Read Online Adam & Eve by Sena Jeter Naslund - Free Book Online
Authors: Sena Jeter Naslund
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with him.
“Who wrote those words?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Probably no one knows. Some ancient scribe.”
“I know who wrote them.”
A shudder ran through me. Was he mad? What kind of trap had I walked into? I looked to Arielle for connection. Off to one side, the young woman stood perfectly still, regarding her father with her luminous brown eyes flecked with gold. In spite of her physical presence, she had absented herself from our exchange.
“You wished to ask a favor of me,” I gently reminded him. I recognized my tone of voice: it was the neutral, nonthreatening, noncolluding voice I used when speaking to the mental patients who had come for art therapy.
“You came here to learn more about the Nag Hammadi texts,” he said. “But we have found a new text, here in Egypt, not about Jesus. A newly discovered text but older than the ones found in 1945. Our codex of 2020, these pages, place the book of Genesis in a new context. They refer to the genesis of Genesis.
Malheureusement—
unfortunately—their existence is known to certain religious fundamentalists who would like to destroy them.”
“Right-wing Christians,” I said, readily enough.
“Yes, and—”
“Literalist Jews,” I added.
“And?”
“Muslim extremists,” Arielle put in. “I myself am a Muslim, but not a fundamentalist.”
“And your father?” I asked her.
“Objective. An anthropologist.”
“And you want …?” I asked Pierre Saad.
Time seemed to be suspended in the cool silence of the white room under its high, vaulted ceiling while I waited to learn what he wanted of me. I felt defined by the walls, chalk white but bright. Blank. A fly lit on the sponge shoulder cushion of the crutch. Even our flies are here, I thought. Suddenly I felt very American—practical, normal.
“We hope that you will allow me to fly you back to Cairo,” Arielle said. “We have a little plane for you there—my father’s plane. Quite old but in good condition.”
“And then, from Cairo, we would like for you to smuggle this new manuscript,this precious, irreplaceable codex, out of Egypt,” Pierre Saad continued. “To fly safely, which means circuitously, ultimately to the south of France. To the area of the ancient cave paintings, between Lascaux and Chauvet. I am the resident cultural anthropologist there at the complex, and I will be waiting for you.”
“Egypt herself has been hospitable to ancient scrolls. Don’t they belong here?”
“The Nag Hammadi scrolls,” he explained, “impinge only on the question of the divinity of Jesus. They are old news—discovered in 1945; everyone who wishes to learn about them has had the opportunity to do so. Christianity continues virtually untouched by the implications of the Gnostic Gospels. On the other hand, the Genesis story is sacred to not just one but three major monotheistic religions. There is a small secret group, members of three religions, who want to destroy the codex. Perpetuity, they name themselves.”
“How do they know of the existence of this codex?”
“The Muslim wing watches me because I once wrote a book they found to be anathema. I thought I was careful when the codex fell into my hands, but somehow they know. I’m spied upon. My daughter and I were very thoroughly searched when we exited the country a year ago.”
“And Perpetuity?” I asked. “How do you know this name?”
I seemed to hear other people in the turquoise room, with the crocodiles. Pierre and Arielle were growing restless with my questions. But Pierre continued to speak in the same quiet way.
“I have an old friend. Someone I studied English with when I was a child. He is the friend of a friend who tried to recruit him for Perpetuity, but his friendship with me has the deeper root.” Pierre sighed. “As I said, the codex I have is about the genesis of Genesis. Only in the matter of annihilating this manuscript do the members of this small secret group cooperate with one
“Who wrote those words?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Probably no one knows. Some ancient scribe.”
“I know who wrote them.”
A shudder ran through me. Was he mad? What kind of trap had I walked into? I looked to Arielle for connection. Off to one side, the young woman stood perfectly still, regarding her father with her luminous brown eyes flecked with gold. In spite of her physical presence, she had absented herself from our exchange.
“You wished to ask a favor of me,” I gently reminded him. I recognized my tone of voice: it was the neutral, nonthreatening, noncolluding voice I used when speaking to the mental patients who had come for art therapy.
“You came here to learn more about the Nag Hammadi texts,” he said. “But we have found a new text, here in Egypt, not about Jesus. A newly discovered text but older than the ones found in 1945. Our codex of 2020, these pages, place the book of Genesis in a new context. They refer to the genesis of Genesis.
Malheureusement—
unfortunately—their existence is known to certain religious fundamentalists who would like to destroy them.”
“Right-wing Christians,” I said, readily enough.
“Yes, and—”
“Literalist Jews,” I added.
“And?”
“Muslim extremists,” Arielle put in. “I myself am a Muslim, but not a fundamentalist.”
“And your father?” I asked her.
“Objective. An anthropologist.”
“And you want …?” I asked Pierre Saad.
Time seemed to be suspended in the cool silence of the white room under its high, vaulted ceiling while I waited to learn what he wanted of me. I felt defined by the walls, chalk white but bright. Blank. A fly lit on the sponge shoulder cushion of the crutch. Even our flies are here, I thought. Suddenly I felt very American—practical, normal.
“We hope that you will allow me to fly you back to Cairo,” Arielle said. “We have a little plane for you there—my father’s plane. Quite old but in good condition.”
“And then, from Cairo, we would like for you to smuggle this new manuscript,this precious, irreplaceable codex, out of Egypt,” Pierre Saad continued. “To fly safely, which means circuitously, ultimately to the south of France. To the area of the ancient cave paintings, between Lascaux and Chauvet. I am the resident cultural anthropologist there at the complex, and I will be waiting for you.”
“Egypt herself has been hospitable to ancient scrolls. Don’t they belong here?”
“The Nag Hammadi scrolls,” he explained, “impinge only on the question of the divinity of Jesus. They are old news—discovered in 1945; everyone who wishes to learn about them has had the opportunity to do so. Christianity continues virtually untouched by the implications of the Gnostic Gospels. On the other hand, the Genesis story is sacred to not just one but three major monotheistic religions. There is a small secret group, members of three religions, who want to destroy the codex. Perpetuity, they name themselves.”
“How do they know of the existence of this codex?”
“The Muslim wing watches me because I once wrote a book they found to be anathema. I thought I was careful when the codex fell into my hands, but somehow they know. I’m spied upon. My daughter and I were very thoroughly searched when we exited the country a year ago.”
“And Perpetuity?” I asked. “How do you know this name?”
I seemed to hear other people in the turquoise room, with the crocodiles. Pierre and Arielle were growing restless with my questions. But Pierre continued to speak in the same quiet way.
“I have an old friend. Someone I studied English with when I was a child. He is the friend of a friend who tried to recruit him for Perpetuity, but his friendship with me has the deeper root.” Pierre sighed. “As I said, the codex I have is about the genesis of Genesis. Only in the matter of annihilating this manuscript do the members of this small secret group cooperate with one
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