In the Shadow of the Cypress (4 page)

To say that Mr. O’Flynn had by now thoroughly piqued my interest would be a bald understatement. I’m sure he could read the look of inquisitive anticipation that must have colored my expression. I asked him if he had brought me anything to see, and without another word he withdrew a soft leather parcel from his coat, untied the laces, and carefully unrolled the contents onto his lap. From a protective hide of rabbit fur he removed the magnificent figure and set it on the table between us.

The first sight of this treasure took my breath away. From the presence of knobbed horns, I presumed the long-necked creature to be a stylized Asian representation of a giraffe. The figure was approximately nine inches tall, and was posed resting on its knees in the fashion of a camel or llama. But what proved the most enthralling feature of the treasure was the fact that this noble object was obviously carved from one perfectly flawless piece of milky-pink jade. I gently turned the object around on the table several times to examine it from every quarter with my big magnifying glass. I found myself openly praising its intricate engravings, and the simple but aristocratic proportions chosen by the craftsman who created this magnificent work of art. The very posture of the animal, with head facing left and slightly down, seemed to have been chosen specifically for the purpose of allowing the darker pink jade to form a continuous bright crest for the creature from head to tail.

I was so completely preoccupied that it took me a moment to acknowledge that Mr. O’Flynn had spoken for the first time.

“Now, sir, I ask you fair as a university man, a doctor and all, just what kind of animal is that supposed to be?”

It amused me to ask, “What does it look like to you, Mr. O’Flynn?”

“To be sure, Professor, to my untutored eye it looks blood-kin to a hump-shy camel what’s been hung for the untoward loss of it. And I ask you, sir, just what are those odd stumps on its head? What kind of animal is it?”

“Well, Mr. O’Flynn, for centuries, books about mythical beasts called it a Quilin, but one day people were forced to acknowledge that the animal wasn’t a myth after all; in fact, it was modestly abundant in Africa, so people began to call it by a version of its African name, giraffe. The animal is most assuredly a giraffe, Mr. O’Flynn, and those stumps on its head are short horns.”

“So you are saying this ‘gee-raff’ creature is an animal that lives in dark Africa?”

“Yes, Mr. O’Flynn, except for the few that reside in some of the world’s better zoos, giraffes are native to the savannahs of central Africa. I’d be happy to show you a picture if you like.”

Mr. O’Flynn looked confused, but he nodded his head, and I reached for my zoological atlas. I showed him a photograph of a small herd of giraffes pictured in their native African veld. O’Flynn looked at the picture, and then looked at the figure, and then back again to the photograph. He silently repeated this back-and-forth comparison several times, and then closed the atlas with a bang. He sat back with a frustrated sigh and took up his tea. He appeared to be pondering some troubling question that forced him to knit his brows, occasionally suck his teeth, and stare off into space. After a minute O’Flynn spoke up again. “Africa, you say, Professor? And how long have these animals been common knowledge in the old countries?”

“Mr. O’Flynn, the giraffe is unquestionably an African animal.
And I’d say it’s very likely the early Egyptians, Persians, and Greeks, and subsequently the Romans, would have come across such animals in their extensive trade networks.”

“And what about the old-country Chinese, Professor, would they be in the know about such things?”

“I really can’t say without further information. Africa is a long way from China, but I’ve learned with the years that nothing is impossible. I see no reason why a culture as advanced and curious as the Chinese could not sail, or even travel overland, to Africa. Why do you ask?”

“Well, Professor, I don’t claim to be any kind of expert, mind you, but I have seen a fair number of downed trees in my time, and you can tell a lot about them from the root ball, you can even come close to the real age of a tree if you know what to look for. I’m told the old cypress groves hereabouts are spot-on rare, even for California. And they don’t thrive well at all in other climates. Well, sir, that’s what the county surveyor told me when he came out with the cutting crew the next day; the county man wanted to inspect this particular tree, mind you, and when he’d had an eyeful he politely asked that we cut him two sample disks from the trunk for the county forestry office. We were right pleased to oblige, but before he left I asked what they would use the samples for. He said they could date the tree to within a couple of years, and even read the weather for those years.”

“That’s a very common forestry practice.”

“So I was told, sir. I then asked the surveyor if he could take a look at the cuttings and give me an unofficial count of the tree’s age, if only to satisfy the curiosity of the men who would have to spend many hours taking the poor tree down to cordwood. Well, the fellow said he wasn’t really a forestry technician, but he showed me how to count the growth rings for myself. He told me that to make it easier, a man counts off by tens, and then pencil
checks each ten. When you’ve reached the core, you go back and count the checks and multiply by ten. And I did just that.”

Mr. O’Flynn gently picked up the jade figure with callused hands, drew it close, and looked deep into its opaque luster. He spoke in an odd fashion, as if the power of ancient superstition now came into play. “Now, there’s something to truly ponder, Professor. This valuable object was purposely buried along with that stone plaque at the bottom of a hole over which a cypress sapling was planted. Do you follow me so far, Professor?”

“I believe I’m keeping abreast for the moment, thank you.”

“Well, sir, if all is as I say it is, then you’ll appreciate that this jewel of a beast and the stone plaque were actually buried in that very spot at least four hundred years ago. And that’s the best evidence accorded by the rings on the tree. You see, I cut a trunk sample of my own and ciphered the rings twice more to be sure. What do you think now, Professor?”

“If what you say is true, Mr. O’Flynn, I’m far more than just interested. Your find begs any number of historical questions, and certainly merits further study and research.”

“Well, then this will give you something more to think about, I’ll wager.” Mr. O’Flynn carefully handed me the figure. “If you’d be so kind, sir, look what’s carved into the bottom.”

I turned the figure over and was surprised to discover that the base was a large, fully inscribed seal. There were ten vertical lines of beautiful Chinese script, each character inset with remnants of gold foil. The same foiling was used on an elaborate oblong cartouche at the bottom right of the inscription. The engraved characters still showed slight traces of the red cinnabar used to print the seal on documents.

I was thunderstruck to say the least, but my curiosity leaped even farther ahead. I asked Mr. O’Flynn if the stone
tablet had any writing on it, and he said it had. Three different types of script were displayed, and one of them seemed to be Chinese, but he had no idea what the other two were. He’d never seen the like before. Then I asked whether the lettering on the stone plaque showed any signs of having been inlaid or painted with gold. He answered in the affirmative. He said the stone had been highly polished on one side, and the characters cut into its hard surface. He also mentioned that the whole inscription was bordered within a carved design of flying serpents, flowering vines, and bats. With a perplexed look, he said that the stone had an odd property. When dry, it looked mostly coal black, but when he flushed away the dirt using clear water, the stone appeared to shimmer a beautiful dark green.

Reexamining the superbly engraved characters on the bottom of the jade figure, I told Mr. O’Flynn that while I was certainly no expert in the field of Chinese artifacts, it was my considered opinion that no further useful progress could be made on this mystery until the Chinese characters on both objects had been translated. I asked him what his Chinese acquaintances had thought of the inscriptions. His answer surprised me.

“To be honest, Professor, you and I are the only two people who have seen this carving in centuries. But begging your pardon, sir, the last people I’d wish to know about this are the Chinese. Mind you, they’re a remarkable race, and I have a great deal of respect for their strength of character and ingenuity, but they’re a right proprietary and dangerous tribe when they construe that a Chinese grave has been despoiled, especially by a Christian. And to be sure, Professor, just because I personally saw no bones doesn’t mean they weren’t there hundreds of years ago. Until we can make out what all this means, I’d far prefer to
keep our local Chinese friends ignorant of the discovery, if such is even possible.”

O’Flynn leaned forward and lowered his voice in a slightly conspiratorial manner. “Just between you, me, and the gatepost, Professor, when those cheeky fellows care to put their crafty minds to it, they can also become the finest thieves and bandits in the world. And it’s a fact that I wouldn’t have this treasure very long if certain Chinese elders knew about it and felt they held a binding interest. I wouldn’t stand a tinker’s chance in Hades if those gentlemen truly wanted them back. As of now I can trust only you to help me.”

I was gratified by the man’s confidence, and said as much. I admitted that I was honored that he consulted me, but reminded him that anthropology was not quite my field. Nonetheless, I was deeply fascinated by the prospects of sinking my teeth into such a rare discovery. I suppose no thinking person in my position would be averse to daydreams of scholarly glory, but I already knew the pitfalls inherent in such ambitious endeavors, and believed I could keep a tight rein on my perspective.

In careful consideration, I informed Mr. O’Flynn that translating the inscriptions was still of paramount importance. And if he wished no one to see the objects as yet, then reliable copies of the originals had to be made. He inquired whether I knew of a method for accomplishing such a thing, and I said I believed I did, and using only materials readily at hand.

O’Flynn thought for a moment, and then politely asked me if I might demonstrate. From a large roll of sturdy white Japan paper, which I keep for mounting botanical specimens, I cut a piece that would overlap the base of the jade seal. Using a wet cloth, I moistened one side of the paper and pressed it firmly against the engraved text, using my fingers to pressure the paper
firmly into every detail. Then, using a clean, dry handkerchief, I continued to pat and press the paper into the stone while holding it near the Franklin stove to help it dry. When it was done, I took a soft charcoal pencil and, working gently, began to make a rubbing across the surface. The process worked quite well, as I expected, and the text was handily duplicated as white on black. Mr. O’Flynn paid close attention to every step of the process, but when I told him he would have to come by with the plaque so that I could make a rubbing of that text as well, he seemed very hesitant to comply.

After pressing him to explain his reticence, I learned that O’Flynn was very fearful of removing the plaque from its hiding place for such an errand. On the other hand, if I gave him the proper materials, he thought he could copy what I had done. I agreed, but insisted that he first make another impression and rubbing of the jade figure’s base, so I could be sure he’d done the work correctly. O’Flynn happily agreed, and his third attempt was every bit as good as mine.

As I packed up the materials he would need, Mr. O’Flynn asked what I planned to do with the rubbings once I had them. I said that, with his permission, I would consult with suitable colleagues at Stanford University, but do so without telling them the origin or present location of the originals. If they agreed to help me, then we might well be on our way to solving the mystery of the burial. O’Flynn asked how long I thought it would take to get the answers, and I told him that I honestly couldn’t say. It all depended upon how difficult it was to find someone qualified to translate the texts. If they were as old as O’Flynn believed, based on the tree-ring count, then a true Chinese scholar might be required to do a proper translation. Understanding the difference in language usage over the centuries
might be as complex as translating ancient Gaelic runes or Mayan hieroglyphs. I told Mr. O’Flynn that the process could not be rushed, and the outcome was by no means predictable, or necessarily profitable. However, I made it known to him that whatever happened, the value of the jade seal alone made it a formidable treasure in its own right, considering the quality and size of the jade, worth perhaps many thousands of dollars.

I admonished him to keep the figure hidden and safe until I should receive some response from the university. I also asked him if I might see the tree-ring sample at his earliest convenience. If I was expected to continue with the necessary research on his behalf, I felt scientifically obliged to make the ring count for myself, and this time using published botanical scales for reference. Mr. O’Flynn happily agreed to every particular. Then he carefully rewrapped the jade seal, took up the materials I had given him, and, with brogue-laced phrases of gratitude and confidence, quietly departed just as the setting sun peeked between the thick gray clouds and the ocean’s horizon. Suddenly, golden shafts of azure-flecked fire lanced through the trees, and the belly of the clouds all turned flame red. The whole experience took O’Flynn and myself quite by surprise, and we stood speechless in my little front garden watching the dramatic play of light as it changed color and intensity. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that my guest made several furtive gestures with his hands that appeared ritualistic in nature, as if to protect his soul from the darker powers. Perhaps it was just an errant quiver of his Gypsy blood, but it led me to wonder how O’Flynn’s superstitious temperament was managing this unusual series of events.