Chapter 7 — Serialisation of Icon Rapture by Osman Khareef
Prologue — Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6
JeanLuc couldn’t and didn’t want to imagine how many hours of queuing in the snow or cooking effort had gone into the elaborate meal that Saskia had prepared for them. A fine Russian meal, in fine company; a few warm homely hours in a cold dangerous foreign land. Even the impassive Igor melted sufficiently to raise a strong baritone voice in Polish song followed by a rousing rendition of the Beatles song ‘Back in the USSR’ sung with real emotion — as the vodka level dropped in the bottle and rose correspondingly in the bloodstream.
Back in, back in the USSR, You don’t know how lucky you are … Boy!
JeanLuc found it impossible to keep his eyes off Sophia who had changed out of the ubiquitous blue jeans and T-shirt of Russian youth, into a soft crimson dress in a heavy velvet material topped by a white peasant style blouse cut low revealingly. She wore her hair loose and it swung in shiny black tresses about her shoulders. Spots of ruby red glowed in her cheeks from the warmth and conviviality contrasting with the fine-skinned white of her face. Her full lips were bruised a dark cherry and she kept running her lizard tongue over them. Every time she did this, JeanLuc felt a match of desire flare in his groin. This was one hell of a beautiful woman — the living image of Rossetti’s Ghirlandata but with black hair, he realised with a shock of recognition.
*
Suddenly, JeanLuc felt he was losing control. The warmth, the vodka, the day’s events, Sophia. All conspired to — —
He slumped and fell sideways off his chair landing with a thud on the carpet. The last thing he saw before passing out completely was Sophia’s face looming over him, eyes dark and large with concern. And then he was spinning away down a dark vortex of unconsciousness …
and now …
… the soft touch of the desert wind carrying the well-remembered odour of sun-baked saddle leather and dromedary halitosis. Suddenly, he was in harsh hot sunlight at the foot of a huge ferric-red-brown basaltic cliff towering above him. Climbing up a perilous winding narrow path which looked out over spectacular views in a Martian landscape, he could see to the east the mirage-inducing haze that covered the silvery salt sea; to the West and South the desert ridges and mountains of Idumaea and the harsh sandy domains of the Nabateans. He himself must have travelled down from the north along the dusty road from Sekhakha.
The road had been thick with Roman patrols. Well, if he wasn’t on Mars where was he? Yes, folks. You guessed it. JeanLuc is at Masada in Israel, Planet Earth — score ten points, give the lady a toaster-oven and a round of applause. The clue was the word, Romans. Lots of Romans, mean Romans, fed-up-to-the-back-teeth Romans, Romans who had not much else to do than play crucifixion lotto with the odd Jew, like him; laying bets on how many carrion birds it would take to tear out his liver. So, it cannot have been an easy journey and his stock of coin felt severely depleted by life-saving bribes to the abovementioned Latin types in a bad mood. Not to mention the trouble he’d had with the clapped-out camel he’d bought from the used dromedary dealership in Jerusalem’s city limits. He should have tapped its teeth. His brother-in-law was always telling him to tap the teeth with a stick. That way you can tell if the animal is sound — and smell its breath. Jumping Jehosophat! Have you ever smelled a camel’s breath? How anyone can discern subtle gradations in the foul foetidness that emerges from the camel’s front orifice, he couldn’t imagine. He could never do it and wasn’t going to try. Let his stupid brother-in-law stick his nose into the camel’s mouth and risk being bitten as well as the methane toxicity. Still, he really should not have listened to that crooked Egyptian with his smooth line about low mileage and the old rabbi who kept it only as a pet.
In a later life, JeanLuc would buy an Edsel. The Egyptian however was not reborn and is still consigned to that special inner circle of the Inferno which Dante has assured us contains car, camel, double-glazing salesmen, leech dealers and estate agents.
*
“Welcome to Masada, brother. How may we assist you? Will you stay and eat with us?” JeanLuc turned around to see that several Zealots with short curved daggers had approached silently behind him, having used the rocks as cover.
“Forgive me,” he said “ I am a stranger unused to these troubled times and unfamiliar territories. I have come on a mission from Qumran to speak with Eleazar ben Ja’ir.”
Thankful to have reached some sort of destination, JeanLuc followed the small band into the fortified walls of Masada beyond which lay the Palace of Herod still impressively intact despite its recent sacking. He saw that it was a busy place, many people and animals crammed into the narrow twisting streets winding down and around the central area which housed the deep life-sustaining Well of Masada. When JeanLuc arrived, the troop of Sicarii and a small procession of noisy curious children that danced and weaved about their feet, they found Eleazar supervising a team of diggers building a new tunnel to carry water from the Well of Masada to the garden terracing where the crops were grown.
Well, let’s see now. I wouldn’t want Charlton Heston for this one. JeanLuc thought. No. Perhaps Russell Crowe? Arnie? No? Maybe, Kirk Douglas then or the fellow that played …
“Eleazar! We have a visitor from Qumran. He brings letters and news of the King,” trumpeted one of the grizzled veterans leading the troop.
Eleazar ben Ja’ir , Commander of the Hasmonean Zealots of Masada, a Zadokite Pharisee of the old school, jumped down from the parapet from which he was directing operations. “Welcome to Masada, Cousin! I have been expecting you.”
The news that Jesus Justus, son of the Messiah had arrived caused a sensation amongst the people of Masada. To JeanLuc’s astonishment, the people began to flock towards him, falling down on their knees , crying and proclaiming “It is the Son of the King! Son of the Lord! Son of the Highest” and such like grandiosements.
It was ridiculous, of course, wasn’t it? He thought. Surely the King’s son would have had a better camel, wouldn’t he? I mean the King’s son should have a whole herd of soft-backed, perfume-breathing Cadillac stretch- camels to choose from, not just the ornery smelly beast of burden that he was lumbered with and had left tethered at the foot of the cliff, half hoping it would get stolen so he could claim on the insurance.
JeanLuc was still extremely confused. One minute he was drinking 120 proof vodka in twenty-first century Russia and the next he was being adulated as an heir of the King of the Jews in an ancient fortress town occupied by a fanatically religious sect who he vaguely recalled were due to commit mass suicide any time now. And why was he here? He hadn’t remembered auditioning for the Quantum Leap TV series …
Eleazar caught him by the hand and led him away. “Come, cousin. You are most welcome in my house. We have much to talk about. I was warned of your visit and have made the necessary arrangements. Everything is prepared for our holy task.”
*
Some hours after these words, after a much-needed bath in cool flower-scented waters, precious water that, as Eleazar explained, was carefully recycled back into the terraced gardens, JeanLuc’s memories of Russia, of his previous life, had faded completely.
He stood by one of the arched windows of Herod’s great Palace in which Eleazar had taken rooms, and looked down into the cool shaded interior courtyard below. The blue mosaic floor was packed with Zealots listening to Eleazar preaching. There were no women and children present and they were listening in intense silence. JeanLuc caught the words as they hung like dust particles in the still air.
“Brothers, they are men of true courage who, regarding this life as a kind of service we must render to nature, undergo it with reluctance and hasten to release their souls from their bodies; and though no misfortune presses or drives them away, desire for immortal life impels them to inform their friends that they are going to depart …”
JeanLuc turned away from the window, disturbed by these words. They didn’t sound too cheerful to him and filled him with foreboding. His cousin was clearly taking a pretty dim view of the future and indoctrinating these Sicarii into a fatalistic acceptance of what was to come. And what was all this nonsense about immortal life and souls? He had obviously been listening too much to Uncle James. What had happened to ‘zealous for the Law’ and a healthy patriotism? They should be seeking a Kingdom of Israel here on earth, not in heaven.
The Jewish people had now been expecting an imminent Messianic Kingdom of some sort for nearly seventy years. In those days, his Father, the King, and his Essene mentors in the Twelve Apostles had worked hard to make sure that every prophecy of Isaiah was fulfilled to the letter. His father had created the right conditions, was it His fault that His subjects seemed incapable of doing the rest or that the pagan Romans were such tough opposition? Mentally teetering on the brink of the Last Times, two generations of Jews had supported exhausting insurrection and guerrilla warfare against the foul Romans who, in reaction, had stomped up and down the length and breadth of Judea leaving a crucifixion trail of burnt-out communities culminating in the annihilation of Sepphoris and the recent sacking of the Holy City.
It was no wonder, JeanLuc supposed, that it was beginning to look as if the only Kingdom attainable would indeed be the Kingdom of Heaven — a fantasy originally perpetuated by the eggheads at Sekhakha. Clever people like his uncle James and probably his Father as well, must have realised early on that they were reaching for an unattainable goal against the all-powerful Romans. So the only way forward was to change the nature of the goal, take the battle onto another plane of existence. This way, maybe they could wrest a psychological advantage, hold a moral Golan Heights against the hedonistic multi-theistic Romans.
There could be no defeats in the realms of the mind.
To this end, some of the leaders of the Hellenist Movement had already begun the process of mythologizing his Father’s story — an exercise in history making and pesher which had occupied his Father, Paul and Luke John Mark for over thirty years now — ever since the Big Argument before he was born. In spite of the exalted loins from whom he had sprung and Paul’s long-time tutelage he sided with his Mother and took the simple soldier’s view of life — that military victory against one’s enemies was vastly preferable to moral victory rewarded in some mystical Heaven. He knew which side would be having its eyes pecked out by vultures, no matter how righteous the cause.
Carrion birds do not compile the many names of Yahweh.
JeanLuc Jesus Justus, sighed and went to look for his belongings. He was unpacking, when he was found by Eleazar who was now alone. “Cousin, don’t unpack. We must complete our task and then you must go soon. We’ve heard word from our spies that the tenth Legion under Flavius Silva is marching from Caesarea. It is rumoured that they may be headed this way. I have sent a messenger to your Mother and sister to make haste while it is still possible.”
“What about my mission?” asked JeanLuc “Your mission is to proceed as planned.” “What will you do?”
Eleazar shrugged. “We’ll hold out as long as possible of course. We have plenty of water and provisions. Masada is easy to defend, as you know. Militarily it will be a difficult job for the Kittim and I can’t see why they would want to bother. They might leave us alone, they have until now. But you never know with Kittim, we can’t take the risk.” He continued soberly.” You must leave tonight under cover of darkness. We think it would be best to head across the desert to the Dead Sea and then take the caravan trail south to Alexandria where your uncle Jude is. There is a flourishing community of Jewish Exiles on the Isle of Elephants on the River Nile, so I suppose you could go there as well. I remember we sent the Ark of the Covenant there for safe keeping after the time of Manasseh. You’ll have to play it by ear. I’m afraid it may be a long time before you can return.
“Well, exile is nothing new for us Jews, I suppose.” JeanLuc said. “Don’t worry, my friend! Alexandria is a fun city, I’m told.” “What about my Mother, sister and brother? Will they be safe?”
“We will look after and honour them. They’ll be safer here than Qumran … as long as the Kittim don’t attack on the Sabbath!” He said after slight pause.
At this last remark, JeanLuc looked carefully at Eleazar to see if he was joking. He wasn’t and shiver of foreboding ran down his spine.
“Come, we will go now to a secret place where I have hidden the things of your Father’s that he wanted saving.”
JeanLuc followed the short sturdy figure of Eleazar, accompanied by two Sicarii Daggermen, through the noisy streets and back down the hill to the Fortress and the Well of Masada. They stopped at the raised wall surrounding the well and Eleazar looked over. He turned and grinned at JeanLuc. “Can you swim, cousin?”
“If absolutely necessary,” JeanLuc replied cautiously and looked down at the circle of pale blue water staring up at him like a blank cataract eye, twenty feet below.
Eleazar removed his tunic and weapons and gestured to JeanLuc to do the same. “Okay. This is what we do,” he said.” Take this stone; hold it to your chest and jump in feet first. Don’t forget to hold your breath! When you get to the bottom — it’s not very deep; maybe the height of three men — you’ll find a hole in the wall. Go through, let go of the stone and float upwards. There is a dry antechamber there where I’ll meet you.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a secret chamber, Eleazar,” said JeanLuc looking meaningfully at the two bodyguards and the queue of women waiting patiently to fill their earthen water vessels.
“Oh. Don’t worry about them. This is just the start! We have a long complicated way to go yet,” said his cousin laughing. “Only I know the route and I keep the map up here.” He tapped his head with its full beard and long black hair oiled and combed back into a thick ponytail. “This is the bit I enjoy!” yelled Eleazar cheerfully and he jumped off the parapet landing with a loud splash. He disappeared quickly below the water surface, leaving a target ring of white bubbles for JeanLuc to aim at.
“Oowah, Ah!” The water was icy cold! JeanLuc nearly lost his breath with the shock of it. He sank clutching the heavy round stone to his chest. Looking up he could see the rapidly diminishing ring of bright water at the surface and then his feet bumped on the bottom of the well. Constriction growing in his chest, he looked around for the entrance to the tunnel. Seeing a darker area within the watery gloom, he waded towards it through the bottom silt, which clutched at his ankles like the soft rotted hands of the decomposing dead. Feeling that his lungs might burst under the strain, he lunged forward and downward through the low tunnel entrance.
Dropping the stone, he expected now to float upwards. But no! The tunnel kept on going. Desperately now, about to black out from lack of air, he swam furiously forward, kicking his legs. It was pitch black in the tunnel, which seemed to be getting narrower and narrower, bruising his arms and legs on the rough stone sides. His mind started to spin and sparks of retinal light flickered behind his eyes. He was not going to make it! A terrible panic gripped him and he thrashed out blindly. Suddenly, he was through. There was a steady pale yellow light above him and he rose towards it closing his eyes in pure unalloyed relief.
*
Gasping and heaving for breath, he levered himself up only to be firmly pushed back into the soft pillows of a bed! He opened his eyes.
“Sophia! Wha — what are you doing here!” he gaped in amazement.
Seeing that they were alone, JeanLuc reached up and folded her into a fierce embrace. Her face came down close to his. “I dreamed,” he whispered, gazing up into her wide fathomless eyes, pupils the colour of agate, like the lioness that kills. Third row down, centre position between the turquoise and the amethyst — a flash of precognition.
“I dreamed I was in God’s Holy Place! I dreamed of my Father, the King of Heaven!”
He pulled her face down onto his. Lips touched softly; triggering the solenoid of desire, completing the circuit of love.
Eyes half-closed in drowsy repleteness, Sophia reached over to the bedside table for her crumpled pack of Camels. She lit up and lay on her back pressed against JeanLuc’s side. He had fallen into unconsciousness again, eyelids fluttering in synchrony with dreaming alpha waves.
Sophia disentangled herself gently from the dreaming form of the man beside her. Pulling a robe about herself, she walked away from the bed to the door. Hesitating, she looked back at the pale naked form lying on the bed. She shivered — the room was getting cold. Turning back, she sat down on a chair by the bed looking at JeanLuc, wondering, remembering.
Never had she given herself to anyone like this and in her parents’ house! It was as if something, some instinct, had told her that there was no time. There was no time for preliminaries; for courtship; for dinners for two; for cinema gropings, for dressing up; for theatre; for cheek-to-cheek dancing. No time for long silent walks, arm in arm, beside the frozen river; for agonised midnight phone calls; for tearful partings at railway stations. No time to show him off to her friends, slyly watching, measuring his worth against their reactions.
By the light of the moon, she let her gaze follow the contours of his strong face and muscled body. Now that she was no longer held in the gaze of those fierce hawk- like eyes or in physical rapture by his body, she could look at him in wonder and not without an element of fear. Like any sophisticated Muscovite she had known many men and, on the whole, they were easy to understand. Always, she had dictated the pace to suit herself and her own desires. But this one! Here was an elemental force, a maleness that would not be denied, that could not be denied. He had not been violent, not insistent, had just taken possession of her body and soul as if by royal command. She hadn’t been able to help herself. Tears welled in her eyes and she began to weep, as a child might, uncontrolled sobbing, clutching the robe to herself, rocking back and forth. She was crying for herself — in precognition of what was to come.
The man on the bed slept on regardless.
There would be no comfort here she knew — only certitude and the arrival of destiny. If that was called love, so be it — but it was a terrible love, a love for angels, not for humans. He consumed her; he stripped the insulation off the wires of her soul. When they were close, sparks flew and she burned inside. Oh! She burned, and tears would not quench this cold starfire.
Tomorrow or the day after, they would go to Pokrovskoye. Tomorrow they would begin the search in earnest. Nothing else mattered. She had a feeling that they wouldn’t have long for each other. Looking at JeanLuc, she thought this one was an arrow, flighted to its target; a cruise missile snaking its way through Baghdad streets.
Prologue — Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6
Icon Rapture by Osman Khareef can be purchased HERE
