Read Online A Long Way to Shiloh by Lionel Davidson - Free Book Online
Authors: Lionel Davidson
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quality we’re after, Dr Himmelwasser,’ I told her earnestly. ‘We only want to try and read what’s on it. And time is pressing.’
‘So. Then if you will excuse me, I will continue.’
‘Don’t for God’s sake antagonize her ,’ Agrot said anxiously as we went down the corridor. ‘She’s a big noise in her department and they give us a lot of help. It’s going to take a miracle to get anything off that skin anyway.’
‘I think Ike Isaacs would do better.’
‘Well, he can’t,’ Agrot said shortly. ‘This is a security operation . And she’s done quite a lot already.’
She’d done a bit. The scroll was composed of three skins, wrapped round each other. The best-preserved was the inner one, evidently written by a priest. The second was an addendum or postscript, written by a semi-literate, and on this one Himmelwasser had brought up several words otherwise unreadable. It was the third skin, the totally unreadable outer one, that was now in her laboratory, and this one – which is the way these things go – that apparently contained the details of where the consignment and the OEED were buried.
Apart from the latter disability, the skins were in spanking condition, the finest I’d ever seen. Jordanian scrolls tend to turn up in the form of confetti these days. The Ta’amireh Arabs, who illegally search for and sell them, rarely like to sell a scroll in one piece. They prefer to crumble it into a few hundred pieces, and to mix the pieces judiciously with those of other scrolls, and then sell the resulting assortment as lucky packets. The maddened experts whose life’s work it is to put these jigsaws together again are left with a lot of holes, of course – which makes them keen customers for further lucky packets.
The two inner documents, humidified and castor-oiled, were now under glass in the scrollery. As usual, the writing was on the treated hair side of the skin, the letters hanging down from the inscribed lines (and not footing on to them as in Western practice). Every kind of scientific test had been carried out to determine the composition and age of the materials, and a considerable literature of manuscript notes had already grown up round them. There were literal, vernacular and modern readings of every sentence in a dozen different versions, and a number of elaborate papers on grammatical analysis.
The priest’s document, though in a Hebrew letter, was in the Greek language, and hadn’t engaged the team so ardently. It was with the second, written in a loose Aramaic, that they’d gone to town. Examples of Aramaic vernacular are not thick on the ground, and the scholars had extended themselves, chasing roots through Syriac, Hebrew and South Arabic to a hundred different sources. There were still, in both documents, some thirty odd words either completely unknown or with readings so disputed that Agrot had classified them as unknown.
I spent all morning studying them, had lunch with Agrot in the canteen, and continued in the afternoon. About half past six we knocked off.
Agrot carefully double-locked the scrollery.
‘Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’ he said.
‘No, thanks. I want to do a bit of brooding. And I’d better make a few notes.’
‘All right. I’ll call you later in the evening to fix arrangements for tomorrow.’
‘You’re still set against Ike Isaacs, are you?’
‘It’s a matter of security – and etiquette. The laboratory belongs to the Faculty of Science. I can’t let him in there.’
‘I could – on the quiet.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible.’
‘You couldn’t let the stuff out to him, then?’
‘You know I can’t. Look, let her continue a bit. She is after all a world expert.’
‘All right. Let’s keep the issue alive, though.’
I went back to the hotel and to bed, brooding. At eight o’clock I got up and went out for a walk, still brooding. It was cooler out – Jerusalem is high, two and a half
‘So. Then if you will excuse me, I will continue.’
‘Don’t for God’s sake antagonize her ,’ Agrot said anxiously as we went down the corridor. ‘She’s a big noise in her department and they give us a lot of help. It’s going to take a miracle to get anything off that skin anyway.’
‘I think Ike Isaacs would do better.’
‘Well, he can’t,’ Agrot said shortly. ‘This is a security operation . And she’s done quite a lot already.’
She’d done a bit. The scroll was composed of three skins, wrapped round each other. The best-preserved was the inner one, evidently written by a priest. The second was an addendum or postscript, written by a semi-literate, and on this one Himmelwasser had brought up several words otherwise unreadable. It was the third skin, the totally unreadable outer one, that was now in her laboratory, and this one – which is the way these things go – that apparently contained the details of where the consignment and the OEED were buried.
Apart from the latter disability, the skins were in spanking condition, the finest I’d ever seen. Jordanian scrolls tend to turn up in the form of confetti these days. The Ta’amireh Arabs, who illegally search for and sell them, rarely like to sell a scroll in one piece. They prefer to crumble it into a few hundred pieces, and to mix the pieces judiciously with those of other scrolls, and then sell the resulting assortment as lucky packets. The maddened experts whose life’s work it is to put these jigsaws together again are left with a lot of holes, of course – which makes them keen customers for further lucky packets.
The two inner documents, humidified and castor-oiled, were now under glass in the scrollery. As usual, the writing was on the treated hair side of the skin, the letters hanging down from the inscribed lines (and not footing on to them as in Western practice). Every kind of scientific test had been carried out to determine the composition and age of the materials, and a considerable literature of manuscript notes had already grown up round them. There were literal, vernacular and modern readings of every sentence in a dozen different versions, and a number of elaborate papers on grammatical analysis.
The priest’s document, though in a Hebrew letter, was in the Greek language, and hadn’t engaged the team so ardently. It was with the second, written in a loose Aramaic, that they’d gone to town. Examples of Aramaic vernacular are not thick on the ground, and the scholars had extended themselves, chasing roots through Syriac, Hebrew and South Arabic to a hundred different sources. There were still, in both documents, some thirty odd words either completely unknown or with readings so disputed that Agrot had classified them as unknown.
I spent all morning studying them, had lunch with Agrot in the canteen, and continued in the afternoon. About half past six we knocked off.
Agrot carefully double-locked the scrollery.
‘Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’ he said.
‘No, thanks. I want to do a bit of brooding. And I’d better make a few notes.’
‘All right. I’ll call you later in the evening to fix arrangements for tomorrow.’
‘You’re still set against Ike Isaacs, are you?’
‘It’s a matter of security – and etiquette. The laboratory belongs to the Faculty of Science. I can’t let him in there.’
‘I could – on the quiet.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible.’
‘You couldn’t let the stuff out to him, then?’
‘You know I can’t. Look, let her continue a bit. She is after all a world expert.’
‘All right. Let’s keep the issue alive, though.’
I went back to the hotel and to bed, brooding. At eight o’clock I got up and went out for a walk, still brooding. It was cooler out – Jerusalem is high, two and a half
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