Shrouded in Silence (7 page)

"Get her out!" Michelle's mother screamed. "Jack! Michelle's in the back seat."

A strong arm locked around her waist and lifted her into the front seat before pushing her through where the front windshield had been. For the first time, Michelle realized she couldn't make her left leg move and that it hung at a strange angle. Only then did she see her father's face covered with blood running down his cheeks. A grotesque gash had been slashed across his forehead. Her mother was sitting on the ground with the side of her blouse ripped open and blood running down her arm.

A second explosion filled the air with such a deafening roar that Michelle's ears went blank and her father fell to the ground. No sounds filled her ears, but chaos roared through her mind. She grabbed her head and curled up in a ball next to her father's bloody shirt. The pain had become more than she could bear.

Slowly the picture faded and the bathroom wall took its place. The ball of fire turned into a streak of paint on the smudged dirty wall, the silence replaced by the sounds of people walking down the hall outside the bathroom door. With a trembling hand, Michelle reached up and felt the side of her face. Tears filled her eyes and sweat had started running down her cheeks. Her face felt clammy and flushed. She tried to catch her breath, but it wasn't easy to do so. Michelle hung her head and braced her body against the wall.

Ten minutes later someone beat on the bathroom door, and a woman's voice said, "Are you all right? You speak English?

"Yes, yes," Michelle mumbled. "I speak English. I'll be out in just a moment?"

"You are sick?"

"No. No. Just a moment."

Michelle forced herself to stand up and staggered to the mirror. The color had washed out of her face and she looked bedraggled. How could it have happened so quickly? Heaving in and out, her breath began to stabilize even though her knees continued to feel wobbly. How could she ever tell Jack about how deeply her problem affected her? It was the one secret she had kept from him all of these years. Fortunately, it seldom came up like it had tonight. The terrorist explosion had been so close to them that it had far more than unnerved her. Talk of the blast was everywhere and kept descending on her like an ever darkening cloud. Tonight, Jack had reintroduced the problem in a way that slid more deeply into her past than usual, and the childhood experience had erupted like a volcano. Nevertheless, he must not know about her condition. That resolve had been her pledge to herself from their beginning together. It must forever stay in her yesterdays. She would not tell him about the seriousness of her post-traumatic stress disorder.

6

A
lthough four days had passed since the subway bombing, police remained everywhere with rifles in hand, and Michelle continued to feel apprehensive. With the coolness of early morning still hanging in the air, Jack and Michelle Townsend unlocked their office door and walked in. The sun had already come up and cars buzzed down the streets of Rome with their usual ferocity. Carrying a cardboard container with three cups of steaming coffee, Michelle placed the holder on her desk. They didn't often arrive before 8:00, but they had come to a turning point in their work and needed to review what they had discovered before going further. An early morning conference was needed before the next phase started. Michelle sat down at her desk and glanced at her watch.

"Dov should be here momentarily," she said.

Jack nodded. "We begin as soon as he comes through the door."

"Oh, let's start now." Michelle got up from her desk and threw her arms around Jack's neck. "Why must you be so enticing?" She kissed him forcefully.

"What?" Jack sputtered. "What was that for?"

"Maybe, just because you're my husband and I like kissing you in spite of all your shortcomings." She kissed him again.

"That's certainly the right way to start the day," Jack said.

Michelle giggled and returned to her desk. She glanced around their front office filled with four desks. Three of the staff occupied the largest desks and the old rolltop held piles of books. Even the two large bookshelves were crowded with worn copies of ancient volumes with rows of books piled up across the top. Stacks of files and papers stood around the edge of the floor. The walls had been painted literally a hundred years ago and streaks of dirt and discoloration ran down the sides. Jack claimed they lent character and the fathers in the Santa Maria Church had told them not to paint the walls anyway. Michelle hated the appearance but couldn't change it. Through the open door, Michelle could see an old conference table in what must have once been a bedroom. Five chairs had been placed helter-skelter around the worn table. A couple of old oil paintings hung on the walls when they moved in and had been left in place. She couldn't decide if the oils were worthless or masterpieces lingering from a couple of centuries back. Unable to decide, she left them alone. The worst fact about the house was no central heating system. In the winter, they had to build a fire and wear coats to keep from freezing. Not a good situation.

"Here comes Dov," Jack said. "I hear his cane thumping on the walk outside."

"Good. We can start the discussion."

The door opened and Dov Sharon walked in. "Boker tov," he said in Hebrew. "Shalom to all."

Michelle studied Dov, a small man. Jack had first met him while working in the Armenian Library in Jerusalem. With wiry black hair that stuck out in every direction, Dov's intense, penetrating, dark-brown eyes fit well with his handsome long, narrow face. Dov didn't say much and seemed to constantly glance around the room or shoot a look out the window. He acted like a man who remained suspicious of some undefined entity.

The Sharon family had migrated to Israel after his grandparents barely escaped execution in the Auschwitz concentration camp in southwest Poland. Their time in a kibbutz had been difficult. Dov had been a
sabra,
a native-born Israeli. Jack had greatly admired the tenacity of the Sharon family, and when he discovered Dov's exceptional ability to translate ancient Hebrew, he signed him up for their team. The choice proved valuable, but Michelle remained unsure.

"I brought you a cup of coffee," Michelle said and handed it to Dov. "It will warm your heart."

"Toda raba," Dov thanked her in Hebrew. "You have started my engine running."

Jack pointed to the other room. "Let's go in and sit around the conference table. Bring any papers or documents you need. We'll be updating our work."

Michelle picked up her coffee and a file. "I'm ready."

She paused and watched her husband for a moment. A gentle sort of man who could forget the time of day while walking down the street, he was actually on the shy side. Michelle had learned early in their relationship that weight lifting had helped him overcome much of his childhood bashfulness. Under Jack's short-sleeved shirt, she couldn't help noticing his strong, muscular arms. His unusual strength remained one of the paradoxes in this man's life. Although brilliant, he got lost watching people walk by or gazing at some strange sight. But no matter how often he disappeared in his thoughts, she loved him because he was such a kind man and generous to a fault.

"I'm ready as well," Dov walked behind her.

Jack sat down at the head of the table. "Dov, you've been working on a Hebrew translation of the
Sarajevo Haggadah
I noticed."

"All week. Been checking some of the literary style of this ancient manuscript to sharpen my awareness of any possible shifts in Hebrew during recent times. There are a few unusual pictures as the manuscript came from a time when Jews considered figurative art to be a violation of the commandments. It's rather straightforward. I'm more than ready to shift to your project."

"Michelle, tell Dov where we are," Jack said. "Let him know how we got to this point in our work. Give him a brief summary."

Michelle nodded. "Let's start here." She picked up a Bible and opened it to the end of Mark's Gospel. "The King James Version ends by including verses nine to twenty as genuine while the Revised Standard Version puts these same verses in footnotes. For interpreters of the Bible these variations pose a problem. If the Scripture is inspired, how can we make sense out of these differences?"

"I understand," Dov said. "Such problems make people anxious."

"Exactly," Michelle said. "There is also a shorter ending that virtually everyone fairly well agrees was tacked on. Even conservative scholars dismiss it."

"The longer ending is found in some significant manuscripts like Codex Ephraemi and Codex Alexandrinus as well as a number of fragments," Jack added. "Of course, the original ending would have been on papyrus. Because some Church Fathers in the earliest centuries used this ending, Jerome put verses nine through twenty in his Latin Vulgate. That's essentially how it wound up in the King James Version."

"I see," Dov said thoughtfully.

"We found an interesting aspect of the longer ending while studying in Jerusalem," Michelle continued. "In three of the oldest Armenian manuscripts, these verses are present, but a fourth manuscript attributed them to a presbyter named Ariston."

"Fascinating," Dov said. "What about the earliest Church Fathers? How do they stack up?"

"We found that Clement, Origen, and Eusebius used the shortest ending concluding in 16:8," Jack said. "That adds to our conclusion that the verse eight ending with the Greek word γαρ or, in English, 'for' indicates we have strong evidence that the first ending to the verse was torn off. I believe we are almost ready to start hunting for where the fragment might be hidden here in Rome."

"You've concluded that there's no question but that the first ending is around Rome somewhere?" Dov sipped his coffee. "You ready for me to bring my shovel to work tomorrow?"

"Not quite," Michelle said. "We've got to do some cross-checking and more research. I'm concerned that we don't really have enough clues to know where to start looking for the papyrus yet. We've got to dig much deeper in the Vatican Library."

"And that's what you'd like me to do?" Dov said. "Trudge down to those dark halls and wander through the dusty stacks?"

"I think so," Michelle said hesitantly. "What about you, Jack?"

"I agree," Jack said and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I believe we've got to search for clues about what might have happened in the first century to Mark's conclusion to his Gospel. We're going to need to dig farther into sections of the Vatican Library where no one usually looks. You can use one of our passes to get you in. It's not easy to get permission to wander around in those ancient corridors."

"I think you're going to need to try to get behind the time of Irenaeus, and that won't be easy," Michelle said. "Irenaeus was a disciple of Polycarp, and that will be hard to find if it's even there. We have the writings of Clement, and we believe he was with Paul in Phillipi in A.D. 57. We need to research behind Clement, and that's a real toughie."

"I suspect that there might be materials in the Vatican Library that may be hidden because they were lost from sight," Jack said. "Who knows what's buried in that pile of ancient documents. I want you to bring an intellectual shovel and start digging deep, Dov."

Dov grinned. "You know that I'm not particularly comfortable wandering around in the world of Rome's Catholic Church, but I can't think of anything I'd rather do than try to turn up the writing of somebody like Linus or Cletus who might have perished in the persecutions of Nero. Then there was that guy called Laterani. Maybe I can find something new. Sure; I'll hit the stacks."

"Good," Jack said. "I think that's an important place for you to go today. I understand your reluctance. Many Jews don't exactly trust what the Roman hierarchy did in the past, but you won't have any problems today. You can start going through the archives in Vatican City immediately."

Dov smiled. "My, my; amazing how times can change. OK, give me your entry documents and I'll tool on down to St. Pete's palace to see what I can rummage out of their garbage pile of old valuables."

"That's what I like," Jack said. "A devout attitude."

"We do our best." Dov slowly pushed himself up out of his chair. "The Vatican is not particularly considered a friend of the Jewish people. I'll need that pass to get by the boys who guard the door." He stood up and stretched before walking toward the front office area. "OK, I'm on my way."