it up to a practical joke, and decided to play along.
"Okay, my eyes are closed. Now what?" I obeyed.
I could feel her presence, whoever she was, but no rustling of leaves revealed where she had been hiding.
"Remember, keep your eyes closed, Samual, or the magic will end…." She sang lightly.
I felt fingertips brushing lightly on my forearm, as she moved toward me. I could smell the fragrance of sweet flowers as her hair swished past, filling my senses. She stopped in front of me, and gently placed her delicate hands on my cheeks, caressing my face. One small hand curled around my neck, drawing me nearer. I felt her breath, fresh and sweet, as she pulled closer. I thrilled as my head lowered, and gave myself to her kiss. All too soon, she pulled away.
"Don't peek!" she warned in a smiling voice. I kept my eyes firmly shut. She took my hand firmly in hers, and instructed me,
"Hold on tight!" I gripped her hand as tightly as I could without hurting her. She laughed again. "Ready?"
"For anything!" I gushed.
"Here we go!" she exclaimed. I felt a bit unnerved. My stomach began to feel queasy, and the ground became unsteady beneath my feet. My head was swirling, and I felt disoriented. Then I became aware my shoes were no longer touching the ground at all! I tapped around with my feet, but met only thin air!
"What's happening?" I called, alarmed.
"Don't open your eyes!" her reassuring voice came, clear as a bell. "You must trust me, Samual."
"Okay…okay…." I replied uneasily.
I felt a growing rush of air about me, as if I were in motion, floating like a kite on a lazily windy afternoon. Sounds began to whirl around me, confusing sounds, accompanied by strange odors and weird sensations I could not describe if I tried, sounds completely foreign to me, smells indescribable, and sensations unknown and alien. My tightly closed eyelids went blindingly bright, then dark as midnight, then bright again, continuously oscillating between subdued shading and oppressive brilliance.
This went on for a time, and then there was the feeling of cessation. Everything slowed, and I found myself in absolute solitude. The light was gray now, and constant. The only presence in this vacuum was she, my mysterious guide and companion, and the grip of her hand in mine.
"It's time, Samual. Open your eyes." I couldn't. For some reason I was afraid, very afraid. "It's okay. You can trust me," She reassured.
"I do. Okay, here goes…" I slowly opened my eyes and blinked.
What happened next is probably going to seem unbelievable. I can still hardly believe it myself. There are times I swear I must have imagined the whole thing, but the fact remains: it really happened.
All around me was swirling fog, although it was warm, not cold and bitter. A soft, glowing luminescence was everywhere, reflecting twinkling miniscule lights like microscopic stars which floated in the airborne eddies and currents like dust as the swirling clouds moved silently, endlessly, eternally. Below me and above me were the mists; I was floating with no floor, no ceiling, no walls, no structures, nothing. I was suspended in this aura of unreality, in absolute silence.
Yet the silence was no longer eerie or frightening. It was peaceful, calming, and comfortable. To be perfectly accurate, it was delightful. After peering around in an attempt to orient myself to no avail for a time, I remembered my companion, and her hand in mine. Slowly my eyes crept down my arm, until I saw our clasped hands. Her flesh was glowing, white, almost see-through in its unusual opaque beauty. I followed her slight arm up to her shoulder, and then gazed at her lithe form, adorned in a simple yet dazzling gown that reached below her feet. Her hair was almost as long as her gown, and white as electric snow; it floated and sparkled with the swirling mists, interacting with them, almost dancing. Within her tresses, a myriad of tiny rainbows seemed to appear and disappear as she moved, her hair constantly changing and reacting to every nuance. Her face was soft and bright as a moonbeam, unimaginably beautiful, a picture of eternal youth caught in absolute perfection, glowing and radiating with an effervescent shimmer. She had a tiny form, but carried herself with the bearing of a regal queen. When she moved, the mists moved with her, as if they were part of her, connected to her in some way. When I looked into her eyes, I fell inside, and saw the universe in its entire vast expanse. I found myself caught, unable to look away, forgetting to breathe as I basked in the timeless wonder of her magnificence.
She broke my gaze by looking away for a moment, and I realized I was faint from lack of oxygen.
"Breathe, silly!" she said with a laugh in her voice.
I gulped and ravenously inhaled a deep breath, beginning to stabilize. I was stunned with wonder and amazement.
"Who are you? What are you? What is this place? Why did you bring me here? How…" I stammered.
"One thing at a time!" she laughed merrily. "There is no hurry in this place!" She was quiet, smiling, looking curiously at me. "Samual, I am Gabrielae, the Fair. I am from a plane of existence far from here both in time and space. I am destined to be your Companion-Guide! I have been sent to seek you out, to prepare you, and to enlighten you in preparation for the Gifts of Eden. I have brought you to this place, the place of my dominion, a place without time or form, the place in which I dwell, because I cannot be seen in your world. I have been watching you for a long time, Samual. You have been Chosen." She smiled sweetly.
"But why me?" I asked, overwhelmed with confusion.
"I have long watched you and your people, and followed you. It was necessary, for the Gifts of Eden may be granted only to the worthy. I had to ensure you were in fact worthy of the Gifts. It was by chance that I decided to follow your movements above all others. There was nothing guiding my decision, other than Fate herself. But once I began, I found myself drawn to you, caring about you, wanting to speak to you, yet unable to all the while. I went to the Council of the Fair and asked you be considered as the Recipient of the Gifts, and in their benevolence they granted my request. How overjoyed I was! For my affection for you had grown great with time, and it meant I would finally be revealed to you!" She was quiet, and her smile faded.
"What is wrong?" I asked, worried now.
"Now that we have met, we must again part. If you choose to accept the Gifts of Eden, you must first accept a Quest, which will bring you through many hardships and struggles. You may succeed, then again you may fail. But you must decide if you are willing now to try." She took my other hand into hers, and looked deeply into my eyes. Once more, I felt myself falling, falling away from myself, into the expanse of the universe, forgetting myself as I fell. I heard her voice echoing in the distance as she asked, "Will you accept the Quest?"
"Okay…I guess…I will…" I murmured, as everything went dark and I lost all consciousness.
2.
"Check it out, dudes!" the voice said, as laughter rolled around me. I opened my eyes, a bit confused, trying to figure out where I was. Leaves overhead were moving in the chilled morning breeze, and I was lying on the ground shivering. Half-crushed beer cans clinked as I moved my legs and struggled to stand. As I rose, I stumbled into the surrounding branches in a failed attempt to steady myself. A piece of wayward fabric detached from the branch and hung on my left ear. I saw I had returned to the hideaway behind the bushes at the town library. There was a group of teenage boys and girls all looking at me, laughing as I removed what turned out to be the small pair of flowered panties hanging from my ear, apparently lodged there when I had fallen into the wayward branch.
"Dude, they go on your butt, not your face," one of the smart-alec boys quipped as the girls laughed together with him.
"Not my style…" I muttered, tossing them to the ground. I walked towards the entrance of the clearing.
"See you later, girlie-man," the annoying boy called out as I turned towards the school. I heard a flick, and there was a light 'thump' as a cigarette butt hit me in the back of the head, followed by more giggles from the fan club.
"Yeah, whatever," I groaned, pulling my jacket tighter as the cold air began to penetrate.
The remaining three blocks to school was a slow, arduous event. My mind was reeling, trying to comprehend what had happened. Reality was confusing, and I walked in a stupor, trying to make sense of the morning's experience. I was cold, disoriented, and moving like a malfunctioning robot when a loud, sudden blast caused my heart to freeze and my eyes to fly open widely.
"Watch where you're going, stupid!" screamed the driver over the thumping of his overpriced car sound system. He hit the horn and screeched around me, narrowly missing my body by inches. As my adrenaline began to settle, he threw his arm out the window and thrust his middle finger towards me. "Jerk!" he shouted just before he careened around the corner out of sight.
"Right, thanks," I said, and continued on my way.
Fairmont High School was, well, unusual. It had started as a big dream for our small town, and the City Council and Mayor had made flowery announcements and long speeches about the new state of the art facility for the town's constituents. Unfortunately, when it came time to pay for all the wonderful features, there was no money to be found. So what we students eventually wound up with was a brand spanking new administrative office building, surrounded by cheap trailers and portable classrooms, all with poor heat and no air conditioning. Kids used to get in trouble on purpose in the summer just so they could be sent to the office where the temperature was bearable. The teachers were so exhausted they really didn't care any more. By the time July rolled around, the lack of windows became a real problem, particularly after a PE class when the sweat flowed freely and the body odor was weapons-grade quality. It really didn't matter all that much, because half the student body arrived stoned out of their minds in the morning, and frequent visits to the vans in the school parking lot replenished their levels of intoxicants throughout the day. I discovered early on that the Technical Equipment room was air conditioned, so I joined the geeks and nerds in the Audio-Visual club right away. I was always cutting out of class to go to the equipment room, and would stay there as long as possible during the heat of the day. Since geeks and nerds weren't really popular with the girls, I discovered the Audio-Visual Club had a massive treasury of risqué men's magazines hidden in an equipment cupboard in the back of the room. Some of the photos were artistic, some were graphic and medically accurate, but it certainly explained why you never saw nerds on the schoolyards during lunches or recesses. They were all huddled around the latest issue of Playboy Magazine in the equipment room.
Oftentimes the summer heat was so oppressive the teachers would schedule movies every day, just so they could sit down and rest in a dark classroom rather than teach. This meant I, as the official "AV Guy" would go check out the movie and equipment, and roll the squeaky cart to the classroom. After fumbling for a while, I finally managed to get the films threaded properly. The lights were dimmed, and the movies would begin. More often than not, the quality of the films was so bad you couldn't understand the audio track at all.
"Ttthhhiisss iiiiissssss thhhheee ppllaaaaattaappuusss sssss ssssssss…." The narrator's voice would quiver as the film hung on a worn gear. The class would start throwing trash and pencils at my head at this point. Then the film would jam, and we would all watch the screen as the picture froze, went dark, and then started to melt as the hot projector bulb burned right through the frame.
"You loser," came the onslaught of supportive comments from my loyal classmates. It was moments like these that made high school so memorable to me. Many were the times I had to remind myself that it wouldn't be long before these antagonists would get out of high school and advance to the local correctional institution.
But it was winter this particular morning, not summer, and I had a different set of problems. As I arrived at my first class, Algebra, with Mr. Bessler, I was informed we were going to view "Reefer Madness", and old anti-marijuana film created by the United States army back in the 1950's. This was always a high point in my day (no pun intended), because the movie projectors squeaked so loudly in the winter it sounded like a thousand cats screeching their claws on a chalkboard. I went to the Audio-Visual equipment room, and unlocked the door with my pass key. As I opened the door, there was a great commotion as the resident geeks and nerds scrambled to hide the girlie magazines from the new intruder.
"Oh, it's only Weatherspoon," they grumbled, and went back to their drooling. I got a projector cart, and pulled the appropriate film from inventory. I started back to the classroom, and had made it about halfway when a wheel fell off the cart.
"Great," I muttered, and bent down to try to reinsert the wheel shaft into the cart leg. As I fumbled about in the cold morning air, I heard a ripping sound, and then felt a blast of frigid wind in my crotch. I looked between my legs to confirm my dreaded suspicion. Yep, my pants had ripped. There was a ten-inch tear from the front to the back of my seam, and my Fruit of the Looms were on full display to God and country. Naturally this wasn't a clean tear, no, of course not; there was a flap of fabric hanging down to my knees, ensuring all passers-by would view me in all my splendor.
"Samual, what's taking you so long? The class is getting restless waiting. Are you……….what in the world are you doing?" As Mr. Bessler approached me, I moved behind the cart in a feeble attempt to hide my embarrassment. He walked around, and I countered his moves so the equipment was always between us. "Will you stop that?" he barked. I halted. His eyes focused on my little problem. His encouragement was as sensitive as I expected. "Great! Now I supposed you'll be late with the film. Why can't you be more careful?"
"Sorry," I mumbled. "Can I go home and change?"
"Why not? Why not take the whole day off? Shoot, why not just take a vacation? Just go ahead and leave me this mess to deal with…" came his reply.
"Okay, thanks," I quipped, and ran off quickly as I could with the swath of fabric flapping between my legs. I made sure I was humming to myself so I couldn't hear the shouting emanating from Mr. Bessler's proximity. All I cared about was putting as much distance as possible between the school and me before someone else saw my predicament.
I approached the end of the administration building, which was the last structure between freedom and me. I turned the corner, thinking I was home free, and stumbled directly into the center of the entire girl's track team running laps around the school perimeter. Squeals of laughter sprung up from the girls in front, and gradually spread to the rear of the group, growing in volume.
"Ohmigod", "Gross", "Gag me with a spoon", "Total loser", "Icky", and other exclamations filled the air. Pretty soon the whole student body was peering out of classroom doors and windows to see what the girls were snickering at, and as they realized what was going on, the entire property began to shake with roars, whistles, catcalls and comments. The principal came out to see what all the commotion was, and that made my glory complete. I dropped all attempts at humility, walked proudly to the middle of the street, turned to face the crowd, and bowed low to one and all.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you everyone…" I proclaimed loudly, as I turned and walked away, occasionally tripping on the offending piece of cloth that by now hung to the ground, exposing my entire rear end and right leg. The sounds of the crowd carried on for a while, and eventually faded into the distance. I continued on my way, no longer concerned with propriety, just hoping I had some clean pants waiting at home when I arrived.
3.
I arrived home with mercifully few further incidents. I observed that it always seemed home was farther away when you were in a hurry to get there. By this time my torn pant leg had fallen completely off and I was fully exposed on the right side from my waist to my ankles. Plus I had to pee, which made my gait even more unusual.
I turned the last corner from my house. My neighbor, old Mrs. Daltry was watering her juniper bushes in the front yard. She spied me as I came hobbling up past her.
"My heavens, young man… You should be ashamed of yourself… simply shocking!" she exclaimed in disgust as I crossed the street into my yard. I sighed with relief as I began walking across my driveway to the front door. The sound of the gravel crunching beneath my sneakers was comforting to me, and I noticed the sun was starting to break through the morning overcast clouds. I stopped at the front door, and reached into my pocket for my key. Oops, no pocket! My hand fumbled around looking for the missing pant leg, and then I realized I was locked out of my own house! I sat down on the front steps and hung my head. A robin flitted down from the eaves and trotted a few feet in front of me on the walkway, chirping gaily. The sun broke through the clouds a bit more, and a bright, warm ray of sunshine hit me, warming me instantly. I smiled, and looked at the bird. It chirped a few times, and then flew over me toward the roof of the house. I felt a slight thump on my head, and felt the gooey substance left behind when Mr. Robin left his calling card in my hair. I reached up to wipe it off, smearing it all over my hand.
"Great," I said, looking for something to clean my fingers on. Naturally, there was nothing. I slowly rose, and walked to the side yard, opening the gate as I got there. It creaked slowly on its old rusty hinges. My dog, Nickle, shot past with a triumphant bark before I could block his path, and blazed off down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. Soon he was completely out of sight.
I continued to the back yard, and arrived at the rear door. It didn't take long to realize it was locked too. I looked at the nearby windows, and noticed the bathroom window was slightly open. I pried on it in an attempt to force it open far enough to squeeze through. It started to move, then with aloud cracking sound it shattered, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. I instinctively shut my eyes and waited for the sounds to subside. When all was calm, I slowly opened my eyes to evaluate the damage. I was standing in a pile of glass in front of an empty window with one pant leg on. I shrugged and pulled myself through the window space.
I knew it was a long drop to the floor on the other side, and I was pretty sure there was glass in the area as well, so I closed my eyes as I slid into the bathroom. I began to fall. And fall. And fall. And I kept falling. After a few moments I realized the floor couldn't possibly be that far down, and I opened my eyes.
I was falling, all right. Dark swirling mists surrounded me, with billions of tiny red lights twinkling off and on, as far as the eye could see. I flailed my arms about, causing the mists to whip around me, and the lights to blink faster as they rushed past me. I felt my descent slowing, and I finally came to a halt in the middle of this dark nothingness. There was a sound like steam escaping from a tiny hole, but I saw nothing but the dark clouds and miniature ruby lights.
"Witherrrrspooonnnn," croaked a deep voice in the darkness.
"Um, who's there?" I timidly asked. There was sudden motion to my right, and a large figure seemed to be floating toward me through the black fog. As it approached, its features became clearer. I gasped when it came into full view.
His stature was tremendous. He was at least seven feet tall, with a massive black head covered with fur. His blazing red eyes had dark gleaming black pupils that emitted an eerie light. His body was as big and expanse as a buffalo, but in the shape of a man, with muscular arms and huge legs, all covered with coarse black hair. He carried a staff of gnarled ebony wood eight feet long, with a crystal globe at the top, in which gray smoke swirled in constant motion. When he stopped in front of me, his mouth opened, revealing long, yellow, pointed teeth as sharp as daggers; and a tongue as black as obsidian, which wagged obscenely as he moved.
"Youuuu are in MY domain now, Humannn, " boomed the deep, menacing voice. "I am Mortach, Keeper of the Dark, and you are in my Lair." He moved around me slowly, regarding my features and snorting with disgust occasionally. I could hear whispering voices snickering and giggling, but I could see no one but Mortach.
"SILENCE!" He bellowed, and all fell quiet. "You are a foolish pawn, Witherrrrspooonnnn. You have been seduced by the beauty of the deceptress Gabrielae and The Fair, and have unwittingly fallen into their wicked plot." He stopped moving and peered into my eyes. "I do not understand what she sees in you, Humannn. You are weak and foolish, no warrior at all. How could you possibly oppose the Immortals?" He spat angrily. His staff moved toward me until the crystal globe was under my chin. He began to push up with the globe until my head was strained up and unable to wiggle out of his grasp. He stared into the globe for a few minutes, saying nothing. His breath was hot on my neck as he curiously read into the swirling gray smoke within the orb, and finally he removed it from my neck.
"I see…" he said slowly. "So you are the heir of Adam, are you?
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I squeaked with fright. "My Dad's name was Elmer, and he died before I was born; and my mother's name is Hannah. I don't even have an uncle named Adam!"
"FOOL!" Mortach cried. "Your insignificant lineage is of no matter to me. You are Humannn, and your ancestor is the Adam, the First One. By some incomprehensible miscarriage of justice you have inherited His blood, and that is why you are the Chosen. I am sure she did not tell you this…" he glared at me.
"She, she said it was Fate, that she just liked me… she told me…" I stammered.
"Do you believe everything you are told, Humannn?" Mortach growled. "She is a liar, and uses her costume of beauty to deceive her pawns, as do all her people. She cares nothing about you at all. She knew of your bloodline, and your inept loneliness, and took advantage of your gullibility to manipulate you."
"NO!" I shouted. "She is good, and she likes me! You can do what you want, I don't believe you!"
"Strong words for a half-naked fool with feces on his fingers and head…" laughed Mortach menacingly. "Know this, Humann: I will oppose you. You will not succeed in your Quest, and you will never receive the Gifts of Eden! I shall see to it personally! You meddle in things you cannot begin to understand. Go home to your meaningless life, and abandon this futility, or you will be destroyed!" Mortach reached out and pushed roughly against my chest with his black staff. My body began to float away from him, turning head over heels, until I became quite dizzy. The spinning continued until I thought I would pass out. I closed my eyes to try to steady myself, then fell suddenly on the floor… the floor…
…the floor… the floor of… of my bathroom at home! I was in Fairmont again. What the heck was going on? Was I suffering from hallucinations, or just losing my mind? I climbed to my feet, and shook my head. Everything looked normal, except for the shredded pants, the broken glass all over the floor, my mother standing there yelling at me, …um…my Mother?
"Are you out of your mind? What the heck do you think you're doing? Why aren't you at school? Why in the world are you smashing my windows? Who's going to clean up this mess? What the heck did you do to your pants? Do you think money grows on trees? Who's going to pay for all this? Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…" her voice droned on until I heard nothing but noise. I looked up, smiled sheepishly and said,
"I'll take care of it, Mom." I walked down the hallway to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I stood looking at my reflection in the floor-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. Man, my ears were big. I looked like Dumbo the elephant! My knock-knees protruded ridiculously to the sides, and my skinny stick-legs barely held my pathetically weak body up. My hair had been butchered by the nearly blind barber my mother took me to every other week, despite my cries of injustice and fashion suicide. I could hear her words echoing in my brain…
"Listen here, young men. When you start paying the bills around here you can dress any way you want. In the meantime, you'll dress and wear your hair as I choose, and if you don't like it, you know what you can do!" Mom was always so sensitive.
4.
June 1974
My life went pretty much back to normal after that day. Well, normal for me. As the years passed, I just chalked the weirdness up to a psychotic episode, which I must have imagined. Despite the fact I never heard from my otherworldly friends again, I still wondered about the Gifts of Eden from time to time; whether they existed or not and what they were. But I had no time for such things this particular night, because I had to be at the graduation ceremony in less than an hour.
It was the summer of 1974, and I was graduating from high school at long last. Everybody was talking about their Senior Prom date, but of course I wasn't going to be attending the dance, because no self-respecting girl in her right mind would be seen with me on campus. I was still the AV-Geek, and my glasses were too big, my acne was too prominent, and I had the muscles of a concentration camp survivor. My hair was oilier than normal, and my fashion sense went along the lines of your basic mega-nerd. I arrived on campus forty-five minutes later, and went to the staging area behind the gymnasium. The staff and parent volunteers were frantically passing out pre-ordered caps and gowns to the class of '74, so I got in line to receive mine.
"Next," came the hurried voice of the middle-aged woman behind the table. I stepped forward.
"Name?" she asked.
"Weatherspoon," I replied. She fumbled through her stacks of papers.
"You're not in here," she stated. There was a moment of silence as we both stared at each other.
"So, what do I do?" I asked.
"I don't know. NEXT!" she waved me aside, and the student behind me pushed me away as he stepped forward.
"Move it, loser!" he snarled.
I walked slowly away from the table. I watched as girls and boys walked up, gave their names, were given their graduation garments, and walked away excitedly. In the distance I could hear the band starting to play "Pomp and Circumstance" slightly off-key. I watched as the first graduates began streaming into the gym in their soft blue outfits, flowing in the increasing breeze. I looked long and hard at the scene, and finally realized that my time at Fairmont High School had come to an end much the way it had started: surrounded by shame, humiliation, injustice and embarrassment. I turned and started walking back home. There was no reason to remain. As I left the campus and stepped into the street in front of the school for the very last time, I felt a bit of moisture on my forehead. The sun fell behind a dark cloud, and the drops grew more persistent. Soon it was pouring down rain everywhere. I continued walking away from the school, while sounds of applause rose and fell in the distance. As far as my life went, it was a typical day. I started to cry softly as the sounds of celebration faded in the distance.
I arrived home soaking wet about a half an hour later. I walked into my bedroom, past the archway to the living room where my mother was watching her afternoon television shows.
"Keep it down, Phil Donahue's on!" she exclaimed, never looking up from the TV.
"Happy graduation, Samual," I muttered to myself as I sloshed down the hallway to my bedroom, closing the door quietly behind myself. I removed my sodden clothing, and changed into some sweats. I lay down on my bed, and asked aloud, "Why me?" as I drifted off to sleep.
I dreamt I was with Gabrielae again. She was as beautiful as I remembered, and I was entranced by her magical presence. The bright and colorful mists I had seen before were part of her, and they wove around and throughout her in shimmering translucence. Her glowing hair shed warmth as she drew closer. Her smile froze my heart, and I was a prisoner of my awe.
"Samual, it is time," she whispered.
"Time for what?" I asked in a shaky voice.
"Time to begin your Quest, Samual. You must find the ancient and legendary Garden of Eden, Samual. This is your Quest. Do this, and you will receive the Gifts of Eden.
"The Garden of Eden? That's only a myth! It doesn't really exist!" I exclaimed, louder than I intended.
"Samual, it is not a myth. You are Adam's seed, and you WILL find the lost Garden of Eden. You will go there Samual, and you will be the first human since time began to do so," Gabrielae said solemnly.
"You're not real…" I whispered softly.
"I am real, Samual, and I will give you a remembrance so you will believe again. She came closer, and took my left hand in hers. She bent down, and kissed the back of my hand ever so gently. It tingled, and I shivered with delight. When she rose, there was the imprint of her delicate lips, as if she had been wearing lip-gloss. She smiled, and her image began to fade.
"Read Genesis Chapter Two, Samual. Your first clue is there…" her voice called from the distance as she became harder to see and hear.
"No, don't go," I cried, but she had faded away. I drifted off into my dreams again, and thought no more of it.
***
"Samual, will you PLEASE get up and take the garbage out to the curb? The garbage man is next door and he's going to pass us by…HURRY UP!" My mother's nagging voice was usually the first thing I heard every morning. Who needed alarm clocks with "Old Faithful" keeping me on schedule?
"Coming, Mom!" I coughed, and scrambled to hurry out of bed, losing my balance and falling to the floor. "Crack!" came a loud sound as I , smacked my wrist on a skateboard I had left out. "Ow!" I instinctively began rubbing my injured arm. I looked at it to examine the damage. To my astonishment there was the pale crimson outline of a kiss on the back of my hand! "No way!" I gasped, and rushed off to the bathroom.
I turned the water up as hot as I could stand it, and scrubbed with soap and a washcloth for all I was worth. The imprint wasn't coming off, no matter what. "My gosh," I thought, "what if it really happened!" My mind raced as I recalled the day two years before when I had first encountered Gabrielae the Fair. What did it all mean? I couldn't begin to guess. But there was the mark of her kiss, still vivid in my mind and clearly visible on my hand.
"Samual, this garbage isn't going to empty itself!"
"Coming, Mom…" I sighed, and went outside to move the all-important cans to the curb. I couldn't wait to get to college. At least I'd be away from this place. Maybe a fresh start was just what I needed.
5.
September 1978
It was the fall of 1978, I had recently turned 21, and I was on an airplane en route to the University of Missouri, where I was to start my senior year. It happened to be one of several colleges who had accepted my application, but this particular college had something the others did not: it was the furthest from my hometown of Fairmont, California and my mother!
The first three years of college hadn't been so bad. Of course I had no friends, which left me lots of free time to study. And study I did. As an anthropology major, I was excited to learn about the new Ph.D. who was coming on staff. Dr. Juris Zarins was an expert on ancient Middle Eastern languages and civilizations. He had just returned from a four-year assignment as archaeological adviser for the Department of Antiquities in Saudi Arabia. I was hoping I could glean some helpful information that might bring me closer to the location of the Garden of Eden. Although I had searched for three years, I had made little progress. Every note was archived in the hope someday I would be able to put all the pieces together, but nothing substantial thus far.
The flight attendant came down the aisle with a tired smile on her face. She pushed a condiment cart before her, picking up trash and unfinished drinks from the passengers as she went. As she approached my row, the enormously corpulent man in the window seat on my right reached across to hand his unfinished drink to her. At that moment the plane hit some rough turbulence, and began shaking violently. Everyone's eyes flew open wide, and I watched as the drink flew slowly up, then down into my lap. Now my eyes were wide open too. The musty scent of whiskey began to float up from my lap where the icy drink had fallen.
"Sorry," the fat man muttered apologetically, shrugging as the plane continued to bounce.
"No problem," I replied, wondering where I could change after landing.
"Ladies and gentlemen," came the Captain's voice over the intercom, "We're beginning our descent into Springfield Regional Airport, so we'll be asking all passengers to put up their trays and bring their chairs to an upright position. Please notice the "Fasten Seat Belts" sign is now lit, so if your belts are not already fastened, we'd appreciate it if you'd do so now. The weather in Springfield Missouri is currently 69 degrees and clear. The local time is 8:30pm, on Saturday, September 9th 1978, and we should be disembarking on time at 8:54pm. Thank you for flying American Airlines Flight 1191, and we wish you all a good night!"
The plane began to lean forward as the pilot headed in for a landing. The turbulence seemed to be pretty much gone, but there were still occasional bumps in the ride. I tried to look out the small window past the man beside me to no avail. I imagined the many lights transforming into actual buildings and roadways as the plane drew closer. We touched town with a lurch, and the engines went into full reverse thrust. All the passengers were leaning forward as the place rapidly decelerated. A scant few minutes later, and we had taxied to our terminal, and the plane came to a complete stop.
Everyone jumped up at once in a frantic effort to get off the plane first, and of course this resulted in the entire plane standing like sardines as one person at a time exited to the concourse. Eventually I made my way off, and into the terminal. I spied a tiny sports bar across the terminal, and made my way there, doing my best to avoid being jostled by travelers too busy to look where they were going. I sat down at the bar, and glanced up towards the TV monitor near the ceiling. The sound was turned all the way down, and I wasn't really interested, but it gave me something to look at besides the massive pimple on the tip of the bartender's nose. It was so distracting, I honestly didn't know what the rest of the man looked like.
"Well?" he asked, wiping a glass absently with a towel.
"Sam Adams draft, please." I answered.
"Don't have that." He deadpanned.
"Okay, how about any microbrew?" I inquired.
"Look, man, we got Bud, Bud light, Coors, Coors light and Miller. Whaddyawant?" He stared at me, annoyed.
"Forget it," I said, and rose from my barstool. I started looking around for a bathroom.
"Jerk," I heard the bartender mutter under his breath as I wandered off.
I noticed a restroom about one hundred feet away, and made my way toward it. As I entered, I saw the few people I passed along the way giving me dirty looks. I remembered I had the spilt drink in my lap, and I looked down at myself to see.
It looked like I had wet my pants. And it stunk of booze. "Great," I thought. Now everyone thinks I'm a wino." I pushed the men's room door open and walked inside. There was a row of urinals on the left side, and a few sinks on the right. Along the rear wall were a few enclosed toilets. I scanned the place, and it seemed deserted. I walked to the nearest sink, and turned the water on. Unfortunately, the faucet had to be held down in order to stay on. So I held the faucet on with my left hand, and tried to rinse my pants with my right hand. All I succeeded in doing was getting wetter, so I abandoned the rinse altogether. I scanned the room for paper towel dispensers, but the only things available were two air dryers bolted to the wall. I pressed the button to turn the nearest blower on, and turned the nozzle down towards the floor. The dryer came on with a high pitched squeal. I leaned backwards and extended my lower half as far under the hot air flow as possible, until I felt the fabric starting to dry. I noticed my reflection in the mirror across the wall, and it appeared I was molesting the hand dryer. At that very moment a man about 30 years old walked in with his young son, who couldn't have been more than four years old. He looked at my crotch thrust up into the hot air dryer, and stood there staring at me for a moment.
"C'mon, son, lets go," he said in a bit of a panic. He spun the boy around, and dragged him by the arm from the restroom over the protests.
"But Daddy, I hafta go really bad!" he cried.
"Not here," scolded his father, and then they were gone.
It took about ten minutes, but eventually I managed to dry my slacks. I departed the bathroom, and looked for a map of the airport. I needed to find my luggage, and catch a cab back to my apartment near the college campus, about ten miles away. I was tired, and it had been a long trip. When I finally arrived home, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
***
A click, followed by the static of a clock radio not focused on any particular station began my day. The blaring noise persisted as I tried to remember where I was.
"Oh, yes," I recalled groggily. I was back in my apartment after a summer break in California. I yawned, stretched, and slowly brought myself up to a sitting position on the side of my bed. I looked at the cheap clock; it read "6:45am". I had to be at my first class at 8am, and it was the first day of school, so I shuffled off to the shower.
My apartment (if you could call it an apartment) was actually a rented room with a dual hot plate, a tiny 2 cubic foot refrigerator, and a closet converted into a cramped bathroom. My landlady was a middle-aged, rather rotund woman known simply as Miss Abigail. She meant well, but could be quite obnoxious at times. She never seemed to be happy about anything; there was always something wrong with any given situation. Knowing this, I had trained myself to keep quiet, because the slightest complaint about the living conditions resulted in a lengthy tirade about the injustices, slings and arrows of being a poor, mistreated landlady at the hands of a cruel and unsympathetic tenant.
Despite my resignation to my plight at the hands of dear Miss Abigail, I had never gotten used to the shower, which would run hot, then cold, then hot, then cold, until I finally gave up and got out. This morning was no different, so I was still wiping soap off my face and shoulders as I exited the tiny bathroom.
I dressed leisurely, looking through the small, round attic window that served as my only portal to the world outdoors. The sky was clear, and it looked like a beautiful day. I scanned the neighborhood, looking down the old street at the town coming to life. The next-door neighbor was warming up his old, rusty Ford pickup truck as steam bellowed from the rattling tailpipe. The retired woman across the street was in her bathrobe, curlers, and oversized slippers picking up her morning newspaper. She squinted at the morning sunrise, and puffed on a thin, long cigarette. Turning away, she went back up the porch steps, and absently scratching her bottom through her robe, she disappeared into the house. A dog started barking in the distance, and I could hear a far away siren fading as it moved away from the vicinity. Row after row of the old neighborhood stood stalwartly, silent sentinels paying homage to the 1940's and 1950's when they were first constructed. Each house had a mighty oak tree in the front yard. The rows of trees were old, tall and strong, and their upper branches stretched across the street meeting their counterpart on the other side, so the road beneath was sheltered in a canopy of foliage. Autumn was in full swing, and copper and brown leaves shifted lazily on the lawns and street as the soft wind blew to and fro.
I finished dressing, and retrieved my new school schedule. I had three classes with the new instructor Dr. Zarins. "Old World Archaeology", "World Prehistory" and "People and Cultures of the Middle East". I was really looking forward to meeting him, and hoped he would share his research in Saudi Arabia with the class during the school year. I made certain I took as any classes with Dr. Zarins as possible, because nobody had done more research on ancient civilizations than him. I figured you couldn't get much more ancient than Eden, so it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I arrived early for the class. A man was writing on the chalkboard, and I walked in to greet him.
"Dr. Zarins? I inquired.
""Yes!" the man replied. He turned to face me. He was smiling, a warm, friendly smile. He had a gentle demeanor, as though he had no malice in his composition at all. His large glasses reflected the classroom lights, and his full head of hair matched his light moustache. "Juris Zarins, and you are?" he asked.
"Samual Weatherspoon," I answered, shaking his hand. "I've really been looking forward to meeting you."
"Really. Why is that?" Dr. Zarins smiled.
"Because I've been trying to find the Garden of Eden since I was 17 years old, and I think you can help me," I blurted out.
Dr. Zarins smile faded a bit, and he looked me over slowly. "The Garden of Eden! Why do you want to find such a thing? Don't you believe it is only a legend?" he asked somewhat seriously.
"I don't believe that at all. I believe it is real, and I believe I can find it. I just need help from someone who knows about things no living person remembers. Somebody who has torn apart ancient history and dissected it piece by piece. Somebody like you," I answered, unafraid of appearing to be a fool.
Dr. Zarins was silent, and his eyes seemed to focus not on me, but straight through me for several long moments. He pondered at length, then finally he spoke.
"Well, Samual Weatherspoon, we may have something to talk about at that. Let's see how you do in my class, and take it from there. I'm very busy, and cannot waste my time on frivolities. If you are truly serious, I will know soon enough, and then we will speak of this again." His broad smile returned. "Have a seat, Mr. Weatherspoon. Class is about to begin!"
***
December 1978
It was Christmas Day 1978, and I had completed my first Senior semester at SMSU. I was the top student in all my classes, and had gone out of my way to excel in all three of Dr. Zarins' classes I had enrolled in. We had not spoken of Eden since the first day of our meeting, and I was wondering if I would ever have the chance to pick his brain for clues about my Quest.
I had just finished writing a letter to my mother, and had little else to do. Miss Abigail was in the house below entertaining her Christmas guests. I could hear seasonal music echoing through the walls, and I began to feel a bit homesick. I couldn't afford to go home for Christmas, and I had no friends or family in Missouri, so my studies were pretty much my entire life. Most of the time that was no problem, but during the Holidays I got a little melancholy when I ran out of things to do.
I wandered over to my hotplate and spun the knob to "High". The heating element under the leftover can of chili and beans began to glow crimson. I looked around for a spoon to stir it, but all I could locate was a large serving fork. I blended the mixture as well as I could, and scooped it into a cereal bowl a few minutes later. I sat in a chair by my window and began to eat. I would hear the strains of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year" playing in the distance. I sat motionless for awhile, my meal growing cold in my lap. I finally put the bowl on the counter top, and lay on my bed face down. I fell asleep crying quietly. The party continued on downstairs, and I heard Christmas carols in my dreams.
***
I dreamt I was riding in an all-terrain vehicle across the sands of a barren desert. Dr. Zarins was driving the vehicle as we bounced through the wasteland. The wind was blisteringly hot, and the sand was blowing mercilessly everywhere. We had shielded our eyes with goggles, and covered our faces with scarves so we could breathe and see.
"Why do you tarry, Samual?" spoke Zarins. But the voice was not his, it was Gabrielae's. I stared at him, and his face changes slowly. His eyes began to twinkle through the glasses, and I watched as his arms became thin and translucent. Soon, Gabrielae was beside me, in Dr. Zarins' clothes, driving the jeep madly across the arid sands. "You must not delay, Samual. You must push on with your Quest." She looked at me sweetly, and touched my left hand. I felt a glow, and saw that the mark of her kiss from so long ago was still there, glowing brightly now.
"I don't know what to do!" I cried. "I have tried everything, what more can I do?"
I felt confused and miserable. I looked at her again, but it was not she any more, it was Dr. Zarins in the drivers seat.
"Why haven't you come to me again, Samual? How am I to take you seriously if you do not persist?" Dr. Zarins looked at me through the dusty goggles. "Research takes perseverance, Samual. You must persevere."
Zarins shifted the jeep to a higher gear. "The enemy is near," he announced. I spun around and saw an army was chasing us, mounted on camels. Their dark robes waved magnificently in the desert wind, and their swords were drawn and held high over their heads. They were catching up to us, and I could hear their cries as they shouted. I felt very afraid, and as they drew closer I saw the leader was Mortach himself, fearsome and hideous in his rage. His eyes flashed, and his sword was held high as he came alongside the jeep. Soon we were surrounded, and our vehicle came to a complete stop. Menacing grumbles came from the mounted army, and as they dropped their scarves I saw they were all like Mortach, although not as large. Mortach rode his camel to the front of the jeep, then dismounted with a thud. He held aloft his gnarled ebony staff, and a dark light sprang forth from it like black lightening, striking the windshield of our vehicle violently. Smoke flared, and the stench of melting rubber and metal filled my nostrils. When the wind cleared the smoke away, there were strange characters burned across the windshield:
لا تسعى الحديقة
Mortach thundered toward my car door and slowly brought his head within inches of my face. "Khalas; imshi!" he growled in my right ear. My heart froze. His foul breath and dark power seemed to paralyze me completely. Then Mortach the Dark threw his head back and let loose a fell, blood-curdling cry. His forces joined in, and I closed my eyes in terror. Then all was silent.
I dared to open my eyes, and I was alone in a grey fog with Dr. Zarins. I was shaking all over.
"W-w-what ddid he s-say?" I trembled.
"He said, 'Enough; go away!'" The professor answered. Dr. Zarins was staring at the dark characters on the windshield of the jeep.
"Can you read them?" I asked timidly.
"Yes," he said as he continued to stare at the foreign letters. "They are Arabic. They read, 'Seek not the Garden!'" He turned and looked at me. My eyes began to water. I was no longer able to focus on anything. The gray fog was swirling all around me.
"Dr. Zarins? Dr. Zarins!" I called, but there was no answer. The smell of smoke was returning again. I tried to turn, but was unable to. I concentrated all my might on turning around, and suddenly I broke free and fell onto the floor with a crash.
The fog was gone, and I was in my bedroom, with my blankets wrapped around my feet. The burner had been left on, and wisps of smoke were circling up and away from it. "Good grief," I muttered, as I tried to unwrap my legs from the covers. Finally free, I went across the room and switched off the overheated appliance.
I looked out my window, and saw that it was the middle of the night. It was silent, except for the tree branches outside rustling in the light winter breeze. On the floor beneath my desk was a tattered old box full of papers, my notes thus far about my Quest. I pulled the box out and put it on top of the desk. Blowing the dust off the lid, I opened it. I reached in, and removed the contents. Perhaps it was time to try again…
***
Several hours later, I saw the sun beginning to break over the horizon through my small window. I put my pen and paper down, and stretched my arms, yawning loudly. I rose, and walked over to the mirror outside my bathroom door. I was not a very attractive guy. My legs were thin, my glasses were large and thick, my hair was dark, unkempt and unmanageable, and far too long, I had random blemishes on my face, and my waist was too thick. I needed a shave, and I dared not imagine what my breath must be like. It seemed like a good time for a shower. I reached through the bathroom door, pushing the shower curtain aside, and twisted the water knobs as they creaked and squeaked. A spattering of rusty water coughed into the shower for a few moments, then finally cleared. As I undressed, I noticed the steam beginning to wisp out of the tiny bathroom. The water was finally hot. I figured I had about five minutes before it started going cold again, so I stepped inside and pulled the shower curtain closed behind me. I turned my back, allowing the sputtering stream of hot water to massage my neck and shoulders. My eyes closed, and I breathed in the steam rising around me. I relished the moment, as my relaxed body luxuriated in the warm embrace of my most excellent shower. I thought I heard a toilet flush in the distance, and the water suddenly went very hot in my shower as the cold water was diverted downstairs. "Yikes!" I yelped, leaping out of the shower like a madman. "So much for that!" I announced to the empty room.
Several minutes later I had finished dressing. I walked to the desk, and sat down. I looked out the small circular window at the street, quiet and abandoned on this winter day. It was strangely still this morning. I glanced at my clock radio, and saw the time was a little before 8am. I shuffled my feet on the floor, and stared at the phone in a trance for some time. Then I abruptly snapped out of it, and began rummaging through my books for the school telephone directory. Locating it, I flipped to the "Staff" pages, and ran my finger down the columns of listings. There, at the end of the list was "Zarins, Dr. Juris." His home and office number were listed. I picked up the phone, then hesitated. Then I dialed his home number.
"Hello?" his familiar voice answered.
"Yes, hello, Dr. Zarins?"
"Yes?"
"This is Samual. Samual Weatherspoon, Sir." There was silence on the other end.
"Samual. Isn't that a coincidence…" his voice trailed off.
"What do you mean, Sir?" I asked.
"Well, I was just thinking about you. I had this strange dream last night, and…oh, never mind. What can I do for you, Mr. Weatherspoon?" he asked.
"Dr. Zarins, I had a dream too. Were you in a jeep in the desert with me?" I asked excitedly.
"Amazing," he exclaimed, "Yes, Samual, I was."
"Was there writing on the windshield?" I pressed on.
"Yes Samual. There was the writing. 'Seek not the Garden'. Yes…."he was whispering.
"Dr. Zarins, we have to talk."
"Yes, Samual, I think perhaps we should." He was silent for a minute, then he cleared his throat and spoke in a normal tone. "Mr. Weatherspoon, meet me at the department office in an hour."
"I'll be there, Sir," I answered eagerly. "Goodbye!"
"Goodbye, Samual…"
* * *
Approximated an hour later I was pacing in front of the Anthropology Department at SMSU. It was chilly, and there was frost on the lawns. I was rubbing my hands together to keep warm, having rushed out of the house in such a hurry I had forgotten to bring a winter coat. My sweater was warm, but not warm enough for the dead of winter. I kept looking at my watch anxiously, wondering what was keeping Dr. Zarins so long.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jumped, and my heart skipped a beat. "Samual, its just me!" It was Dr. Zarins. "Lets go inside where its warm" he said, his keys jingling in his hand. A few minutes we were in his office warming our hands in front of a small space heater. There was silence for a while. Then he finally spoke.
"So, you want to find the Garden of Eden, do you?" he asked, his eyes peering directly into my own.
"I do," I answered directly.
"Why?" he asked, equally direct.
"I can't explain, but it is a Quest I must undertake. I cannot tell you much more than that, you would think I was crazy"
"Some would say you are crazy even looking for a mythical place like Eden," Dr. Zarins pointed out.
"True, but you know better, don't you, Sir?"
"Perhaps," he replied. "Well, where to begin? Settle in, I'll make us some coffee, and I'll tell you what I know, and what I believe about the origins of man, and the Garden of Eden in particular. Then we'll see what comes of it. You have proved yourself to be a true archaeologist, you have worked hard and been patient, realizing that answers take years, and even then they lead to still more questions. The search is never over, my young friend!" He smiled knowingly.
"Samual, where do you think the earliest civilizations came from? Do you think they really came from a magical garden, or from Africa, or perhaps Asia?"
"Sir, I believe they came from the Middle East." I replied.
"Why?" Zarins asked.
"Because in the Bible it tells of the location of the Garden of Eden. Here, I have a Bible with me. It's in Genesis Chapter two, verses eight through fourteen…" I began to read:
"Genesis 2:8 - 14
And Jehovah God planted a garden eastward, in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed.
And out of the ground made Jehovah God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the Tree of Life also in the midst of the garden, and the Tree of the Knowledge of good and evil.
And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became four heads.
The name of the first is Pishon: that is it which compasseth the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold;
and the gold of that land is good: there is bdellium and the onyx stone.
And the name of the second river is Gihon: the same is it that compasseth the whole land of Ethiopia.
And the name of the third river is Hiddekel: that is it which goeth toward the east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates."
"You see? We know where the Tigres, or Hiddekel river is, we know where the Euphrates is, it’s the other two, the Pishon and the Gihon that are missing. Regardless, this clearly points to the Middle East, probably modern day Iraq."
Dr. Zarins thought for a moment. Then he spoke slowly. "Why do you think the Bible has the answers?"
"Because the Bible speaks of the Garden of Eden. If the Bible does not know the location, then the Garden does not exist. To find Eden, I must believe the Bible is accurate!" I replied.
"I see," Zarins smiled. Wouldn't it be nice to have some corroborating evidence?"
"It would, Sir. That's what I think you can help me with. You've been there, and you're an expert in ancient civilizations. If anyone can find Eden, it's you." I sat back and waited for his reaction. He sat quietly for a time, then his eyes met mine. He removed his glasses, and looked at me.
"Perhaps," he said quietly. "People have tried for thousands of years to locate the mythical Garden of Eden, Samual. But the locations of the Pishon and Gihon have never been discovered. Some say Eden was part of Atlantis, other suggest Mongolia, some India, many Ethiopia. Learned scholars and historians, well versed in the history of these oldest known areas of civilization have tried in vain to pin point the missing rivers. In Turkey, both the Tigris, also known as the Hiddekel and the Euphrates appear in the mountainous regions. Mt. Ararat where Noah's Ark was supposed to have landed is there as well. But I think most people accept the same theory as you, Samual. Just north of the Persian Gulf seems to be where all roads lead. But this is a very large area. And still there is the matter of the missing rivers.
But like you, Samual, I believe there is more to the story! I believe the Garden of Eden is actually UNDER the Persian Gulf! Moreover, I believe the story in the Bible is not a literal description of the beginnings of man, but a synopsis of the earliest civilizations of that time and place so long ago. Samual, I have studied these very verses over and over. I have spent years in the Middle East chasing down clues. I have consulted with experts in the fields of geology, hydrology and linguistics. I am convinced Eden, or what was once Eden, is indeed beneath the waters at the tip of the Persian Gulf, where Kuwait, Iraq and Iran all converge.
Around 30,000 B.C it was the middle of the Ice Age. Sea levels were 400 feet lower than today, and there was no Persian Gulf. The area received its water from the Tigris, Euphrates, the Gihon, the Pishon and all their tributaries. This created a natural 'paradise' in the region.
About six thousand years ago, that same area was an astonishingly fertile and green place. There was wildlife everywhere, as evidenced by animal bones discovered by various digs over the years. Ancient human tools and implements abound in these areas. The people had only to forage, or gather whatever they needed. It was literally a Paradise, where no cultivation and little hunting was required, the land provided everything you needed in lush abundance. However, in the outlying areas, Mother Earth was not so hospitable. People had to refine skills in hunting and cultivation in order to survive and prosper. While the Edenites lived a life of luxury, in effect depending on God for their needs, the surrounding hunter-gatherers grew self sufficient and able to survive without such providence. We call the peoples of these two cultures the 'Ubaid', the same civilization which founded the oldest of the southern Mesopotamian cities such as Eridu, Ur and Uruk. As the outsiders moved closer and integrated more with the Edenites, they began to assimilate their technologies. They became more self-sufficient and less dependent upon the land for their provision. As the area continued to flood while sea levels gradually returned to normal, the fertile regions were swallowed up by the increasing Persian Gulf over the years. Eden was lost over time. And as the climate continued to evolve and change, Eden passed from the memory of people altogether.
In effect, Adam and Eve had all they needed. But they 'sinned' by taking matters into their own hands, relying upon their skills rather than God's gifts. Their punishment was expulsion, being driven out by the increasing waters, never to return.[1] There is much more to this, but it would take literally years to explain it all to you, Samual. Suffice it to say that even if you do locate the very spot where the Garden of Eden once existed, it will avail you nothing, because today it is nothing more than mud under a body of water. If, knowing this, you still wish to pursue the matter, you may assist me in my research. Perhaps some day you will fulfill your Quest. But not today." Zarins drained his coffee cup, and looked at me.
"I'd like that very much, Sir," I replied solemnly.
"Fine. Then that's that. I'll see you after the winter break, Samual.
6.
May 1982
It had been four years since my dream. I had worked with Dr. Zarins for two years as his assistant, mostly tracing the roots of the Mesopotamian 'Ubaidian' through the Middle East. Dr. Zarins was convinced the key to the earliest civilizations lay in the discovery of the lost Ubaid trade routes. He had made much progress, and was talking about returning to the Middle East to continue his search. In the entire four years I had learned much of ancient civilizations, languages, and cultures, but I was no closer to Eden than before.
I had moved to Chicago two years earlier to study for my Ph.D. in anthropology at the University of Chicago. I was graduating at the end of the month, and was extremely busy with my studies. I was 26 years old now, and looked much the same as I did at 21, but with fewer pimples. I was still a bit overweight, my hair was always wacked out, my glasses were too big, and I had no social life at all.
I lived in an old Winnebago motor home in the campus parking lot so I could spend as much time studying as possible. If I wasn't at school, I was sleeping. I showered at the school gymnasium, and took my meals in the cafeteria. I had rented a post office box to receive mail, but I seldom ever heard from anyone.
My mother was still in Fairfax, California, and was still as nuts as ever. Each phone call home wound up being a listing of all the injustices the world had burdened her with. It was a real drag, so I kept the conversations to a minimum, wanting to stay in touch but not wanting to be depressed the rest of the day. Of course, she was always too broke to send for me at holidays and vacations, so I stayed in the RV all year, preferring to take summer classes rather than sit around bored.
I did quite a bit of tutoring, and taught a couple of classes at the local community college to help make ends meet. One of my students was a 21 year-old sophomore named Susan Sahakian, a beautiful, demure Armenian with deep brown eyes, and thick flowing raven-black hair. I was attracted to her the first time I saw her, and she seemed to like me. She always smiled sweetly at me when I made eye contact, and I got the impression she was hanging around after class just to be near me.
Finals were due this week, and Susan hadn't been doing so well on her test scores. I was concerned she might blow the exam, so I asked her if I could have a few words with her after class. She smiled, and hung around as the other students shuffled out into the sunshine. Soon it was just she and I, I sitting at my desk, and she standing in front, facing me.
"Susan, I'm a bit concerned about your final exam. I notice you don't seem to be taking notes, you seldom turn in your homework, and your test scores are pretty low. If you blow this test, it could mean failing the class altogether." I looked at her with a concerned smile.
"Hey, Mr. Weatherspoon, you're not gonna flunk me, are you? I thought you liked me!" she answered flirtatiously. She walked around to the back of my desk and planted her hands on her hips. She looked straight into my eyes and leaned forward until I could smell her perfume. She continued in closer, until her lips were right next to my ear. I could feel her hair as it brushed against my cheek. "Are you?" she whispered, her hot breath giving me shivers all the way down my neck. She pulled back, and smiled at me, a mischievous grin playing across her lips.
"Well, I certainly don't want to, but you really need a good grade on the final exam, Susan," I stammered nervously.
She looked at me with a pout. "Well, can't we work something out?" She cast her eyes down, and grinned at me with a sidelong glance. "I REALLY want a good grade on this test, Mr. Weatherspoon…" her voice trailed off as she blinked her eyes slowly.
"Look, Susan, I'm not, that is I can't..well, there are rules, and, you know, well, we can't, that is to say, oh, good grief, Susan, I can't date you, I'm your teacher!" I gulped, and looked at her lithe form swaying in front of me.
Susan stopped moving, and her jaw dropped. "Date you!" she exclaimed. "Are you nuts? I was thinking an extra credit project or something. You thought I wanted to go out with you?
"Well, you were acting like, I mean I thought, it's just that I.." I was at a loss for words. This was the most embarrassing thing that had happened since high school!
"Look, Mr. Weatherspoon. No offense, but I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last guy on earth! No offense," Susan reiterated.
"Um, none taken" I mumbled, and turned back to the papers on my desk. "Susan, if you'll focus on the last three chapters, and concentrate on the end-of-chapter questions you'll have everything you need to get through the exam. You'll just have to study, that's all." I pushed my glasses up on my nose.
"Okay!" Susan quipped, and sashayed out of the room. A second later her head popped in through the door. "Oh, Mr. Weatherspoon?" She sang.
"Yes, Susan," I looked up at her. She blew me a kiss and winked at me. "Bye-bye, loverboy!" She giggled as she trotted off down the hall. I heard the classroom door click shut, and sat there looking at it for a long time afterwards. Suddenly I was grateful I didn't have a girlfriend.
Some time later I was in my classroom going over the final exam questions. The phone rang, and I absently picked up the receiver with one hand, the other one being full of papers. "Weatherspoon," I announced, gripping the phone between my chin and left shoulder.
"Samual, my boy. It's Juris. From Springfield!" Dr. Zarins' voice sounded far-off.
"Oh my gosh, how are you, Sir!" I was delighted to hear from him. It had been over a year since we had last spoken.
"Samual, are you near your fax machine?" His voice sounded urgent.
"No, it's in the office down the hall. Why? I asked.
"I'm sending you a LANDSAT image. I want you to go get it. I'll wait."
"Okay, I'll be right back…" I knew from experience not to argue with Professor Zarins when he was on a roll.
I went down the hall to the anthropology department office, and heard the fax machine whining and screeching in the back of the room. I threaded my way past cubicles and stacks of cardboard boxes, and retrieved what appeared to be a satellite photo of a body of water. I walked back to the classroom and picked up the receiver, lying on the desk where I had left it. "Dr. Zarins?" I asked.
"Do you have it, my boy?" he inquired urgently.
"Yes, Sir. What is it?" I was holding a dark space photograph of a large body of water.
"Listen, Samual, have you ever heard of Dr. Farouk El-Baz from Boston University?"
"I think so. Isn't he the geologist specializing in space photography the U.S. government used in the Gulf War?"
"Yes, yes my boy. Well, he sent me this image from the LANDSAT camera in orbit." Dr. Zarins was clearly excited. "Look at the outline. What you see is the Persian Gulf, the northernmost tip. Now look just north and extending to the west. Do you see the fossil river faintly outlined?"
"My God, Dr. Zarins, you're right! It is an ancient riverbed."
"My boy, that is the Rimah-Batin, or it once was." He was silent for a moment.
"Yes, Dr. Zarins?" I waited for him to speak again.
"Samual it had another name before that." He fell quiet once more. As the realization began to sink in, he spoke again. "The name was the Pishon"
I felt faint of breath. I asked in a near whisper, "What about the Gihon?"
His reply came just as quietly. "The Gihon is the Karun River in Iran, coming in from the East."
I opened the middle drawer in my desk and removed a magnifying glass. I examined the image meticulously. There they were, all four of them. The Pishon, the Gihon, the Hiddekel and the Euphrates, all merging at the tip of the Persian Gulf and pointing directly towards… Eden….! I drew a shaky breath before speaking again. "Dr. Zarins, you have the evidence to prove your theories!"
"Yes, my boy, it seems I do. But there is much more work to be done. Can you come to Missouri?"
"I have to finish the semester and put my affairs in order. I'll be there in three weeks."
"Good, my boy. I'll put you on staff, you can assist with my research again." Dr. Zarins was clearly as excited as I was.
"See you in a few weeks," I said, and heard the click on the other end as he hung up the phone.
I looked back at the satellite photograph on my desk. I was astonished. For thousands of years mankind had sought for the missing river, and there it was, clearly visible from space. It had taken the technology of modern times to reveal what had been directly underfoot for centuries. The moment was amazing, and I basked in it at length.
I clasped my hands behind my head, and leaned back in my chair, reclining against the chalkboard. I closed my eyes, and began to fantasize about the Garden of Eden, hidden beneath the Persian Gulf since time immemorial. I realized that my path would eventually lead me there, and some day I would understand why my life had been continually redirected towards this search. The room grew quiet as the afternoon sun sank lower over the horizon outside. I could hear crickets chirping, and a few birds singing in the trees outdoors. I heard a girl's laughter in the distance, and smiled.
My chair moved slightly. I sat up suddenly, afraid I was about to fall off onto the floor. But the chair was not on the floor. I was not on the chair. I was in the now familiar fog of Gabrielae's realm, floating weightless in the warm mists of light. I waited quietly, until I saw her shimmering lights approaching. She floated up to me, as beautiful as I remembered her, like a dream or a fantastic vision. Her smiling eyes, fell upon me, and I blushed. Her hair swirled and set off the myriads of rainbow lights twinkling in the long tresses.
"Samual, you have done well!" she spoke. "But there is much more ahead of you. The times will change, and you must face many trials and dangers in the pursuit of your Quest. Now that you have located Eden, you must go there." She took my left arm, and it began to tingle. I saw the imprint of her kiss from long ago on my hand, as it began to glow brightly in her presence. She floated near to my face. Her beauty immobilized me as before, and I was paralyzed with rapture. She brushed her petite fingers lightly against my cheeks, and cradled my head in her hands. Looking deeply into my eyes, she spoke.
"You will do well, Samual. You will do well." She pulled away, smiling angelically, and began to fade in the mists. Soon all I could see was her hair, ever in motion, twinkling like a starlight night and I leaned forward to touch her again, but found I had no balance. I started to fall, and instinctively threw my hands in front of me just in time to connect with the desk in my classroom. I shook my head, closed then opened my eyes, and looked around. I was indeed in the classroom. I looked down at my left hand. There, glimmering faintly was the image of a kiss. I stared at it as it faded slowly into nothingness.
7.
1992
It had been 10 years since Gabrielae's last visit, and I had recently celebrated my 36th birthday. I had spent the last decade working as an understudy with Professor Zarins in Missouri, most of which were uneventful. I taught anthropology classes in his department, and after hours we worked on his archaeological projects. His focus had been a Middle Eastern dig site in southwestern Oman. His search was focused on the ancient lost trade routes of the Ubarites, kinfolk of the original residents of Eden according to Dr. Zarins' theories. Dr. Zarins was convinced he had finally discovered the location of Shisur, otherwise known as Ubar, or the fabled "Lost City of the Sands". So I followed him to the southern Arabian Desert, and we spent months living in tents, scouring the desolation for clues that might support his hypotheses. Several months later, it was obvious he had actually found Shisur. The evidence was overwhelming. At long last it seemed his theories were all coming to fruition, after a lifetime of research and patience. I considered myself fortunate to have accompanied such a knowledgeable guide on this journey through the ancient past.
I had never adjusted to sleeping on safari. The nights were long and hot, and the days were almost unbearable. At times the baking winds would whip up the desert sand so it was impossible to see without goggles, or breathe without masks. We had taken to wearing much of the local Arabic clothing as a result. Our skin was smelly and oily, since there were no bathrooms in the desert. Even the bottled water was hot and unsatisfying to drink. But we kept on, as only archaeologists could or would under such circumstances, and it had finally proved worth it.
Today a television crew from America had come to interview Dr. Zarins about the finding of the Lost City of Ubar. Since he was chief archaeologist and the driving force behind the Transarabian Expedition we were on, he was the center of attention now that word of his discovery had leaked out.
We smiled when they spoke of their visit to Ubar, because Ubar was actually a misnomer. You see, Ubar referred to the entire region and a group of peoples, not a specific town. Dr. Zarins had once shown me an ancient second century map of our whereabouts with the name "Lobaritae", another word for Ubarite, plastered across the entire area. The confusion started, he explained, in the Medieval era when the fabled story "The Thousand and One Arabian Nights" was popularized. Since Ubar was the glamorized central city in the tale, the legend stuck. Over the years, the city of Ubar lived and grew in the minds of romantic storytellers and treasure-seekers. Shisur, Dr. Zarins further explained, was not actually Ubar; it was merely one of several major sites along the Ubarite frankincense, myrrh and horse trade routes of that time.
These trade routes had many sites like Shisur, and each one had a heavily protected fortress of thick stone walls and tall battle towers, with small nomadic villages nearby populated by those who sold goods and services to the traveling merchants and warriors. Each fort was manned by armed soldiers, and built around a permanent supply of the most precious resource in the desert, water. The sites were strategically placed close enough together so the caravans could reach the next one before they ran out of supplies. At these outposts, they would restock, rest, and prepare for the next leg of the journey across the unforgiving desert. The defenses had to be formidable, to fend off the raiding Bedouin tribes roaming the desert. Money as well as goods were kept there, so the structures had to be as strong as castles.
Frankincense nowadays is pretty worthless, but back then it was as valuable as gold. In the Bible it was one of the honored gifts from the Magi to the Christ child. The Arabian Desert produced some low, gnarled trees whose roots penetrated the arid sands, sometimes as deep as 200 feet in search of scant supplies of water. The sap these tenacious trees oozed from their bark under the blistering sun was used to make frankincense. Since frankincense was rare and valuable, people all over the world wanted it. So it had to be moved from where it was made to markets wherever they might be. Thus, large caravans with frankincense-laden camels and supplies trekked across the Arabian Desert for weeks and sometimes months to transport, deliver and sell this valuable cargo to customers in far away lands. Horses and myrrh were also extremely valuable commodities, and were oftentimes part of the merchandise moving through the Ubarite trade networks.[2]
The Arabian Desert was a hot place, sometimes the temperature reached above 120 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer. Actually, the Arabian Desert was comprised of all the deserts in the Arabian Peninsula. Over 250,000 square miles of burning hot sands stretched as far as the eye could see! Some of the dunes reached over 1000 feet high, like blistering mountains in the endless sea of sand. We had to bring lots of protection from the sun, a great deal of water, and copious records including maps that kept us from getting lost.[3] Dr. Zarins and I killed our share of carpet viper snakes, and camel spiders were a daily nuisance, but we were there for a reason, and a few local snakes and insects weren't going to scare us away.
The nights were fascinating. I had a telescope I brought out when it was too hot to sleep, and the skies were so clear I could actually see the moons of Jupiter. The silence was breathtaking, and the isolation was humbling. This particular night I was sitting in a chair beside my telescope watching the television crew packing their equipment for the journey back to civilization. They were very pleased with the interview, and had promised they'd let us know when the footage would be broadcast. Dr. Zarins was scrunched over a map on a shaky table under a canvas canopy about 30 feet away. I walked over to him, and stood patiently on the other side of the table while he scanned the paper.
"Yes, my boy?" he looked up, smiling. "Quite a day, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Sir." I was a man of few words these days. Solitude and isolation did that to a guy.
"Something on your mind, Samual?" he inquired.
"Yes, Sir" I responded, hesitating for a moment. "I won't be going back to Missouri with you this time, Professor. I've received an offer from Stanford University in California, and I've accepted their invitation."
"I was wondering about that. So you've decided to take them up on it, eh?" He didn't seem surprised.
I hesitated again, shuffling my feet on the makeshift flooring. "It's not that I don't appreciate all you've done, it's just that I need to make my own way now." I felt uncomfortable. After all, Juris and I had worked together for many years, both at the University, and in the field. It was difficult to leave him after all we'd been through together, but he was about to become a very famous man, and I just felt I would be in the way.
"I understand, my boy." Dr. Zarins smiled his grand smile again. "Don't let it bother you. You've come a long way, and Stanford is luck to be getting you. And perhaps," he removed his glasses and set them slowly on the rickety table, "perhaps you'll find that Garden of yours in the end after all."
"Perhaps, Sir. Perhaps." I smiled at the man who had been my mentor since I was a youth, nearly 15 years now. It was indeed difficult to go, but it was time. Something deep within me kept telling me it was definitely time.
"I shall miss you. Sir." My eyes were a bit misty.
"Nonsense, my boy. You are a world-class archaeologist in your own right. You just need a bit more self-confidence. Look what you've accomplished in your lifetime. It is your time to shine, my boy. Besides, my path lies in a different direction than yours. I must follow the Ubarites, and you must seek the Garden. So, you see, we have indeed come to a crossroads." He picked his glasses up and perched them on the end of his nose. "You have done well, my boy. You have done well." He smiled once more, then shooed me out of his tent.
I returned to my telescope and leaned against it. I gazed up at the clear, starry night, and wondered what my destiny was in this great universe. It seemed as though I had been going through predestined motions my entire life, and despite years, travels and degrees, was no closer to knowing myself than when I was a lad. I sighed, and turned back to face Dr. Zarins' tent. As I shifted positions, the sleeve of my robe caught on the end of the telescope, pulling it off its center of gravity. It began to fall towards me. I lurched forward in an attempt to catch it before it hit the ground, but only succeeded in receiving a huge scratch down the length of my arm.
"Ow!" I exclaimed, as I ripped my arm away from the offending wing nut. There was a crash, and the tinkling of broken glass. I saw the large lens had been cracked, and small shards of glass lay in the surrounding sand where it hat collided with the ground. I bent down to gather some of the fragments, as the wind began to kick up the nighttime sands. Giving up, I ran to my tent, pulling the entrance flap tightly shut behind me. "Some things will never change," I thought aloud, laying down on my cot as the wind whipped the tent persistently, making flapping noises and causing the fabric to strain against the guy wires and stabilizing poles. I drifted off to sleep, and remembered no more.
* * *
8.
March 2001
Stanford University was the pinnacle of my career. Working in Missouri was good, going on digs with Dr. Zarins was better, but being on staff at Stanford was the best. It felt good to be a part of such a fine and famous institution. I had said goodbye to Dr. Zarins in the desert sands of Oman over nine years ago, and had moved to California almost immediately after returning to the United States. Dr. Zarins had gone back to the Arabian Desert, and had remained there for two years. I still saw him being interviewed on television from time to time with his latest discovery. He looked as though he hadn't aged a day. He was still trim, smiled all the time, and had the same old glasses. He had uncovered several more Ubarite fortresses, and was a sough-after speaker worldwide.
I was an anthropology instructor, and most of my classes pertained to ancient Middle Eastern archaeology. I had followed in Dr. Zarins' footsteps, and was rather proud of that fact. It was the last Friday before Spring Break, and I was sitting at my desk grading the midterm examinations I had collected from the last class of the day.
"Professor Weatherspoon? " A young lady's voice interrupted my concentration on the test papers I was grading. I looked up to see the smiling face and uncommonly long, thick black hair of Veronica Munoz, my star pupil, outlined in the classroom doorway. Veronica was a lovely woman, 23 years old, and the young men in my class had a very difficult time paying attention to their studies when she was near. Summers were almost unbearable, because she wore as little as possible in an effort to beat the heat. She had a very sweet disposition, and was extraordinarily beautiful. She supplemented her income by modeling for the art department. When it became known she would be posing, the young men flocked to enroll in art classes, hopeful she would appear to be captured in sketch, sculpture, oil and watercolor. She was quite a phenomenon at Stanford, which had no shortage of young, beautiful and wealthy girls from all over the world.
"Yes, Veronica?" I put my papers down. "What can I do for you?"
"I just wanted to know if you wanted some help grading the exams. I know you want to get an early start on the weekend, weren't you going somewhere?" She sauntered into the room and plopped down on one of the chairs.
Of course I had no plans at all. It was hard to imagine Veronica had no plans either, knowing her social popularity on campus. "It's okay, I think I've got it covered. Besides, I'm not doing anything this weekend."
"Nonsense," she replied. "I'm helping you, and that's that." She reached up and took a stack of papers and a red pencil from the coffee mug on the corner of the desk. "Where's the key?" she asked.
"Right here," I said, and tossed her the answer page. She smiled, and began grading the papers studiously.
About an hour and a half later, we were finished. I gathered all my things together, and placed them in my briefcase. I stood, and stretched, yawning and cracking my knuckles. "Man," I said, and looked at the clock. It was after 5pm. The campus was quiet, most of the students and faculty had left for their vacations some time ago. Veronica stood up, picked up her purse and book bag, and turned to face me.
"Happy Easter, Professor Weatherspoon!" she said warmly.
"Thank you, Veronica. For everything. You're the best student I've ever had." I was telling the truth. In my nine years teaching at Stanford University, never had I come across a more devoted and intelligent study. Veronica had great things in store ahead of her, it was obvious. She had intelligence, looks, and connections. Her father was a congressman of some notoriety, and she was very close to Chelsea Clinton, former President Clinton's daughter, who had graduated the year before. It was not unusual to see Secret Service men pick Veronica and Chelsea up in long, black limousines after classes together. Being the best friend of the daughter of a President did have its perks.
"Nah, Professor, you're just a good teacher!" she quipped. "Bye!" She trotted out the door. I walked over to the exit myself, and reached up to turn off the lights in the classroom. I noticed my own reflection in the glass display cabinet next to the doorway. The years had not been kind. I was 44 years old, I still wore large, thick glasses, I was moderately overweight, my hair was still unkempt and unmanageable, mostly black, but thinning and turning gray more and more each month. I had very little fashion sense, and wore plain slacks with oxford dress shirts and a mohair blazer year-round. My shoes were casual loafers, somewhat scuffed and in need of a good polishing. I had taken to wearing a London Fog all-weather woven hat to shield my eyes from the sun in the summer and the rain in the winter. I had picked up pipe-smoking as well. It was one of the few pleasures in life I allowed myself. The overall combination gave me a bit of a British appearance, but no 'gentleman's air' whatsoever. I really didn't care. After all, there certainly were no women interested in me. I had never even been on a date. Years ago I had accepted the fact that I was not the kind of guy girls were interested in. My work kept me busy, and that had been good enough my entire life. I stepped outside the classroom, closing the door behind me. The custodians would be by soon to clean up, so I left the door unlocked.
I turned and walked towards the parking area. A van full of reveling boys and girls careened past, waving and hooting as though it were New Years Day. Vacation was a pretty big deal to students. Little did they know they would have precious few of them as they grew older and settled in to life. "Good for them," I thought. "Let them enjoy their youth. It only comes once." I reflected on my youth for a moment, started feeling depressed, and shook the feeling off. "No time for that," I said to myself. "Got work to do". I stepped into the parking area, my loafers crunching on the gravel that lined the entire area.
I walked up to the huge motor home parked there, a gargantuan monolith standing alone in the deserted parking lot. After years of living in a cheap, broken down motor home in Chicago and Missouri, then enduring months in primitive tents in the Arabian Desert, I saw no reason the make a change. But I had developed a taste for a bit of luxury, so I had purchased the best coach I could find, and that was my home. It was a far cry from the old Winnebago in Chicago; which seldom had hot water, and never any heat. No, this was a state-of-the-art luxury residential bus, with all the amenities of an opulent hotel room. Nearby was a quiet RV park, where I lived. I drove the coach to work because I never knew how late I'd be working. I spend many nights on campus.
As I clicked the remote, the front doors swooshed open, and the stairs extended to greet me. I loved walking into my RV, it always amazed me the things the manufacturers had thought of. Since it had become obvious to me many years ago that I would go through life without a mate, I felt this lifestyle was perfect for me.
As I entered, I admired the plush recliners in front by the windshield. These two chairs swiveled around to become passenger seats while the vehicle was stationary. Immediately to the left, there was a large living room, thanks to slide-out technology, which allowed a portion of the room to extend on hydraulics far out from the side of the coach, creating lots of floor space. Luxurious leather couches and a large dinette were on either side of the room. Further down was the kitchen, sparkling with custom hand finished oak, custom-cut crystal, brass fittings and fixtures, and hand-painted ceramic tile. Even the hinges of the solid cabinets were delicately decorated with machined scrollwork. The cabinet knobs were hand-crafted porcelain from Italy. The paneling was imported from Honduras. The mirrors along the hallways were lined with beveled crystal. The bathroom had a full-sized marble-lined Jacuzzi bathtub-shower, with twelve water jets that shot water from all directions to provide a full body massage whether standing or reclining. Down further was my bedroom, which had an oversized queen bed topped with a featherbed coverlet, 450 count Egyptian cotton sheets, a hand-made silk comforter from Afghanistan, and a switch that activated the massage unit built into the frame. Oversized pillows abounded, because I spent many hours reading in bed.
The entertainment system was impressive. There was a built-in high fidelity stereo system installed throughout the vehicle, so each room was able to control the sound individually. A roving satellite on the roof kept me hooked up to television and the Internet at broadband speeds while parked and in motion. A panel rose when the switch was flipped to reveal a home theatre complete with surround-sound and large-screen display. It was home, and I liked it. Power came from a super-silent and efficient generator, which could operate for two full days and nights if necessary. It seldom was necessary, because I rarely used anything requiring 110 volts. If the weather became unbearably hot in the summer, I could rely on the silent central heat and air conditioning unit, which kept me as comfortable as royalty. Despite the entertainment and amenities, I rarely did more then eat and read in the RV, which was accomplished by a small reading lamp powered by the coach's rack of deep-cycle batteries.
On this particular evening, I was not in a hurry to do anything or go anywhere. I stepped in, touching a switch that caused the doors to swish shut behind me. I sat on the couch, looking out the windows at the campus I had called home for almost ten years. I sat there thinking for a while.
"Tweet….tweeeeeeet…..tweeeeeeeet!" bleated my cell phone. I fumbled through the various devices hanging on my belt, and finally found the cellular.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Mr. Weatherspoon? Mr. Samual Weatherspoon?" the unfamiliar voice asked.
"Yes, this is Samual Weatherspoon," I responded.
"Mr. Weatherspoon, this is Doctor Gould at Fairfax Community Memorial Hospital. I don't know how to tell you this, Mr. Weatherspoon, so I'll just come right out and say it. Your mother has suffered a massive stroke. Her heart is very weak as well, and she's in a coma. She's here in the hospital, and is not expected to survive through the night." The voice fell silent.
I went deaf for a moment. I felt dizzy. I was confused, disoriented. "When?" I stammered.
"This afternoon. She was at home watching television as far as we can tell, and it, well it just happened. Her neighbor came over to watch "Oprah" with her and found her slumped over in her chair. We found your phone number and name in her personal effects."
"Okay. Okay, I'll come right away. It'll take me several hours to get there, but I'll get there right away." I was in a state of shock.
"Mr. Weatherspoon?" the doctor asked.
"Yes?" I responded.
"You'd better hurry." There was silence.
"Okay." I hung up the phone.
* * *
My coach pulled into the parking lot of the Fairfax hospital about six hours later. It was nearly midnight, and the place was still. I parked in the far corner of the parking lot, to allow room to leave when the time came. I rushed into the lobby, and saw the security guard sitting at the front desk.
"May I direct you, Sir?" she asked pleasantly.
"Weatherspoon. Mrs. Weatherspoon, please. I was told she was here after suffering a stroke." I was sweating, nervous, and my throat was dry.
"Right down that hallway, follow the green stripe o the floor to Intensive Care. Check with the charge nurse when you arrive." She smiled again, and returned to her paperwork.
I walked as fast as I could, with a foul cramp in my stomach. The green line was easy to follow, it was painted right along the center of the hall. It was accompanied by several other lines of various colors, presumably designed to lead visitors to different departments without the aid of maps or guides.
I turned the last corner, and collided abruptly with an obviously exhausted, young hispanic family coming towards me.
"Jeeze, dude, watch where you're going!" the young man complained.
"I'm very sorry, I'm really distracted" I offered lamely. The family shook their heads and stepped out of the way. I slowed down, and approached the nurse's station a few feet in front of me.
I arrived, and two nurses were conversing behind the counter. I cleared my throat, and the eldest woman, presumably the charge nurse, looked up from her conversation.
"Yes, Sir, may I help you?" she asked pleasantly.
"I'm here to see my mother, Mrs. Weatherspoon?" I asked hesitantly.
She looked sidelong at the younger nurse. They both appeared suddenly very uncomfortable.
"Mr. Weatherspoon, if you could just have a seat in the waiting area, Dr. Gould is here and he'd like to speak to you," spoke the charge nurse. Here eyes were filled with compassion, and it was obvious she wanted to say more, but couldn't. I feared the worst.
A few minutes later a short, portly doctor approached me wearing a consultation jacket with several pens protruding from the upper pocket. He was mostly bald, and had a quick gait. He purposely strode up to me, thrust his hand forward, and introduced himself.
"Mr. Weatherspoon, I'm Dr. Gould. I'm your mother's physician."
I shook his hand lamely, awaiting his next words.
"Why don't we sit down for a moment" he said. I perched on the end of one of the waiting room chairs expectantly.
"What's going on, Doctor?" I asked.
"Mr. Weatherspoon, your mother passed away a few minutes ago. There was nothing we could do." He looked at me, giving me a moment to absorb the news. I could feel myself withdrawing, pulling away from the world as the words echoed inside my head. I felt like I was falling, and began to shake ever so slightly. I made a conscience effort to pull myself together. Dr. Gould patiently waited while I composed myself. It took several minutes to accomplish this. Finally I asked in a shaky voice,
"Tell me what happened."
The doctor began immediately. "Your mother was quite sedentary in her lifestyle, Samual. She had a diet rich in meats, fried foods, fats and sugars; she smoked for years, and she shunned any form of exercise. I tried for years to encourage her to take better care of herself, but she laughed it off, telling me that life without flavor was not life at all. She told me she preferred to live heartily, even if it meant she died sooner. Her cholesterol was extremely high, and her heart was working awfully hard to keep her going for many years. Her arteries were quite hard, and the blood flow just wasn't very efficient. She made it to 72 years of age living the way she wanted. Then she suffered a massive stroke, entered into a coma, and passed away shortly thereafterwards. That's basically the whole story." Dr. Gould waited while I absorbed the information.
"What triggered the stroke?" I asked. "Do we know?"
"Your mother evidently opened and read a letter with some unexpected news inside. The shock was so great, it literally killed her. Her companion found her still clutching the note, barely breathing, and completely incoherent."
"What was in the note?" I asked.
"It was in her hands when the ambulance arrived with her. We put it in the drawer next to her hospital bed with the rest of her personal possessions she had on her person when she arrived." Dr. Gould was silent.
"Mr. Weatherspoon?" he asked.
I shook myself out of deep thought to answer, "What?"
"I'm very sorry about your loss." He smiled compassionately. I actually believed he was sorry.
"Thank you." "May I see her now?" I asked.
"Yes. This way." He led me down a short hall, past several rooms with patients ranging from restless to sleeping comfortably. We entered, and he pulled the curtain open to reveal my mother lying still on her bed. Her skin was pale, almost gray. It was obvious she was dead. I gasped and grabbed the doorframe to steady myself.
"Are you all right, Mr. Weatherspoon?" asked the doctor.
"Yes, just a bit overwhelmed," I replied. "Could I be alone for a few minutes?"
"Certainly. Just let me know when you're finished here," the doctor said as he slipped out quietly, closing the door behind him.
I stood there, looking at my mother's body, realizing I really didn't know her very well at all. In my youth she seemed preoccupied with the business of supporting a kid as a single mom, and never really paid much attention to me. She tended to complain, and I seldom felt I really measured up to her standards, although she had never specifically made any comments that would lead me to come to that conclusion. It was just a general feeling of disconnection; I never was able to understand it, and it was that way for as long as I could remember.
But now she was dead, and the time for understanding had passed. I was distressed that I didn't get to say good-bye to her, but life oftentimes has a way of wryly reminding us what we "should" have done or "could" have done. There was no sense in beating myself up over it.
"Goodbye, Mom. I love you," I whispered softly as my eyes began to fill with tears. I stood beside her body for what seemed like a very long time, staring at her in the still of the night and the silence of the hospital. I began to fatigue after a time, and sat in the chair next to her bed. Memories floated into my consciousness and out again in random order as I reflected on the my life and my mother whom I barely knew. I sat there into the wee hours of the morning, and eventually fell asleep.
"Professor Weatherspoon?" a quiet lady's voice softly asked.
"Yes?" I mumbled, pulling myself out of a dead slumber. My neck ached terribly, I had fallen asleep in the most uncomfortable of positions. The nap in the tortuous hospital chair had left me bent and stiff all over.
"We have to move your mother now, Sir." I looked up and a young nurse was standing there with a couple of orderlies. "Did you want to get her things out of the drawer first?"
"Okay," I said, and stood slowly. I looked down at the empty shell that had once held my mother. It wasn't her any more. It didn't even look like her. It was a bit horrifying, to see this grayed and motionless likeness of her, and the unreality of it struck me like a dark demonic chord of discomfort. I turned away, and stretched, my arms reaching high over my head. Then I turned to face the small cabinet beside the hospital bed.
It was made of beige sheet metal, completely without personality or ambience, and it stood on four wheels for easy relocation. I opened the drawer, and it screeched softly as it pulled against its worn and unlubricated stainless steel tracks. Inside I saw a pair of reading glasses, a crumpled piece of official-looking paper, a pack of "More" menthol cigarettes, a hair comb, and a book of matches. The stark simplicity was ironic. After 72 years, this is all she had with her at the end.
"She was holding this when they brought her in," the young nurse said, pointing at the crushed letter. I picked it up and tried to straighten it out so I could examine it. The room was too dark to see the characters on the page, so I folded it as best as I could, and dropped it into my shirt pocket.
"Thank you for everything," I told the nurse.
"No problem, Sir, I'm very sorry about your loss" she replies sweetly.
I left the room and began to walk back down the hallway, faithfully following the green stripe in the middle of the path back to the entrance of the building. The security guard looked up from her desk and smiled at me.
"Good morning, Sir," she said. I looked out the front door and saw that the sun had risen. It was still very early, and the city had not yet awoken. I walked out to the parking lot to my RV. As I approached I touched the remote, and the doors opened as the steps silently extended to greet me. I entered, hitting the switch so the apparatus would retract behind me. I walked to the rear of the bus to the sleeping quarters, and plopped down on the bed. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.
****
I heard singing. It was unlike a song as I knew it, and I was unable to understand the words. But it made me feel good, as if I hadn't a care in the world. I could feel myself smiling in my repose. I reached out to pull myself up on the bed, but my hand met with thin air. I opened my eyes, and there before my eyes was the fairy-like face of Gabrielae, beaming at me with a twinkle in her smile. The now familiar miniscule rainbows peeked in and out of her unbelievably long snow-white hair, and there were hints of voices giggling and singing lightly in the luminescent and swirling background. I made no effort to ascertain my surroundings, having learned long ago I had no control in this domain.
"Gabrielae!" I said warmly, and smiled from deep within my soul. "I was wondering when you would materialize again."
"Samual, I have always been with you!" her musical voice replied, soothing my spirit. Her "I have watched with pride as you have grown wiser and older. I have wept as you have lived a life of loneliness and solitude, without any true companionship. And I have seen as you have pursued your Quest. You have done well, Samual."
"Not as well as you think. I have done much research, and I think I know where to look for the Garden, but I still have no idea what to do next. I've just been living my life, and hoping the next move would make itself known when the time was right." I sighed. All the pain and loneliness of my life just faded away in her presence.
"Samual, your life will soon again change. All that you require to pursue the Quest will come your way, but at the same time new and unforeseen difficulties will arise against you. Your world is about to change as well, dear Samual. There will be wars, and fear here and abroad, and suspicion will rule the hearts of men in time. Many lives will be lost, for your people are nearing the vortex of your destiny as a civilization. The future depends on the outcome of this convergence of worldwide conflict. But for better or worse, you will never be the same again. The days of change are upon you. You will receive great things, but the cost will be very high. You will grow in stature among other men, but you will lose much in the process. There will be much pain and much pleasure. But above all, now, more than ever, you must press forward with the Quest, for if you tarry too long, you will fail, and your world with you." She looked at me seriously, and all became deathly still. "Press on, Samual, for the time is near." She smiled again at me. "I have chosen well," she said, and reached out to touch my cheek. Her fingers trailed the outline of my face, and my senses thrilled to her touch, electrifying me throughout. She withdrew, and spoke again. "Soon, Samual, very soon…." And then she was gone. She gradually faded from my view, and the gay sounds surrounding her faded with her. The mists grew slowly darker, until I was alone in the darkness. I heard a thumping in the distance, growing in intensity until the beats were loud and startling. I looked around to see what I could see, but it was useless, the beating continued.
"Thump, thump, thump……thump, thump, thump," came the steady rhythmic sound. I leaned towards the noise, and suddenly my head struck something hard. I closed my eyes as I winced, grabbing the injured spot on the upper right side of my forehead. I opened my eyes, and saw I had fallen out of bed onto the RV flooring, striking my head on the corner of the door. Someone was knocking loudly on the door, so I shook off the pain, and struggled to my feet. I padded down the hall, and saw through the window aa security guard was peering in through the same window. He was unable to see anything, due to the unidirectional coating on the glass. I flicked the switch, and the doors swooshed open efficiently.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Sir, you'll have to move this thing. People need the parking places," the annoyed man said.
"No problem, just give me a minute. I've been up most of the night. My mother died here early this morning." I responded. His demeanor softened visibly.
"I'm sorry, Sir. If you could just move it as soon as possible, that would be great. I'm very sorry about your loss," he added, and sheepishly walked back towards the hospital entrance. I was hearing that phrase an awful lot lately. You'd think there was more than one sentence to use when somebody dies, but I was at a loss to come up with one at the moment.
I walked back to the bedroom to straighten up, and noticed my mother's letter had fallen on the floor during my sleep. I stooped to pick it up, and sat down on the couch to read it. I reached up and turned on the reading lamp, then unfolded the disheveled document. Holding it up, I began to read.
"Hawethorne and Cogger, a Law Firm, 12 Bonny Doon Lane, Derbyshire, UK. Dear Ms. Weatherspoon. It is with great regret that we must inform you that your great-uncle the Most Excellent Lord Weatherspoon of Derbyshire, Great Britain has passed away. He left two sons and a daughter, but they were not on speaking terms with him for the last twenty years of his life. After months of research and several court battles with his disowned sons and daughter, we, his legal counsel, have established that you are his sole remaining heir. Thus we hereby inform you that Lord Weatherspoon's entire estate having been legally dispositioned by due process belongs to you. We have established direct deposits to your bank account, and by the time you receive this communication, your first dividend will have been received. Since the estate is managed by our firm, should you have any questions regarding your holdings, please contact us at any time. Lord Weatherspoon's investments in oil, petroleum and electric companies throughout the world were very lucrative, and continue to generate substantial earnings annually. Your estate's net worth is currently (in American dollars) approximately $1,956,000,000 (one billion, nine hundred fifty-six million dollars), and your annual dividend is approximately five percent of the net value, or $97,800,000 (ninety-seven million, eight hundred thousand dollars). This is the amount of your first installment, which you should have already received. Below is the number of our American offices, who can assist you with tax and financial management. One last note, your sole son, one Samual Weatherspoon is named as your only survivor. Should anything happen to you, this estate will revert to him in entirety. Our sincere condolences on your loss. Sincerely; Artemis Cogger AAL."
I sat, staring at the letter, completely dumbfounded. So this is what had killed my mother. After a lifetime of struggling, she died rich without ever having seen a penny of her sudden fortune. Astonishing. And now it was all mine. Unbelievable. I rose, walked to the galley, folded the letter and put it in a drawer, and returned to the couch. I sat slowly as the reality of the past 24 hours began to sink in. The confusion of emotions colliding within my mind was disconcerting, and it was some time before I was able to think clearly again.
***
A couple of weeks later I returned to Stanford. I had buried my mother in a quiet, private ceremony, and I had dispositioned her estate rather quickly. Having no interest in her possessions, I instructed the attorneys to donate her house and furnishings to charity. Her personal effects I gave to the neighbor who had found her that fateful afternoon; she seemed to have loved her very much.
Since my mother had already added me to her bank accounts decades earlier to make access to lunch money and groceries easier while in college, I had no need to move her cash assets to my private accounts. I thought it ironic that I had untold wealth, but needed nothing. I decided to continue to live on my Professor's salary, and leave the inheritance stipend alone until I decided what to do with it. I instructed the lawyers to take care of the taxes, and signed proxy authorization over to the law firm, knowing nothing about business or high finance. When it was all said and done, I had over $50 million dollars left over, and that was the first installment. There would be a new dividend each year as long as the companies continued to generate a profit. Fifty million dollars! I couldn't even comprehend such a sum. I had thought $250,000 was a king's ransom when I purchased my luxury motorhome. I supposed it didn't matter when it was all said and done. The money had killed my mother, and I was determined that it would never get a grip on me.
Five months came and went, and life proceeded rather routinely. My 45th birthday came and went without incident. Then one morning my world changed forever.
* * *
I was on my way to work on a cold and overcast Tuesday. I remember the date and time clearly; it was September 11th, 2001, just a little past 6am California time. It was a gray autumn morning, and the clouds were obscuring most of the sky as the sun struggled to break through. It was windy in the Bay Area that day, and I could feel the RV swaying as I maneuvered it through the strong breezes. I happened to be listening to a public radio station, as I had done every morning since my early college days. As I pulled into the faculty parking lot, I heard the announcer interrupt the programming with the mind-numbing announcement that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City a few moments earlier. He was apparently on the phone with a local New York correspondent who was unclear what the actual details were. A few minutes later, the announcer said a second plane had crashed into the other tower, and both were aflame. Not long afterwards, there was another bulletin describing the crash of an airliner into the Pentagon, and finally a report of a plane crash in rural Pennsylvania. Within the hour, it had been concluded that a massive terrorist attack had been perpetrated against the United States. By the time I arrived on campus, the administration had already decided to cancel all classes for the day. I returned to my RV, and opened the entertainment system. I spent the rest of the day and night watching news reports and updates. Before long, the name of Osama Bin Laden had become a part of American vocabulary for all time. The horrific images of the World Trade Center towers collapsing onto themselves before crashing to the ground was burned indelibly into the memory of every American from coast to coast. For the first time in my adult life, my country was at war. I somehow sensed that life would never be the same again.
***
Time went on, as it always does. Soon the end of November 2001 arrived, and life was distinctly different now. I spent most of my time on campus, and rarely drove the RV back to my trailer park any more. Every day and night the news was full of reports about anthrax-laced letters popping up all over the place, presumably sent by unknown terrorists or sympathizers. The United States had responded swiftly to the terrorist attacks on American soil by wiping out the Afghani government, with the assistance of indigenous anti-Taliban rebels. However, the ongoing failure to capture the fugitive terrorist Osama bin Ladin had been an ongoing embarrassment to the entire military effort. To date he was nowhere to be found. The American military base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba was filling up with the captured Afghani terrorists. Human rights organizations were starting to howl over the indefinite holding of uncharged prisoners who the government refused to classify as POW's, thus exempting them from the protection of the Geneva Conventions rules governing the treatment of war prisoners. Israel and Palestine hostilities ramped up, and the entire Middle East appeared on the brink of total destabilization.
As for myself, I had thrown myself into my work with renewed vigor, in an attempt to drown out the constant barrage of bad news. I rarely watched television at all any more, and seldom turned on the radio, even to listen to my favorite shows. I happened to be going over some of my student's test papers when the phone rang about 4pm one overcast and breezy afternoon.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Dr. Weatherspoon? Dr. Samual Weatherspoon?" the voice asked.
"This is he," I replied.
"Doctor, this is Mrs. Porter, assistant to Congressman Munoz in Washington DC. The Congressman would like to speak to you right away."
"Um, okay," I answered. I remembered the Senator was the father of Veronica Munoz, my star pupil.
"If you'll hold, Sir, I'll put the Congressman on now," There were a few minutes of silence, then Congressman Munoz's powerful voice filled the receiver.
"Professor Weatherspoon?" he boomed.
"Yes, Congressman," I answered.
"Professor, your country needs you." He spoke directly. "I'm on a special task force commissioned by President Bush and Congress to gather historical information on the Middle East, with special concentration on Saudi Arabia and the surrounding area. Your work with Dr. Zarins some years ago has brought you to our attention, not to mention the fact that my daughter swears you're the best man for the job, so, what do you say?" Congressman Munoz was equally as forceful and direct as his daughter Veronica, my former student. The fruit certainly didn't fall far from the tree.
"Don't I need some kind of security clearance?" I asked.
"Doctor, you've already had one," he laughed. " The Secret Service checked you out rather intensively as soon as Veronica started staying late after class grading papers with you. As close as Veronica is to Chelsea Clinton, they wanted to know everything about the people Veronica spends time with. You already have a top level clearance, I've seen to that!" The congressman was quite well connected, even more so than I had imagined. "Doctor, the arrangements have already been made. Your substitute has been arranged, and the long-term storage and maintenance of your motorhome is taken care of. For the time being, you'll be staying at the Swissotel Washington, formerly the Watergate Hotel. We have an operative who will be contacting you very shortly, his name you are already well familiar with. It is Kareem al Abin, a Stanford alumnus and former student of yours. He is on my staff, and is an integral part of this task force as well. Kareem will be your partner. Stay put, and he'll be by to brief you further. You'll be leaving for Moffet Field Naval Air Station in Mountain View, CA early tomorrow to catch a military transport to the Capitol. After Kareem gets you settled, we'll meet. Any questions?"
"Wh…, I…., th….., this, this is awfully rushed, isn't it?" I stammered. "I was so overwhelmed I was reeling, still trying to absorb the intense blast of information and instructions from Senator Munoz.
"Doctor, like I said, your country needs you. There's no time to waste. I'll see you soon." He fell silent.
"All right," I said quietly. The line fell silent.
"Good. Wait there. Kareem will be by soon."
"Very well," I replied, and hung up the phone.
***
I sat at my desk in a daze. I got up, and walked slowly to the window overlooking the faculty parking lot. I gazed at my RV, and watched complacently as three shiny, black cars pulled alongside it. Several men in dark suits exited the vehicles, and one of them had a walkie-talkie in his hand. The rest of the men formed a perimeter around my motorhome. The apparent leader was speaking to someone on the radio, but it was impossible to know what was being discussed. I heard a growing rumbling in the distance, and as it grew louder I noticed a massive tow-truck pulling around the corner. The "suits" guided it over to the RV, and the driver got out with a clipboard in his hand and started talking to them. A few minutes later, a fourth car arrived, just as nondescript as the previous ones. A small man got out and was joined by three others who had already arrived. As he came closer, I noticed it was my former student, Kareem al Abin. He was pointing at my window, and the others seemed to be acknowledging him. The group walked briskly towards my building, two of them holding their hands up to the almost invisible earphones they were wearing, each with a thin transparent wire coiling down under the collars of their dark jackets. The group walked around the corner of the building, no longer in my line of sight. A moment later there was a knock at the classroom door.
I turned my back to the window and faced the door on the opposite side of the room.
"Yes?" I answered" The door opened slightly, and Kareem's young head popped inside.
"Professor Weatherspoon?" he inquired.
"Yes, Kareem. Come in," I replied. The dark young twenty-something man entered the room, closing the door behind him.
"Sir, it's time to go," Kareem said gently.
"How did you ever get involved in this cloak and dagger stuff, Kareem? You were always the bookworm, the pacifist. I have to admit, I'm a bit surprised to see you here like this." I smiled at him.
"Well, sir, it's like this. They came to me. Perhaps it's my Saudi background, after all that's where my father is from. You know he's well connected with both the Saudi monarchy as well as the Secret Service. Or perhaps it's my command of Arabic. Or maybe all the Middle Eastern research I conducted in your classes, hmm?!" Kareem smiled back. "But it doesn't matter, sir, because now we're going to be working together once again."
I marveled at the way things had changed. "Well, Kareem, it looks like you're going to be the teacher for awhile," I said quietly.
He nodded in my direction with a compassionate smile. "Yes, Sir…it does look that way." He was quiet for a moment. He walked to the window behind me and looked out at the tow truck pulling away with my motorhome attached. "Don't worry, Sir. Everything will be transferred to your hotel suite in Washington DC before you get there. We'd better get going now." He looked a bit sad as he regarded me. "Don't worry, sir, I'll take care of you for a change." He smiled again, then walked over to the door and opened it.
On each side of the door stood a man in a black suit scanning the area. A third man was farther down the corridor looking toward us, then back at the parking lot.
"Good grief," I said, and followed Kareem out the door. Immediately two of the men began to flank us on either side, and a fourth came up a few paces behind. The man down the hall took the lead. As we drew closer I recognized him as the driver of the limousine Veronica Munoz and Chelsea Clinton used to ride in. And so, surrounded by Secret Service men, I walked out of my classroom to an unknown future.
***
As I approached the sleek, dark government automobiles in the faculty parking lot escorted by government agents on all sides, a man jumped out of the passenger seat of the largest limousine. He opened the rear door for me, and Kareem nodded as I stepped inside. I found myself in a large seating area with plush leather seats and luxurious carpeting. There was a fully stocked alcohol and snack bar on the left side, and an entertainment center towards the front. Kareem slid in beside me, and the man shut the door behind us and got back into the front seat. The driver started the vehicle, and it eased away from the campus quickly as the sun began to set in the rear window.
About thirty minutes later we arrived at Moffet Field Naval Air Station, a military base very near the Lockheed Aerospace campus where the United States Space program had been developed many years earlier.
A crisp and stern marine guard held out his hand, and the driver slowed to a halt and rolled his window down. He presented some documents to the guard, who scanned them, handed them back, stiffly saluted, and opened the gate. We pulled inside and the gate quickly closed behind us.
We cruised around the facility until we came to the airfield. There was a massive hangar, the largest I had ever seen. It was easily ten or fifteen stories tall, and filled the sky as we drew near. I looked at Kareem and asked why it was so large.
"Oh, that old hangar was built for dirigibles, or 'balloons' before we had lots of airplanes. Now they use it to accommodate the very largest military aircraft. Our plane is inside waiting for us. We don't leave it out on the tarmac unless we have to." Kareem smiled, as though he knew a secret I was yet to become privy to.
As we slowed to a halt outside the massive hangar, a group of four marines approached us. The driver rolled the window down again, and displayed his documents. One of the guards examined them, handed them back, and signaled to the other marines. The quickly assumed positions around the limousine, and the lead guard waved towards a control booth just outside the hangar.
There was a huge groaning sound. I looked around and saw the entire front side of the hangar was separating. It was composed of two gigantic doors, which rolled back to reveal the interior of the structure. They were so tall I couldn't see the top from inside the car. We began to creep forward at a crawling speed, and were soon inside the hangar. The two great doors reversed direction, and finally shut with a thunderous boom. There was a huge white aircraft directly ahead, but I was unable to make it out clearly due to the privacy glass separating me from the front compartment of the limousine.
We came to a halt, and the anonymous front passenger hopped out and opened my door. Kareem got out, then waited for me to exit. I got out, and leaned back for a good long stretch. My eyes closed as I yawned and reached my hands skyward. As I finished, my eyes opened, and there, planted directly in front of me, was the magnificent Air Force Two, the Vice-President of the United States of America's personal plane! A fully customized Boeing 747 capable of running the US Executive Branch from the air in the event of an emergency, it came equipped with every comfort and security device one would expect to find in the vehicle of the assistant to the leader of the free world. Such opulent luxury surpassed even my fine motorhome. I was impressed, even from the outside.
"You've got to be kidding me!" I exclaimed.
"Actually, we're quite serious, Sir," said Kareem. "They really want you to get started right away."
"I guess so!" I heard myself say.
Kareem urged me forward, and as we approached the stanchion ropes in front of the aircraft, another secret service man came out of the plane. When he got close, he shook hands with Kareem, and pulled a wallet from his inside jacket pocket.
"Professor Weatherspoon, you'll need to keep this with you at all times from now on," he said, handing me the wallet."
I took it from him and opened it up. Inside was an identification card with all my personal information. In red ink across the card were the words, "Top Secret Security Clearance Level". On the other side was a badge. On the badge was an emblem surrounded by the words, "United States Department of the Treasury, Secret Service".
The agent smiled at me. "Welcome to the department, Professor!"
"Good grief!" I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
Kareem started up the stairs leading to the aircraft, and I followed close behind. As we entered an attractive woman welcomed me by name, and guided us to our seats in the center of the plane. As I settled into the fine leather recliner and Kareem got comfortable in the chair across from me, I heard the secret service men board the plane and close the door behind them. The engines immediately started up, and I could hear the groaning of the massive hangar doors beginning to open again.
Before too long we were cleared for takeoff, and I felt the plane lurch as it exited the hangar and positioned itself onto the runway. After a brief pause, we could hear the engines increase to a loud roar, and then the pilot released the brakes and the aircraft began to rapidly increase in speed until we were hurtling away from the shrinking hangar. There was the whine of hydraulics, and then the front of the behemoth lifted into the air. As the rear tires left the pavement the plane dipped, gathered lift, then rose suddenly and nauseatingly. My stomach sunk and then floated so suddenly I nearly lost my lunch. Up, up and away we soared, with the airfield fading fast into the twilight. I saw the Bay Area grow faint below as we changed course for our eastern destination. Soon we were so high there was nothing left to see but the clouds below us in the ever-darkening sky. The pilot reduced the engine speed, and I was finally able to reposition myself in the chair.
"It'll be about four hours, Sir. You might as well relax for now." Kareem smiled at me. I lifted the recliner footrest and nestled into the soft leather pillow. The humming of the engines droned on steadily, as I dozed off into a light slumber.
It was about midnight when the limousine arrived at the Swissotel Washington, formerly known as the Watergate Hotel, the bane of former President Nixon. The remainder of the night had been a blur of fitful sleep, landing, dashing from plane to car, rushing into a service elevator and being hurried into my suite at the hotel. Kareem was with me the whole way, and I just stumbled along like a zombie most of the time.
I do remember the lobby, however. It had a black and white checkerboard marble floor, tall white marble pillars, impeccably dressed attendants and staff, and long halls reminiscent of a modern-day European castle. The suite was vulgarly opulent, with plush furniture, actual original masterpieces displayed on the walls, and a balcony overlooking the Potomac River. It was larger than most homes at a massive 1900 square feet of living space. Later I discovered I was right at the edge of historic Georgetown and right next door to the Kennedy Center for Performing Arts. The National Mall was right down the street, as were the Lincoln Memorial and the US Capitol. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the Smithsonian Museum, the Air and Space Museum, the Museum of American History and the National History Museum were all within walking distance. There were luxury apartments in an adjacent building for the rich, powerful and famous of the city. From where I stood I could make out silhouettes from my balcony moving around in the middle of the night in their rooms.
I became aware of Kareem standing beside me on the balcony. He smiled and said, "This is probably how the Watergate burglars were apprehended….by someone watching from another window. Secrets are getting harder and harder to keep in this city…" he trailed off. "You'd better get some sleep, professor. We have a long day tomorrow." I wasn't about to argue.
* * *
I awoke to the sound of a television set murmuring in the next room. I glanced at the nightstand by my plush bed, and tried to focus on the clock radio's soft red numerals gleaming in the darkened room. 8:59am. I yawned, and sat up slowly on the side of the bed. I fumbled around for my glasses, locating them and putting them on clumsily. I felt rather well rested, despite the whirlwind of activity the previous day. I strode over to the bathroom and felt around for a light switch. Finding one, I flicked it upwards.
The room was suddenly filled with a soft white light emanating from recessed runners somewhere in the ceiling. I looked around, amazed by the thick carpeting and gleaming marble surfaces everywhere. "Good grief," I exclaimed. I looked at my reflection in one of the many mirrors, and was unimpressed by the image. I looked much older than my 45 years with a thinning hairline, my thick glasses, my widening waist and my frumpy, disheveled overall appearance. I thought perhaps a shower might help, and walked towards the marble enclosure to turn on the faucets. I suddenly realized I had no clothes to change into, and walked out of the bedroom into the living room. It was just as luxurious as I remembered it from the night before, except the sun was shining brightly through the windows offering a breathtaking view of the Potomac River below. Kareem was sipping a cup of coffee and watching the television intently. He was crisply dressed in the usual dark suit, with not so much as a single hair out of place. He turned slightly and smiled at me as I came towards him scratching my head.
"Good morning, Professor Weatherspoon!" he greeted me. "You'll find the room is fully stocked with clothes and toiletries, Sir. Just grab whatever you need. I'll be waiting out here."
"Um, okay," I muttered, and turned back to the bedroom. I walked to the draperies and looked for the cord to open them in vain.
"Kareem?" I called.
"Yes, Professor?" he responded.
"How do I open the drapes?" I asked.
"Remote control, Sir. On the nightstand by the alarm clock." He replied. I was confused as I began muttering to myself.
"Remote control draperies? What next? Automatic toilet paper?" I walked over and picked up the remote. There were two buttons. I pressed one, and nothing happened. I pressed the other, and a soft whirring began as the drapes slowly slid open to reveal the same fantastic view I had seen in the living room.
"Astonishing," I said to myself. I walked over to the closet and opened the door. "What the….." I was speechless. The walk-in closet was filled with suits, sweaters, casual wear, shoes, underwear, jackets, coats, topcoats, hats…every imaginable garment one could possibly imagine. I checked several of them out, and every single item was my exact size. Flabbergasted, I headed back to the shower. I began to think I could easily get used to this lifestyle. I smiled as I entered the shower, and turned up the hot water until I was enveloped in warm, comforting steam. I closed my eyes and enjoyed every drop of water as it massaged me from head to foot.
About 45 minutes later I emerged from the bedroom dressed in some sharp and comfortable woolen slacks, a soft silk dress shirt, a thick sweater and some very comfortable loafers. I had chosen a floor-length wool topcoat to ward off the frigid Washington D.C. winter outside, and had it draped across my arm as I walked in towards Kareem.
He didn't seem to notice me, his eyes were glued to the television set. CNN had a special report in progress, and I meandered over to the plush leather couch in front of the television and sat on the edge to see what was going on.
"…the historic vote was passed unanimously by both houses of Congress in a special joint session a few minutes ago. With an approval rating exceeding any in history, and this new elimination of presidential term limits, President Bush is now set up to conduct the War against Terrorism indefinitely. We go now to our local correspondent in Washington D.C., Ms. Mary Manning. Mary?…" Kareem flicked off the volume.
"Well, it's begun," he said solemnly.
"I'm sorry, did I hear that right? Have they removed term limits on the President?" I asked in shock.
"That's right, Professor. No more term limits. The War against Terrorism seems to be the highest priority in the nation these days. That's why you're here, Sir. To assist with that war effort." He looked at me compassionately as he saw the fear in my face. "Try to hang in there, Sir. I'll be with you through this entire thing. You're not going it alone." Somehow, that made me feel a bit better. Such uncertain times were at hand, I had no idea what to expect. One thing was certain, though: Anything was possible. Anything at all.
* * *
9.
June 2005
Three and a half years had passed. I was now nearly 49 years old, and Kareem was nearly 30. The suite at the Swissotel had been both home and office the entire time, with the exception of frequent visits to the Pentagon, the White House, and various congressional offices to meet with operatives and academics from all over the globe in ongoing attempts to interpret intercepted transmissions, and to anticipate the next move of the "enemy". President Bush had mobilized the entire reserve military force worldwide, and the globe was a much different place than ever before.
The "War against Terrorism" had spread around the globe. The United States in its wrath had not stopped at Afghanistan's overthrow, but had invaded Iran, Libya, and Iraq while chasing the elusive Al Quada network. Initially military experts had feared reprisals from the conglomerate of Arab nations in retaliation against American aggression, but none had ever materialized. When President Bush had gone on television with his threat to use nuclear weapons against any opposing nation in his pursuit of terrorists, he had been taken seriously. Yet all these years later, we were no closer to ending terrorism than we had been prior to September 11th, 2001.
Encouraged by the successful American campaign, Israel, weary of Palestinian uprisings and the seemingly endless 'enfitada" activities for almost two years had declared open war on Palestine late in 2002. Despite worldwide cries of outrage, they had moved in with missiles, warplanes and tanks and wiped out the entire Palestinian government and infrastructure, and they continued to pursue all suspected members of the PLO, Hamas, and other organizations to the death. Every day there was news of a suicide bombings, and the rhetoric had not changed in years. When OPEC threatened to cut off petroleum supplies to the United States and her allies if they refused to intervene, President Bush responded angrily that any such action would be considered an act of war, and any participating nation would be crushed immediately with the full might of the American military. Since America had been on a relentless rampage for over three years, the threat was taken seriously. No nation dared oppose the wrath of President and Commander-in-Chief Bush in such dangerous times. Even Russia and France, traditionally opposed to US aggression, remained atypically silent.
The price of war was great, and the American economy began to strain under the burden of rising military costs. Gasoline was up to $5 per gallon, a loaf of bread was $7, and rumors of food and fuel rationing were heard from Washington. Jobs were scarce and few, and only the wealthy had survived intact. The poor had become the homeless, the middle class had become the poor, and the wealthy had become wealthier. America had become a two-class society: the poor and the rich. Most of the poor enlisted in the military as soon as they turned 18 because there was no work in the private sector.
I was working in my living room, which had become my office almost immediately after arriving in the Capitol, and was pondering the transcripts of the latest batch of clandestine recordings of suspected terrorist sympathizers. The Secret Service kept me very busy interpreting and translating documents and recordings of suspects, but I seldom came across anything worthy of mention. Nonetheless, the avalanche of work continued, and there seemed to be no end in sight.
My bank account, due to the annual payments from my inheritance, had swollen to over $250 million dollars by this time. It seemed insane, but I had never spent a single penny of it. I oftentimes thought about giving it away, but I literally had no time to think about it these days.
Kareem worked as my liaison, bringing the work to me and returning with my interpretations to the government offices day and night. He was ever at my side, assisting with obscure dialects and language idiosyncrasies that befuddled my progress from time to time. He constantly reassured me and kept me insulated from the intensity of the Secret Service, a favor I greatly appreciated. Over the years, Kareem had come to love and trust me like a father and even assisted at times with the search for the Garden. I had never mentioned Gabrielae, Mortach or the other outrageous experiences over the years. As far as Kareem knew, I was obsessed with finding the Garden. He indulged my little fantasy with enthusiasm. His loyalty was indescribable.
Regardless, my search for the Garden had come to a complete halt, since there was no time for anything but work and sleep these days. I was just thinking about that when the phone rang. It was Kareem, calling from Agency Headquarters. He had just dropped off my latest stack of translations and interpretations from Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
"Professor?" his calm voice inquired.
"Yes, Kareem, what's up?" I asked.
"Sir, It's time to pack. You need to crate up your work for relocation immediately." Kareem always did get straight to the point.
"Where to this time, young man?" I asked.
"We leave for Saudi Arabia next week, Sir. You've been appointed Cultural Consultant to the American Embassy in Saudi Arabia. You'll continue your work there, closer to the source of the material. No need to worry, Sir, everything's already been taken care of," He continued.
"Of course it has, Kareem. It always is…" I trailed off.
"Sir?" Kareem asked.
"Yes?" I replied.
"You'd better turn CNN on, Sir. There's some news you ought to hear…." Kareem was silent.
"Okay, I will," I responded. The phone went dead as he hung up. I rose from the desk and walked across the room. I was feeling rather stretched. A vacation would do me some good. I wondered to myself if that would be possible. After all, it had been almost three and a half years on the job with no breaks to date. I lived like a hermit in the hotel, and had no social life whatsoever. I had never even visited the museums within walking distance from my suite in all that time. I needed to slow down, because obviously there was an inexhaustible supply of work. I turned the television on. The bland announcer was reading from the teleprompter.
"…another first in American political history. With the announcement of the merging of the Republican and Democrat Parties, the nation has become a single-party political system, making President George W. Bush the most powerful man in history. Without opposition, all his proposals are expected to receive immediate approval, speeding up the War Effort exponentially…"
I turned off the television. "Wow!" I thought to myself. "He can do anything he wants now…" It was a bit of a scary thought, but as long as terrorists were threatening the world, one had to expect extreme reactions from frightened nations. I thought back to the last time I had seen Gabrielae. I remembered her words clearly.
"Your world is about to change as well, dear Samual. There will be wars, and fear here and abroad, and suspicion will rule the hearts of men in time. Many lives will be lost, for your people are nearing the vortex of your destiny as a civilization. The future depends on the outcome of this convergence of worldwide conflict. But for better or worse, you will never be the same again. The days of change are upon you."
I had a sudden feeling of urgency. I had to return to my search for the Garden of Eden. All the words of Gabrielae were coming to pass just as she had predicted. I was running out of time! I felt angry for the lost years, and determined I would redouble my efforts, and vowed that the Secret Service would just have to accept the fact that I needed a life of my own. I was going to take a vacation as soon as I arrived in the Middle East, whether they liked it or not.
* * *
It was early afternoon in July 2005. I was looking out the living room window of my suite at the InterContinental Hotel in Riyadh. It was 111 degrees outdoors, not unusual for this time of year. Despite the heat, it was a lovely view. The grounds were a seeming oasis, over 100 acres, with a beautiful golf course and finely manicured landscaping in the extensive private gardens. The view was breathtaking from my suite.
I turned and scanned the living room. There was a long desk attached to a side table with tons of equipment, fax machines, telephone, computers, printers and stacks of papers in various piles. It looked as though I had been there for months, although only a few weeks has passed since we had departed from the United States.
Kareem was reviewing some documents while seated in the long, thick leather couch across the room. His feet were resting on the cherrywood coffee table, and a pencil was perched behind his right ear.
"Kareem, I'm taking a leave for a while," I announced.
"I see," he replied, looking up from his reading. "Would you like me to set it up with the Agency, Sir?" he asked.
"Yes, I would, Kareem. I have to do this. I have let my personal pursuits languish for years, and I need to regain some balance in my life. I need to get back into the field, and resume my search for the Garden. I'm not getting any younger, you know." I smiled at Kareem.
"I agree, Sir." He smiled at me compassionately. "You should have some time to yourself. I'll have your workload divided between the other Middle East field offices until you're ready to return to work."
"Thank you, Kareem." I hesitated. "There's one more thing, though," I paused.
"What is it, Professor?" Kareem looked at me intently.
"I'd like you to assist me with my research. There's too much catching up to do, and you are so well connected in this region. How do you feel about teaming up with me on this?" I shuffled my feet and waited nervously.
"I'd be delighted, Sir!" he beamed. "I'll notify the appropriate parties immediately. I'm sure they can get along without us for a while!"
"Fantastic!" I exclaimed, and walked over to him, extending my hand. "Partners again?" I asked.
"Partners again, Professor!" he affirmed.
* * *
August 2005
It took just under three weeks to wrap everything up. Somehow during the entire fuss I turned 49 without even remembering my birthday. That meant Kareem was 29, because he was almost exactly 20 years younger than I. Agency couriers had been coming and going every few hours, receiving their updates and instructions from Kareem as I watched them box all our materials and paperwork up in locked containers for redeployment. Eventually everything settled down and we were alone in the suddenly uncluttered hotel suite.
Here we were in a luxury hotel in the middle of Saudi Arabia, preparing to embark on a fantastic mission. The sun was setting, and I was waiting for the bellboy to deliver the hot tea I had ordered about 20 minutes earlier. I was looking forward to bringing Kareem up to speed, and enlisting his aid in an intensified search for the Garden of Eden. My burning feeling of urgency was overwhelming, and I had to move ahead with all my strength and resources for reasons I could not explain.
There was a knock at the door. Kareem answered it, and the bellboy brought the tray with the tea inside and set it on the coffee table. Kareem signed the charge slip, and locked the door after the young man. He poured two cups of the steaming tea, and nodded at me expectantly. I strode over to the couch, and picked up my cup of tea. Kareem lifted his beverage to his lips, and after blowing on it slowly to disperse the heat, took a small sip. I sat down in the overstuffed leather chair directly across from him, and casually rested my feet on the cherrywood coffee table. I closed my eyes, and sipped my tea slowly. Several minutes passed in silence. Finally I spoke.
“Kareem, I need you to make some discrete inquiries for me. I want a small research submersible with an external hydraulic claw, say about ten to fifteen feet. It needs to have an interior capable of carrying two passengers and all their scientific and personal supplies for about a week or two. I want absolute secrecy, and I need safe passage to the Persian Gulf at the very tip where Iraq and Iran’s borders meet the shore.” I paused, and waited for Kareem’s reaction.
He sipped his tea again, and then softly set the cup on the low table.
“Well Professor, that’s going to cost. A lot. Not so much the equipment, or even the vessel, but the secrecy won’t come cheap,” he said gravely.
“Kareem, I have plenty of money. You know that. You know more about me than probably anyone else in the world. I don’t care what it costs. I’m resuming my search for Eden in earnest. I’m not going to get sidetracked this time. I intend to find it. I know it sounds crazy, but my mind’s made up.”
I tried to act casual as I took another sip of tea, but clumsily bumped the edge of the cup against my chin, spilling the scalding beverage all over my shirt and lap. “Ow!” I exclaimed and jumped up from the chair. “Doggone it, “ I trailed off. Kareem reached into his [pocket and tossed me his handkerchief. I began dabbing at the tea stains and wiped off the chair before sitting back down.
“Professor, have you considered that you are an American, working for the Secret Service no less? We have been at war with Iran and Iraq for years. If we’re caught on this little expedition, the best we can hope for is to be tortured and held as prisoners of war. We could even be shot or hanged. I assume you’ve considered the risk of what you suggest? Even our hosts, the Saudi government, might not look too favorably upon an excursion to the lands of their enemies. They may suspect betrayal. And the cost of silence could cost you handsomely. Secrets are very expensive to keep in these uncertain times.” Kareem regarded me thoughtfully. I looked back at him with compassion.
“My friend, you needn’t involve yourself in this. I would understand fully if you chose not to participate. But I’m going, with or without you. I must find the Garden while it is still possible. If you think it’s difficult now, imagine the challenges a few years from now. I’m doing this thing, Kareem, and I’m starting right away. I have to. You know me well enough to realize my mind’s made up. So what do you say?”
Kareem smiled at me as he often did.
“I’m with you, of course. I’ll follow you to the borders of Eden, or even the gates of Hell if you ask, Professor.” He stood, and walked around the table. He extended his hand towards me. I shook it enthusiastically. “Partners, again, sir!” he beamed.
“Yes, Kareem, yes.” I smiled back at him. “Partners again.”
* * *
10
May 2009
It was almost 90º in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia on an early May afternoon. I was feeling my age. I was nearly 53 now, and Kareem was approaching 33 years old. The Middle-Eastern sky was clear, and I was sitting at a sidewalk café downtown with Kareem. We were sipping bottled water, wearing large-brimmed hats and dark sunglasses, which concealed our features from the passers-by. Across the table from us sat a small, dark man with large, round eyes, always looking this way and that.
Majid was a nervous fellow, but extremely aware of his surroundings. He had good reason to be wary. For the past several years he had been our primary contact with a large group of detectives, informants, scientists and researchers in several countries, all working for us in our efforts to obtain the materials, research and safe passage towards our goal of lost Eden. None of them knew exactly why we were doing all the meticulous planning, but their curiosity was easily squelched by large sums of money, paid in regular installments. Kareem kept the details from me, for my own protection he assured me, and managed everything according to my requests. So far we had spent nearly four years and over one hundred fourteen million dollars in our efforts, and we were now just getting ready to start out across the desert for the Persian Gulf. All the necessary advance bribes had been paid to both government and military officials in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Iraq and Iran with instructions to look the other way while we went about our work, securely reinforced by the promise of double the amount of money upon our return.
Our custom built submarine was ready and waiting, hidden in an undocumented location not far from the water’s edge in neighboring Kuwait. It had been built to my exact specifications to include a galley, sleeping quarters, “silent” electric engines with a small internal combustion generator to recharge the batteries when necessary, and plenty of storage room for our equipment. It had a fifteen-foot mechanical claw protruding from the front, which was remotely operated from inside the vessel. Bright lights had been installed around the perimeter, each one individually controlled by the two-man crew. This would make it possible to see ahead, behind, above and below the craft while submerged. The highest quality underwater video camera apparatus complete with recording equipment was installed to document underwater excavations. The top of the vehicle was painted dark forest green, and the bottom a lighter green to camouflage its presence from both above and below. A rack of military frequency radios had been included to monitor the activities of the armies above in the warring countries. I had spent over eighty million dollars having the submersible manufactured, and to date I had never even seen it. Kareem and I had decided long ago not to keep any pictures or drawings nearby to avoid detection of the project before completion.
Majid had come to inform us the construction was finally completed. We were working out the details of our eminent cross-desert expedition, which would bring us to the Saudi-Kuwaiti border, where we would then abandon the land portion of our adventure and travel the remainder of the way under the waters of the Persian Gulf. Since Saudi Arabia and Kuwait were both allies of the United States, this plan minimized the amount of time we would have to spend in enemy countries, specifically Iraq and Iran.
“I have hired twenty well-paid mercenaries who will guide you through the desert to the Kuwaiti border. Our people on the other side will meet you there, and take you to our secret base of operations on the shores of the Gulf,” Majid whispered, his eyes always surveying the area nearby. “With the soldiers will be fifteen laborers who will carry the supplies and materials for your journey. I will travel with you, since our Kuwaiti contact will do business only with me. We have purchased several HumVee all-terrain vehicles in your name, and are posing as researchers employed by you, Dr. Witherspoon. We are posing as employees of yours engaged in a search for undiscovered Ubarite routes through the desert. Since you gained worldwide notoriety for your Ubarite research here years ago, this explanation will seem reasonable. It is a good cover for our operations.” He suddenly smiled and laughed loudly as a man in flowing robes walked by peering at us intently over his sunglasses.
“That’s hilarious! You sure can tell a joke,” Majid chuckled as he slapped his hand on the table in merriment. The pedestrian snorted and continued to walk, now seemingly disinterested in our presumably innocent conversation.
“We must not talk here any longer. I must go. I’ll be in touch with more arrangements in a few weeks. If all goes according to schedule, we’ll set out early next year, perhaps March or so. Be well my friends, and be careful.” Majid rose quietly, shook our hands, and disappeared around the street corner.
“Well, Dr. Witherspoon, it appears you’re finally going to be off on your quest at long last,” Kareem said.
“I can hardly believe it myself, my young friend,” I replied cautiously. “It seems something always happens to delay me, no matter how hard I try or how long I plan.”
“I know what you mean, Sir,” Kareem said. “Life can be like that sometimes.”
“Indeed,” I responded.
I reached into my pocket and laid some money on the café table for our drinks. We rose together, and started walking down the street. The air was dry and clean. It was a good day.
* * *
We entered the hotel room some time later. Kareem and I went into our respective rooms for an afternoon nap. I heard his door close as I shut my door on the opposite end of the suite. I walked over to the plush bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. As I leaned over to untie my shoes, I lost my balance and fell towards the floor.
“Humannn……” I heard the old familiar voice, and it sent chills down my spine. “What folly is this? Have you not been warned?”
I was in the dark, and I struggled to gain my balance. A steamy fog swirled in random patterns all around, and the humidity was stifling. I began to perspire, partly due to the warm mists, and partly due to my terror. I turned my head, and there, behind me, towering in terrible magnificence, was Mortach, Keeper of the Dark.
“Why have you come back?” I asked feebly.
“FOOL!” He barked loudly. “Did I not tell you to abandon this foolish cause? Did I not swear I would oppose you if you defied me? And now, you think in your puny insolence, your so-called wisdom, that you can dare into realms you cannot imagine?
The massive demon floated closer, until I could smell his foul breath merely inched in front of my face. I flinched, and blinked rapidly. I was sweating profusely now.
“You shall not do this thing, Wiiitherspooon,” he proclaimed in a growl. “Your world is decaying underneath you. Your civilization is corroding into chaos as I speak. Your lives as you know them are coming to an end. And you persist in foolish games you cannot possibly understand, ignorantly sticking your nose into things you cannot possibly comprehend.”
His great staff inched forward and touched my forehead. I went instantly numb, paralyzed from head to toe. My brain began to glow. My air stood on end, and I began to see vague images forming before me. There were forms of people on both sides, and a great expanse in between.
“Witness your future, pathetic ‘Chosen One’,” Mortach laughed cruelly. I give you now a glimpse of your own destruction…”
The images began to clear, as though a fresh wind had blown away the old rancid smoke of a fire long since gone out. I peered into the vision, and made out a barren landscape. There was sand everywhere, and in the distance the shore of some large body of water lay still. As I tried to focus , the ground began to tremble, and then to rock violently. I fell to my knees as the earthquake intensified. I heard many voices cry in dismay. I looked to my left, and an army of Middle-Eastern soldiers, torn and bedraggled from long battle threw up their hands and wailed. I looked to my right, and saw an opposing force of American and European forces do the same. I turned and looked behind me and saw a massive, red mushroom cloud climbing rapidly toward the sky. The larger it grew, the more the ground shook. In the distance I could see a gargantuan dust cloud Several hundred feet high approaching faster than the speed of sound. Within moments it was upon us. Suddenly we were violently struck by a gale force blast of wind, which knocked everyone to the ground, blowing us all this way and that. Dust was everywhere, stinging with such ferocity that small red punctures appeared in my skin as the miniscule particles pierced my flesh. I held my breath, and curled up into a ball, wrapping my arms around my knees and praying it would all stop. Suddenly it all vanished. I was in a warm fog again, and I could see my hotel room breaking through the darkness.
“Be warned, Wiiitherspooon,” Mortach’s menacing voice boomed as it faded into the ethereal distance, “Leave the supernatural to the Immortals. Pursue the quest and it will be your doom….”
Silence enveloped everything. I was lying on the floor of my hotel room. My glasses were covered with dust and debris. I looked at my arms, but the scores of red puncture spots were gone. I stood up, then laid down on the bed with my hand covering my eyes and forehead. I stared at the ceiling for what seemed like a long time. Eventually, I fell asleep.
* * *
11
February 2010
Much had happened in the previous nine months. President and Commander in Chef George W. Bush had been elected to his third term in office. Since the inception of the new, single Republican-Democrat Party had created a one-party electorate system, he ran unopposed. Had he received a single vote, he would have won reelection anyway. In January 2010 President reinstated the military draft, requiring all male citizens between the ages of 18 and 45 to register for military service. The majority of the male population had been called into active military service within a year of registration. This left most homeland jobs unmanned, so the female population of the United States were left virtually running the business of America.
I was sitting in the hotel living room anxiously with Kareem. He had been in daily contact with the Secret Service for the last several weeks, and they had advised him to keep me close because they were about to reinstate me into active duty, despite my reluctance to return to work. I had no choice, so I put all my plans on hold and waited to see what would happen next.
The winds of war were all around. I had begun to make a daily habit of keeping CNN tuned in on the hotel television to keep track of the rest of the world. We were both sipping tea and watching the monitor when the news broke. There were images of massive military activity near Israel. I looked around for the remote control to turn the volume up. Kareem found it first, and we listened intently.
“….we have late breaking confirmation that Lebanon, Syria, Jordan and Egypt have join with the tattered remnants of the PLO and have collectively declared war on Israel. We take you now to Tel Aviv with our correspondent…..” the female announcer was visibly shaken. Kareem turned the volume down.
“Kareem, this means Israel is now completely surrounded by its enemies! In the Bible this is the last sign before…” I trailed off.
“The end of the world, Sir,” Kareem finished quietly. We looked at each other in silence. “Sir, Washington has asked you remain here until further notice. It may be several months before they get your orders to you, but you will be reinstated. I’m sorry, but there was nothing I could do about it. Any refusal will be seen as desertion, and possibly treason.”
“I know, Kareem. Don’t worry about it. I’ve waited this long, I’m sure I can be patient a while longer. I guess there’s nothing else to do but sit tight and wait for the time being.”
“Yes, Sir. We wait.” Kareem nodded solemnly.
* * *
Christmas Day, 2010
“Merry Christmas, Kareem,” I said to my young companion. I handed him a small wrapped gift.
“Thank you, Professor. Marry Christmas to you too.” Kareem nodded over to the desk, where a medium sized box was wrapped. As he started unwrapping his present, I walked over to the desk.
“Sir, come quickly!” Kareem shouted suddenly.
I ran over to him. He had the television remote control in his hand, and had turned the volume up. There was an aerial shot from a helicopter zooming in on a wasteland of destruction. It looked like the World Trade Centers after they had been destroyed, but hundreds of times larger. Twisted metal and smoke was all over the horizon. Then the footage switched to a similar view, clearly in a different place. The announcer was talking rapidly.
“…again, Los Angeles and London have both been destroyed by a nuclear attack. The loss is in the millions of lives. The terrorist groups Al Quada and Hamas have claimed responsibility, and have also threatened all major US and allied cities if the US-led coalition does not withdraw all military operations worldwide to their home shores. Commander-In-Chief Bush is currently airborne in Air Force One, which is serving as his military command center for the indefinite future. We return again to Nevada for…….wait, just a minute, another urgent bulletin coming in…., let’s go to our Tel Aviv bureau for more details….”
The footage switched to downtown Tel Aviv, where people were furiously rushing around with air raid sirens blasting in the background. The local announcer, visibly shaken, began to speak.
“In a surprise announcement, Israel has just declared they have activated a massive nuclear arsenal, and are preparing to annihilate all their enemies. To reinforce their claims, they have just launched simultaneous nuclear attacks on Beirut Lebanon, Damascus Syria, Amman Jordan, and Cairo Egypt. Satellite photos show the missiles are currently in flight and……..wait a minute, there’s….” the picture went to static interference. After a moment, the American announcer was on screen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have confirmation that Israel has detonated nuclear warheads in the Capitals of Lebanon, Syria, Jordan and Egypt. Combined with the destruction of London and Los Angeles, this is a minimum of six nuclear warheads deployed within the last thirty minutes worldwide. We’ll be back in a moment.” The announcer choked on her words and fell silent. The screen faded to black, then a header flashed across the television. “The Terrorist Wars of 2010”. I looked at Kareem, who had gone pale.
As we stared at each other in amazement, the phone rang. Kareem answered it.
“Yes?” he asked. “Mmm-Hmm, yes, I understand. I’ll tell him straight away. Yes, thank you. Goodbye.” He looked at me.
“I’m reactivated?” I asked.
“Yes.” He answered.
“You’d better get in touch with Majid and tell him to put our plans into mothballs for the time being. Ask him to be ready to reactivate with very little notice.
“Will do, Sir,” Kareem agreed. The room fell silent. We just sat there, shaking our heads in bewilderment. The Terrorist Wars of 2010 had begun.
* * *
12
2015
In the five long years that followed, I remained inside the hotel for the most part. I had gained quite a bit of weight, and was now 59 years old. I felt like it, too. Kareem was nearly 40, and still looked like a young man. Perhaps his daily exercise routine in the hotel gym benefited him more than the daily donut routine I had been employing.
My life consisted of stacks of papers to translate and interpret, and the reports I attached to them. There was no end to the work, and I was sick of it. I had been doing this for nearly fourteen years, excluding the five years I took off to build my Eden expedition plans. I wanted to get back to my search for the Garden, but the Secret Service showed no signs of letting me go any time soon. And always, always I revisited the vision of destruction Mortach the Dark had showed me. It troubled me more than ever in these uncertain times.
The Terrorist Wars raged on with no end in sight. The entire world was involved somehow, and still no resolution appeared upon the horizon. Although no further nuclear attacks had occurred, conventional warfare was systematically destroying one nation after another as warring parties attacked, retreated, were themselves attacked, and so on.
I was tired. It was about 1pm and I had just completed another of the endless reports for the CIA. I laid my pencil down on the dark cherrywood desk, and swiveled around in my chair towards the window. I ran my fingers through my already disheveled hair, and sighed. I felt like a prisoner in my luxury suite. Kareem had been gone several hours at the American Embassy delivering my latest batch of files and exchanging information. I gazed out at the landscaping, pondering the irony of this oasis of peace in a world gone mad. I daydreamed for some time, my mind wandering lazily as my eyes fluttered open and closed until I was fast asleep in my chair.
I dreamt I was in heaven. The air was refreshing, the swirling mists of effervescent rainbows delightful, and the light, musical voices giggling softly in the distance made me smile. Then I felt her touch.
“Samuel!” she spoke my name. “Samuel, I have returned!” she spoke.
“Gabrielae!” I exclaimed, as the Fair One floated into view. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“Yes, Samuel, the seeing is good. But the time is short, Chosen One. You have tarried far too long. Your world is coming to an end, Samuel, and you must complete your Quest while you still may.” She smiled at me benevolently. I melted under her gaze.
“Gabrielae, I have tried for years. Something always comes up and stops me or gets in my way. I’m sorry,” I said sadly.
“Do not mourn. Chosen One, for time still remains. You shall have your opportunity sooner than you think. But do not give up again, for if you do, you may not receive another chance.” She reached out and brushed my old cheek with her fairy-like fingers. I thrilled to her touch, just as I had done so many years ago. She floated closer, and kissed my forehead lightly. Then she pulled away, and began to fade into the twinkling mists. “Remember, Samuel, once you find your path, do not turn from it again!”
“I won’t,” I cried, but she was gone. I reached for her but my hand struck something cold and hard. I blinked, and saw I was still in my chair, and my hand was up against the hotel window. “I won’t,” I whispered again. I lay back in the chair and drifted off to sleep. I dreamt I heard her voice singing to me, and I relaxed fully for the first time in years.
* * *
“Professor, wake up!” Kareem’s voice sounded urgent. “Sir, wake up!” I drowsily opened my eyes and looked blearily at Kareem’s worried face above my own. My neck was cramped from falling asleep in my chair. I rubbed it absently, and asked,
“What is it, Kareem?”
“Sir, we must go immediately!”
“What are you talking about, Kareem? I have weeks of paperwork to catch up on.”
“Sir, try to wake up. Here, read the communiqué”. He thrust a telegram at me, shaking it in front of my face for emphasis. I leaned forward, removed my glasses with one hand, and rubbed my eyes with the other.
“Let’s see what you have here,” I mumbled, and took the paper from his hand. I began to read it.
“PROF WEATHERSPOON STOP SAUDI GOV UNABLE TO GUARRANTEE YOUR SAFETY ANY LONGER STOP ASSIGNMENT TERMINATED STOP CREW EN ROUTE TO RETRIEVE DOCUMENTS STOP RELEASED FROM SERVICE STOP LEAVE GULF COAST ASAP STOP”
I sprang to my feet so quickly I knocked my chair over. It fell with a crash.
“Kareem, get hold of Majid and get the ball rolling. I’ll get the papers ready for the pickup crew. Set a meeting for tonight. We’ve no time to lose!” I exclaimed excitedly.
Kareem strode to the living room and got on the telephone. I began grabbing piles of papers and throwing them into the stacks of boxes they originally came in as fast as I could.
We stayed busy for several hours. Kareem entered the bedroom where I was going through my personal effects.
“Sir, bell services will be here to pack your items for storage. Secret Service guys are downstairs and will haul the boxes off. Majid will see us at seven this evening in the lobby. We leave tonight!”
“Where are we going, Kareem?” I asked.
“To the warehouse where most of your items for the Eden expedition have been stored for the last five years, Sir. We’ll be traveling across the Arabian Desert to the shores of the Persian Gulf, where we’ll transfer to your submarine. As we speak it’s being stocked and hidden below the surface by the meeting coordinates. Everything is taken care of, Professor.”
“At last!” I proclaimed. “For over forty years I’ve tried to get to this point. I’m not going to let anything derail me this time, Kareem!”
Kareem smiled. “No, Sir,” he softly replied. “You won’t.” He put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. “I’m with you all the way, Sir. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, my boy, I know. Thank you.” I smiled back at the young man who had become like a son to me over the years. We stood there for a moment, and then returned to our preparations.
The doorbell chimed, and a muffled voice without said, “Bell Services”. Kareem opened the door to the suite and two bellmen entered. He began giving instructions in Arabic, and the men started loading a rolling platform they had brought with them per his instructions. Soon, all that was left was our safari luggage, and the Secret Service documents in boxes. Half an hour later, several agents arrived to get them, and then we were alone. I sat on the couch and gazed out the window. Six-thirty in the evening, and it was still hot as blazes outdoors. I wondered how Arabians had managed to exist in such conditions for so many centuries. About twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. Kareem answered it.
“Yes?” He listened to the voice on the other end of the line for a few moments, and then hung up silently. “Professor, the American Embassy has been evacuated. As soon as we leave this building, we’re on our own.”
“I assumed as much, Kareem,” I replied softly. It really didn’t matter much. Where I was going, the Americans would not be able to protect me anyway. Half an hour later, we were in a Hummer on our way to the clandestine warehouse where our expedition had been in storage for these past five years. We arrived at a nondescript building some time later. Kareem pulled the Hummer in front of the warehouse door, and activated a remote control clipped to the sun visor of the vehicle. The warehouse door began to creak upwards, until it was fully raised. We entered a room just large enough for a couple of cars, then the door came slowly down until it clanged shut. Kareem activated the remote once again, and an inner door opened all the way to the ceiling, revealing a massive interior, filled with vehicles, equipment, and a small army of men running about performing various tasks.
“I’m impressed, Kareem,” I gasped.
“Don’t be, Sir,” he replied, “This cost you a lot of money.”
“Well, I’m sure it was well spent, my young friend.”
“As you say, Professor. Always.” Kareem drove the Hummer to an opening between two more desert vehicles, fully loaded with equipment and supplies. He shut off the engine, and we exited the vehicle. He led me to a nondescript door, and we entered the next chamber.
A simple apartment with offices and bathroom facilities waited for us within. There was beige, short cut, wall-to-wall carpeting that led to a kitchen/living room/dining room area appointed with motel-style furniture and a small entertainment center. Down a short hallway were four bedrooms and a large closet. The bedrooms were set up in pairs; each sleeping area adjoined an office area with a pass-through door. Kareem motioned with his arm to the first set of quarters. “That’s your suite, Professor. We’ll leave at 0600 hours tomorrow morning,” he informed me. “We’d better get some rest tonight.” I agreed, and walked into my room. I was greeted by a simple queen bed with a white comforter and several down pillows. As I undressed, I just let my shoes and clothing fall on the floor. As my head hit the pillow, I knew I would be unable to sleep, being filled with anticipation and trepidation. Tomorrow, at last, I would be back on track. Would I find Eden? I didn’t know. But felt closer to Eden than I had ever felt in my life.
* * *
“Beep, beep, beep, beep.” The alarm clock rose in volume the longer I ignored it. The unfamiliar surroundings prevented me from locating the blaring clock-radio for a few moments, and I stubbed my toe rather rudely on a piece of furniture as I fumbled around looking for the cancel button. Finally locating it, I noticed the time was six am. Seeking out the light switch, I yawned. My sleep had been fitful and non-productive. I was tired. Somehow the room had a surreal feeling to it. I chalked it up to unfamiliar surroundings, and meandered towards my bathroom. My hand reached in ahead of my body feeling for the light switch on the wall. I found it, and flicked it upwards.
The blinding light that followed disoriented me. I instinctively shielded my eyes from its brilliance, but it did not diminish. I felt myself growing nauseous, and the floor seemed to become increasingly unsteady. I felt I was about to faint. The light dimmed, and I thought I saw spots floating around as I tried to regain my composure. I reached out to steady myself, but my hand just groped emptiness. I began to fall.
“Samuel, Samuel…” Gabrielae’s magical voice was unmistakable. “The time grows short, Samuel. Your world is on the brink of destruction. You have precious little time left. If you do not succeed soon, you and your people will be destroyed for all time.” I dropped my hand from my eyes and gazed on her intense beauty. The swirling rainbows of flitting colors and sparkling effervescence surrounded her as always. I was floating in her presence, with no conception of direction or reality. I felt like an adolescent again, the same way I always did when the Fairy came to me. I felt so safe and childlike in her presence. But something was different this time. She was clearly distressed.
“Gabriellae, I’ve never seen you like this. What are you so fearful of?”
“Samuel, your destiny is linked to that of The Fair, and ours to yours. Should you fail, we will all cease to exist. The end of your world will mean the end of our world as well. We were all made by the same Creator. Our existence cannot continue if yours fails. But our reign will mean your glory as well. Samuel, you must complete the Quest, and soon. Your days are expiring.”
“I’m doing the best I can, Beautiful One. I will let nothing stop me this time. My life grows old and stale, and I feel I have wasted it in meaningless pursuits. This Quest is all I have that remains. I possess no family, have few friends, and my life has been squandered in books and research to what end? I am no more fulfilled than I was as a youth. Yes, Fairy, I will finish this task. It is all that is left for me now.”
“Good, Samuel. Good. Remember Samuel, Samuel, Samuel…”
“Samuel? Samuel? Professor?” I found myself looking into the concerned eyes of Kareem, who was standing over me in the bathroom. “Sir, it looks like you fainted. Did you forge to activate your air conditioner last night? It’s got to be ninety degrees in here. Here, let me help you up.” I struggled up from the bathroom floor. I smiled. Kareem looked at me for a brief moment, and then acted as if nothing had happened.
“Professor, it is time to leave. The caravan is ready and waiting for us.”
A short while later we stepped out of our quarters into the main warehouse. It was pandemonium, with personnel scurrying about, vehicles warming up, massive exhaust fans ventilating the facility, and equipment being checked to ensure it was fully secured to the trailers and trucks bearing it to destinations unknown.
It was 84% in Riyadh in April of 2015, and the Quest was under way. The warehouse door opened, and the caravan began moving slowly out of the massive warehouse and toward the outskirts of town.
As we traveled, the locals glanced up with mild curiosity at the large expedition, but in these days of war, they just assumed it was another military operation and went about their business, deliberately not noticing any details lest they be asked to recall them later by other parties. This was the way of war. One avoided trouble at all costs.
An hour later we were in the desert navigating solely by GPS systems. “How long will it take, Kareem?” I asked.
“We’re staying with the desert to minimize detection, Professor. We have 300 miles to go before we reach Ra’s al Khafji at the Kuwaiti border. At 25mph, we’re looking at about twelve hours.” He turned the Hummer’s CD player on, and soft classical music filled the passenger compartment. We had the air conditioner on at a very comfortable level. “We’ll camp in the desert outside of Ra’s al Khafji, then rendezvous with the submarine the next day. We’ll travel under the Persian Gulf to the Iraq-Iran border town of Al Faw. At underwater speeds of about 12 mph, that should take us about eight hours. There, we have an underwater base of operations we just re-activated after putting it in mothballs five years ago. From that time forward, Professor, the rest is up to you.” Kareem looked at me quietly, and then glanced at the GPS system to ensure we were continuing on course.
“Do we have enough fuel?” I asked.
“Plenty. There is a fuel truck at the rear of our caravan. You needn’t worry, Sir. The only thing that can stop us now is soldiers.”
“Is that all,” I quipped dryly.
“Yes.” Kareem grimly replied, as we settled into our seats and watched the sun beat down on the barren desert wastelands.
[1] Dora Jane Hamblin; http://www.ldolphin.org/eden/
Smithsonian Magazine, Volume 18. No. 2, May 1987
Executor: Mary H. Ovrom, December 1, 1997
[2] http://www.opinionatedtraveler.com/reviews/
[3] http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/ubar/
October 1972
In all honesty, I have to tell you it wasn't my fault. Seriously. I know it's hard to believe, all things considered, but it's the truth. All right, I can see that you're skeptical. Maybe I should start at the beginning.
My name is Samual Weatherspoon, and it all started in the fall of 1972 when I was walking to school. I was a new sophomore at Fairmont High, having transferred there from the local parochial school after having been asked not to re-enroll, since my grades were, well, an embarrassment to the institution. I was a little disappointed about being rejected, but I never liked the place; it was too strict and isolated from the rest of the world.
The passing cars were filled with the sounds of Jimi Hendrix's "Electric Ladyland", Pink Floyd's "The Wall", Led Zeppelin's "Hangman" and Black Sabbath's "Iron Man", as I walked along the old streets on my way to class. Approaching the campus, I mused how everybody had long hair (except me, my father wouldn't permit it), how all the girls were throwing their virginity away at parties (except to me), how the parking lot was filled with the aroma of cheap marijuana, and how cigarette butts littered the street corners adjacent to the school in staggering abundance. The air was crisp and cool on this overcast morning, and the surrounding sounds were strangely subdued as I made my trek toward the hallowed institution of knowledge, such as it was.
The old Fairmont community library always struck me as an interesting local landmark. It was squarely in the middle of a massive and perfectly circular plot of land, right at the center of town. It was old, sprawling, faded brown, and surrounded by bushes and trees, which the local children loved to play and climb in. There was a particularly thick concentration of foliage in the rear of the building hiding a secret only the high school students knew about. If one walked behind the dense, green thickets, a massive cave made entirely out of the natural formation of the branches and leaves of the surrounding bushes opened up, completely invisible to passers-by. This clandestine hideaway was where the "stoners" came to party the school hours away on those frequent occasions when the nearby school parking lot was overly supervised by a suspicious faculty. Quite a few young ladies lost their virtue in that hidden thicket of shrubbery over the years. I used to peek inside the roomy, cave-like, leaf-walled clearing in the center out of curiosity from time to time, wondering who might be inside, and up to what mysterious activities.
On this particular morning, I felt so inclined, so I veered away from my scholastic destination in favor of the virtual den of iniquity. As the steam from my breath preceded me into the enclosure of thick bushes, I felt an eerie sense of disconnection from the rest of my surroundings. The ambient sounds gradually faded away, until there was complete silence as I reached the inner sanctum of the refuge. At first I didn't notice, but the air was no longer cold. Around me were leaves and branches of all shapes and sizes, forming the natural walls and ceiling; effectively insulating me from the outside world, and blocking nearly all the daylight without. There were discarded cigarette packs, empty beer cans, several quilts and blankets strewn about on the ground, and a small pair of flowered panties dangling on a branch at the far side of the enclosure. Not a particularly romantic setting, but then again I supposed the teenage girl who had left without her unmentionables was probably just here for the experience and bragging rights rather than a sentimental honeymoon.
I heard a giggle behind me; soft, gay and magical; feminine, playful and enticing. I turned to look, but I was alone. Again I heard the laughter, this time louder, and friendlier than before. I slowly surveyed the entire area, but there was no one there. A third time the musical notes of merriment rang in my ears, and I was fully perplexed.
"Samual, why do you look so bewildered?" asked the soft fairy-like voice.
"Um, where are you?" I asked nervously.
"Close your eyes, Samual. To see me you must leave behind your surroundings", came the fantasy voice again.
Now, I consider myself to be a pretty normal guy. I mean, I've got an imagination as flexible as the next fellow. But this was just plain weird! I chalked it up to a practical joke, and decided to play along.
"Okay, my eyes are closed. Now what?" I obeyed.
I could feel her presence, whoever she was, but no rustling of leaves revealed where she had been hiding.
"Remember, keep your eyes closed, Samual, or the magic will end…." She sang lightly.
I felt fingertips brushing lightly on my forearm, as she moved toward me. I could smell the fragrance of sweet flowers as her hair swished past, filling my senses. She stopped in front of me, and gently placed her delicate hands on my cheeks, caressing my face. One small hand curled around my neck, drawing me nearer. I felt her breath, fresh and sweet, as she pulled closer. I thrilled as my head lowered, and gave myself to her kiss. All too soon, she pulled away.
"Don't peek!" she warned in a smiling voice. I kept my eyes firmly shut. She took my hand firmly in hers, and instructed me,
"Hold on tight!" I gripped her hand as tightly as I could without hurting her. She laughed again. "Ready?"
"For anything!" I gushed.
"Here we go!" she exclaimed. I felt a bit unnerved. My stomach began to feel queasy, and the ground became unsteady beneath my feet. My head was swirling, and I felt disoriented. Then I became aware my shoes were no longer touching the ground at all! I tapped around with my feet, but met only thin air!
"What's happening?" I called, alarmed.
"Don't open your eyes!" her reassuring voice came, clear as a bell. "You must trust me, Samual."
"Okay…okay…." I replied uneasily.
I felt a growing rush of air about me, as if I were in motion, floating like a kite on a lazily windy afternoon. Sounds began to whirl around me, confusing sounds, accompanied by strange odors and weird sensations I could not describe if I tried, sounds completely foreign to me, smells indescribable, and sensations unknown and alien. My tightly closed eyelids went blindingly bright, then dark as midnight, then bright again, continuously oscillating between subdued shading and oppressive brilliance.
This went on for a time, and then there was the feeling of cessation. Everything slowed, and I found myself in absolute solitude. The light was gray now, and constant. The only presence in this vacuum was she, my mysterious guide and companion, and the grip of her hand in mine.
"It's time, Samual. Open your eyes." I couldn't. For some reason I was afraid, very afraid. "It's okay. You can trust me," She reassured.
"I do. Okay, here goes…" I slowly opened my eyes and blinked.
What happened next is probably going to seem unbelievable. I can still hardly believe it myself. There are times I swear I must have imagined the whole thing, but the fact remains: it really happened.
All around me was swirling fog, although it was warm, not cold and bitter. A soft, glowing luminescence was everywhere, reflecting twinkling miniscule lights like microscopic stars which floated in the airborne eddies and currents like dust as the swirling clouds moved silently, endlessly, eternally. Below me and above me were the mists; I was floating with no floor, no ceiling, no walls, no structures, nothing. I was suspended in this aura of unreality, in absolute silence.
Yet the silence was no longer eerie or frightening. It was peaceful, calming, and comfortable. To be perfectly accurate, it was delightful. After peering around in an attempt to orient myself to no avail for a time, I remembered my companion, and her hand in mine. Slowly my eyes crept down my arm, until I saw our clasped hands. Her flesh was glowing, white, almost see-through in its unusual opaque beauty. I followed her slight arm up to her shoulder, and then gazed at her lithe form, adorned in a simple yet dazzling gown that reached below her feet. Her hair was almost as long as her gown, and white as electric snow; it floated and sparkled with the swirling mists, interacting with them, almost dancing. Within her tresses, a myriad of tiny rainbows seemed to appear and disappear as she moved, her hair constantly changing and reacting to every nuance. Her face was soft and bright as a moonbeam, unimaginably beautiful, a picture of eternal youth caught in absolute perfection, glowing and radiating with an effervescent shimmer. She had a tiny form, but carried herself with the bearing of a regal queen. When she moved, the mists moved with her, as if they were part of her, connected to her in some way. When I looked into her eyes, I fell inside, and saw the universe in its entire vast expanse. I found myself caught, unable to look away, forgetting to breathe as I basked in the timeless wonder of her magnificence.
She broke my gaze by looking away for a moment, and I realized I was faint from lack of oxygen.
"Breathe, silly!" she said with a laugh in her voice.
I gulped and ravenously inhaled a deep breath, beginning to stabilize. I was stunned with wonder and amazement.
"Who are you? What are you? What is this place? Why did you bring me here? How…" I stammered.
"One thing at a time!" she laughed merrily. "There is no hurry in this place!" She was quiet, smiling, looking curiously at me. "Samual, I am Gabrielae, the Fair. I am from a plane of existence far from here both in time and space. I am destined to be your Companion-Guide! I have been sent to seek you out, to prepare you, and to enlighten you in preparation for the Gifts of Eden. I have brought you to this place, the place of my dominion, a place without time or form, the place in which I dwell, because I cannot be seen in your world. I have been watching you for a long time, Samual. You have been Chosen." She smiled sweetly.
"But why me?" I asked, overwhelmed with confusion.
"I have long watched you and your people, and followed you. It was necessary, for the Gifts of Eden may be granted only to the worthy. I had to ensure you were in fact worthy of the Gifts. It was by chance that I decided to follow your movements above all others. There was nothing guiding my decision, other than Fate herself. But once I began, I found myself drawn to you, caring about you, wanting to speak to you, yet unable to all the while. I went to the Council of the Fair and asked you be considered as the Recipient of the Gifts, and in their benevolence they granted my request. How overjoyed I was! For my affection for you had grown great with time, and it meant I would finally be revealed to you!" She was quiet, and her smile faded.
"What is wrong?" I asked, worried now.
"Now that we have met, we must again part. If you choose to accept the Gifts of Eden, you must first accept a Quest, which will bring you through many hardships and struggles. You may succeed, then again you may fail. But you must decide if you are willing now to try." She took my other hand into hers, and looked deeply into my eyes. Once more, I felt myself falling, falling away from myself, into the expanse of the universe, forgetting myself as I fell. I heard her voice echoing in the distance as she asked, "Will you accept the Quest?"
"Okay…I guess…I will…" I murmured, as everything went dark and I lost all consciousness.
2.
"Check it out, dudes!" the voice said, as laughter rolled around me. I opened my eyes, a bit confused, trying to figure out where I was. Leaves overhead were moving in the chilled morning breeze, and I was lying on the ground shivering. Half-crushed beer cans clinked as I moved my legs and struggled to stand. As I rose, I stumbled into the surrounding branches in a failed attempt to steady myself. A piece of wayward fabric detached from the branch and hung on my left ear. I saw I had returned to the hideaway behind the bushes at the town library. There was a group of teenage boys and girls all looking at me, laughing as I removed what turned out to be the small pair of flowered panties hanging from my ear, apparently lodged there when I had fallen into the wayward branch.
"Dude, they go on your butt, not your face," one of the smart-alec boys quipped as the girls laughed together with him.
"Not my style…" I muttered, tossing them to the ground. I walked towards the entrance of the clearing.
"See you later, girlie-man," the annoying boy called out as I turned towards the school. I heard a flick, and there was a light 'thump' as a cigarette butt hit me in the back of the head, followed by more giggles from the fan club.
"Yeah, whatever," I groaned, pulling my jacket tighter as the cold air began to penetrate.
The remaining three blocks to school was a slow, arduous event. My mind was reeling, trying to comprehend what had happened. Reality was confusing, and I walked in a stupor, trying to make sense of the morning's experience. I was cold, disoriented, and moving like a malfunctioning robot when a loud, sudden blast caused my heart to freeze and my eyes to fly open widely.
"Watch where you're going, stupid!" screamed the driver over the thumping of his overpriced car sound system. He hit the horn and screeched around me, narrowly missing my body by inches. As my adrenaline began to settle, he threw his arm out the window and thrust his middle finger towards me. "Jerk!" he shouted just before he careened around the corner out of sight.
"Right, thanks," I said, and continued on my way.
Fairmont High School was, well, unusual. It had started as a big dream for our small town, and the City Council and Mayor had made flowery announcements and long speeches about the new state of the art facility for the town's constituents. Unfortunately, when it came time to pay for all the wonderful features, there was no money to be found. So what we students eventually wound up with was a brand spanking new administrative office building, surrounded by cheap trailers and portable classrooms, all with poor heat and no air conditioning. Kids used to get in trouble on purpose in the summer just so they could be sent to the office where the temperature was bearable. The teachers were so exhausted they really didn't care any more. By the time July rolled around, the lack of windows became a real problem, particularly after a PE class when the sweat flowed freely and the body odor was weapons-grade quality. It really didn't matter all that much, because half the student body arrived stoned out of their minds in the morning, and frequent visits to the vans in the school parking lot replenished their levels of intoxicants throughout the day. I discovered early on that the Technical Equipment room was air conditioned, so I joined the geeks and nerds in the Audio-Visual club right away. I was always cutting out of class to go to the equipment room, and would stay there as long as possible during the heat of the day. Since geeks and nerds weren't really popular with the girls, I discovered the Audio-Visual Club had a massive treasury of risqué men's magazines hidden in an equipment cupboard in the back of the room. Some of the photos were artistic, some were graphic and medically accurate, but it certainly explained why you never saw nerds on the schoolyards during lunches or recesses. They were all huddled around the latest issue of Playboy Magazine in the equipment room.
Oftentimes the summer heat was so oppressive the teachers would schedule movies every day, just so they could sit down and rest in a dark classroom rather than teach. This meant I, as the official "AV Guy" would go check out the movie and equipment, and roll the squeaky cart to the classroom. After fumbling for a while, I finally managed to get the films threaded properly. The lights were dimmed, and the movies would begin. More often than not, the quality of the films was so bad you couldn't understand the audio track at all.
"Ttthhhiisss iiiiissssss thhhheee ppllaaaaattaappuusss sssss ssssssss…." The narrator's voice would quiver as the film hung on a worn gear. The class would start throwing trash and pencils at my head at this point. Then the film would jam, and we would all watch the screen as the picture froze, went dark, and then started to melt as the hot projector bulb burned right through the frame.
"You loser," came the onslaught of supportive comments from my loyal classmates. It was moments like these that made high school so memorable to me. Many were the times I had to remind myself that it wouldn't be long before these antagonists would get out of high school and advance to the local correctional institution.
But it was winter this particular morning, not summer, and I had a different set of problems. As I arrived at my first class, Algebra, with Mr. Bessler, I was informed we were going to view "Reefer Madness", and old anti-marijuana film created by the United States army back in the 1950's. This was always a high point in my day (no pun intended), because the movie projectors squeaked so loudly in the winter it sounded like a thousand cats screeching their claws on a chalkboard. I went to the Audio-Visual equipment room, and unlocked the door with my pass key. As I opened the door, there was a great commotion as the resident geeks and nerds scrambled to hide the girlie magazines from the new intruder.
"Oh, it's only Weatherspoon," they grumbled, and went back to their drooling. I got a projector cart, and pulled the appropriate film from inventory. I started back to the classroom, and had made it about halfway when a wheel fell off the cart.
"Great," I muttered, and bent down to try to reinsert the wheel shaft into the cart leg. As I fumbled about in the cold morning air, I heard a ripping sound, and then felt a blast of frigid wind in my crotch. I looked between my legs to confirm my dreaded suspicion. Yep, my pants had ripped. There was a ten-inch tear from the front to the back of my seam, and my Fruit of the Looms were on full display to God and country. Naturally this wasn't a clean tear, no, of course not; there was a flap of fabric hanging down to my knees, ensuring all passers-by would view me in all my splendor.
"Samual, what's taking you so long? The class is getting restless waiting. Are you……….what in the world are you doing?" As Mr. Bessler approached me, I moved behind the cart in a feeble attempt to hide my embarrassment. He walked around, and I countered his moves so the equipment was always between us. "Will you stop that?" he barked. I halted. His eyes focused on my little problem. His encouragement was as sensitive as I expected. "Great! Now I supposed you'll be late with the film. Why can't you be more careful?"
"Sorry," I mumbled. "Can I go home and change?"
"Why not? Why not take the whole day off? Shoot, why not just take a vacation? Just go ahead and leave me this mess to deal with…" came his reply.
"Okay, thanks," I quipped, and ran off quickly as I could with the swath of fabric flapping between my legs. I made sure I was humming to myself so I couldn't hear the shouting emanating from Mr. Bessler's proximity. All I cared about was putting as much distance as possible between the school and me before someone else saw my predicament.
I approached the end of the administration building, which was the last structure between freedom and me. I turned the corner, thinking I was home free, and stumbled directly into the center of the entire girl's track team running laps around the school perimeter. Squeals of laughter sprung up from the girls in front, and gradually spread to the rear of the group, growing in volume.
"Ohmigod", "Gross", "Gag me with a spoon", "Total loser", "Icky", and other exclamations filled the air. Pretty soon the whole student body was peering out of classroom doors and windows to see what the girls were snickering at, and as they realized what was going on, the entire property began to shake with roars, whistles, catcalls and comments. The principal came out to see what all the commotion was, and that made my glory complete. I dropped all attempts at humility, walked proudly to the middle of the street, turned to face the crowd, and bowed low to one and all.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you everyone…" I proclaimed loudly, as I turned and walked away, occasionally tripping on the offending piece of cloth that by now hung to the ground, exposing my entire rear end and right leg. The sounds of the crowd carried on for a while, and eventually faded into the distance. I continued on my way, no longer concerned with propriety, just hoping I had some clean pants waiting at home when I arrived.
3.
I arrived home with mercifully few further incidents. I observed that it always seemed home was farther away when you were in a hurry to get there. By this time my torn pant leg had fallen completely off and I was fully exposed on the right side from my waist to my ankles. Plus I had to pee, which made my gait even more unusual.
I turned the last corner from my house. My neighbor, old Mrs. Daltry was watering her juniper bushes in the front yard. She spied me as I came hobbling up past her.
"My heavens, young man… You should be ashamed of yourself… simply shocking!" she exclaimed in disgust as I crossed the street into my yard. I sighed with relief as I began walking across my driveway to the front door. The sound of the gravel crunching beneath my sneakers was comforting to me, and I noticed the sun was starting to break through the morning overcast clouds. I stopped at the front door, and reached into my pocket for my key. Oops, no pocket! My hand fumbled around looking for the missing pant leg, and then I realized I was locked out of my own house! I sat down on the front steps and hung my head. A robin flitted down from the eaves and trotted a few feet in front of me on the walkway, chirping gaily. The sun broke through the clouds a bit more, and a bright, warm ray of sunshine hit me, warming me instantly. I smiled, and looked at the bird. It chirped a few times, and then flew over me toward the roof of the house. I felt a slight thump on my head, and felt the gooey substance left behind when Mr. Robin left his calling card in my hair. I reached up to wipe it off, smearing it all over my hand.
"Great," I said, looking for something to clean my fingers on. Naturally, there was nothing. I slowly rose, and walked to the side yard, opening the gate as I got there. It creaked slowly on its old rusty hinges. My dog, Nickle, shot past with a triumphant bark before I could block his path, and blazed off down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. Soon he was completely out of sight.
I continued to the back yard, and arrived at the rear door. It didn't take long to realize it was locked too. I looked at the nearby windows, and noticed the bathroom window was slightly open. I pried on it in an attempt to force it open far enough to squeeze through. It started to move, then with aloud cracking sound it shattered, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. I instinctively shut my eyes and waited for the sounds to subside. When all was calm, I slowly opened my eyes to evaluate the damage. I was standing in a pile of glass in front of an empty window with one pant leg on. I shrugged and pulled myself through the window space.
I knew it was a long drop to the floor on the other side, and I was pretty sure there was glass in the area as well, so I closed my eyes as I slid into the bathroom. I began to fall. And fall. And fall. And I kept falling. After a few moments I realized the floor couldn't possibly be that far down, and I opened my eyes.
I was falling, all right. Dark swirling mists surrounded me, with billions of tiny red lights twinkling off and on, as far as the eye could see. I flailed my arms about, causing the mists to whip around me, and the lights to blink faster as they rushed past me. I felt my descent slowing, and I finally came to a halt in the middle of this dark nothingness. There was a sound like steam escaping from a tiny hole, but I saw nothing but the dark clouds and miniature ruby lights.
"Witherrrrspooonnnn," croaked a deep voice in the darkness.
"Um, who's there?" I timidly asked. There was sudden motion to my right, and a large figure seemed to be floating toward me through the black fog. As it approached, its features became clearer. I gasped when it came into full view.
His stature was tremendous. He was at least seven feet tall, with a massive black head covered with fur. His blazing red eyes had dark gleaming black pupils that emitted an eerie light. His body was as big and expanse as a buffalo, but in the shape of a man, with muscular arms and huge legs, all covered with coarse black hair. He carried a staff of gnarled ebony wood eight feet long, with a crystal globe at the top, in which gray smoke swirled in constant motion. When he stopped in front of me, his mouth opened, revealing long, yellow, pointed teeth as sharp as daggers; and a tongue as black as obsidian, which wagged obscenely as he moved.
"Youuuu are in MY domain now, Humannn, " boomed the deep, menacing voice. "I am Mortach, Keeper of the Dark, and you are in my Lair." He moved around me slowly, regarding my features and snorting with disgust occasionally. I could hear whispering voices snickering and giggling, but I could see no one but Mortach.
"SILENCE!" He bellowed, and all fell quiet. "You are a foolish pawn, Witherrrrspooonnnn. You have been seduced by the beauty of the deceptress Gabrielae and The Fair, and have unwittingly fallen into their wicked plot." He stopped moving and peered into my eyes. "I do not understand what she sees in you, Humannn. You are weak and foolish, no warrior at all. How could you possibly oppose the Immortals?" He spat angrily. His staff moved toward me until the crystal globe was under my chin. He began to push up with the globe until my head was strained up and unable to wiggle out of his grasp. He stared into the globe for a few minutes, saying nothing. His breath was hot on my neck as he curiously read into the swirling gray smoke within the orb, and finally he removed it from my neck.
"I see…" he said slowly. "So you are the heir of Adam, are you?
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I squeaked with fright. "My Dad's name was Elmer, and he died before I was born; and my mother's name is Hannah. I don't even have an uncle named Adam!"
"FOOL!" Mortach cried. "Your insignificant lineage is of no matter to me. You are Humannn, and your ancestor is the Adam, the First One. By some incomprehensible miscarriage of justice you have inherited His blood, and that is why you are the Chosen. I am sure she did not tell you this…" he glared at me.
"She, she said it was Fate, that she just liked me… she told me…" I stammered.
"Do you believe everything you are told, Humannn?" Mortach growled. "She is a liar, and uses her costume of beauty to deceive her pawns, as do all her people. She cares nothing about you at all. She knew of your bloodline, and your inept loneliness, and took advantage of your gullibility to manipulate you."
"NO!" I shouted. "She is good, and she likes me! You can do what you want, I don't believe you!"
"Strong words for a half-naked fool with feces on his fingers and head…" laughed Mortach menacingly. "Know this, Humann: I will oppose you. You will not succeed in your Quest, and you will never receive the Gifts of Eden! I shall see to it personally! You meddle in things you cannot begin to understand. Go home to your meaningless life, and abandon this futility, or you will be destroyed!" Mortach reached out and pushed roughly against my chest with his black staff. My body began to float away from him, turning head over heels, until I became quite dizzy. The spinning continued until I thought I would pass out. I closed my eyes to try to steady myself, then fell suddenly on the floor… the floor…
…the floor… the floor of… of my bathroom at home! I was in Fairmont again. What the heck was going on? Was I suffering from hallucinations, or just losing my mind? I climbed to my feet, and shook my head. Everything looked normal, except for the shredded pants, the broken glass all over the floor, my mother standing there yelling at me, …um…my Mother?
"Are you out of your mind? What the heck do you think you're doing? Why aren't you at school? Why in the world are you smashing my windows? Who's going to clean up this mess? What the heck did you do to your pants? Do you think money grows on trees? Who's going to pay for all this? Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…" her voice droned on until I heard nothing but noise. I looked up, smiled sheepishly and said,
"I'll take care of it, Mom." I walked down the hallway to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I stood looking at my reflection in the floor-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. Man, my ears were big. I looked like Dumbo the elephant! My knock-knees protruded ridiculously to the sides, and my skinny stick-legs barely held my pathetically weak body up. My hair had been butchered by the nearly blind barber my mother took me to every other week, despite my cries of injustice and fashion suicide. I could hear her words echoing in my brain…
"Listen here, young men. When you start paying the bills around here you can dress any way you want. In the meantime, you'll dress and wear your hair as I choose, and if you don't like it, you know what you can do!" Mom was always so sensitive.
4.
June 1974
My life went pretty much back to normal after that day. Well, normal for me. As the years passed, I just chalked the weirdness up to a psychotic episode, which I must have imagined. Despite the fact I never heard from my otherworldly friends again, I still wondered about the Gifts of Eden from time to time; whether they existed or not and what they were. But I had no time for such things this particular night, because I had to be at the graduation ceremony in less than an hour.
It was the summer of 1974, and I was graduating from high school at long last. Everybody was talking about their Senior Prom date, but of course I wasn't going to be attending the dance, because no self-respecting girl in her right mind would be seen with me on campus. I was still the AV-Geek, and my glasses were too big, my acne was too prominent, and I had the muscles of a concentration camp survivor. My hair was oilier than normal, and my fashion sense went along the lines of your basic mega-nerd. I arrived on campus forty-five minutes later, and went to the staging area behind the gymnasium. The staff and parent volunteers were frantically passing out pre-ordered caps and gowns to the class of '74, so I got in line to receive mine.
"Next," came the hurried voice of the middle-aged woman behind the table. I stepped forward.
"Name?" she asked.
"Weatherspoon," I replied. She fumbled through her stacks of papers.
"You're not in here," she stated. There was a moment of silence as we both stared at each other.
"So, what do I do?" I asked.
"I don't know. NEXT!" she waved me aside, and the student behind me pushed me away as he stepped forward.
"Move it, loser!" he snarled.
I walked slowly away from the table. I watched as girls and boys walked up, gave their names, were given their graduation garments, and walked away excitedly. In the distance I could hear the band starting to play "Pomp and Circumstance" slightly off-key. I watched as the first graduates began streaming into the gym in their soft blue outfits, flowing in the increasing breeze. I looked long and hard at the scene, and finally realized that my time at Fairmont High School had come to an end much the way it had started: surrounded by shame, humiliation, injustice and embarrassment. I turned and started walking back home. There was no reason to remain. As I left the campus and stepped into the street in front of the school for the very last time, I felt a bit of moisture on my forehead. The sun fell behind a dark cloud, and the drops grew more persistent. Soon it was pouring down rain everywhere. I continued walking away from the school, while sounds of applause rose and fell in the distance. As far as my life went, it was a typical day. I started to cry softly as the sounds of celebration faded in the distance.
I arrived home soaking wet about a half an hour later. I walked into my bedroom, past the archway to the living room where my mother was watching her afternoon television shows.
"Keep it down, Phil Donahue's on!" she exclaimed, never looking up from the TV.
"Happy graduation, Samual," I muttered to myself as I sloshed down the hallway to my bedroom, closing the door quietly behind myself. I removed my sodden clothing, and changed into some sweats. I lay down on my bed, and asked aloud, "Why me?" as I drifted off to sleep.
I dreamt I was with Gabrielae again. She was as beautiful as I remembered, and I was entranced by her magical presence. The bright and colorful mists I had seen before were part of her, and they wove around and throughout her in shimmering translucence. Her glowing hair shed warmth as she drew closer. Her smile froze my heart, and I was a prisoner of my awe.
"Samual, it is time," she whispered.
"Time for what?" I asked in a shaky voice.
"Time to begin your Quest, Samual. You must find the ancient and legendary Garden of Eden, Samual. This is your Quest. Do this, and you will receive the Gifts of Eden.
"The Garden of Eden? That's only a myth! It doesn't really exist!" I exclaimed, louder than I intended.
"Samual, it is not a myth. You are Adam's seed, and you WILL find the lost Garden of Eden. You will go there Samual, and you will be the first human since time began to do so," Gabrielae said solemnly.
"You're not real…" I whispered softly.
"I am real, Samual, and I will give you a remembrance so you will believe again. She came closer, and took my left hand in hers. She bent down, and kissed the back of my hand ever so gently. It tingled, and I shivered with delight. When she rose, there was the imprint of her delicate lips, as if she had been wearing lip-gloss. She smiled, and her image began to fade.
"Read Genesis Chapter Two, Samual. Your first clue is there…" her voice called from the distance as she became harder to see and hear.
"No, don't go," I cried, but she had faded away. I drifted off into my dreams again, and thought no more of it.
***
"Samual, will you PLEASE get up and take the garbage out to the curb? The garbage man is next door and he's going to pass us by…HURRY UP!" My mother's nagging voice was usually the first thing I heard every morning. Who needed alarm clocks with "Old Faithful" keeping me on schedule?
"Coming, Mom!" I coughed, and scrambled to hurry out of bed, losing my balance and falling to the floor. "Crack!" came a loud sound as I , smacked my wrist on a skateboard I had left out. "Ow!" I instinctively began rubbing my injured arm. I looked at it to examine the damage. To my astonishment there was the pale crimson outline of a kiss on the back of my hand! "No way!" I gasped, and rushed off to the bathroom.
I turned the water up as hot as I could stand it, and scrubbed with soap and a washcloth for all I was worth. The imprint wasn't coming off, no matter what. "My gosh," I thought, "what if it really happened!" My mind raced as I recalled the day two years before when I had first encountered Gabrielae the Fair. What did it all mean? I couldn't begin to guess. But there was the mark of her kiss, still vivid in my mind and clearly visible on my hand.
"Samual, this garbage isn't going to empty itself!"
"Coming, Mom…" I sighed, and went outside to move the all-important cans to the curb. I couldn't wait to get to college. At least I'd be away from this place. Maybe a fresh start was just what I needed.
5.
September 1978
It was the fall of 1978, I had recently turned 21, and I was on an airplane en route to the University of Missouri, where I was to start my senior year. It happened to be one of several colleges who had accepted my application, but this particular college had something the others did not: it was the furthest from my hometown of Fairmont, California and my mother!
The first three years of college hadn't been so bad. Of course I had no friends, which left me lots of free time to study. And study I did. As an anthropology major, I was excited to learn about the new Ph.D. who was coming on staff. Dr. Juris Zarins was an expert on ancient Middle Eastern languages and civilizations. He had just returned from a four-year assignment as archaeological adviser for the Department of Antiquities in Saudi Arabia. I was hoping I could glean some helpful information that might bring me closer to the location of the Garden of Eden. Although I had searched for three years, I had made little progress. Every note was archived in the hope someday I would be able to put all the pieces together, but nothing substantial thus far.
The flight attendant came down the aisle with a tired smile on her face. She pushed a condiment cart before her, picking up trash and unfinished drinks from the passengers as she went. As she approached my row, the enormously corpulent man in the window seat on my right reached across to hand his unfinished drink to her. At that moment the plane hit some rough turbulence, and began shaking violently. Everyone's eyes flew open wide, and I watched as the drink flew slowly up, then down into my lap. Now my eyes were wide open too. The musty scent of whiskey began to float up from my lap where the icy drink had fallen.
"Sorry," the fat man muttered apologetically, shrugging as the plane continued to bounce.
"No problem," I replied, wondering where I could change after landing.
"Ladies and gentlemen," came the Captain's voice over the intercom, "We're beginning our descent into Springfield Regional Airport, so we'll be asking all passengers to put up their trays and bring their chairs to an upright position. Please notice the "Fasten Seat Belts" sign is now lit, so if your belts are not already fastened, we'd appreciate it if you'd do so now. The weather in Springfield Missouri is currently 69 degrees and clear. The local time is 8:30pm, on Saturday, September 9th 1978, and we should be disembarking on time at 8:54pm. Thank you for flying American Airlines Flight 1191, and we wish you all a good night!"
The plane began to lean forward as the pilot headed in for a landing. The turbulence seemed to be pretty much gone, but there were still occasional bumps in the ride. I tried to look out the small window past the man beside me to no avail. I imagined the many lights transforming into actual buildings and roadways as the plane drew closer. We touched town with a lurch, and the engines went into full reverse thrust. All the passengers were leaning forward as the place rapidly decelerated. A scant few minutes later, and we had taxied to our terminal, and the plane came to a complete stop.
Everyone jumped up at once in a frantic effort to get off the plane first, and of course this resulted in the entire plane standing like sardines as one person at a time exited to the concourse. Eventually I made my way off, and into the terminal. I spied a tiny sports bar across the terminal, and made my way there, doing my best to avoid being jostled by travelers too busy to look where they were going. I sat down at the bar, and glanced up towards the TV monitor near the ceiling. The sound was turned all the way down, and I wasn't really interested, but it gave me something to look at besides the massive pimple on the tip of the bartender's nose. It was so distracting, I honestly didn't know what the rest of the man looked like.
"Well?" he asked, wiping a glass absently with a towel.
"Sam Adams draft, please." I answered.
"Don't have that." He deadpanned.
"Okay, how about any microbrew?" I inquired.
"Look, man, we got Bud, Bud light, Coors, Coors light and Miller. Whaddyawant?" He stared at me, annoyed.
"Forget it," I said, and rose from my barstool. I started looking around for a bathroom.
"Jerk," I heard the bartender mutter under his breath as I wandered off.
I noticed a restroom about one hundred feet away, and made my way toward it. As I entered, I saw the few people I passed along the way giving me dirty looks. I remembered I had the spilt drink in my lap, and I looked down at myself to see.
It looked like I had wet my pants. And it stunk of booze. "Great," I thought. Now everyone thinks I'm a wino." I pushed the men's room door open and walked inside. There was a row of urinals on the left side, and a few sinks on the right. Along the rear wall were a few enclosed toilets. I scanned the place, and it seemed deserted. I walked to the nearest sink, and turned the water on. Unfortunately, the faucet had to be held down in order to stay on. So I held the faucet on with my left hand, and tried to rinse my pants with my right hand. All I succeeded in doing was getting wetter, so I abandoned the rinse altogether. I scanned the room for paper towel dispensers, but the only things available were two air dryers bolted to the wall. I pressed the button to turn the nearest blower on, and turned the nozzle down towards the floor. The dryer came on with a high pitched squeal. I leaned backwards and extended my lower half as far under the hot air flow as possible, until I felt the fabric starting to dry. I noticed my reflection in the mirror across the wall, and it appeared I was molesting the hand dryer. At that very moment a man about 30 years old walked in with his young son, who couldn't have been more than four years old. He looked at my crotch thrust up into the hot air dryer, and stood there staring at me for a moment.
"C'mon, son, lets go," he said in a bit of a panic. He spun the boy around, and dragged him by the arm from the restroom over the protests.
"But Daddy, I hafta go really bad!" he cried.
"Not here," scolded his father, and then they were gone.
It took about ten minutes, but eventually I managed to dry my slacks. I departed the bathroom, and looked for a map of the airport. I needed to find my luggage, and catch a cab back to my apartment near the college campus, about ten miles away. I was tired, and it had been a long trip. When I finally arrived home, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
***
A click, followed by the static of a clock radio not focused on any particular station began my day. The blaring noise persisted as I tried to remember where I was.
"Oh, yes," I recalled groggily. I was back in my apartment after a summer break in California. I yawned, stretched, and slowly brought myself up to a sitting position on the side of my bed. I looked at the cheap clock; it read "6:45am". I had to be at my first class at 8am, and it was the first day of school, so I shuffled off to the shower.
My apartment (if you could call it an apartment) was actually a rented room with a dual hot plate, a tiny 2 cubic foot refrigerator, and a closet converted into a cramped bathroom. My landlady was a middle-aged, rather rotund woman known simply as Miss Abigail. She meant well, but could be quite obnoxious at times. She never seemed to be happy about anything; there was always something wrong with any given situation. Knowing this, I had trained myself to keep quiet, because the slightest complaint about the living conditions resulted in a lengthy tirade about the injustices, slings and arrows of being a poor, mistreated landlady at the hands of a cruel and unsympathetic tenant.
Despite my resignation to my plight at the hands of dear Miss Abigail, I had never gotten used to the shower, which would run hot, then cold, then hot, then cold, until I finally gave up and got out. This morning was no different, so I was still wiping soap off my face and shoulders as I exited the tiny bathroom.
I dressed leisurely, looking through the small, round attic window that served as my only portal to the world outdoors. The sky was clear, and it looked like a beautiful day. I scanned the neighborhood, looking down the old street at the town coming to life. The next-door neighbor was warming up his old, rusty Ford pickup truck as steam bellowed from the rattling tailpipe. The retired woman across the street was in her bathrobe, curlers, and oversized slippers picking up her morning newspaper. She squinted at the morning sunrise, and puffed on a thin, long cigarette. Turning away, she went back up the porch steps, and absently scratching her bottom through her robe, she disappeared into the house. A dog started barking in the distance, and I could hear a far away siren fading as it moved away from the vicinity. Row after row of the old neighborhood stood stalwartly, silent sentinels paying homage to the 1940's and 1950's when they were first constructed. Each house had a mighty oak tree in the front yard. The rows of trees were old, tall and strong, and their upper branches stretched across the street meeting their counterpart on the other side, so the road beneath was sheltered in a canopy of foliage. Autumn was in full swing, and copper and brown leaves shifted lazily on the lawns and street as the soft wind blew to and fro.
I finished dressing, and retrieved my new school schedule. I had three classes with the new instructor Dr. Zarins. "Old World Archaeology", "World Prehistory" and "People and Cultures of the Middle East". I was really looking forward to meeting him, and hoped he would share his research in Saudi Arabia with the class during the school year. I made certain I took as any classes with Dr. Zarins as possible, because nobody had done more research on ancient civilizations than him. I figured you couldn't get much more ancient than Eden, so it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I arrived early for the class. A man was writing on the chalkboard, and I walked in to greet him.
"Dr. Zarins? I inquired.
""Yes!" the man replied. He turned to face me. He was smiling, a warm, friendly smile. He had a gentle demeanor, as though he had no malice in his composition at all. His large glasses reflected the classroom lights, and his full head of hair matched his light moustache. "Juris Zarins, and you are?" he asked.
"Samual Weatherspoon," I answered, shaking his hand. "I've really been looking forward to meeting you."
"Really. Why is that?" Dr. Zarins smiled.
"Because I've been trying to find the Garden of Eden since I was 17 years old, and I think you can help me," I blurted out.
Dr. Zarins smile faded a bit, and he looked me over slowly. "The Garden of Eden! Why do you want to find such a thing? Don't you believe it is only a legend?" he asked somewhat seriously.
"I don't believe that at all. I believe it is real, and I believe I can find it. I just need help from someone who knows about things no living person remembers. Somebody who has torn apart ancient history and dissected it piece by piece. Somebody like you," I answered, unafraid of appearing to be a fool.
Dr. Zarins was silent, and his eyes seemed to focus not on me, but straight through me for several long moments. He pondered at length, then finally he spoke.
"Well, Samual Weatherspoon, we may have something to talk about at that. Let's see how you do in my class, and take it from there. I'm very busy, and cannot waste my time on frivolities. If you are truly serious, I will know soon enough, and then we will speak of this again." His broad smile returned. "Have a seat, Mr. Weatherspoon. Class is about to begin!"
***
December 1978
It was Christmas Day 1978, and I had completed my first Senior semester at SMSU. I was the top student in all my classes, and had gone out of my way to excel in all three of Dr. Zarins' classes I had enrolled in. We had not spoken of Eden since the first day of our meeting, and I was wondering if I would ever have the chance to pick his brain for clues about my Quest.
I had just finished writing a letter to my mother, and had little else to do. Miss Abigail was in the house below entertaining her Christmas guests. I could hear seasonal music echoing through the walls, and I began to feel a bit homesick. I couldn't afford to go home for Christmas, and I had no friends or family in Missouri, so my studies were pretty much my entire life. Most of the time that was no problem, but during the Holidays I got a little melancholy when I ran out of things to do.
I wandered over to my hotplate and spun the knob to "High". The heating element under the leftover can of chili and beans began to glow crimson. I looked around for a spoon to stir it, but all I could locate was a large serving fork. I blended the mixture as well as I could, and scooped it into a cereal bowl a few minutes later. I sat in a chair by my window and began to eat. I would hear the strains of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year" playing in the distance. I sat motionless for awhile, my meal growing cold in my lap. I finally put the bowl on the counter top, and lay on my bed face down. I fell asleep crying quietly. The party continued on downstairs, and I heard Christmas carols in my dreams.
***
I dreamt I was riding in an all-terrain vehicle across the sands of a barren desert. Dr. Zarins was driving the vehicle as we bounced through the wasteland. The wind was blisteringly hot, and the sand was blowing mercilessly everywhere. We had shielded our eyes with goggles, and covered our faces with scarves so we could breathe and see.
"Why do you tarry, Samual?" spoke Zarins. But the voice was not his, it was Gabrielae's. I stared at him, and his face changes slowly. His eyes began to twinkle through the glasses, and I watched as his arms became thin and translucent. Soon, Gabrielae was beside me, in Dr. Zarins' clothes, driving the jeep madly across the arid sands. "You must not delay, Samual. You must push on with your Quest." She looked at me sweetly, and touched my left hand. I felt a glow, and saw that the mark of her kiss from so long ago was still there, glowing brightly now.
"I don't know what to do!" I cried. "I have tried everything, what more can I do?"
I felt confused and miserable. I looked at her again, but it was not she any more, it was Dr. Zarins in the drivers seat.
"Why haven't you come to me again, Samual? How am I to take you seriously if you do not persist?" Dr. Zarins looked at me through the dusty goggles. "Research takes perseverance, Samual. You must persevere."
Zarins shifted the jeep to a higher gear. "The enemy is near," he announced. I spun around and saw an army was chasing us, mounted on camels. Their dark robes waved magnificently in the desert wind, and their swords were drawn and held high over their heads. They were catching up to us, and I could hear their cries as they shouted. I felt very afraid, and as they drew closer I saw the leader was Mortach himself, fearsome and hideous in his rage. His eyes flashed, and his sword was held high as he came alongside the jeep. Soon we were surrounded, and our vehicle came to a complete stop. Menacing grumbles came from the mounted army, and as they dropped their scarves I saw they were all like Mortach, although not as large. Mortach rode his camel to the front of the jeep, then dismounted with a thud. He held aloft his gnarled ebony staff, and a dark light sprang forth from it like black lightening, striking the windshield of our vehicle violently. Smoke flared, and the stench of melting rubber and metal filled my nostrils. When the wind cleared the smoke away, there were strange characters burned across the windshield:
لا تسعى الحديقة
Mortach thundered toward my car door and slowly brought his head within inches of my face. "Khalas; imshi!" he growled in my right ear. My heart froze. His foul breath and dark power seemed to paralyze me completely. Then Mortach the Dark threw his head back and let loose a fell, blood-curdling cry. His forces joined in, and I closed my eyes in terror. Then all was silent.
I dared to open my eyes, and I was alone in a grey fog with Dr. Zarins. I was shaking all over.
"W-w-what ddid he s-say?" I trembled.
"He said, 'Enough; go away!'" The professor answered. Dr. Zarins was staring at the dark characters on the windshield of the jeep.
"Can you read them?" I asked timidly.
"Yes," he said as he continued to stare at the foreign letters. "They are Arabic. They read, 'Seek not the Garden!'" He turned and looked at me. My eyes began to water. I was no longer able to focus on anything. The gray fog was swirling all around me.
"Dr. Zarins? Dr. Zarins!" I called, but there was no answer. The smell of smoke was returning again. I tried to turn, but was unable to. I concentrated all my might on turning around, and suddenly I broke free and fell onto the floor with a crash.
The fog was gone, and I was in my bedroom, with my blankets wrapped around my feet. The burner had been left on, and wisps of smoke were circling up and away from it. "Good grief," I muttered, as I tried to unwrap my legs from the covers. Finally free, I went across the room and switched off the overheated appliance.
I looked out my window, and saw that it was the middle of the night. It was silent, except for the tree branches outside rustling in the light winter breeze. On the floor beneath my desk was a tattered old box full of papers, my notes thus far about my Quest. I pulled the box out and put it on top of the desk. Blowing the dust off the lid, I opened it. I reached in, and removed the contents. Perhaps it was time to try again…
***
Several hours later, I saw the sun beginning to break over the horizon through my small window. I put my pen and paper down, and stretched my arms, yawning loudly. I rose, and walked over to the mirror outside my bathroom door. I was not a very attractive guy. My legs were thin, my glasses were large and thick, my hair was dark, unkempt and unmanageable, and far too long, I had random blemishes on my face, and my waist was too thick. I needed a shave, and I dared not imagine what my breath must be like. It seemed like a good time for a shower. I reached through the bathroom door, pushing the shower curtain aside, and twisted the water knobs as they creaked and squeaked. A spattering of rusty water coughed into the shower for a few moments, then finally cleared. As I undressed, I noticed the steam beginning to wisp out of the tiny bathroom. The water was finally hot. I figured I had about five minutes before it started going cold again, so I stepped inside and pulled the shower curtain closed behind me. I turned my back, allowing the sputtering stream of hot water to massage my neck and shoulders. My eyes closed, and I breathed in the steam rising around me. I relished the moment, as my relaxed body luxuriated in the warm embrace of my most excellent shower. I thought I heard a toilet flush in the distance, and the water suddenly went very hot in my shower as the cold water was diverted downstairs. "Yikes!" I yelped, leaping out of the shower like a madman. "So much for that!" I announced to the empty room.
Several minutes later I had finished dressing. I walked to the desk, and sat down. I looked out the small circular window at the street, quiet and abandoned on this winter day. It was strangely still this morning. I glanced at my clock radio, and saw the time was a little before 8am. I shuffled my feet on the floor, and stared at the phone in a trance for some time. Then I abruptly snapped out of it, and began rummaging through my books for the school telephone directory. Locating it, I flipped to the "Staff" pages, and ran my finger down the columns of listings. There, at the end of the list was "Zarins, Dr. Juris." His home and office number were listed. I picked up the phone, then hesitated. Then I dialed his home number.
"Hello?" his familiar voice answered.
"Yes, hello, Dr. Zarins?"
"Yes?"
"This is Samual. Samual Weatherspoon, Sir." There was silence on the other end.
"Samual. Isn't that a coincidence…" his voice trailed off.
"What do you mean, Sir?" I asked.
"Well, I was just thinking about you. I had this strange dream last night, and…oh, never mind. What can I do for you, Mr. Weatherspoon?" he asked.
"Dr. Zarins, I had a dream too. Were you in a jeep in the desert with me?" I asked excitedly.
"Amazing," he exclaimed, "Yes, Samual, I was."
"Was there writing on the windshield?" I pressed on.
"Yes Samual. There was the writing. 'Seek not the Garden'. Yes…."he was whispering.
"Dr. Zarins, we have to talk."
"Yes, Samual, I think perhaps we should." He was silent for a minute, then he cleared his throat and spoke in a normal tone. "Mr. Weatherspoon, meet me at the department office in an hour."
"I'll be there, Sir," I answered eagerly. "Goodbye!"
"Goodbye, Samual…"
* * *
Approximated an hour later I was pacing in front of the Anthropology Department at SMSU. It was chilly, and there was frost on the lawns. I was rubbing my hands together to keep warm, having rushed out of the house in such a hurry I had forgotten to bring a winter coat. My sweater was warm, but not warm enough for the dead of winter. I kept looking at my watch anxiously, wondering what was keeping Dr. Zarins so long.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jumped, and my heart skipped a beat. "Samual, its just me!" It was Dr. Zarins. "Lets go inside where its warm" he said, his keys jingling in his hand. A few minutes we were in his office warming our hands in front of a small space heater. There was silence for a while. Then he finally spoke.
"So, you want to find the Garden of Eden, do you?" he asked, his eyes peering directly into my own.
"I do," I answered directly.
"Why?" he asked, equally direct.
"I can't explain, but it is a Quest I must undertake. I cannot tell you much more than that, you would think I was crazy"
"Some would say you are crazy even looking for a mythical place like Eden," Dr. Zarins pointed out.
"True, but you know better, don't you, Sir?"
"Perhaps," he replied. "Well, where to begin? Settle in, I'll make us some coffee, and I'll tell you what I know, and what I believe about the origins of man, and the Garden of Eden in particular. Then we'll see what comes of it. You have proved yourself to be a true archaeologist, you have worked hard and been patient, realizing that answers take years, and even then they lead to still more questions. The search is never over, my young friend!" He smiled knowingly.
"Samual, where do you think the earliest civilizations came from? Do you think they really came from a magical garden, or from Africa, or perhaps Asia?"
"Sir, I believe they came from the Middle East." I replied.
"Why?" Zarins asked.
"Because in the Bible it tells of the location of the Garden of Eden. Here, I have a Bible with me. It's in Genesis Chapter two, verses eight through fourteen…" I began to read:
"Genesis 2:8 - 14
And Jehovah God planted a garden eastward, in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed.
And out of the ground made Jehovah God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the Tree of Life also in the midst of the garden, and the Tree of the Knowledge of good and evil.
And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became four heads.
The name of the first is Pishon: that is it which compasseth the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold;
and the gold of that land is good: there is bdellium and the onyx stone.
And the name of the second river is Gihon: the same is it that compasseth the whole land of Ethiopia.
And the name of the third river is Hiddekel: that is it which goeth toward the east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates."
"You see? We know where the Tigres, or Hiddekel river is, we know where the Euphrates is, it’s the other two, the Pishon and the Gihon that are missing. Regardless, this clearly points to the Middle East, probably modern day Iraq."
Dr. Zarins thought for a moment. Then he spoke slowly. "Why do you think the Bible has the answers?"
"Because the Bible speaks of the Garden of Eden. If the Bible does not know the location, then the Garden does not exist. To find Eden, I must believe the Bible is accurate!" I replied.
"I see," Zarins smiled. Wouldn't it be nice to have some corroborating evidence?"
"It would, Sir. That's what I think you can help me with. You've been there, and you're an expert in ancient civilizations. If anyone can find Eden, it's you." I sat back and waited for his reaction. He sat quietly for a time, then his eyes met mine. He removed his glasses, and looked at me.
"Perhaps," he said quietly. "People have tried for thousands of years to locate the mythical Garden of Eden, Samual. But the locations of the Pishon and Gihon have never been discovered. Some say Eden was part of Atlantis, other suggest Mongolia, some India, many Ethiopia. Learned scholars and historians, well versed in the history of these oldest known areas of civilization have tried in vain to pin point the missing rivers. In Turkey, both the Tigris, also known as the Hiddekel and the Euphrates appear in the mountainous regions. Mt. Ararat where Noah's Ark was supposed to have landed is there as well. But I think most people accept the same theory as you, Samual. Just north of the Persian Gulf seems to be where all roads lead. But this is a very large area. And still there is the matter of the missing rivers.
But like you, Samual, I believe there is more to the story! I believe the Garden of Eden is actually UNDER the Persian Gulf! Moreover, I believe the story in the Bible is not a literal description of the beginnings of man, but a synopsis of the earliest civilizations of that time and place so long ago. Samual, I have studied these very verses over and over. I have spent years in the Middle East chasing down clues. I have consulted with experts in the fields of geology, hydrology and linguistics. I am convinced Eden, or what was once Eden, is indeed beneath the waters at the tip of the Persian Gulf, where Kuwait, Iraq and Iran all converge.
Around 30,000 B.C it was the middle of the Ice Age. Sea levels were 400 feet lower than today, and there was no Persian Gulf. The area received its water from the Tigris, Euphrates, the Gihon, the Pishon and all their tributaries. This created a natural 'paradise' in the region.
About six thousand years ago, that same area was an astonishingly fertile and green place. There was wildlife everywhere, as evidenced by animal bones discovered by various digs over the years. Ancient human tools and implements abound in these areas. The people had only to forage, or gather whatever they needed. It was literally a Paradise, where no cultivation and little hunting was required, the land provided everything you needed in lush abundance. However, in the outlying areas, Mother Earth was not so hospitable. People had to refine skills in hunting and cultivation in order to survive and prosper. While the Edenites lived a life of luxury, in effect depending on God for their needs, the surrounding hunter-gatherers grew self sufficient and able to survive without such providence. We call the peoples of these two cultures the 'Ubaid', the same civilization which founded the oldest of the southern Mesopotamian cities such as Eridu, Ur and Uruk. As the outsiders moved closer and integrated more with the Edenites, they began to assimilate their technologies. They became more self-sufficient and less dependent upon the land for their provision. As the area continued to flood while sea levels gradually returned to normal, the fertile regions were swallowed up by the increasing Persian Gulf over the years. Eden was lost over time. And as the climate continued to evolve and change, Eden passed from the memory of people altogether.
In effect, Adam and Eve had all they needed. But they 'sinned' by taking matters into their own hands, relying upon their skills rather than God's gifts. Their punishment was expulsion, being driven out by the increasing waters, never to return.[1] There is much more to this, but it would take literally years to explain it all to you, Samual. Suffice it to say that even if you do locate the very spot where the Garden of Eden once existed, it will avail you nothing, because today it is nothing more than mud under a body of water. If, knowing this, you still wish to pursue the matter, you may assist me in my research. Perhaps some day you will fulfill your Quest. But not today." Zarins drained his coffee cup, and looked at me.
"I'd like that very much, Sir," I replied solemnly.
"Fine. Then that's that. I'll see you after the winter break, Samual.
6.
May 1982
It had been four years since my dream. I had worked with Dr. Zarins for two years as his assistant, mostly tracing the roots of the Mesopotamian 'Ubaidian' through the Middle East. Dr. Zarins was convinced the key to the earliest civilizations lay in the discovery of the lost Ubaid trade routes. He had made much progress, and was talking about returning to the Middle East to continue his search. In the entire four years I had learned much of ancient civilizations, languages, and cultures, but I was no closer to Eden than before.
I had moved to Chicago two years earlier to study for my Ph.D. in anthropology at the University of Chicago. I was graduating at the end of the month, and was extremely busy with my studies. I was 26 years old now, and looked much the same as I did at 21, but with fewer pimples. I was still a bit overweight, my hair was always wacked out, my glasses were too big, and I had no social life at all.
I lived in an old Winnebago motor home in the campus parking lot so I could spend as much time studying as possible. If I wasn't at school, I was sleeping. I showered at the school gymnasium, and took my meals in the cafeteria. I had rented a post office box to receive mail, but I seldom ever heard from anyone.
My mother was still in Fairfax, California, and was still as nuts as ever. Each phone call home wound up being a listing of all the injustices the world had burdened her with. It was a real drag, so I kept the conversations to a minimum, wanting to stay in touch but not wanting to be depressed the rest of the day. Of course, she was always too broke to send for me at holidays and vacations, so I stayed in the RV all year, preferring to take summer classes rather than sit around bored.
I did quite a bit of tutoring, and taught a couple of classes at the local community college to help make ends meet. One of my students was a 21 year-old sophomore named Susan Sahakian, a beautiful, demure Armenian with deep brown eyes, and thick flowing raven-black hair. I was attracted to her the first time I saw her, and she seemed to like me. She always smiled sweetly at me when I made eye contact, and I got the impression she was hanging around after class just to be near me.
Finals were due this week, and Susan hadn't been doing so well on her test scores. I was concerned she might blow the exam, so I asked her if I could have a few words with her after class. She smiled, and hung around as the other students shuffled out into the sunshine. Soon it was just she and I, I sitting at my desk, and she standing in front, facing me.
"Susan, I'm a bit concerned about your final exam. I notice you don't seem to be taking notes, you seldom turn in your homework, and your test scores are pretty low. If you blow this test, it could mean failing the class altogether." I looked at her with a concerned smile.
"Hey, Mr. Weatherspoon, you're not gonna flunk me, are you? I thought you liked me!" she answered flirtatiously. She walked around to the back of my desk and planted her hands on her hips. She looked straight into my eyes and leaned forward until I could smell her perfume. She continued in closer, until her lips were right next to my ear. I could feel her hair as it brushed against my cheek. "Are you?" she whispered, her hot breath giving me shivers all the way down my neck. She pulled back, and smiled at me, a mischievous grin playing across her lips.
"Well, I certainly don't want to, but you really need a good grade on the final exam, Susan," I stammered nervously.
She looked at me with a pout. "Well, can't we work something out?" She cast her eyes down, and grinned at me with a sidelong glance. "I REALLY want a good grade on this test, Mr. Weatherspoon…" her voice trailed off as she blinked her eyes slowly.
"Look, Susan, I'm not, that is I can't..well, there are rules, and, you know, well, we can't, that is to say, oh, good grief, Susan, I can't date you, I'm your teacher!" I gulped, and looked at her lithe form swaying in front of me.
Susan stopped moving, and her jaw dropped. "Date you!" she exclaimed. "Are you nuts? I was thinking an extra credit project or something. You thought I wanted to go out with you?
"Well, you were acting like, I mean I thought, it's just that I.." I was at a loss for words. This was the most embarrassing thing that had happened since high school!
"Look, Mr. Weatherspoon. No offense, but I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last guy on earth! No offense," Susan reiterated.
"Um, none taken" I mumbled, and turned back to the papers on my desk. "Susan, if you'll focus on the last three chapters, and concentrate on the end-of-chapter questions you'll have everything you need to get through the exam. You'll just have to study, that's all." I pushed my glasses up on my nose.
"Okay!" Susan quipped, and sashayed out of the room. A second later her head popped in through the door. "Oh, Mr. Weatherspoon?" She sang.
"Yes, Susan," I looked up at her. She blew me a kiss and winked at me. "Bye-bye, loverboy!" She giggled as she trotted off down the hall. I heard the classroom door click shut, and sat there looking at it for a long time afterwards. Suddenly I was grateful I didn't have a girlfriend.
Some time later I was in my classroom going over the final exam questions. The phone rang, and I absently picked up the receiver with one hand, the other one being full of papers. "Weatherspoon," I announced, gripping the phone between my chin and left shoulder.
"Samual, my boy. It's Juris. From Springfield!" Dr. Zarins' voice sounded far-off.
"Oh my gosh, how are you, Sir!" I was delighted to hear from him. It had been over a year since we had last spoken.
"Samual, are you near your fax machine?" His voice sounded urgent.
"No, it's in the office down the hall. Why? I asked.
"I'm sending you a LANDSAT image. I want you to go get it. I'll wait."
"Okay, I'll be right back…" I knew from experience not to argue with Professor Zarins when he was on a roll.
I went down the hall to the anthropology department office, and heard the fax machine whining and screeching in the back of the room. I threaded my way past cubicles and stacks of cardboard boxes, and retrieved what appeared to be a satellite photo of a body of water. I walked back to the classroom and picked up the receiver, lying on the desk where I had left it. "Dr. Zarins?" I asked.
"Do you have it, my boy?" he inquired urgently.
"Yes, Sir. What is it?" I was holding a dark space photograph of a large body of water.
"Listen, Samual, have you ever heard of Dr. Farouk El-Baz from Boston University?"
"I think so. Isn't he the geologist specializing in space photography the U.S. government used in the Gulf War?"
"Yes, yes my boy. Well, he sent me this image from the LANDSAT camera in orbit." Dr. Zarins was clearly excited. "Look at the outline. What you see is the Persian Gulf, the northernmost tip. Now look just north and extending to the west. Do you see the fossil river faintly outlined?"
"My God, Dr. Zarins, you're right! It is an ancient riverbed."
"My boy, that is the Rimah-Batin, or it once was." He was silent for a moment.
"Yes, Dr. Zarins?" I waited for him to speak again.
"Samual it had another name before that." He fell quiet once more. As the realization began to sink in, he spoke again. "The name was the Pishon"
I felt faint of breath. I asked in a near whisper, "What about the Gihon?"
His reply came just as quietly. "The Gihon is the Karun River in Iran, coming in from the East."
I opened the middle drawer in my desk and removed a magnifying glass. I examined the image meticulously. There they were, all four of them. The Pishon, the Gihon, the Hiddekel and the Euphrates, all merging at the tip of the Persian Gulf and pointing directly towards… Eden….! I drew a shaky breath before speaking again. "Dr. Zarins, you have the evidence to prove your theories!"
"Yes, my boy, it seems I do. But there is much more work to be done. Can you come to Missouri?"
"I have to finish the semester and put my affairs in order. I'll be there in three weeks."
"Good, my boy. I'll put you on staff, you can assist with my research again." Dr. Zarins was clearly as excited as I was.
"See you in a few weeks," I said, and heard the click on the other end as he hung up the phone.
I looked back at the satellite photograph on my desk. I was astonished. For thousands of years mankind had sought for the missing river, and there it was, clearly visible from space. It had taken the technology of modern times to reveal what had been directly underfoot for centuries. The moment was amazing, and I basked in it at length.
I clasped my hands behind my head, and leaned back in my chair, reclining against the chalkboard. I closed my eyes, and began to fantasize about the Garden of Eden, hidden beneath the Persian Gulf since time immemorial. I realized that my path would eventually lead me there, and some day I would understand why my life had been continually redirected towards this search. The room grew quiet as the afternoon sun sank lower over the horizon outside. I could hear crickets chirping, and a few birds singing in the trees outdoors. I heard a girl's laughter in the distance, and smiled.
My chair moved slightly. I sat up suddenly, afraid I was about to fall off onto the floor. But the chair was not on the floor. I was not on the chair. I was in the now familiar fog of Gabrielae's realm, floating weightless in the warm mists of light. I waited quietly, until I saw her shimmering lights approaching. She floated up to me, as beautiful as I remembered her, like a dream or a fantastic vision. Her smiling eyes, fell upon me, and I blushed. Her hair swirled and set off the myriads of rainbow lights twinkling in the long tresses.
"Samual, you have done well!" she spoke. "But there is much more ahead of you. The times will change, and you must face many trials and dangers in the pursuit of your Quest. Now that you have located Eden, you must go there." She took my left arm, and it began to tingle. I saw the imprint of her kiss from long ago on my hand, as it began to glow brightly in her presence. She floated near to my face. Her beauty immobilized me as before, and I was paralyzed with rapture. She brushed her petite fingers lightly against my cheeks, and cradled my head in her hands. Looking deeply into my eyes, she spoke.
"You will do well, Samual. You will do well." She pulled away, smiling angelically, and began to fade in the mists. Soon all I could see was her hair, ever in motion, twinkling like a starlight night and I leaned forward to touch her again, but found I had no balance. I started to fall, and instinctively threw my hands in front of me just in time to connect with the desk in my classroom. I shook my head, closed then opened my eyes, and looked around. I was indeed in the classroom. I looked down at my left hand. There, glimmering faintly was the image of a kiss. I stared at it as it faded slowly into nothingness.
7.
1992
It had been 10 years since Gabrielae's last visit, and I had recently celebrated my 36th birthday. I had spent the last decade working as an understudy with Professor Zarins in Missouri, most of which were uneventful. I taught anthropology classes in his department, and after hours we worked on his archaeological projects. His focus had been a Middle Eastern dig site in southwestern Oman. His search was focused on the ancient lost trade routes of the Ubarites, kinfolk of the original residents of Eden according to Dr. Zarins' theories. Dr. Zarins was convinced he had finally discovered the location of Shisur, otherwise known as Ubar, or the fabled "Lost City of the Sands". So I followed him to the southern Arabian Desert, and we spent months living in tents, scouring the desolation for clues that might support his hypotheses. Several months later, it was obvious he had actually found Shisur. The evidence was overwhelming. At long last it seemed his theories were all coming to fruition, after a lifetime of research and patience. I considered myself fortunate to have accompanied such a knowledgeable guide on this journey through the ancient past.
I had never adjusted to sleeping on safari. The nights were long and hot, and the days were almost unbearable. At times the baking winds would whip up the desert sand so it was impossible to see without goggles, or breathe without masks. We had taken to wearing much of the local Arabic clothing as a result. Our skin was smelly and oily, since there were no bathrooms in the desert. Even the bottled water was hot and unsatisfying to drink. But we kept on, as only archaeologists could or would under such circumstances, and it had finally proved worth it.
Today a television crew from America had come to interview Dr. Zarins about the finding of the Lost City of Ubar. Since he was chief archaeologist and the driving force behind the Transarabian Expedition we were on, he was the center of attention now that word of his discovery had leaked out.
We smiled when they spoke of their visit to Ubar, because Ubar was actually a misnomer. You see, Ubar referred to the entire region and a group of peoples, not a specific town. Dr. Zarins had once shown me an ancient second century map of our whereabouts with the name "Lobaritae", another word for Ubarite, plastered across the entire area. The confusion started, he explained, in the Medieval era when the fabled story "The Thousand and One Arabian Nights" was popularized. Since Ubar was the glamorized central city in the tale, the legend stuck. Over the years, the city of Ubar lived and grew in the minds of romantic storytellers and treasure-seekers. Shisur, Dr. Zarins further explained, was not actually Ubar; it was merely one of several major sites along the Ubarite frankincense, myrrh and horse trade routes of that time.
These trade routes had many sites like Shisur, and each one had a heavily protected fortress of thick stone walls and tall battle towers, with small nomadic villages nearby populated by those who sold goods and services to the traveling merchants and warriors. Each fort was manned by armed soldiers, and built around a permanent supply of the most precious resource in the desert, water. The sites were strategically placed close enough together so the caravans could reach the next one before they ran out of supplies. At these outposts, they would restock, rest, and prepare for the next leg of the journey across the unforgiving desert. The defenses had to be formidable, to fend off the raiding Bedouin tribes roaming the desert. Money as well as goods were kept there, so the structures had to be as strong as castles.
Frankincense nowadays is pretty worthless, but back then it was as valuable as gold. In the Bible it was one of the honored gifts from the Magi to the Christ child. The Arabian Desert produced some low, gnarled trees whose roots penetrated the arid sands, sometimes as deep as 200 feet in search of scant supplies of water. The sap these tenacious trees oozed from their bark under the blistering sun was used to make frankincense. Since frankincense was rare and valuable, people all over the world wanted it. So it had to be moved from where it was made to markets wherever they might be. Thus, large caravans with frankincense-laden camels and supplies trekked across the Arabian Desert for weeks and sometimes months to transport, deliver and sell this valuable cargo to customers in far away lands. Horses and myrrh were also extremely valuable commodities, and were oftentimes part of the merchandise moving through the Ubarite trade networks.[2]
The Arabian Desert was a hot place, sometimes the temperature reached above 120 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer. Actually, the Arabian Desert was comprised of all the deserts in the Arabian Peninsula. Over 250,000 square miles of burning hot sands stretched as far as the eye could see! Some of the dunes reached over 1000 feet high, like blistering mountains in the endless sea of sand. We had to bring lots of protection from the sun, a great deal of water, and copious records including maps that kept us from getting lost.[3] Dr. Zarins and I killed our share of carpet viper snakes, and camel spiders were a daily nuisance, but we were there for a reason, and a few local snakes and insects weren't going to scare us away.
The nights were fascinating. I had a telescope I brought out when it was too hot to sleep, and the skies were so clear I could actually see the moons of Jupiter. The silence was breathtaking, and the isolation was humbling. This particular night I was sitting in a chair beside my telescope watching the television crew packing their equipment for the journey back to civilization. They were very pleased with the interview, and had promised they'd let us know when the footage would be broadcast. Dr. Zarins was scrunched over a map on a shaky table under a canvas canopy about 30 feet away. I walked over to him, and stood patiently on the other side of the table while he scanned the paper.
"Yes, my boy?" he looked up, smiling. "Quite a day, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Sir." I was a man of few words these days. Solitude and isolation did that to a guy.
"Something on your mind, Samual?" he inquired.
"Yes, Sir" I responded, hesitating for a moment. "I won't be going back to Missouri with you this time, Professor. I've received an offer from Stanford University in California, and I've accepted their invitation."
"I was wondering about that. So you've decided to take them up on it, eh?" He didn't seem surprised.
I hesitated again, shuffling my feet on the makeshift flooring. "It's not that I don't appreciate all you've done, it's just that I need to make my own way now." I felt uncomfortable. After all, Juris and I had worked together for many years, both at the University, and in the field. It was difficult to leave him after all we'd been through together, but he was about to become a very famous man, and I just felt I would be in the way.
"I understand, my boy." Dr. Zarins smiled his grand smile again. "Don't let it bother you. You've come a long way, and Stanford is luck to be getting you. And perhaps," he removed his glasses and set them slowly on the rickety table, "perhaps you'll find that Garden of yours in the end after all."
"Perhaps, Sir. Perhaps." I smiled at the man who had been my mentor since I was a youth, nearly 15 years now. It was indeed difficult to go, but it was time. Something deep within me kept telling me it was definitely time.
"I shall miss you. Sir." My eyes were a bit misty.
"Nonsense, my boy. You are a world-class archaeologist in your own right. You just need a bit more self-confidence. Look what you've accomplished in your lifetime. It is your time to shine, my boy. Besides, my path lies in a different direction than yours. I must follow the Ubarites, and you must seek the Garden. So, you see, we have indeed come to a crossroads." He picked his glasses up and perched them on the end of his nose. "You have done well, my boy. You have done well." He smiled once more, then shooed me out of his tent.
I returned to my telescope and leaned against it. I gazed up at the clear, starry night, and wondered what my destiny was in this great universe. It seemed as though I had been going through predestined motions my entire life, and despite years, travels and degrees, was no closer to knowing myself than when I was a lad. I sighed, and turned back to face Dr. Zarins' tent. As I shifted positions, the sleeve of my robe caught on the end of the telescope, pulling it off its center of gravity. It began to fall towards me. I lurched forward in an attempt to catch it before it hit the ground, but only succeeded in receiving a huge scratch down the length of my arm.
"Ow!" I exclaimed, as I ripped my arm away from the offending wing nut. There was a crash, and the tinkling of broken glass. I saw the large lens had been cracked, and small shards of glass lay in the surrounding sand where it hat collided with the ground. I bent down to gather some of the fragments, as the wind began to kick up the nighttime sands. Giving up, I ran to my tent, pulling the entrance flap tightly shut behind me. "Some things will never change," I thought aloud, laying down on my cot as the wind whipped the tent persistently, making flapping noises and causing the fabric to strain against the guy wires and stabilizing poles. I drifted off to sleep, and remembered no more.
* * *
8.
March 2001
Stanford University was the pinnacle of my career. Working in Missouri was good, going on digs with Dr. Zarins was better, but being on staff at Stanford was the best. It felt good to be a part of such a fine and famous institution. I had said goodbye to Dr. Zarins in the desert sands of Oman over nine years ago, and had moved to California almost immediately after returning to the United States. Dr. Zarins had gone back to the Arabian Desert, and had remained there for two years. I still saw him being interviewed on television from time to time with his latest discovery. He looked as though he hadn't aged a day. He was still trim, smiled all the time, and had the same old glasses. He had uncovered several more Ubarite fortresses, and was a sough-after speaker worldwide.
I was an anthropology instructor, and most of my classes pertained to ancient Middle Eastern archaeology. I had followed in Dr. Zarins' footsteps, and was rather proud of that fact. It was the last Friday before Spring Break, and I was sitting at my desk grading the midterm examinations I had collected from the last class of the day.
"Professor Weatherspoon? " A young lady's voice interrupted my concentration on the test papers I was grading. I looked up to see the smiling face and uncommonly long, thick black hair of Veronica Munoz, my star pupil, outlined in the classroom doorway. Veronica was a lovely woman, 23 years old, and the young men in my class had a very difficult time paying attention to their studies when she was near. Summers were almost unbearable, because she wore as little as possible in an effort to beat the heat. She had a very sweet disposition, and was extraordinarily beautiful. She supplemented her income by modeling for the art department. When it became known she would be posing, the young men flocked to enroll in art classes, hopeful she would appear to be captured in sketch, sculpture, oil and watercolor. She was quite a phenomenon at Stanford, which had no shortage of young, beautiful and wealthy girls from all over the world.
"Yes, Veronica?" I put my papers down. "What can I do for you?"
"I just wanted to know if you wanted some help grading the exams. I know you want to get an early start on the weekend, weren't you going somewhere?" She sauntered into the room and plopped down on one of the chairs.
Of course I had no plans at all. It was hard to imagine Veronica had no plans either, knowing her social popularity on campus. "It's okay, I think I've got it covered. Besides, I'm not doing anything this weekend."
"Nonsense," she replied. "I'm helping you, and that's that." She reached up and took a stack of papers and a red pencil from the coffee mug on the corner of the desk. "Where's the key?" she asked.
"Right here," I said, and tossed her the answer page. She smiled, and began grading the papers studiously.
About an hour and a half later, we were finished. I gathered all my things together, and placed them in my briefcase. I stood, and stretched, yawning and cracking my knuckles. "Man," I said, and looked at the clock. It was after 5pm. The campus was quiet, most of the students and faculty had left for their vacations some time ago. Veronica stood up, picked up her purse and book bag, and turned to face me.
"Happy Easter, Professor Weatherspoon!" she said warmly.
"Thank you, Veronica. For everything. You're the best student I've ever had." I was telling the truth. In my nine years teaching at Stanford University, never had I come across a more devoted and intelligent study. Veronica had great things in store ahead of her, it was obvious. She had intelligence, looks, and connections. Her father was a congressman of some notoriety, and she was very close to Chelsea Clinton, former President Clinton's daughter, who had graduated the year before. It was not unusual to see Secret Service men pick Veronica and Chelsea up in long, black limousines after classes together. Being the best friend of the daughter of a President did have its perks.
"Nah, Professor, you're just a good teacher!" she quipped. "Bye!" She trotted out the door. I walked over to the exit myself, and reached up to turn off the lights in the classroom. I noticed my own reflection in the glass display cabinet next to the doorway. The years had not been kind. I was 44 years old, I still wore large, thick glasses, I was moderately overweight, my hair was still unkempt and unmanageable, mostly black, but thinning and turning gray more and more each month. I had very little fashion sense, and wore plain slacks with oxford dress shirts and a mohair blazer year-round. My shoes were casual loafers, somewhat scuffed and in need of a good polishing. I had taken to wearing a London Fog all-weather woven hat to shield my eyes from the sun in the summer and the rain in the winter. I had picked up pipe-smoking as well. It was one of the few pleasures in life I allowed myself. The overall combination gave me a bit of a British appearance, but no 'gentleman's air' whatsoever. I really didn't care. After all, there certainly were no women interested in me. I had never even been on a date. Years ago I had accepted the fact that I was not the kind of guy girls were interested in. My work kept me busy, and that had been good enough my entire life. I stepped outside the classroom, closing the door behind me. The custodians would be by soon to clean up, so I left the door unlocked.
I turned and walked towards the parking area. A van full of reveling boys and girls careened past, waving and hooting as though it were New Years Day. Vacation was a pretty big deal to students. Little did they know they would have precious few of them as they grew older and settled in to life. "Good for them," I thought. "Let them enjoy their youth. It only comes once." I reflected on my youth for a moment, started feeling depressed, and shook the feeling off. "No time for that," I said to myself. "Got work to do". I stepped into the parking area, my loafers crunching on the gravel that lined the entire area.
I walked up to the huge motor home parked there, a gargantuan monolith standing alone in the deserted parking lot. After years of living in a cheap, broken down motor home in Chicago and Missouri, then enduring months in primitive tents in the Arabian Desert, I saw no reason the make a change. But I had developed a taste for a bit of luxury, so I had purchased the best coach I could find, and that was my home. It was a far cry from the old Winnebago in Chicago; which seldom had hot water, and never any heat. No, this was a state-of-the-art luxury residential bus, with all the amenities of an opulent hotel room. Nearby was a quiet RV park, where I lived. I drove the coach to work because I never knew how late I'd be working. I spend many nights on campus.
As I clicked the remote, the front doors swooshed open, and the stairs extended to greet me. I loved walking into my RV, it always amazed me the things the manufacturers had thought of. Since it had become obvious to me many years ago that I would go through life without a mate, I felt this lifestyle was perfect for me.
As I entered, I admired the plush recliners in front by the windshield. These two chairs swiveled around to become passenger seats while the vehicle was stationary. Immediately to the left, there was a large living room, thanks to slide-out technology, which allowed a portion of the room to extend on hydraulics far out from the side of the coach, creating lots of floor space. Luxurious leather couches and a large dinette were on either side of the room. Further down was the kitchen, sparkling with custom hand finished oak, custom-cut crystal, brass fittings and fixtures, and hand-painted ceramic tile. Even the hinges of the solid cabinets were delicately decorated with machined scrollwork. The cabinet knobs were hand-crafted porcelain from Italy. The paneling was imported from Honduras. The mirrors along the hallways were lined with beveled crystal. The bathroom had a full-sized marble-lined Jacuzzi bathtub-shower, with twelve water jets that shot water from all directions to provide a full body massage whether standing or reclining. Down further was my bedroom, which had an oversized queen bed topped with a featherbed coverlet, 450 count Egyptian cotton sheets, a hand-made silk comforter from Afghanistan, and a switch that activated the massage unit built into the frame. Oversized pillows abounded, because I spent many hours reading in bed.
The entertainment system was impressive. There was a built-in high fidelity stereo system installed throughout the vehicle, so each room was able to control the sound individually. A roving satellite on the roof kept me hooked up to television and the Internet at broadband speeds while parked and in motion. A panel rose when the switch was flipped to reveal a home theatre complete with surround-sound and large-screen display. It was home, and I liked it. Power came from a super-silent and efficient generator, which could operate for two full days and nights if necessary. It seldom was necessary, because I rarely used anything requiring 110 volts. If the weather became unbearably hot in the summer, I could rely on the silent central heat and air conditioning unit, which kept me as comfortable as royalty. Despite the entertainment and amenities, I rarely did more then eat and read in the RV, which was accomplished by a small reading lamp powered by the coach's rack of deep-cycle batteries.
On this particular evening, I was not in a hurry to do anything or go anywhere. I stepped in, touching a switch that caused the doors to swish shut behind me. I sat on the couch, looking out the windows at the campus I had called home for almost ten years. I sat there thinking for a while.
"Tweet….tweeeeeeet…..tweeeeeeeet!" bleated my cell phone. I fumbled through the various devices hanging on my belt, and finally found the cellular.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Mr. Weatherspoon? Mr. Samual Weatherspoon?" the unfamiliar voice asked.
"Yes, this is Samual Weatherspoon," I responded.
"Mr. Weatherspoon, this is Doctor Gould at Fairfax Community Memorial Hospital. I don't know how to tell you this, Mr. Weatherspoon, so I'll just come right out and say it. Your mother has suffered a massive stroke. Her heart is very weak as well, and she's in a coma. She's here in the hospital, and is not expected to survive through the night." The voice fell silent.
I went deaf for a moment. I felt dizzy. I was confused, disoriented. "When?" I stammered.
"This afternoon. She was at home watching television as far as we can tell, and it, well it just happened. Her neighbor came over to watch "Oprah" with her and found her slumped over in her chair. We found your phone number and name in her personal effects."
"Okay. Okay, I'll come right away. It'll take me several hours to get there, but I'll get there right away." I was in a state of shock.
"Mr. Weatherspoon?" the doctor asked.
"Yes?" I responded.
"You'd better hurry." There was silence.
"Okay." I hung up the phone.
* * *
My coach pulled into the parking lot of the Fairfax hospital about six hours later. It was nearly midnight, and the place was still. I parked in the far corner of the parking lot, to allow room to leave when the time came. I rushed into the lobby, and saw the security guard sitting at the front desk.
"May I direct you, Sir?" she asked pleasantly.
"Weatherspoon. Mrs. Weatherspoon, please. I was told she was here after suffering a stroke." I was sweating, nervous, and my throat was dry.
"Right down that hallway, follow the green stripe o the floor to Intensive Care. Check with the charge nurse when you arrive." She smiled again, and returned to her paperwork.
I walked as fast as I could, with a foul cramp in my stomach. The green line was easy to follow, it was painted right along the center of the hall. It was accompanied by several other lines of various colors, presumably designed to lead visitors to different departments without the aid of maps or guides.
I turned the last corner, and collided abruptly with an obviously exhausted, young hispanic family coming towards me.
"Jeeze, dude, watch where you're going!" the young man complained.
"I'm very sorry, I'm really distracted" I offered lamely. The family shook their heads and stepped out of the way. I slowed down, and approached the nurse's station a few feet in front of me.
I arrived, and two nurses were conversing behind the counter. I cleared my throat, and the eldest woman, presumably the charge nurse, looked up from her conversation.
"Yes, Sir, may I help you?" she asked pleasantly.
"I'm here to see my mother, Mrs. Weatherspoon?" I asked hesitantly.
She looked sidelong at the younger nurse. They both appeared suddenly very uncomfortable.
"Mr. Weatherspoon, if you could just have a seat in the waiting area, Dr. Gould is here and he'd like to speak to you," spoke the charge nurse. Here eyes were filled with compassion, and it was obvious she wanted to say more, but couldn't. I feared the worst.
A few minutes later a short, portly doctor approached me wearing a consultation jacket with several pens protruding from the upper pocket. He was mostly bald, and had a quick gait. He purposely strode up to me, thrust his hand forward, and introduced himself.
"Mr. Weatherspoon, I'm Dr. Gould. I'm your mother's physician."
I shook his hand lamely, awaiting his next words.
"Why don't we sit down for a moment" he said. I perched on the end of one of the waiting room chairs expectantly.
"What's going on, Doctor?" I asked.
"Mr. Weatherspoon, your mother passed away a few minutes ago. There was nothing we could do." He looked at me, giving me a moment to absorb the news. I could feel myself withdrawing, pulling away from the world as the words echoed inside my head. I felt like I was falling, and began to shake ever so slightly. I made a conscience effort to pull myself together. Dr. Gould patiently waited while I composed myself. It took several minutes to accomplish this. Finally I asked in a shaky voice,
"Tell me what happened."
The doctor began immediately. "Your mother was quite sedentary in her lifestyle, Samual. She had a diet rich in meats, fried foods, fats and sugars; she smoked for years, and she shunned any form of exercise. I tried for years to encourage her to take better care of herself, but she laughed it off, telling me that life without flavor was not life at all. She told me she preferred to live heartily, even if it meant she died sooner. Her cholesterol was extremely high, and her heart was working awfully hard to keep her going for many years. Her arteries were quite hard, and the blood flow just wasn't very efficient. She made it to 72 years of age living the way she wanted. Then she suffered a massive stroke, entered into a coma, and passed away shortly thereafterwards. That's basically the whole story." Dr. Gould waited while I absorbed the information.
"What triggered the stroke?" I asked. "Do we know?"
"Your mother evidently opened and read a letter with some unexpected news inside. The shock was so great, it literally killed her. Her companion found her still clutching the note, barely breathing, and completely incoherent."
"What was in the note?" I asked.
"It was in her hands when the ambulance arrived with her. We put it in the drawer next to her hospital bed with the rest of her personal possessions she had on her person when she arrived." Dr. Gould was silent.
"Mr. Weatherspoon?" he asked.
I shook myself out of deep thought to answer, "What?"
"I'm very sorry about your loss." He smiled compassionately. I actually believed he was sorry.
"Thank you." "May I see her now?" I asked.
"Yes. This way." He led me down a short hall, past several rooms with patients ranging from restless to sleeping comfortably. We entered, and he pulled the curtain open to reveal my mother lying still on her bed. Her skin was pale, almost gray. It was obvious she was dead. I gasped and grabbed the doorframe to steady myself.
"Are you all right, Mr. Weatherspoon?" asked the doctor.
"Yes, just a bit overwhelmed," I replied. "Could I be alone for a few minutes?"
"Certainly. Just let me know when you're finished here," the doctor said as he slipped out quietly, closing the door behind him.
I stood there, looking at my mother's body, realizing I really didn't know her very well at all. In my youth she seemed preoccupied with the business of supporting a kid as a single mom, and never really paid much attention to me. She tended to complain, and I seldom felt I really measured up to her standards, although she had never specifically made any comments that would lead me to come to that conclusion. It was just a general feeling of disconnection; I never was able to understand it, and it was that way for as long as I could remember.
But now she was dead, and the time for understanding had passed. I was distressed that I didn't get to say good-bye to her, but life oftentimes has a way of wryly reminding us what we "should" have done or "could" have done. There was no sense in beating myself up over it.
"Goodbye, Mom. I love you," I whispered softly as my eyes began to fill with tears. I stood beside her body for what seemed like a very long time, staring at her in the still of the night and the silence of the hospital. I began to fatigue after a time, and sat in the chair next to her bed. Memories floated into my consciousness and out again in random order as I reflected on the my life and my mother whom I barely knew. I sat there into the wee hours of the morning, and eventually fell asleep.
"Professor Weatherspoon?" a quiet lady's voice softly asked.
"Yes?" I mumbled, pulling myself out of a dead slumber. My neck ached terribly, I had fallen asleep in the most uncomfortable of positions. The nap in the tortuous hospital chair had left me bent and stiff all over.
"We have to move your mother now, Sir." I looked up and a young nurse was standing there with a couple of orderlies. "Did you want to get her things out of the drawer first?"
"Okay," I said, and stood slowly. I looked down at the empty shell that had once held my mother. It wasn't her any more. It didn't even look like her. It was a bit horrifying, to see this grayed and motionless likeness of her, and the unreality of it struck me like a dark demonic chord of discomfort. I turned away, and stretched, my arms reaching high over my head. Then I turned to face the small cabinet beside the hospital bed.
It was made of beige sheet metal, completely without personality or ambience, and it stood on four wheels for easy relocation. I opened the drawer, and it screeched softly as it pulled against its worn and unlubricated stainless steel tracks. Inside I saw a pair of reading glasses, a crumpled piece of official-looking paper, a pack of "More" menthol cigarettes, a hair comb, and a book of matches. The stark simplicity was ironic. After 72 years, this is all she had with her at the end.
"She was holding this when they brought her in," the young nurse said, pointing at the crushed letter. I picked it up and tried to straighten it out so I could examine it. The room was too dark to see the characters on the page, so I folded it as best as I could, and dropped it into my shirt pocket.
"Thank you for everything," I told the nurse.
"No problem, Sir, I'm very sorry about your loss" she replies sweetly.
I left the room and began to walk back down the hallway, faithfully following the green stripe in the middle of the path back to the entrance of the building. The security guard looked up from her desk and smiled at me.
"Good morning, Sir," she said. I looked out the front door and saw that the sun had risen. It was still very early, and the city had not yet awoken. I walked out to the parking lot to my RV. As I approached I touched the remote, and the doors opened as the steps silently extended to greet me. I entered, hitting the switch so the apparatus would retract behind me. I walked to the rear of the bus to the sleeping quarters, and plopped down on the bed. Before I knew it, I was fast asleep.
****
I heard singing. It was unlike a song as I knew it, and I was unable to understand the words. But it made me feel good, as if I hadn't a care in the world. I could feel myself smiling in my repose. I reached out to pull myself up on the bed, but my hand met with thin air. I opened my eyes, and there before my eyes was the fairy-like face of Gabrielae, beaming at me with a twinkle in her smile. The now familiar miniscule rainbows peeked in and out of her unbelievably long snow-white hair, and there were hints of voices giggling and singing lightly in the luminescent and swirling background. I made no effort to ascertain my surroundings, having learned long ago I had no control in this domain.
"Gabrielae!" I said warmly, and smiled from deep within my soul. "I was wondering when you would materialize again."
"Samual, I have always been with you!" her musical voice replied, soothing my spirit. Her "I have watched with pride as you have grown wiser and older. I have wept as you have lived a life of loneliness and solitude, without any true companionship. And I have seen as you have pursued your Quest. You have done well, Samual."
"Not as well as you think. I have done much research, and I think I know where to look for the Garden, but I still have no idea what to do next. I've just been living my life, and hoping the next move would make itself known when the time was right." I sighed. All the pain and loneliness of my life just faded away in her presence.
"Samual, your life will soon again change. All that you require to pursue the Quest will come your way, but at the same time new and unforeseen difficulties will arise against you. Your world is about to change as well, dear Samual. There will be wars, and fear here and abroad, and suspicion will rule the hearts of men in time. Many lives will be lost, for your people are nearing the vortex of your destiny as a civilization. The future depends on the outcome of this convergence of worldwide conflict. But for better or worse, you will never be the same again. The days of change are upon you. You will receive great things, but the cost will be very high. You will grow in stature among other men, but you will lose much in the process. There will be much pain and much pleasure. But above all, now, more than ever, you must press forward with the Quest, for if you tarry too long, you will fail, and your world with you." She looked at me seriously, and all became deathly still. "Press on, Samual, for the time is near." She smiled again at me. "I have chosen well," she said, and reached out to touch my cheek. Her fingers trailed the outline of my face, and my senses thrilled to her touch, electrifying me throughout. She withdrew, and spoke again. "Soon, Samual, very soon…." And then she was gone. She gradually faded from my view, and the gay sounds surrounding her faded with her. The mists grew slowly darker, until I was alone in the darkness. I heard a thumping in the distance, growing in intensity until the beats were loud and startling. I looked around to see what I could see, but it was useless, the beating continued.
"Thump, thump, thump……thump, thump, thump," came the steady rhythmic sound. I leaned towards the noise, and suddenly my head struck something hard. I closed my eyes as I winced, grabbing the injured spot on the upper right side of my forehead. I opened my eyes, and saw I had fallen out of bed onto the RV flooring, striking my head on the corner of the door. Someone was knocking loudly on the door, so I shook off the pain, and struggled to my feet. I padded down the hall, and saw through the window aa security guard was peering in through the same window. He was unable to see anything, due to the unidirectional coating on the glass. I flicked the switch, and the doors swooshed open efficiently.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Sir, you'll have to move this thing. People need the parking places," the annoyed man said.
"No problem, just give me a minute. I've been up most of the night. My mother died here early this morning." I responded. His demeanor softened visibly.
"I'm sorry, Sir. If you could just move it as soon as possible, that would be great. I'm very sorry about your loss," he added, and sheepishly walked back towards the hospital entrance. I was hearing that phrase an awful lot lately. You'd think there was more than one sentence to use when somebody dies, but I was at a loss to come up with one at the moment.
I walked back to the bedroom to straighten up, and noticed my mother's letter had fallen on the floor during my sleep. I stooped to pick it up, and sat down on the couch to read it. I reached up and turned on the reading lamp, then unfolded the disheveled document. Holding it up, I began to read.
"Hawethorne and Cogger, a Law Firm, 12 Bonny Doon Lane, Derbyshire, UK. Dear Ms. Weatherspoon. It is with great regret that we must inform you that your great-uncle the Most Excellent Lord Weatherspoon of Derbyshire, Great Britain has passed away. He left two sons and a daughter, but they were not on speaking terms with him for the last twenty years of his life. After months of research and several court battles with his disowned sons and daughter, we, his legal counsel, have established that you are his sole remaining heir. Thus we hereby inform you that Lord Weatherspoon's entire estate having been legally dispositioned by due process belongs to you. We have established direct deposits to your bank account, and by the time you receive this communication, your first dividend will have been received. Since the estate is managed by our firm, should you have any questions regarding your holdings, please contact us at any time. Lord Weatherspoon's investments in oil, petroleum and electric companies throughout the world were very lucrative, and continue to generate substantial earnings annually. Your estate's net worth is currently (in American dollars) approximately $1,956,000,000 (one billion, nine hundred fifty-six million dollars), and your annual dividend is approximately five percent of the net value, or $97,800,000 (ninety-seven million, eight hundred thousand dollars). This is the amount of your first installment, which you should have already received. Below is the number of our American offices, who can assist you with tax and financial management. One last note, your sole son, one Samual Weatherspoon is named as your only survivor. Should anything happen to you, this estate will revert to him in entirety. Our sincere condolences on your loss. Sincerely; Artemis Cogger AAL."
I sat, staring at the letter, completely dumbfounded. So this is what had killed my mother. After a lifetime of struggling, she died rich without ever having seen a penny of her sudden fortune. Astonishing. And now it was all mine. Unbelievable. I rose, walked to the galley, folded the letter and put it in a drawer, and returned to the couch. I sat slowly as the reality of the past 24 hours began to sink in. The confusion of emotions colliding within my mind was disconcerting, and it was some time before I was able to think clearly again.
***
A couple of weeks later I returned to Stanford. I had buried my mother in a quiet, private ceremony, and I had dispositioned her estate rather quickly. Having no interest in her possessions, I instructed the attorneys to donate her house and furnishings to charity. Her personal effects I gave to the neighbor who had found her that fateful afternoon; she seemed to have loved her very much.
Since my mother had already added me to her bank accounts decades earlier to make access to lunch money and groceries easier while in college, I had no need to move her cash assets to my private accounts. I thought it ironic that I had untold wealth, but needed nothing. I decided to continue to live on my Professor's salary, and leave the inheritance stipend alone until I decided what to do with it. I instructed the lawyers to take care of the taxes, and signed proxy authorization over to the law firm, knowing nothing about business or high finance. When it was all said and done, I had over $50 million dollars left over, and that was the first installment. There would be a new dividend each year as long as the companies continued to generate a profit. Fifty million dollars! I couldn't even comprehend such a sum. I had thought $250,000 was a king's ransom when I purchased my luxury motorhome. I supposed it didn't matter when it was all said and done. The money had killed my mother, and I was determined that it would never get a grip on me.
Five months came and went, and life proceeded rather routinely. My 45th birthday came and went without incident. Then one morning my world changed forever.
* * *
I was on my way to work on a cold and overcast Tuesday. I remember the date and time clearly; it was September 11th, 2001, just a little past 6am California time. It was a gray autumn morning, and the clouds were obscuring most of the sky as the sun struggled to break through. It was windy in the Bay Area that day, and I could feel the RV swaying as I maneuvered it through the strong breezes. I happened to be listening to a public radio station, as I had done every morning since my early college days. As I pulled into the faculty parking lot, I heard the announcer interrupt the programming with the mind-numbing announcement that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City a few moments earlier. He was apparently on the phone with a local New York correspondent who was unclear what the actual details were. A few minutes later, the announcer said a second plane had crashed into the other tower, and both were aflame. Not long afterwards, there was another bulletin describing the crash of an airliner into the Pentagon, and finally a report of a plane crash in rural Pennsylvania. Within the hour, it had been concluded that a massive terrorist attack had been perpetrated against the United States. By the time I arrived on campus, the administration had already decided to cancel all classes for the day. I returned to my RV, and opened the entertainment system. I spent the rest of the day and night watching news reports and updates. Before long, the name of Osama Bin Laden had become a part of American vocabulary for all time. The horrific images of the World Trade Center towers collapsing onto themselves before crashing to the ground was burned indelibly into the memory of every American from coast to coast. For the first time in my adult life, my country was at war. I somehow sensed that life would never be the same again.
***
Time went on, as it always does. Soon the end of November 2001 arrived, and life was distinctly different now. I spent most of my time on campus, and rarely drove the RV back to my trailer park any more. Every day and night the news was full of reports about anthrax-laced letters popping up all over the place, presumably sent by unknown terrorists or sympathizers. The United States had responded swiftly to the terrorist attacks on American soil by wiping out the Afghani government, with the assistance of indigenous anti-Taliban rebels. However, the ongoing failure to capture the fugitive terrorist Osama bin Ladin had been an ongoing embarrassment to the entire military effort. To date he was nowhere to be found. The American military base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba was filling up with the captured Afghani terrorists. Human rights organizations were starting to howl over the indefinite holding of uncharged prisoners who the government refused to classify as POW's, thus exempting them from the protection of the Geneva Conventions rules governing the treatment of war prisoners. Israel and Palestine hostilities ramped up, and the entire Middle East appeared on the brink of total destabilization.
As for myself, I had thrown myself into my work with renewed vigor, in an attempt to drown out the constant barrage of bad news. I rarely watched television at all any more, and seldom turned on the radio, even to listen to my favorite shows. I happened to be going over some of my student's test papers when the phone rang about 4pm one overcast and breezy afternoon.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Dr. Weatherspoon? Dr. Samual Weatherspoon?" the voice asked.
"This is he," I replied.
"Doctor, this is Mrs. Porter, assistant to Congressman Munoz in Washington DC. The Congressman would like to speak to you right away."
"Um, okay," I answered. I remembered the Senator was the father of Veronica Munoz, my star pupil.
"If you'll hold, Sir, I'll put the Congressman on now," There were a few minutes of silence, then Congressman Munoz's powerful voice filled the receiver.
"Professor Weatherspoon?" he boomed.
"Yes, Congressman," I answered.
"Professor, your country needs you." He spoke directly. "I'm on a special task force commissioned by President Bush and Congress to gather historical information on the Middle East, with special concentration on Saudi Arabia and the surrounding area. Your work with Dr. Zarins some years ago has brought you to our attention, not to mention the fact that my daughter swears you're the best man for the job, so, what do you say?" Congressman Munoz was equally as forceful and direct as his daughter Veronica, my former student. The fruit certainly didn't fall far from the tree.
"Don't I need some kind of security clearance?" I asked.
"Doctor, you've already had one," he laughed. " The Secret Service checked you out rather intensively as soon as Veronica started staying late after class grading papers with you. As close as Veronica is to Chelsea Clinton, they wanted to know everything about the people Veronica spends time with. You already have a top level clearance, I've seen to that!" The congressman was quite well connected, even more so than I had imagined. "Doctor, the arrangements have already been made. Your substitute has been arranged, and the long-term storage and maintenance of your motorhome is taken care of. For the time being, you'll be staying at the Swissotel Washington, formerly the Watergate Hotel. We have an operative who will be contacting you very shortly, his name you are already well familiar with. It is Kareem al Abin, a Stanford alumnus and former student of yours. He is on my staff, and is an integral part of this task force as well. Kareem will be your partner. Stay put, and he'll be by to brief you further. You'll be leaving for Moffet Field Naval Air Station in Mountain View, CA early tomorrow to catch a military transport to the Capitol. After Kareem gets you settled, we'll meet. Any questions?"
"Wh…, I…., th….., this, this is awfully rushed, isn't it?" I stammered. "I was so overwhelmed I was reeling, still trying to absorb the intense blast of information and instructions from Senator Munoz.
"Doctor, like I said, your country needs you. There's no time to waste. I'll see you soon." He fell silent.
"All right," I said quietly. The line fell silent.
"Good. Wait there. Kareem will be by soon."
"Very well," I replied, and hung up the phone.
***
I sat at my desk in a daze. I got up, and walked slowly to the window overlooking the faculty parking lot. I gazed at my RV, and watched complacently as three shiny, black cars pulled alongside it. Several men in dark suits exited the vehicles, and one of them had a walkie-talkie in his hand. The rest of the men formed a perimeter around my motorhome. The apparent leader was speaking to someone on the radio, but it was impossible to know what was being discussed. I heard a growing rumbling in the distance, and as it grew louder I noticed a massive tow-truck pulling around the corner. The "suits" guided it over to the RV, and the driver got out with a clipboard in his hand and started talking to them. A few minutes later, a fourth car arrived, just as nondescript as the previous ones. A small man got out and was joined by three others who had already arrived. As he came closer, I noticed it was my former student, Kareem al Abin. He was pointing at my window, and the others seemed to be acknowledging him. The group walked briskly towards my building, two of them holding their hands up to the almost invisible earphones they were wearing, each with a thin transparent wire coiling down under the collars of their dark jackets. The group walked around the corner of the building, no longer in my line of sight. A moment later there was a knock at the classroom door.
I turned my back to the window and faced the door on the opposite side of the room.
"Yes?" I answered" The door opened slightly, and Kareem's young head popped inside.
"Professor Weatherspoon?" he inquired.
"Yes, Kareem. Come in," I replied. The dark young twenty-something man entered the room, closing the door behind him.
"Sir, it's time to go," Kareem said gently.
"How did you ever get involved in this cloak and dagger stuff, Kareem? You were always the bookworm, the pacifist. I have to admit, I'm a bit surprised to see you here like this." I smiled at him.
"Well, sir, it's like this. They came to me. Perhaps it's my Saudi background, after all that's where my father is from. You know he's well connected with both the Saudi monarchy as well as the Secret Service. Or perhaps it's my command of Arabic. Or maybe all the Middle Eastern research I conducted in your classes, hmm?!" Kareem smiled back. "But it doesn't matter, sir, because now we're going to be working together once again."
I marveled at the way things had changed. "Well, Kareem, it looks like you're going to be the teacher for awhile," I said quietly.
He nodded in my direction with a compassionate smile. "Yes, Sir…it does look that way." He was quiet for a moment. He walked to the window behind me and looked out at the tow truck pulling away with my motorhome attached. "Don't worry, Sir. Everything will be transferred to your hotel suite in Washington DC before you get there. We'd better get going now." He looked a bit sad as he regarded me. "Don't worry, sir, I'll take care of you for a change." He smiled again, then walked over to the door and opened it.
On each side of the door stood a man in a black suit scanning the area. A third man was farther down the corridor looking toward us, then back at the parking lot.
"Good grief," I said, and followed Kareem out the door. Immediately two of the men began to flank us on either side, and a fourth came up a few paces behind. The man down the hall took the lead. As we drew closer I recognized him as the driver of the limousine Veronica Munoz and Chelsea Clinton used to ride in. And so, surrounded by Secret Service men, I walked out of my classroom to an unknown future.
***
As I approached the sleek, dark government automobiles in the faculty parking lot escorted by government agents on all sides, a man jumped out of the passenger seat of the largest limousine. He opened the rear door for me, and Kareem nodded as I stepped inside. I found myself in a large seating area with plush leather seats and luxurious carpeting. There was a fully stocked alcohol and snack bar on the left side, and an entertainment center towards the front. Kareem slid in beside me, and the man shut the door behind us and got back into the front seat. The driver started the vehicle, and it eased away from the campus quickly as the sun began to set in the rear window.
About thirty minutes later we arrived at Moffet Field Naval Air Station, a military base very near the Lockheed Aerospace campus where the United States Space program had been developed many years earlier.
A crisp and stern marine guard held out his hand, and the driver slowed to a halt and rolled his window down. He presented some documents to the guard, who scanned them, handed them back, stiffly saluted, and opened the gate. We pulled inside and the gate quickly closed behind us.
We cruised around the facility until we came to the airfield. There was a massive hangar, the largest I had ever seen. It was easily ten or fifteen stories tall, and filled the sky as we drew near. I looked at Kareem and asked why it was so large.
"Oh, that old hangar was built for dirigibles, or 'balloons' before we had lots of airplanes. Now they use it to accommodate the very largest military aircraft. Our plane is inside waiting for us. We don't leave it out on the tarmac unless we have to." Kareem smiled, as though he knew a secret I was yet to become privy to.
As we slowed to a halt outside the massive hangar, a group of four marines approached us. The driver rolled the window down again, and displayed his documents. One of the guards examined them, handed them back, and signaled to the other marines. The quickly assumed positions around the limousine, and the lead guard waved towards a control booth just outside the hangar.
There was a huge groaning sound. I looked around and saw the entire front side of the hangar was separating. It was composed of two gigantic doors, which rolled back to reveal the interior of the structure. They were so tall I couldn't see the top from inside the car. We began to creep forward at a crawling speed, and were soon inside the hangar. The two great doors reversed direction, and finally shut with a thunderous boom. There was a huge white aircraft directly ahead, but I was unable to make it out clearly due to the privacy glass separating me from the front compartment of the limousine.
We came to a halt, and the anonymous front passenger hopped out and opened my door. Kareem got out, then waited for me to exit. I got out, and leaned back for a good long stretch. My eyes closed as I yawned and reached my hands skyward. As I finished, my eyes opened, and there, planted directly in front of me, was the magnificent Air Force Two, the Vice-President of the United States of America's personal plane! A fully customized Boeing 747 capable of running the US Executive Branch from the air in the event of an emergency, it came equipped with every comfort and security device one would expect to find in the vehicle of the assistant to the leader of the free world. Such opulent luxury surpassed even my fine motorhome. I was impressed, even from the outside.
"You've got to be kidding me!" I exclaimed.
"Actually, we're quite serious, Sir," said Kareem. "They really want you to get started right away."
"I guess so!" I heard myself say.
Kareem urged me forward, and as we approached the stanchion ropes in front of the aircraft, another secret service man came out of the plane. When he got close, he shook hands with Kareem, and pulled a wallet from his inside jacket pocket.
"Professor Weatherspoon, you'll need to keep this with you at all times from now on," he said, handing me the wallet."
I took it from him and opened it up. Inside was an identification card with all my personal information. In red ink across the card were the words, "Top Secret Security Clearance Level". On the other side was a badge. On the badge was an emblem surrounded by the words, "United States Department of the Treasury, Secret Service".
The agent smiled at me. "Welcome to the department, Professor!"
"Good grief!" I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
Kareem started up the stairs leading to the aircraft, and I followed close behind. As we entered an attractive woman welcomed me by name, and guided us to our seats in the center of the plane. As I settled into the fine leather recliner and Kareem got comfortable in the chair across from me, I heard the secret service men board the plane and close the door behind them. The engines immediately started up, and I could hear the groaning of the massive hangar doors beginning to open again.
Before too long we were cleared for takeoff, and I felt the plane lurch as it exited the hangar and positioned itself onto the runway. After a brief pause, we could hear the engines increase to a loud roar, and then the pilot released the brakes and the aircraft began to rapidly increase in speed until we were hurtling away from the shrinking hangar. There was the whine of hydraulics, and then the front of the behemoth lifted into the air. As the rear tires left the pavement the plane dipped, gathered lift, then rose suddenly and nauseatingly. My stomach sunk and then floated so suddenly I nearly lost my lunch. Up, up and away we soared, with the airfield fading fast into the twilight. I saw the Bay Area grow faint below as we changed course for our eastern destination. Soon we were so high there was nothing left to see but the clouds below us in the ever-darkening sky. The pilot reduced the engine speed, and I was finally able to reposition myself in the chair.
"It'll be about four hours, Sir. You might as well relax for now." Kareem smiled at me. I lifted the recliner footrest and nestled into the soft leather pillow. The humming of the engines droned on steadily, as I dozed off into a light slumber.
It was about midnight when the limousine arrived at the Swissotel Washington, formerly known as the Watergate Hotel, the bane of former President Nixon. The remainder of the night had been a blur of fitful sleep, landing, dashing from plane to car, rushing into a service elevator and being hurried into my suite at the hotel. Kareem was with me the whole way, and I just stumbled along like a zombie most of the time.
I do remember the lobby, however. It had a black and white checkerboard marble floor, tall white marble pillars, impeccably dressed attendants and staff, and long halls reminiscent of a modern-day European castle. The suite was vulgarly opulent, with plush furniture, actual original masterpieces displayed on the walls, and a balcony overlooking the Potomac River. It was larger than most homes at a massive 1900 square feet of living space. Later I discovered I was right at the edge of historic Georgetown and right next door to the Kennedy Center for Performing Arts. The National Mall was right down the street, as were the Lincoln Memorial and the US Capitol. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the Smithsonian Museum, the Air and Space Museum, the Museum of American History and the National History Museum were all within walking distance. There were luxury apartments in an adjacent building for the rich, powerful and famous of the city. From where I stood I could make out silhouettes from my balcony moving around in the middle of the night in their rooms.
I became aware of Kareem standing beside me on the balcony. He smiled and said, "This is probably how the Watergate burglars were apprehended….by someone watching from another window. Secrets are getting harder and harder to keep in this city…" he trailed off. "You'd better get some sleep, professor. We have a long day tomorrow." I wasn't about to argue.
* * *
I awoke to the sound of a television set murmuring in the next room. I glanced at the nightstand by my plush bed, and tried to focus on the clock radio's soft red numerals gleaming in the darkened room. 8:59am. I yawned, and sat up slowly on the side of the bed. I fumbled around for my glasses, locating them and putting them on clumsily. I felt rather well rested, despite the whirlwind of activity the previous day. I strode over to the bathroom and felt around for a light switch. Finding one, I flicked it upwards.
The room was suddenly filled with a soft white light emanating from recessed runners somewhere in the ceiling. I looked around, amazed by the thick carpeting and gleaming marble surfaces everywhere. "Good grief," I exclaimed. I looked at my reflection in one of the many mirrors, and was unimpressed by the image. I looked much older than my 45 years with a thinning hairline, my thick glasses, my widening waist and my frumpy, disheveled overall appearance. I thought perhaps a shower might help, and walked towards the marble enclosure to turn on the faucets. I suddenly realized I had no clothes to change into, and walked out of the bedroom into the living room. It was just as luxurious as I remembered it from the night before, except the sun was shining brightly through the windows offering a breathtaking view of the Potomac River below. Kareem was sipping a cup of coffee and watching the television intently. He was crisply dressed in the usual dark suit, with not so much as a single hair out of place. He turned slightly and smiled at me as I came towards him scratching my head.
"Good morning, Professor Weatherspoon!" he greeted me. "You'll find the room is fully stocked with clothes and toiletries, Sir. Just grab whatever you need. I'll be waiting out here."
"Um, okay," I muttered, and turned back to the bedroom. I walked to the draperies and looked for the cord to open them in vain.
"Kareem?" I called.
"Yes, Professor?" he responded.
"How do I open the drapes?" I asked.
"Remote control, Sir. On the nightstand by the alarm clock." He replied. I was confused as I began muttering to myself.
"Remote control draperies? What next? Automatic toilet paper?" I walked over and picked up the remote. There were two buttons. I pressed one, and nothing happened. I pressed the other, and a soft whirring began as the drapes slowly slid open to reveal the same fantastic view I had seen in the living room.
"Astonishing," I said to myself. I walked over to the closet and opened the door. "What the….." I was speechless. The walk-in closet was filled with suits, sweaters, casual wear, shoes, underwear, jackets, coats, topcoats, hats…every imaginable garment one could possibly imagine. I checked several of them out, and every single item was my exact size. Flabbergasted, I headed back to the shower. I began to think I could easily get used to this lifestyle. I smiled as I entered the shower, and turned up the hot water until I was enveloped in warm, comforting steam. I closed my eyes and enjoyed every drop of water as it massaged me from head to foot.
About 45 minutes later I emerged from the bedroom dressed in some sharp and comfortable woolen slacks, a soft silk dress shirt, a thick sweater and some very comfortable loafers. I had chosen a floor-length wool topcoat to ward off the frigid Washington D.C. winter outside, and had it draped across my arm as I walked in towards Kareem.
He didn't seem to notice me, his eyes were glued to the television set. CNN had a special report in progress, and I meandered over to the plush leather couch in front of the television and sat on the edge to see what was going on.
"…the historic vote was passed unanimously by both houses of Congress in a special joint session a few minutes ago. With an approval rating exceeding any in history, and this new elimination of presidential term limits, President Bush is now set up to conduct the War against Terrorism indefinitely. We go now to our local correspondent in Washington D.C., Ms. Mary Manning. Mary?…" Kareem flicked off the volume.
"Well, it's begun," he said solemnly.
"I'm sorry, did I hear that right? Have they removed term limits on the President?" I asked in shock.
"That's right, Professor. No more term limits. The War against Terrorism seems to be the highest priority in the nation these days. That's why you're here, Sir. To assist with that war effort." He looked at me compassionately as he saw the fear in my face. "Try to hang in there, Sir. I'll be with you through this entire thing. You're not going it alone." Somehow, that made me feel a bit better. Such uncertain times were at hand, I had no idea what to expect. One thing was certain, though: Anything was possible. Anything at all.
* * *
9.
June 2005
Three and a half years had passed. I was now nearly 49 years old, and Kareem was nearly 30. The suite at the Swissotel had been both home and office the entire time, with the exception of frequent visits to the Pentagon, the White House, and various congressional offices to meet with operatives and academics from all over the globe in ongoing attempts to interpret intercepted transmissions, and to anticipate the next move of the "enemy". President Bush had mobilized the entire reserve military force worldwide, and the globe was a much different place than ever before.
The "War against Terrorism" had spread around the globe. The United States in its wrath had not stopped at Afghanistan's overthrow, but had invaded Iran, Libya, and Iraq while chasing the elusive Al Quada network. Initially military experts had feared reprisals from the conglomerate of Arab nations in retaliation against American aggression, but none had ever materialized. When President Bush had gone on television with his threat to use nuclear weapons against any opposing nation in his pursuit of terrorists, he had been taken seriously. Yet all these years later, we were no closer to ending terrorism than we had been prior to September 11th, 2001.
Encouraged by the successful American campaign, Israel, weary of Palestinian uprisings and the seemingly endless 'enfitada" activities for almost two years had declared open war on Palestine late in 2002. Despite worldwide cries of outrage, they had moved in with missiles, warplanes and tanks and wiped out the entire Palestinian government and infrastructure, and they continued to pursue all suspected members of the PLO, Hamas, and other organizations to the death. Every day there was news of a suicide bombings, and the rhetoric had not changed in years. When OPEC threatened to cut off petroleum supplies to the United States and her allies if they refused to intervene, President Bush responded angrily that any such action would be considered an act of war, and any participating nation would be crushed immediately with the full might of the American military. Since America had been on a relentless rampage for over three years, the threat was taken seriously. No nation dared oppose the wrath of President and Commander-in-Chief Bush in such dangerous times. Even Russia and France, traditionally opposed to US aggression, remained atypically silent.
The price of war was great, and the American economy began to strain under the burden of rising military costs. Gasoline was up to $5 per gallon, a loaf of bread was $7, and rumors of food and fuel rationing were heard from Washington. Jobs were scarce and few, and only the wealthy had survived intact. The poor had become the homeless, the middle class had become the poor, and the wealthy had become wealthier. America had become a two-class society: the poor and the rich. Most of the poor enlisted in the military as soon as they turned 18 because there was no work in the private sector.
I was working in my living room, which had become my office almost immediately after arriving in the Capitol, and was pondering the transcripts of the latest batch of clandestine recordings of suspected terrorist sympathizers. The Secret Service kept me very busy interpreting and translating documents and recordings of suspects, but I seldom came across anything worthy of mention. Nonetheless, the avalanche of work continued, and there seemed to be no end in sight.
My bank account, due to the annual payments from my inheritance, had swollen to over $250 million dollars by this time. It seemed insane, but I had never spent a single penny of it. I oftentimes thought about giving it away, but I literally had no time to think about it these days.
Kareem worked as my liaison, bringing the work to me and returning with my interpretations to the government offices day and night. He was ever at my side, assisting with obscure dialects and language idiosyncrasies that befuddled my progress from time to time. He constantly reassured me and kept me insulated from the intensity of the Secret Service, a favor I greatly appreciated. Over the years, Kareem had come to love and trust me like a father and even assisted at times with the search for the Garden. I had never mentioned Gabrielae, Mortach or the other outrageous experiences over the years. As far as Kareem knew, I was obsessed with finding the Garden. He indulged my little fantasy with enthusiasm. His loyalty was indescribable.
Regardless, my search for the Garden had come to a complete halt, since there was no time for anything but work and sleep these days. I was just thinking about that when the phone rang. It was Kareem, calling from Agency Headquarters. He had just dropped off my latest stack of translations and interpretations from Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.
"Professor?" his calm voice inquired.
"Yes, Kareem, what's up?" I asked.
"Sir, It's time to pack. You need to crate up your work for relocation immediately." Kareem always did get straight to the point.
"Where to this time, young man?" I asked.
"We leave for Saudi Arabia next week, Sir. You've been appointed Cultural Consultant to the American Embassy in Saudi Arabia. You'll continue your work there, closer to the source of the material. No need to worry, Sir, everything's already been taken care of," He continued.
"Of course it has, Kareem. It always is…" I trailed off.
"Sir?" Kareem asked.
"Yes?" I replied.
"You'd better turn CNN on, Sir. There's some news you ought to hear…." Kareem was silent.
"Okay, I will," I responded. The phone went dead as he hung up. I rose from the desk and walked across the room. I was feeling rather stretched. A vacation would do me some good. I wondered to myself if that would be possible. After all, it had been almost three and a half years on the job with no breaks to date. I lived like a hermit in the hotel, and had no social life whatsoever. I had never even visited the museums within walking distance from my suite in all that time. I needed to slow down, because obviously there was an inexhaustible supply of work. I turned the television on. The bland announcer was reading from the teleprompter.
"…another first in American political history. With the announcement of the merging of the Republican and Democrat Parties, the nation has become a single-party political system, making President George W. Bush the most powerful man in history. Without opposition, all his proposals are expected to receive immediate approval, speeding up the War Effort exponentially…"
I turned off the television. "Wow!" I thought to myself. "He can do anything he wants now…" It was a bit of a scary thought, but as long as terrorists were threatening the world, one had to expect extreme reactions from frightened nations. I thought back to the last time I had seen Gabrielae. I remembered her words clearly.
"Your world is about to change as well, dear Samual. There will be wars, and fear here and abroad, and suspicion will rule the hearts of men in time. Many lives will be lost, for your people are nearing the vortex of your destiny as a civilization. The future depends on the outcome of this convergence of worldwide conflict. But for better or worse, you will never be the same again. The days of change are upon you."
I had a sudden feeling of urgency. I had to return to my search for the Garden of Eden. All the words of Gabrielae were coming to pass just as she had predicted. I was running out of time! I felt angry for the lost years, and determined I would redouble my efforts, and vowed that the Secret Service would just have to accept the fact that I needed a life of my own. I was going to take a vacation as soon as I arrived in the Middle East, whether they liked it or not.
* * *
It was early afternoon in July 2005. I was looking out the living room window of my suite at the InterContinental Hotel in Riyadh. It was 111 degrees outdoors, not unusual for this time of year. Despite the heat, it was a lovely view. The grounds were a seeming oasis, over 100 acres, with a beautiful golf course and finely manicured landscaping in the extensive private gardens. The view was breathtaking from my suite.
I turned and scanned the living room. There was a long desk attached to a side table with tons of equipment, fax machines, telephone, computers, printers and stacks of papers in various piles. It looked as though I had been there for months, although only a few weeks has passed since we had departed from the United States.
Kareem was reviewing some documents while seated in the long, thick leather couch across the room. His feet were resting on the cherrywood coffee table, and a pencil was perched behind his right ear.
"Kareem, I'm taking a leave for a while," I announced.
"I see," he replied, looking up from his reading. "Would you like me to set it up with the Agency, Sir?" he asked.
"Yes, I would, Kareem. I have to do this. I have let my personal pursuits languish for years, and I need to regain some balance in my life. I need to get back into the field, and resume my search for the Garden. I'm not getting any younger, you know." I smiled at Kareem.
"I agree, Sir." He smiled at me compassionately. "You should have some time to yourself. I'll have your workload divided between the other Middle East field offices until you're ready to return to work."
"Thank you, Kareem." I hesitated. "There's one more thing, though," I paused.
"What is it, Professor?" Kareem looked at me intently.
"I'd like you to assist me with my research. There's too much catching up to do, and you are so well connected in this region. How do you feel about teaming up with me on this?" I shuffled my feet and waited nervously.
"I'd be delighted, Sir!" he beamed. "I'll notify the appropriate parties immediately. I'm sure they can get along without us for a while!"
"Fantastic!" I exclaimed, and walked over to him, extending my hand. "Partners again?" I asked.
"Partners again, Professor!" he affirmed.
* * *
August 2005
It took just under three weeks to wrap everything up. Somehow during the entire fuss I turned 49 without even remembering my birthday. That meant Kareem was 29, because he was almost exactly 20 years younger than I. Agency couriers had been coming and going every few hours, receiving their updates and instructions from Kareem as I watched them box all our materials and paperwork up in locked containers for redeployment. Eventually everything settled down and we were alone in the suddenly uncluttered hotel suite.
Here we were in a luxury hotel in the middle of Saudi Arabia, preparing to embark on a fantastic mission. The sun was setting, and I was waiting for the bellboy to deliver the hot tea I had ordered about 20 minutes earlier. I was looking forward to bringing Kareem up to speed, and enlisting his aid in an intensified search for the Garden of Eden. My burning feeling of urgency was overwhelming, and I had to move ahead with all my strength and resources for reasons I could not explain.
There was a knock at the door. Kareem answered it, and the bellboy brought the tray with the tea inside and set it on the coffee table. Kareem signed the charge slip, and locked the door after the young man. He poured two cups of the steaming tea, and nodded at me expectantly. I strode over to the couch, and picked up my cup of tea. Kareem lifted his beverage to his lips, and after blowing on it slowly to disperse the heat, took a small sip. I sat down in the overstuffed leather chair directly across from him, and casually rested my feet on the cherrywood coffee table. I closed my eyes, and sipped my tea slowly. Several minutes passed in silence. Finally I spoke.
“Kareem, I need you to make some discrete inquiries for me. I want a small research submersible with an external hydraulic claw, say about ten to fifteen feet. It needs to have an interior capable of carrying two passengers and all their scientific and personal supplies for about a week or two. I want absolute secrecy, and I need safe passage to the Persian Gulf at the very tip where Iraq and Iran’s borders meet the shore.” I paused, and waited for Kareem’s reaction.
He sipped his tea again, and then softly set the cup on the low table.
“Well Professor, that’s going to cost. A lot. Not so much the equipment, or even the vessel, but the secrecy won’t come cheap,” he said gravely.
“Kareem, I have plenty of money. You know that. You know more about me than probably anyone else in the world. I don’t care what it costs. I’m resuming my search for Eden in earnest. I’m not going to get sidetracked this time. I intend to find it. I know it sounds crazy, but my mind’s made up.”
I tried to act casual as I took another sip of tea, but clumsily bumped the edge of the cup against my chin, spilling the scalding beverage all over my shirt and lap. “Ow!” I exclaimed and jumped up from the chair. “Doggone it, “ I trailed off. Kareem reached into his [pocket and tossed me his handkerchief. I began dabbing at the tea stains and wiped off the chair before sitting back down.
“Professor, have you considered that you are an American, working for the Secret Service no less? We have been at war with Iran and Iraq for years. If we’re caught on this little expedition, the best we can hope for is to be tortured and held as prisoners of war. We could even be shot or hanged. I assume you’ve considered the risk of what you suggest? Even our hosts, the Saudi government, might not look too favorably upon an excursion to the lands of their enemies. They may suspect betrayal. And the cost of silence could cost you handsomely. Secrets are very expensive to keep in these uncertain times.” Kareem regarded me thoughtfully. I looked back at him with compassion.
“My friend, you needn’t involve yourself in this. I would understand fully if you chose not to participate. But I’m going, with or without you. I must find the Garden while it is still possible. If you think it’s difficult now, imagine the challenges a few years from now. I’m doing this thing, Kareem, and I’m starting right away. I have to. You know me well enough to realize my mind’s made up. So what do you say?”
Kareem smiled at me as he often did.
“I’m with you, of course. I’ll follow you to the borders of Eden, or even the gates of Hell if you ask, Professor.” He stood, and walked around the table. He extended his hand towards me. I shook it enthusiastically. “Partners, again, sir!” he beamed.
“Yes, Kareem, yes.” I smiled back at him. “Partners again.”
* * *
10
May 2009
It was almost 90º in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia on an early May afternoon. I was feeling my age. I was nearly 53 now, and Kareem was approaching 33 years old. The Middle-Eastern sky was clear, and I was sitting at a sidewalk café downtown with Kareem. We were sipping bottled water, wearing large-brimmed hats and dark sunglasses, which concealed our features from the passers-by. Across the table from us sat a small, dark man with large, round eyes, always looking this way and that.
Majid was a nervous fellow, but extremely aware of his surroundings. He had good reason to be wary. For the past several years he had been our primary contact with a large group of detectives, informants, scientists and researchers in several countries, all working for us in our efforts to obtain the materials, research and safe passage towards our goal of lost Eden. None of them knew exactly why we were doing all the meticulous planning, but their curiosity was easily squelched by large sums of money, paid in regular installments. Kareem kept the details from me, for my own protection he assured me, and managed everything according to my requests. So far we had spent nearly four years and over one hundred fourteen million dollars in our efforts, and we were now just getting ready to start out across the desert for the Persian Gulf. All the necessary advance bribes had been paid to both government and military officials in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Iraq and Iran with instructions to look the other way while we went about our work, securely reinforced by the promise of double the amount of money upon our return.
Our custom built submarine was ready and waiting, hidden in an undocumented location not far from the water’s edge in neighboring Kuwait. It had been built to my exact specifications to include a galley, sleeping quarters, “silent” electric engines with a small internal combustion generator to recharge the batteries when necessary, and plenty of storage room for our equipment. It had a fifteen-foot mechanical claw protruding from the front, which was remotely operated from inside the vessel. Bright lights had been installed around the perimeter, each one individually controlled by the two-man crew. This would make it possible to see ahead, behind, above and below the craft while submerged. The highest quality underwater video camera apparatus complete with recording equipment was installed to document underwater excavations. The top of the vehicle was painted dark forest green, and the bottom a lighter green to camouflage its presence from both above and below. A rack of military frequency radios had been included to monitor the activities of the armies above in the warring countries. I had spent over eighty million dollars having the submersible manufactured, and to date I had never even seen it. Kareem and I had decided long ago not to keep any pictures or drawings nearby to avoid detection of the project before completion.
Majid had come to inform us the construction was finally completed. We were working out the details of our eminent cross-desert expedition, which would bring us to the Saudi-Kuwaiti border, where we would then abandon the land portion of our adventure and travel the remainder of the way under the waters of the Persian Gulf. Since Saudi Arabia and Kuwait were both allies of the United States, this plan minimized the amount of time we would have to spend in enemy countries, specifically Iraq and Iran.
“I have hired twenty well-paid mercenaries who will guide you through the desert to the Kuwaiti border. Our people on the other side will meet you there, and take you to our secret base of operations on the shores of the Gulf,” Majid whispered, his eyes always surveying the area nearby. “With the soldiers will be fifteen laborers who will carry the supplies and materials for your journey. I will travel with you, since our Kuwaiti contact will do business only with me. We have purchased several HumVee all-terrain vehicles in your name, and are posing as researchers employed by you, Dr. Witherspoon. We are posing as employees of yours engaged in a search for undiscovered Ubarite routes through the desert. Since you gained worldwide notoriety for your Ubarite research here years ago, this explanation will seem reasonable. It is a good cover for our operations.” He suddenly smiled and laughed loudly as a man in flowing robes walked by peering at us intently over his sunglasses.
“That’s hilarious! You sure can tell a joke,” Majid chuckled as he slapped his hand on the table in merriment. The pedestrian snorted and continued to walk, now seemingly disinterested in our presumably innocent conversation.
“We must not talk here any longer. I must go. I’ll be in touch with more arrangements in a few weeks. If all goes according to schedule, we’ll set out early next year, perhaps March or so. Be well my friends, and be careful.” Majid rose quietly, shook our hands, and disappeared around the street corner.
“Well, Dr. Witherspoon, it appears you’re finally going to be off on your quest at long last,” Kareem said.
“I can hardly believe it myself, my young friend,” I replied cautiously. “It seems something always happens to delay me, no matter how hard I try or how long I plan.”
“I know what you mean, Sir,” Kareem said. “Life can be like that sometimes.”
“Indeed,” I responded.
I reached into my pocket and laid some money on the café table for our drinks. We rose together, and started walking down the street. The air was dry and clean. It was a good day.
* * *
We entered the hotel room some time later. Kareem and I went into our respective rooms for an afternoon nap. I heard his door close as I shut my door on the opposite end of the suite. I walked over to the plush bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. As I leaned over to untie my shoes, I lost my balance and fell towards the floor.
“Humannn……” I heard the old familiar voice, and it sent chills down my spine. “What folly is this? Have you not been warned?”
I was in the dark, and I struggled to gain my balance. A steamy fog swirled in random patterns all around, and the humidity was stifling. I began to perspire, partly due to the warm mists, and partly due to my terror. I turned my head, and there, behind me, towering in terrible magnificence, was Mortach, Keeper of the Dark.
“Why have you come back?” I asked feebly.
“FOOL!” He barked loudly. “Did I not tell you to abandon this foolish cause? Did I not swear I would oppose you if you defied me? And now, you think in your puny insolence, your so-called wisdom, that you can dare into realms you cannot imagine?
The massive demon floated closer, until I could smell his foul breath merely inched in front of my face. I flinched, and blinked rapidly. I was sweating profusely now.
“You shall not do this thing, Wiiitherspooon,” he proclaimed in a growl. “Your world is decaying underneath you. Your civilization is corroding into chaos as I speak. Your lives as you know them are coming to an end. And you persist in foolish games you cannot possibly understand, ignorantly sticking your nose into things you cannot possibly comprehend.”
His great staff inched forward and touched my forehead. I went instantly numb, paralyzed from head to toe. My brain began to glow. My air stood on end, and I began to see vague images forming before me. There were forms of people on both sides, and a great expanse in between.
“Witness your future, pathetic ‘Chosen One’,” Mortach laughed cruelly. I give you now a glimpse of your own destruction…”
The images began to clear, as though a fresh wind had blown away the old rancid smoke of a fire long since gone out. I peered into the vision, and made out a barren landscape. There was sand everywhere, and in the distance the shore of some large body of water lay still. As I tried to focus , the ground began to tremble, and then to rock violently. I fell to my knees as the earthquake intensified. I heard many voices cry in dismay. I looked to my left, and an army of Middle-Eastern soldiers, torn and bedraggled from long battle threw up their hands and wailed. I looked to my right, and saw an opposing force of American and European forces do the same. I turned and looked behind me and saw a massive, red mushroom cloud climbing rapidly toward the sky. The larger it grew, the more the ground shook. In the distance I could see a gargantuan dust cloud Several hundred feet high approaching faster than the speed of sound. Within moments it was upon us. Suddenly we were violently struck by a gale force blast of wind, which knocked everyone to the ground, blowing us all this way and that. Dust was everywhere, stinging with such ferocity that small red punctures appeared in my skin as the miniscule particles pierced my flesh. I held my breath, and curled up into a ball, wrapping my arms around my knees and praying it would all stop. Suddenly it all vanished. I was in a warm fog again, and I could see my hotel room breaking through the darkness.
“Be warned, Wiiitherspooon,” Mortach’s menacing voice boomed as it faded into the ethereal distance, “Leave the supernatural to the Immortals. Pursue the quest and it will be your doom….”
Silence enveloped everything. I was lying on the floor of my hotel room. My glasses were covered with dust and debris. I looked at my arms, but the scores of red puncture spots were gone. I stood up, then laid down on the bed with my hand covering my eyes and forehead. I stared at the ceiling for what seemed like a long time. Eventually, I fell asleep.
* * *
11
February 2010
Much had happened in the previous nine months. President and Commander in Chef George W. Bush had been elected to his third term in office. Since the inception of the new, single Republican-Democrat Party had created a one-party electorate system, he ran unopposed. Had he received a single vote, he would have won reelection anyway. In January 2010 President reinstated the military draft, requiring all male citizens between the ages of 18 and 45 to register for military service. The majority of the male population had been called into active military service within a year of registration. This left most homeland jobs unmanned, so the female population of the United States were left virtually running the business of America.
I was sitting in the hotel living room anxiously with Kareem. He had been in daily contact with the Secret Service for the last several weeks, and they had advised him to keep me close because they were about to reinstate me into active duty, despite my reluctance to return to work. I had no choice, so I put all my plans on hold and waited to see what would happen next.
The winds of war were all around. I had begun to make a daily habit of keeping CNN tuned in on the hotel television to keep track of the rest of the world. We were both sipping tea and watching the monitor when the news broke. There were images of massive military activity near Israel. I looked around for the remote control to turn the volume up. Kareem found it first, and we listened intently.
“….we have late breaking confirmation that Lebanon, Syria, Jordan and Egypt have join with the tattered remnants of the PLO and have collectively declared war on Israel. We take you now to Tel Aviv with our correspondent…..” the female announcer was visibly shaken. Kareem turned the volume down.
“Kareem, this means Israel is now completely surrounded by its enemies! In the Bible this is the last sign before…” I trailed off.
“The end of the world, Sir,” Kareem finished quietly. We looked at each other in silence. “Sir, Washington has asked you remain here until further notice. It may be several months before they get your orders to you, but you will be reinstated. I’m sorry, but there was nothing I could do about it. Any refusal will be seen as desertion, and possibly treason.”
“I know, Kareem. Don’t worry about it. I’ve waited this long, I’m sure I can be patient a while longer. I guess there’s nothing else to do but sit tight and wait for the time being.”
“Yes, Sir. We wait.” Kareem nodded solemnly.
* * *
Christmas Day, 2010
“Merry Christmas, Kareem,” I said to my young companion. I handed him a small wrapped gift.
“Thank you, Professor. Marry Christmas to you too.” Kareem nodded over to the desk, where a medium sized box was wrapped. As he started unwrapping his present, I walked over to the desk.
“Sir, come quickly!” Kareem shouted suddenly.
I ran over to him. He had the television remote control in his hand, and had turned the volume up. There was an aerial shot from a helicopter zooming in on a wasteland of destruction. It looked like the World Trade Centers after they had been destroyed, but hundreds of times larger. Twisted metal and smoke was all over the horizon. Then the footage switched to a similar view, clearly in a different place. The announcer was talking rapidly.
“…again, Los Angeles and London have both been destroyed by a nuclear attack. The loss is in the millions of lives. The terrorist groups Al Quada and Hamas have claimed responsibility, and have also threatened all major US and allied cities if the US-led coalition does not withdraw all military operations worldwide to their home shores. Commander-In-Chief Bush is currently airborne in Air Force One, which is serving as his military command center for the indefinite future. We return again to Nevada for…….wait, just a minute, another urgent bulletin coming in…., let’s go to our Tel Aviv bureau for more details….”
The footage switched to downtown Tel Aviv, where people were furiously rushing around with air raid sirens blasting in the background. The local announcer, visibly shaken, began to speak.
“In a surprise announcement, Israel has just declared they have activated a massive nuclear arsenal, and are preparing to annihilate all their enemies. To reinforce their claims, they have just launched simultaneous nuclear attacks on Beirut Lebanon, Damascus Syria, Amman Jordan, and Cairo Egypt. Satellite photos show the missiles are currently in flight and……..wait a minute, there’s….” the picture went to static interference. After a moment, the American announcer was on screen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have confirmation that Israel has detonated nuclear warheads in the Capitals of Lebanon, Syria, Jordan and Egypt. Combined with the destruction of London and Los Angeles, this is a minimum of six nuclear warheads deployed within the last thirty minutes worldwide. We’ll be back in a moment.” The announcer choked on her words and fell silent. The screen faded to black, then a header flashed across the television. “The Terrorist Wars of 2010”. I looked at Kareem, who had gone pale.
As we stared at each other in amazement, the phone rang. Kareem answered it.
“Yes?” he asked. “Mmm-Hmm, yes, I understand. I’ll tell him straight away. Yes, thank you. Goodbye.” He looked at me.
“I’m reactivated?” I asked.
“Yes.” He answered.
“You’d better get in touch with Majid and tell him to put our plans into mothballs for the time being. Ask him to be ready to reactivate with very little notice.
“Will do, Sir,” Kareem agreed. The room fell silent. We just sat there, shaking our heads in bewilderment. The Terrorist Wars of 2010 had begun.
* * *
12
2015
In the five long years that followed, I remained inside the hotel for the most part. I had gained quite a bit of weight, and was now 59 years old. I felt like it, too. Kareem was nearly 40, and still looked like a young man. Perhaps his daily exercise routine in the hotel gym benefited him more than the daily donut routine I had been employing.
My life consisted of stacks of papers to translate and interpret, and the reports I attached to them. There was no end to the work, and I was sick of it. I had been doing this for nearly fourteen years, excluding the five years I took off to build my Eden expedition plans. I wanted to get back to my search for the Garden, but the Secret Service showed no signs of letting me go any time soon. And always, always I revisited the vision of destruction Mortach the Dark had showed me. It troubled me more than ever in these uncertain times.
The Terrorist Wars raged on with no end in sight. The entire world was involved somehow, and still no resolution appeared upon the horizon. Although no further nuclear attacks had occurred, conventional warfare was systematically destroying one nation after another as warring parties attacked, retreated, were themselves attacked, and so on.
I was tired. It was about 1pm and I had just completed another of the endless reports for the CIA. I laid my pencil down on the dark cherrywood desk, and swiveled around in my chair towards the window. I ran my fingers through my already disheveled hair, and sighed. I felt like a prisoner in my luxury suite. Kareem had been gone several hours at the American Embassy delivering my latest batch of files and exchanging information. I gazed out at the landscaping, pondering the irony of this oasis of peace in a world gone mad. I daydreamed for some time, my mind wandering lazily as my eyes fluttered open and closed until I was fast asleep in my chair.
I dreamt I was in heaven. The air was refreshing, the swirling mists of effervescent rainbows delightful, and the light, musical voices giggling softly in the distance made me smile. Then I felt her touch.
“Samuel!” she spoke my name. “Samuel, I have returned!” she spoke.
“Gabrielae!” I exclaimed, as the Fair One floated into view. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“Yes, Samuel, the seeing is good. But the time is short, Chosen One. You have tarried far too long. Your world is coming to an end, Samuel, and you must complete your Quest while you still may.” She smiled at me benevolently. I melted under her gaze.
“Gabrielae, I have tried for years. Something always comes up and stops me or gets in my way. I’m sorry,” I said sadly.
“Do not mourn. Chosen One, for time still remains. You shall have your opportunity sooner than you think. But do not give up again, for if you do, you may not receive another chance.” She reached out and brushed my old cheek with her fairy-like fingers. I thrilled to her touch, just as I had done so many years ago. She floated closer, and kissed my forehead lightly. Then she pulled away, and began to fade into the twinkling mists. “Remember, Samuel, once you find your path, do not turn from it again!”
“I won’t,” I cried, but she was gone. I reached for her but my hand struck something cold and hard. I blinked, and saw I was still in my chair, and my hand was up against the hotel window. “I won’t,” I whispered again. I lay back in the chair and drifted off to sleep. I dreamt I heard her voice singing to me, and I relaxed fully for the first time in years.
* * *
“Professor, wake up!” Kareem’s voice sounded urgent. “Sir, wake up!” I drowsily opened my eyes and looked blearily at Kareem’s worried face above my own. My neck was cramped from falling asleep in my chair. I rubbed it absently, and asked,
“What is it, Kareem?”
“Sir, we must go immediately!”
“What are you talking about, Kareem? I have weeks of paperwork to catch up on.”
“Sir, try to wake up. Here, read the communiqué”. He thrust a telegram at me, shaking it in front of my face for emphasis. I leaned forward, removed my glasses with one hand, and rubbed my eyes with the other.
“Let’s see what you have here,” I mumbled, and took the paper from his hand. I began to read it.
“PROF WEATHERSPOON STOP SAUDI GOV UNABLE TO GUARRANTEE YOUR SAFETY ANY LONGER STOP ASSIGNMENT TERMINATED STOP CREW EN ROUTE TO RETRIEVE DOCUMENTS STOP RELEASED FROM SERVICE STOP LEAVE GULF COAST ASAP STOP”
I sprang to my feet so quickly I knocked my chair over. It fell with a crash.
“Kareem, get hold of Majid and get the ball rolling. I’ll get the papers ready for the pickup crew. Set a meeting for tonight. We’ve no time to lose!” I exclaimed excitedly.
Kareem strode to the living room and got on the telephone. I began grabbing piles of papers and throwing them into the stacks of boxes they originally came in as fast as I could.
We stayed busy for several hours. Kareem entered the bedroom where I was going through my personal effects.
“Sir, bell services will be here to pack your items for storage. Secret Service guys are downstairs and will haul the boxes off. Majid will see us at seven this evening in the lobby. We leave tonight!”
“Where are we going, Kareem?” I asked.
“To the warehouse where most of your items for the Eden expedition have been stored for the last five years, Sir. We’ll be traveling across the Arabian Desert to the shores of the Persian Gulf, where we’ll transfer to your submarine. As we speak it’s being stocked and hidden below the surface by the meeting coordinates. Everything is taken care of, Professor.”
“At last!” I proclaimed. “For over forty years I’ve tried to get to this point. I’m not going to let anything derail me this time, Kareem!”
Kareem smiled. “No, Sir,” he softly replied. “You won’t.” He put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. “I’m with you all the way, Sir. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, my boy, I know. Thank you.” I smiled back at the young man who had become like a son to me over the years. We stood there for a moment, and then returned to our preparations.
The doorbell chimed, and a muffled voice without said, “Bell Services”. Kareem opened the door to the suite and two bellmen entered. He began giving instructions in Arabic, and the men started loading a rolling platform they had brought with them per his instructions. Soon, all that was left was our safari luggage, and the Secret Service documents in boxes. Half an hour later, several agents arrived to get them, and then we were alone. I sat on the couch and gazed out the window. Six-thirty in the evening, and it was still hot as blazes outdoors. I wondered how Arabians had managed to exist in such conditions for so many centuries. About twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. Kareem answered it.
“Yes?” He listened to the voice on the other end of the line for a few moments, and then hung up silently. “Professor, the American Embassy has been evacuated. As soon as we leave this building, we’re on our own.”
“I assumed as much, Kareem,” I replied softly. It really didn’t matter much. Where I was going, the Americans would not be able to protect me anyway. Half an hour later, we were in a Hummer on our way to the clandestine warehouse where our expedition had been in storage for these past five years. We arrived at a nondescript building some time later. Kareem pulled the Hummer in front of the warehouse door, and activated a remote control clipped to the sun visor of the vehicle. The warehouse door began to creak upwards, until it was fully raised. We entered a room just large enough for a couple of cars, then the door came slowly down until it clanged shut. Kareem activated the remote once again, and an inner door opened all the way to the ceiling, revealing a massive interior, filled with vehicles, equipment, and a small army of men running about performing various tasks.
“I’m impressed, Kareem,” I gasped.
“Don’t be, Sir,” he replied, “This cost you a lot of money.”
“Well, I’m sure it was well spent, my young friend.”
“As you say, Professor. Always.” Kareem drove the Hummer to an opening between two more desert vehicles, fully loaded with equipment and supplies. He shut off the engine, and we exited the vehicle. He led me to a nondescript door, and we entered the next chamber.
A simple apartment with offices and bathroom facilities waited for us within. There was beige, short cut, wall-to-wall carpeting that led to a kitchen/living room/dining room area appointed with motel-style furniture and a small entertainment center. Down a short hallway were four bedrooms and a large closet. The bedrooms were set up in pairs; each sleeping area adjoined an office area with a pass-through door. Kareem motioned with his arm to the first set of quarters. “That’s your suite, Professor. We’ll leave at 0600 hours tomorrow morning,” he informed me. “We’d better get some rest tonight.” I agreed, and walked into my room. I was greeted by a simple queen bed with a white comforter and several down pillows. As I undressed, I just let my shoes and clothing fall on the floor. As my head hit the pillow, I knew I would be unable to sleep, being filled with anticipation and trepidation. Tomorrow, at last, I would be back on track. Would I find Eden? I didn’t know. But felt closer to Eden than I had ever felt in my life.
* * *
“Beep, beep, beep, beep.” The alarm clock rose in volume the longer I ignored it. The unfamiliar surroundings prevented me from locating the blaring clock-radio for a few moments, and I stubbed my toe rather rudely on a piece of furniture as I fumbled around looking for the cancel button. Finally locating it, I noticed the time was six am. Seeking out the light switch, I yawned. My sleep had been fitful and non-productive. I was tired. Somehow the room had a surreal feeling to it. I chalked it up to unfamiliar surroundings, and meandered towards my bathroom. My hand reached in ahead of my body feeling for the light switch on the wall. I found it, and flicked it upwards.
The blinding light that followed disoriented me. I instinctively shielded my eyes from its brilliance, but it did not diminish. I felt myself growing nauseous, and the floor seemed to become increasingly unsteady. I felt I was about to faint. The light dimmed, and I thought I saw spots floating around as I tried to regain my composure. I reached out to steady myself, but my hand just groped emptiness. I began to fall.
“Samuel, Samuel…” Gabrielae’s magical voice was unmistakable. “The time grows short, Samuel. Your world is on the brink of destruction. You have precious little time left. If you do not succeed soon, you and your people will be destroyed for all time.” I dropped my hand from my eyes and gazed on her intense beauty. The swirling rainbows of flitting colors and sparkling effervescence surrounded her as always. I was floating in her presence, with no conception of direction or reality. I felt like an adolescent again, the same way I always did when the Fairy came to me. I felt so safe and childlike in her presence. But something was different this time. She was clearly distressed.
“Gabriellae, I’ve never seen you like this. What are you so fearful of?”
“Samuel, your destiny is linked to that of The Fair, and ours to yours. Should you fail, we will all cease to exist. The end of your world will mean the end of our world as well. We were all made by the same Creator. Our existence cannot continue if yours fails. But our reign will mean your glory as well. Samuel, you must complete the Quest, and soon. Your days are expiring.”
“I’m doing the best I can, Beautiful One. I will let nothing stop me this time. My life grows old and stale, and I feel I have wasted it in meaningless pursuits. This Quest is all I have that remains. I possess no family, have few friends, and my life has been squandered in books and research to what end? I am no more fulfilled than I was as a youth. Yes, Fairy, I will finish this task. It is all that is left for me now.”
“Good, Samuel. Good. Remember Samuel, Samuel, Samuel…”
“Samuel? Samuel? Professor?” I found myself looking into the concerned eyes of Kareem, who was standing over me in the bathroom. “Sir, it looks like you fainted. Did you forge to activate your air conditioner last night? It’s got to be ninety degrees in here. Here, let me help you up.” I struggled up from the bathroom floor. I smiled. Kareem looked at me for a brief moment, and then acted as if nothing had happened.
“Professor, it is time to leave. The caravan is ready and waiting for us.”
A short while later we stepped out of our quarters into the main warehouse. It was pandemonium, with personnel scurrying about, vehicles warming up, massive exhaust fans ventilating the facility, and equipment being checked to ensure it was fully secured to the trailers and trucks bearing it to destinations unknown.
It was 84% in Riyadh in April of 2015, and the Quest was under way. The warehouse door opened, and the caravan began moving slowly out of the massive warehouse and toward the outskirts of town.
As we traveled, the locals glanced up with mild curiosity at the large expedition, but in these days of war, they just assumed it was another military operation and went about their business, deliberately not noticing any details lest they be asked to recall them later by other parties. This was the way of war. One avoided trouble at all costs.
An hour later we were in the desert navigating solely by GPS systems. “How long will it take, Kareem?” I asked.
“We’re staying with the desert to minimize detection, Professor. We have 300 miles to go before we reach Ra’s al Khafji at the Kuwaiti border. At 25mph, we’re looking at about twelve hours.” He turned the Hummer’s CD player on, and soft classical music filled the passenger compartment. We had the air conditioner on at a very comfortable level. “We’ll camp in the desert outside of Ra’s al Khafji, then rendezvous with the submarine the next day. We’ll travel under the Persian Gulf to the Iraq-Iran border town of Al Faw. At underwater speeds of about 12 mph, that should take us about eight hours. There, we have an underwater base of operations we just re-activated after putting it in mothballs five years ago. From that time forward, Professor, the rest is up to you.” Kareem looked at me quietly, and then glanced at the GPS system to ensure we were continuing on course.
“Do we have enough fuel?” I asked.
“Plenty. There is a fuel truck at the rear of our caravan. You needn’t worry, Sir. The only thing that can stop us now is soldiers.”
“Is that all,” I quipped dryly.
“Yes.” Kareem grimly replied, as we settled into our seats and watched the sun beat down on the barren desert wastelands.
[1] Dora Jane Hamblin; http://www.ldolphin.org/eden/
Smithsonian Magazine, Volume 18. No. 2, May 1987
Executor: Mary H. Ovrom, December 1, 1997
[2] http://www.opinionatedtraveler.com/reviews/
[3] http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/ubar/