Shrouded in Silence (4 page)

"I suppose I am. This church always touches a sensitive spot with me." He pointed to the recessed graves in the wall. "I am reminded of how short life is. On the streets I see all kinds of shapes and sizes walk by, but here I am vividly reminded of our common destiny. We don't have much of such retrospection in today's world."

Father Raffello nodded. "So true, but the past remains with us in this church as a constant symbol of the truth that our lives pass away quickly."

Jack nodded. "Afraid so."

"I trust all is well back in your offices?"

"Thank you, Father. We are doing fine."

"Good. Good." The priest started walking away. "Let me know if anything is needed."

"I will. We appreciate having the office space." Jack continued on his way.

Once he reached the side door, Jack exited the church and walked along a narrow cement path leading to the back. Fresh air washed away the scent of candle wax and stale air. The small house at the end of the walkway had once been used by a caretaker before being turned into their offices. Michelle would be waiting for him and she would want to know where he'd been for so long. Telling her that he was sitting outside in front of Dar Poeta drinking coffee and watching the multitudes walk by wouldn't set well. Perhaps, he should come up with some story of doing research on skeletons of long ago departed monks. Nope. That wouldn't fit either. The best he could come up with was that he'd been thinking about this difficult problem they were trying to solve in their search for the conclusion to Mark's Gospel. He could say he was looking for new approaches. Thinking.

Would that work as an answer? No, but it was probably as good of an answer as any he'd come up with.

3

J
ack tried to shut the office's front door without making a sound. Instantly, he caught Michelle's eye, but her surprise was quickly replaced by a hint of scolding for his tardiness. "Ah, Jack!" Michelle Townsend said in a professional tone. "We have someone here who's
been waiting
to meet you."

Sitting across the desk from her, a small middle-aged man held a notebook in hand and gazed at him with anticipation in his eyes. The man's eager smile suggested that he'd been waiting for some time.

"A . . . a . . . yes," Jack mumbled. "Sorry for being late."

At the back of the office, a tanned young man sat poring over a large manuscript. Dov Sharon glanced up from his desk, nodded, and then went back to the codex he had been studying. It took a bomb about the size of what hit the subway to stop the Jewish student when he was deciphering a manuscript.

Jack nodded and smiled. "Be with you in just a moment. "His Italian wife with her sparkling black hair pulled back in a pony tail and flashing brown eyes had a flair for creating the right impression that he sometimes messed up. Behind Michelle's heart-shaped face and alluring mouth, a magnificent mind never stopped working. Contoured in an artistic arch, her dark eyebrows framed eyes that always carried magnetism. The flush of pink in her cheeks gave her dark skin a striking contrast but didn't mellow the warmth Jack always noticed. "Need to put several items in order."

Because Michelle's grandfather had been a scholar at Viterbo's Museo Archeologico Nazionale before her parents immigrated to America, she had grown up speaking Italian like a native which also gave her a natural facility for languages. Entering the graduate school at Tübingen, Germany, with four years of completed Greek study pushed her to the top of the class in graduate studies in ancient manuscripts. Mostly, though, Jack simply thought she was the most beautiful woman he would ever see in his entire life.

"I want you to meet Mario Corsini, a reporter for
Il Messaggero,"
Michelle said. "I told him that you often read his newspaper." She looked at Jack with that penetrating stare that meant 'play this one straight or else.' "Signor Corsini speaks excellent English and arrived unexpectedly some time ago. I was expecting you
earlier."

"I got delayed down the street and—"

"Let's not even go there," Michelle said with a flatness that meant business.

"Unfortunately, Rome is in turmoil this morning," Jack said. "I read the story in your newspaper today, Signor Corsini."

"Yes, I was telling your wife the details just as you arrived," the reporter said.

Jack glanced at his wife's face and saw her jaw tighten. In any case, she already knew, but the sudden distant glaze over her eyes meant she wasn't any less frightened.

"As you Americans have a way of saying," Corsini said, "this story really sucks."

Jack studied the man sitting before him in a wrinkled blue shirt with no tie. Corsini's coat appeared to have been worn night and day for a number of years and his black hair looked as rumpled as his blue jeans. A pair of reading glasses sat halfway down his nose, and yet, Corsini's black eyes radiated intelligence. Jack could see he was not a dull man.

"I'm sure you didn't come to talk with us about the bombing," Jack began. "Mr. Corsini, please tell me what we can do for you."

"Perhaps, it will sound strange to you," the reporter said. "But I have been following your work for some time. Since I am a rather typical Italian Roman Catholic, I never read the Bible until I stumbled across a book describing the issues of textual and form criticism, which reported your work with the Scriptures. I found myself hooked on the problems of correctly translating Scripture. I have been following the subject ever since."

"Well, Mr. Corsini," Jack said. "Many Christians don't even know this area of debate exists among scholars, but it has long-range consequences."

"Please, call me Mario. I am honored to be here talking with you." He smiled modestly. "I was taken with how ancient Greek was originally written in one continual line with no break between the words and scholars must deem what is appropriate to pull apart in figuring out the true meaning." He picked up a pencil and wrote GODISNOWHERE on his notepad. "This is an example of what caught my attention because it can be broken apart into 'God is no where' or 'God is now here'. Your job is to come up with the correct translation."

"Very good," Michelle said. "These are the types of issues that Jack and I deal with."

"I read the book the two of you wrote titled
An Answer to the Cynics.
You certainly answered some of the hard questions raised by people who doubt the Bible."

"I am impressed with your reading, Mario," Jack said. "Michelle and I worked on a number of these problems during our time in Tübingen. We felt it was important to study with some of the harshest critics if we were going to defend the faith as we believe it should be upheld."

"Yes," Mario said. "You certainly have a strong confidence in the Scripture. I understand that you are working on a new project. I came today to see if there might be a story for my newspaper."

"I am flattered," Jack said. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Dov Sharon had stopped working on the codex and was listening. Corsini's visit had grabbed his attention and that was unusual. "In our own way, Michelle and I are dealing with the problems asserted by some scholars who say that modern humanity can't really believe in Jesus. The discipline called
formgeschichte,
or form criticism, in many cases has attacked the veracity of the Scriptures, and we are hoping to answer these charges."

Mario Corsini leaned forward and picked up his pen. "In what way, Dr. Townsend, are you at work on such problems? I sense that I might have a story I can write about Americans in Rome solving ancient biblical problems. I can't imagine a better place to think about the past than to have offices next to Santa Maria Church. The edifice is the most amazing collection of bones that I've ever seen. Good heavens! You are working on top of an open cemetery. Something important ought to be down there somewhere." He held his pen ready to write.

Jack chuckled. "Well, I think Michelle and I can be candid about our current project. Have you ever noticed that the average Bible has three possible endings for the Gospel of Mark?"

Corsini blinked several times. "What?"

"Yes," Jack said. "You might find this interesting to check out for yourself. Take a Revised Standard Version for instance. It will clearly distinguish these three possible conclusions and lay them before you for your choice."

"I didn't know that," Mario Corsini said.

"Yes, my friend, and what makes this fascinating is the internal evidence in the actual Greek text. The eighth verse ends with the Greek preposition γαρ or 'for' and is an incomplete sentence, which would indicate that the original ending of the Gospel had been torn away. My hunch is that the other two optional endings were added later by scribes to make the Gospel feel more comfortable and complete for readers. I base this on the fact that I studied the oldest entire manuscripts of the Bible in existence. One is kept in the Vatican Library. Codex Vaticanus agrees with this position as does Tischendorf's Codex Sinaiticus taken from St. Catherine's monastery at the foot of Mount Sinai in the desert of the Holy Land. These manuscripts extend at least back to the Emperor Constantine and possibly beyond."

"That is amazing!" Corsini kept scribbling on his notepad.

"My wife and I have an unusual contention, Mario. We believe that during the early persecution of the church, the original ending was torn off. From our reading of the earliest Church Fathers, we believe the first ending of Mark's manuscript is hidden here in Rome, and we are trying to find it."

"Absolutely astonishing! Yes, I knew you'd have a story for me. Excellent. Do you know where this fragment of the manuscript is?"

Jack winked at his wife. "Can't talk about that today. I can only say that we are currently looking. How about my letting you know when we turn up something?"

Mario Corsini leaped to his feet. "Excellent! Yes, my newspaper would be most delighted to obtain such a story." He fumbled through his coat pockets looking for a card. "I want you to call me immediately. I am your humble servant. Don't worry. My paper would love the story." He thrust his calling card into Jack's hand.

"Wonderful, my friend." Jack put his arm around the man's shoulders. "Mario, we will let you know when we are ready to have the story published."

"Excellent!" Corsini made a slight bow in Michelle's direction and started toward the door. "I will stay in touch."

Following him out, Jack closed the door behind Michelle and himself. Both waved as Corsini walked away.

"We'll be watching the newspaper," Jack said and turned to his wife. "Well, we've had a busy little morning thus far."

"Do you think you should have told him what we're after, Jack?"

"Why not? A little publicity won't damage our work. Having a few cardinals read that story in the
Il Messaggero
won't hurt us in having continuing access to the Vatican Library." Jack pulled his wife closer. "By the way, I haven't given you a midday I-love-you kiss yet."

Jack kissed his wife passionately, and she put her arm around his neck. He whispered in her ear, "I haven't smelled any fragrance this good since the roses budded out."

Michelle grinned. "Aren't you the lover boy?"

"I try to be."

Michelle stepped back and shook her head. "I don't know. Something about all of this business with Corsini bothers me. Maybe it was the conversation about the bombing that really upsets me."

"I was afraid you'd react to the terrorist attack."

Michelle stiffened. "You didn't tell me about that explosion, Jack. Were you keeping the story from me because I become so frightened?"

"I truly didn't know the details until I saw the paper when I stopped at the Dar Poeta café for coffee this morning," Jack flinched, realizing what he had just said.

"Dar Poeta! So that's where you were!" Michelle planted both hands on her hips. "That's why you were late!"

Jack grimaced. "Actually, I was."

"Drinking coffee and watching people walk by," Michelle cut him off. "I swear! She looked at him fiercely, but grinned. "You're worse than a child." Michelle laughed. "But you and your taste for artichokes are certainly predictable."