In the Beginning: Mars Origin "I" Series Book I (4 page)

Mase and I left Claire’s around one in the
morning. It was always late when we left from family gatherings. Claire was all
about family. Already she had planned another family get-together. I told her
it would have to wait until I got settled back in and Courtney went off to
school. Her planning gene went into overdrive. “Great,” she had said, “We’ll
make it Courtney’s going away party.” I just shook my head. Hadn’t I just told
her not until after I got Courtney off to school? A going away party would have
to be before.

I watched my husband as he drove. His lips
moving as he softly sang the words to the song playing on the radio. He seemed
so calm, so happy - probably not one troubled thought in his head. Mine was
full of them.

Mase was a writer. He has always loved to
write. When we were younger he used to write me these long love letters and
poems. I thought he was going to be the next Longfellow. Now he writes a
syndicated sports column. I asked him once what happened to the poetry. He
said, “Sports is poetry in motion.” Always the romantic.

I ran my hands though my curly hair and
inhaled and slowly let it out.

Greg was right, I was
going
crazy.
That is, if I hadn’t already arrived. I was feeling frazzled and useless. Mase
says that I shouldn’t feel like that. He says that I’m an educated woman making
a contribution to the good of mankind. I have a husband and children who love
me. I have the support of a loving family and there is nothing in this world I
couldn’t accomplish. He says he will always be here for me and whatever it is
I’m going through, we will work it out together. He’s so understanding.

Man, I hate him.

Who needs understanding?

Maybe the trip to Jerusalem was just what
I needed.

Dr. Margulies had been my professor and
was still my constant source of information and encouragement. I can’t remember
one time he didn’t have time to take out for me when I went to him for help. I
respected him more than anyone I knew. I loved him and no matter how depressed
I got, I could always find the wherewithal to get up and help him. I never
wanted to disappoint him.

There was a certain rugged handsomeness to
Dr. Margulies, with his olive skin, stubble along his jaw line, square face and
lopsided smile. His stark blue eyes always sparkled as if he was the only one
to get the humor hidden inside life. He had a good heart, a hearty laugh and he
called me “Lizzy.”

Lizzy, short for Elizabeth, my middle
name, was what he came up with because he just couldn’t get a handle on me
being a “girl with a boy’s name.”

In that fateful phone call, Dr. Margulies
had asked me to come with him for the Jubilee commemorating the 50th
Anniversary of the finding of the Dead Sea Scrolls. He wanted the American
Consortium of Museums of Ancient History, of which we were both members, to
sponsor a tour across the United States and while we were in Jerusalem he
planned to procure artifacts of antiquity that would be a part of the tour,
including, he hoped, the Scrolls. I was this year’s chairperson of the
consortium, a position that I tried to give up when I decided to run away to Boston.

But none of that mattered after Dr.
Margulies called. He said that he needed me at the museum to oversee the year-long
tour. He told me that if I was still unhappy after the tour ended he would help
me find a position in another city or even on another continent if that’s what
I wanted. I stayed because he asked me to. We were to stay in Jerusalem for
about a month. I, personally, couldn’t wait to have a look at those Scrolls. Just
thinking about it was making me feel better.

Then I saw our house. And that momentary
happiness went out the window.

I noticed it all the way from the corner
of our street. It looked like a beacon for “Neighborhood Watch.” Every light in
the house was on. We pulled in the driveway and when we walked in, the TV was
on, but no one was downstairs. There was a pizza box and empty pop cans on the
kitchen table and music was coming from upstairs that was louder than the
television.

We went upstairs and no one was in sight.
I went to turn off the light in the bathroom and there was black hair dye in
the sink, on the vanity, in the toilet, on the floor and on two towels that
hung over the bathtub.

“Courtney must have dyed her hair.” Mase
looked at me.

“Nothing gets by you, Mase.”

I turned off the light and headed to
Courtney’s room. She was asleep, radio blasting, wearing one of her father’s
shirts, hair still wet.

“Courtney,” I shouted over the music. She
didn’t move. “Courtney.” I reached over and shook her. She woke up and squinted
her eye, looking from me to her father and back.

“Yes?” she asked sleepily.

“Turn the radio down.” She reached over
and turned it down. “Do you know you have hair dye all over the bathroom?”

She looked at me as if she didn’t
understand a word I said. “That’s the way I always dye me hair,” she said.

 She should have been Claire’s child.

“Well, you better get up right now and get
it cleaned up. Now, Courtney!”

As she pulled herself out of bed, we
followed a phone cord from Micah’s room to our room, where he and Logan were asleep
in my bed with the TV on. I turned off the TV and started to yell their names.
Mase, touched my arm, “I got this.” He roused them and got them to their rooms
using a little less energy and a lot less yelling than I would have.

After they left, I got ready for bed. I
was so happy I was leaving tomorrow for Jerusalem. Going to do what I loved and
getting away from this group. So what they didn’t invite me to the Jubilee, I
thought. I’m going and I’m happy. And even happier knowing that in the morning
I would let everyone know how irritated I was, relieving the stress that had
amassed from having to endure Mase’s friends at the book signing party, Greg’s
chiding and from coming home finding my house a mess.

My flight was at 7:00 am. Mase was taking
me to the airport. I would make sure my yelling would have everyone up by five.

Jerusalem
1997

It was mid-July when I left for Jerusalem.

Big time scholars from around the world
were meeting in Jerusalem to commemorate the half-century mark of the discovery
of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and
I
was going, too.

For years there had been mystery
surrounding the scrolls - the stealthy actions of the publication committee,
slow interpretations and the delay in letting the rest of the world see them. I
had even read that some speculated the Scrolls contained damaging evidence that
might destroy Christian beliefs. But, that had been debunked and now, fifty
years later, they were being liberated.

I never thought of myself as in the same
class as the group of scholars who were initially chosen to translate the
Scrolls. I was, however, adequately prepared and I could have probably rubbed
elbows with the best of them. I had a BA in Ancient History, and Anthropology
with a concentration in Archaeology. I went back to school after Courtney was
born for my masters in Religious Studies and Linguistics, and during the time
my son Micah came along I worked on my PhD in Biblical Archaeology. I spoke
seven languages, including Hebrew, and Greek, the languages of the Bible, and
was pretty proficient in reading Eastern Old, and Jewish Aramaic. And, I could
hold my own in deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphics. My ability to translate
documents was very exact. But I did have one advantage.

I had an eidetic memory. I could remember
virtually anything I read. It’s like I could picture it in my mind and hold on
to that image. I don’t appreciate it though and I tried very hard not to use
it. Others seemed more impressed with it than I was. At times it seemed
selective, probably because I’d gotten so good at blocking things out. 
Actually, the whole thing was really quite annoying to me. I didn’t like to
remember all the things I saw. There were so many other things going on in my
mind that there was just not enough space to store a plethora of information
that I gleaned just from looking at it.

The flight to Israel from Cleveland was
twelve hours long. Once there, the first week of the commemoration events would
be preliminary assemblies. There were to be speeches about the history of the
find, lectures on the invaluable contribution the Scrolls had been, and slides
and talks on the excavation of the site. And, finally we were to learn what
happened during the initial slow, arduous process of getting the Scrolls
readied and translated. The remaining weeks were designated as the time that
visiting scholars would have the opportunity to aid in the translation of the
remaining manuscripts and collaborate with the other scholars. And, even though
I would have to spend a lot of time working with Dr. Margulies to get the tour
underway, I would make sure I had a look at them too.

Once I arrived Jerusalem, I was to meet
Dr. Margulies. He had left a couple of days before me and told me he would have
a friend of his, Ghazi, pick me up at the airport.

I got into Ben-Gurion International Airport
about ten-thirty in the morning. I was so tired when I finally got there. I had
left home in the morning, traveled all day, and when I arrived in Tel Aviv it
was morning all over again. Although I had slept on the plane, it made me feel
so out of sorts. My day started again without ever ending.

Coming down the ramp from the plane, I
immediately noticed the man Dr. Margulies had sent. He was standing at the gate
with a huge, bright, pink sign that covered the entire upper portion of his
body, including his face. The sign had large, black, all capital lettering that
read ‘I AWAIT DR. DICKERSON I AM GHAZI.”

Dr. Margulies had told me that Ghazi was a
very quiet man who he would be very helpful, and whatever I needed he would
take care of for me. This sign, however, was very loud and very annoying. I
hesitated in announcing myself to him. Perhaps I could find my own way to
Jerusalem. I had been here many times. I could just walk right past him, out
the door and pretend I never saw him. But explaining to Dr. Margulies how I
could have missed him with this big, pink board would require a lie bigger than
the stupid sign. I just wasn’t sure if I could stand to be bothered with
someone of this mentality for any length of time. He was really aggravating my
already fragile mental well-being just with his initial actions. But Dr.
Margulies had sent him and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful so I went up to him
and asked him to please put down the sign. I told him that I was Dr. Dickerson.

Once he put down the sign, I immediately
noticed teeth, very white teeth which contrasted beautifully with his smooth,
honey-colored skin. He had this wide grin on his face.

I wonder had he been smiling all the while
he had been behind the sign?

Ghazi looked to be about my age, tall, well-built
and very handsome.

“Shall I call you . . .” he paused and
cocked his head to one side, “Lizzy?”

“No,” I said emphatically. “Call me Dr.
Dickerson.”

Upon my introduction, he nodded his head,
acknowledging me but not saying a word. Then he turned and started walking
away. I followed him. I didn’t know what else to do.

He walked so fast, I almost had to break
into a trot to keep up with him. As he walked, he folded up the sign and when
he passed a trash can he pushed it down into the can. He walked over to the
baggage area and once there abruptly stopped and turned to me.

“Do you have any luggage?” I almost ran
into him he stopped so quickly.

“Uhm, yes, I have three bags.”

He looked down at the one I was carrying
and then up to the satchel on my shoulder. “Three
more
bags?” He seemed
amused.

“Yes, three more.”

“You point them out and I will get them.”

I pointed to my suitcases as they passed
on the conveyer belt and he picked each one up and sat it on the floor. After
he got all three off the belt, he looked at me and said, “Wait here.”

So I waited. I stood there and didn’t move,
just as I was told. I hadn’t the faintest idea where he was going or what he
was doing. I really felt foolish and for some reason he made me so nervous. He
didn’t speak much and when he did he was very soft spoken. He spoke English
very well, nothing like the English on that sign he had held up. Something was
definitely different about him though. He returned with some guy who didn’t
even look as if he worked at the airport and without saying a word to me, they
picked up my bags, turned and started to walk away. I figured I better follow.
So, again, I was trotting behind this guy feeling very stupid.

He had a car parked outside the baggage
area. He opened the back door to the car and took my satchel and carry-on bag
and put them in the back and stood there looking at me, not saying a word. I
guessed I was supposed to get in the back with my bags. So, I climbed in and
sat obediently to wait. He and the guy took the rest of my luggage and went to
the rear of the car, opened the trunk and seemed to spend an eternity behind
it. I couldn’t see them or hear them. I didn’t know if they were going through
my bags or what. Just when I thought I should go and see what they were doing,
he came around the other side of the car, got in, turned, flashed a smile and
took off for Jerusalem.