All Living : A Seedvision Saga (9781621473923) (46 page)

“I apologize for gushing.”

“No need,” said Kole. “I felt a bit of a gush myself coming on before you shushed me.”

“Oh, I did shush you, didn’t I? How embarrassing.”

“I have absconded you from your father’s house and deposited you upon his roof. I believe I can overlook a bit of shooshing if you can ever pardon me for…for…”

“Sweeping me off my feet?”

“Yes, that,” said Kole.

“And for your gushing?”

“That too.

“Well, you really didn’t gush,” she said. “Yours was more of a nervous ranting.”

“I am quite the ranter,” joked Kole.

“You should enter a competition,” she kidded back.

“A ranting tournament. Hmm, good idea,” said Kole. “Perhaps I will organize one of those when I return home. Although I don’t think there would be many who could successfully compete against me.”

“I’d be hard-pressed,” she quipped.

“Against me?” asked Kole in mock astonishment, raising his eyebrow.

“No, no, I’d be hard…” It suddenly dawned on her what she had said, and she stopped and shook her head. “I’d look less foolish if I sat down on the ground in front of you and stuck my whole foot in my mouth.”

“No, that would be a very impressive trick. But maybe we should save it for later. Down below, you are probably being missed.

“Oh my, it’s true. The dinner party. You must come.”

“Dinner party?”

“Yes, for my sister Jemimah. There is a handsome suitor here to talk with my father of marriage.”

Her father. An idea was forming in the back of Kole’s mind, something he should have put together a long time ago. He had not been this far east in over three hundred years. He expected things would have changed in that time, but he had not given it much thought. During most of his travels he had journeyed north and south among his own people. That is, among Adam’s progeny, those that were not of the line of Cain, found primarily west of the boundary river. He had hoped that when he landed he would eventually find some scattered settlements, people among Cain’s descendants that he could talk with, trade with.

He had not expected to find this strange, stone garden city. But then again, maybe he should have. There were stories, rumors, gossip that went around about the “People of the east” and a land cursed by the serpent. The Pote tribe had not crossed Kole’s mind in at least forty years since he had first heard tales of the terrible tragedies that had befallen the greatest of their men: crops ruined, livestock stolen or dying, homes destroyed and family killed; all except for a contentious wife, bitter but beautiful. Then came the boils, a blistering plague that had proven not to be contagious but had still scared most of his neighbors away. Many felt that the land was still uninhabitable.

But then, several years ago, rumors began to circulate that the curse had been lifted and the man, Job, had begun to prosper. He was in fact now considered to be the greatest of the Pote tribe, extraordinarily wealthy and respected. It was also rumored that he had three very beautiful daughters.

Kole looked at the girl who stood so still and stared so searchingly into his face. What thoughts were going on behind her large, liquid eyes while he had been lost in daydream and memory? To say she was beautiful would be an understatement. She was exquisite in every physical way, but she was barely more than a girl, possibly twenty summers old? Maybe.

Kole smiled when he recognized that he was thinking in terms of summers instead of years. Something he had not done in centuries. The girl smiled back.

“I’m sorry,” said Kole, “Where are my manners? My name is Kole, and I would be very pleased if you could introduce me to your father.”

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Kole, and I would be happy to escort you to my father.” She took a step closer to him and leaned in. He did not lean away. “But first I feel inclined to thank you.”

She paused for one brief moment, searching his eyes, then leaned in quick and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

“To thank me for what?” Kole asked in numb surprise.

“Keziah,” she said. “My name is Keziah. And to thank you…for everything. Kole Chay.” And with that she walked to one corner of the roof and disappeared down some stairs.

Kole, grinning ear to ear, shook his head and followed her.

Using chopsticks, Lester picked out the last bite of chicken from his container of rice. He put down the journal that he had just finished and sighed. What a life his friend Al had led. Glancing at his watch, Lester registered that it had been less than twenty-four hours since he had met Al in the bar last night. Twenty-four hours that had changed his own life and his perspective of the world in which he lived.

He still had trouble grasping the truth that his best friend was the oldest son of Adam and Eve; a living-breathing fossil, so to speak. The things that Al had seen and done were incredible, and he had probably barely scratched the surface. Like a frozen berg of ice floating in the northern seas, the bulk of Al’s life still lay hidden beneath the surface. What would the next day bring? Lester couldn’t even begin to imagine.

He still had no idea how Al had survived the flood that had destroyed most of humanity, except for the family of Noah, safely aboard the ark. He had gleaned tidbits of what might be in store based on Al’s veiled references to Tubal-Cain, Noah, Job, King David, and Jesus, but how his friend figured in to the lives of these historical patriarchs Lester could hazard no guesses.
Suffice it to say,
thought Lester,
it’s gonna be interesting.

The last two hours certainly had been.

They had left Lester’s house and had taken a circuituitous route to get to Al’s place. Lester thought that Al was probably being a bit overly cautious, but who was he to judge. Al had been dodging the Lightmen for far longer than he and knew better than anyone what was at stake. If the Lightmen caught up to them there would certainly be questions and lengthy detainments.
What would I say if they decide to interrogate me,
thought Lester.
I couldn’t just give up my friend to save my own skin.

When they had gotten to Al’s, Lester had started reading the next journal and Al had gone out again, apparently to meet with his contacts in the world of espionage. Lester had been vaguely aware when Al had come back but had only briefly looked up to acknowledge his return, so engrossing was the passage on flight that he had been in the middle of.

Al had ordered Chinese food and made some hushed phone calls in the other room. When the food delivery had arrived, Al had brought Lester over some cartons of take-out and then disappeared into the back of the house. When the sound of the shower had penetrated Lester’s concentration, he had picked at his meal, barely able to peel his eyes off the words in the notebook. That must have been twenty minutes or more ago, and it was currently quiet down the hallway that led to Al’s bedroom and office.

“Al?” Lester called out.

“Be right out,” came Al’s voice from behind his closed door.

Lester nodded and carried his empty food boxes to the garbage. He grabbed a bottle of Heineken out of the fridge and twisted off the top. He looked around.

The living room that he had been in was dimly lit by two softly glowing tablelamps set in opposite corners. The furniture was comfortable but obviously antique, tastefully complementing the color scheme of the walls and window dressings. The kitchen was modern and functional, but welcoming as well, centered around a large butcher-block table with four thick, wooden chairs, comfortably cushioned.

Lester didn’t know how long Al had owned the house, but knew that he had lived in it ever since they’d met—thirty years or better. The house was a two-story Victorian showpiece, well preserved both inside and out. Hardwood trim around the doorways and artistically decorated cornices, with rows of dentils and modillions around both the moldings and the corona, imbued all the rooms with cozy warmth.

The house sat toward the back of a manicured and well-landscaped fifteen acres on the outskirts of town, separated from the nearest neighbors by a park-like band of trees. Lester had thought occasionally that he might ask Al if he could hunt the grounds during deer season but had never gotten around to it. There was nothing better than outdoor grilled venison on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

“Am I interrupting anything,” said Al, coming around the corner in to the kitchen.

Realizing that he’d been caught staring off into space daydreaming, Lester smiled sheepishly. “Just thinking,” said Lester.

“Well, I’ve been doing a bit of that myself,” replied Al, “and I’ve come to the conclusion that this house may be compromised.”

“Compromised? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that my contacts have informed me this afternoon that they have seen some suspicious vehicles driving past the house lately. And since the lane is poorly graveled and really doesn’t lead anywhere, it would seem that the house is under some kind of surveillance.”

“What do we do?”

“Well, I think we need to relocate again. I don’t believe we are in any kind of imminent danger, but we should probably take steps. I really don’t want you getting sucked into all this, Les.”

“Little late for that, isn’t it?”

“Better late than never,” said Al.

“Should I pack my stuff?” asked Lester.

“Nah, I don’t think it’s anything that dire. But I suspect our dubiously enigmatic friends are somewhat tired of dragging their feet and may have a more forthright approach planned in the not so distant future. It might behoove us to shake them for a while. Once I have departed for the Middle East next Sunday, things here will probably cool off.”

“What if they don’t? What if they bring me in for questioning?”

“We’ll just have to take some measures to discourage them from directing their efforts in that manner.”

“Like what?”

“I’m still working on it.”

“That’s very comforting.”

“Trust me, Les. I’m not going to leave until I’m sure that you will be in no danger here.”

“Well, I guess I’m okay with that then,” said Lester, sort of sincerely.

Al laughed. “I’ve got something for you,”

Lester watched as Al pulled out an iPod and ear buds from his shirt pocket and set them on the kitchen table.

“What’s that for?”

“For you.”

“I mean, what is it?”

“It’s an iPod.”

“I know it’s an iPod, wise guy, why are you giving it to me?”

“Do you know how many times I’ve written those journals?” asked Al. “How many times I’ve rewritten them, updated them?”

Lester shrugged.

“Dozens I think. Papyrus, parchment, paper…it all has a way of breaking down, yellowing, the ink bleeding into illegibility. Even vellum doesn’t last forever. I am constantly rewriting my life story, preserving it on newer, more modern surfaces. I’ve actually just completed entering it all onto a hard drive and saving it on a number of thumb drives and disks.”

“You mean you’ve got all this in digital format?” asked Lester.

“I do,” said Al, “but I prefer reading it in book form. I guess I’m just old fashioned that way.”

“How many journals do you have then?” queried Lester.

“Oh, hundreds,” Al replied with feigned nonchalance. “And several copies of each, I suppose, scattered around in various places so that if any were ever destroyed by fire or some other catastrophe, or God forbid stolen, the information, the memories, wouldn’t be entirely lost. My memory ain’t what it used to be, as they say. And I’m constantly updating them with things that I remember. You’d be surprised at the modern day events that might trigger an ancient memory. Sounds, smells, even something that someone might say in passing.”

“So, you’ve got it all on a computer file somewhere?”

“Even better than that,” answered Al, “I’ve been recording them with an old four-track into MP3 format. One of the first sections I did was the next bits that I want you to read, the journals about Tubal-Cain, Noah, Keziah, and the flood.”

“So instead of reading them, I can just kick back and listen.”

“Precisely.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I hope you will. I don’t exactly have a radio-friendly voice.”

“Wait. What? You didn’t hire a professional?”

“Funny.”

“So, where do you keep all these journals anyway?”

“Well, like I said, they’re in several different locations, but tomorrow maybe we can take a short trip, and I’ll show you my warehouse.”

“Your what?”

“My warehouse. There are some things I’ve saved that should make my journals pale by comparison.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Ugh,” groaned Lester.