The Angel of Eden (14 page)

Her eyes darkened. “If you'd known George as I did you'd believe the same thing. He was fascinated by alchemy. Not the trick of turning metals into gold. The alchemists had a second great quest—the search for the elixir of life. George sought immortality through the practice of the black arts. He developed a thirst for profane knowledge, just as his beloved Faust had.”

“How could a man who's supposed to be brilliant believe such foolishness?”

She took a long draft of her wine, her hand trembling slightly. It obviously cost her a lot just to discuss her former lover even after all these years. “I'm aware of how it must sound to you. And if we were talking about anyone else I'd agree. But we don't know everything in the universe, do we? And there was something about George. When he claimed triumphantly one day that he was close to finding the solution to immortality, I didn't doubt him.”

“‘Solution.' Did he mean a formula of some kind?”

“He kept it to himself. When I questioned him about it, he'd just say, ‘You wouldn't approve.'”

I took a moment to let her remark register. “Well, after all, Faust regretted making his bargain.”

Veronica toyed with her glass. “You're referring to the deal with the devil? If George thought he could achieve his aims that way he wouldn't have hesitated.”

“Faust's biographers, Marlowe and Goethe, gave him a bad end. What about Helmstetter? Did he leave himself a way out if he changed his mind?”

“There's always a way out if you know the way in, I should think. George claimed he used Trithemius's book as his guide, that's all I know. I consider myself a sensible woman, Mr. Madison.

I was brought up by strict Catholics. They were not people given to fantasies. But George, he reached into my soul somehow. I loved him passionately. I suppose at my age I don't have to be embarrassed about such a confession. If anyone managed to achieve immortality, George could. I know that lies within the realm of the absurd. But practically speaking, he could easily still be alive. Why, he'd only be sixty-five.”

“Don't be sad,” Bandit squawked and ruffled its feathers.

We both laughed.

Veronica thought for a moment. “I don't have any photos of him. George destroyed all the photographs of himself, including those of the two of us. I discovered that shortly after he left. But they wouldn't have been much good to you; he would have aged a great deal by now. I can tell you one thing, though. Before he visited Kandovan, he wanted to see Pergamon in Turkey.”

“What did he hope to achieve there?”

Veronica stood up and pressed her hand to the small of her back. “I can't sit for too long on this soft couch. My back kills me if I do—too many years spent in front of typewriters and computers. Anyway. Pergamon was considered by some to be Satan's dwelling place. George regarded it as a primary seat of power. He said he wanted to visit Satan's Throne.”

“The letter I saw among the papers you gave to the Conjuring Arts Center mentioned that if what he found at Pergamon didn't satisfy him, he'd travel to Eden. Do you know what he meant by that?”

“He believed Eden existed. As a real place, not a biblical allegory. And that if he could find it, Eden would be the most potent place of power imaginable. I'm afraid there's nothing more I can tell you. Talking about him has awakened some bitter memories. I wonder if I might have some time to myself now?”

“Of course. You've been really helpful. Before I go, did you ever hear from him again—a letter or a note?”

She let out another sigh. “Not a word.”

I stood up and shook hands with her. “Thank you.”

She walked me over to the door and took my hand again. “May I give you some advice? You said Strauss hired you. I don't know what he's paying, but no amount of money is worth it. Have nothing to do with this quest of his. It won't—it can't—end well.” She glanced over at Bandit. “Have you ever seen cockatoos in their natural environment?”

“Can't say I have.”

“They're such exceptionally beautiful birds. In the wild they mostly eat fruit or seeds, but occasionally they'll prey on insects. In their natural environment I've seen those lovely birds tear the wings and heads off creatures to devour them. They have a savage side. If you're tempted to continue on with Strauss, think on that.”

“Did he ever harm you?”

“Not me—personally, no. But others who were foolish enough to get in his way? He destroyed them.”

Twenty

T
he rain had started up again. That evening Bennet and I went to Bocca, an Italian place with warm wood accents and varieties of fresh pasta laid out in bowls for the choosing. Back at our table, I told her all about my conversation with Veronica. But when I recounted what she'd said about their love affair, Bennet seemed to lose interest and quickly changed the subject. Odd, given that she was supposed to be documenting everything.

After dinner the rain obligingly stopped. Since it was mild out, we decided to pick up Loki from the apartment and take a slow stroll to Union Square. We got some sodas, spread newspaper on a bench and sat down to people watch, then browsed in the Strand, one of my favorite bookstores. I was still thinking about what Veronica had said about Pergamon, and so I picked up a book called
The Origin of Satan
by Elaine Pagels. For Bennet, I got a guidebook featuring that ancient city. Fortunately, no one objected to my carrying Loki around. Bennet seemed to enjoy
herself equally and was delighted with the book. It surprised me how in sync I felt with her. Still, I needed to try something out.

“I've decided to go see Strauss,” I announced on the way home. “I don't think I want to continue with his project.”

Bennet stopped in her tracks. “Why not? I thought it was all settled.” I could see how surprised she was.

“It's ridiculous, that's why. Helmstetter must have died in Iran long ago. After all this time, how could I find anything out? I can't even speak the language.”

“You could hire a translator.”

“I'd need an army for protection to get there.”

“You just need someone who knows the territory.” She paused. “If you change your mind, I want to go with you.”

I put my arm around her. “That would just complicate matters. We're talking about Iran. A Western woman would stand out like a sore thumb. Both of us would.”

“We'll take precautions, John. I want to see this through. Strauss insisted I record your journey, remember? Talk to him about your concerns; maybe he can come up with a solution.”

Although everything I'd said was true, I'd raised the idea primarily to test her reaction. All along, Bennet had seemed unduly insistent on this venture and I'd begun to suspect there was more to it than just her commission. And I did want to see Strauss— I wanted to test him out, too. I could have just called him, but I sensed that a meeting would give me a better idea of where he was coming from.

The rain started up in earnest, heavy as a tropical downpour, just as we reached home. Bennet went right out again for drinks with a friend and I settled down with my book about Eden.

I read that, as nineteenth-century explorers began sending home the magnificent antiquities they'd unearthed, interest in Mesopotamia
spread like wildfire through Europe and America. Then came the translation of cuneiform tablets, and interest reached a fever pitch. The tablets not only attested to the actual reign of kings like Nebuchadnezzar; they also recounted old Sumerian legends of a flood remaking the earth—legends that bore a marked resemblance to the Old Testament story. Here, people thought, was concrete proof of the Bible's historical accuracy. The Bible itself tantalized readers by appearing to give Eden an exact geographical location.

A river flowed out of Eden to water the garden, and there it divided and became four rivers. The name of the first is the Pishon. It is the one that flowed around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold. And the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. The name of the second river is the Gihon. It is the one that flowed around the whole land of Cush. And the name of the third river is the Tigris, which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.

Everyone knew the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. But what of the Pishon and Gihon? And where were the lands of Havilah and Cush? People tied themselves up in knots trying to come up with an answer. Serious scientists pointed to the once fertile, irrigated plains of southern Iraq at the confluence of the two great rivers, believing that the Pishon and Gihon might actually be ancient manmade canals feeding into these rivers. Even then, in a more religious age, others thought Eden to be allegorical, not a real place at all.

Personal agendas to prove the scientific accuracy of the Bible spawned hilarious results. One pastor placed the garden in the
Arctic. Another scholar declared it was a serpent mound in the Midwest. Some early Mormon leaders said Eden was in Jackson County, Missouri. Historians suggested the ancient site of Dilmun, an island in the Persian Gulf, or that Eden had been submerged beneath the Gulf waters. Not surprisingly, a lot of money was made off the lecture circuit by these Eden proponents.

I'd become so immersed in my reading that I barely heard the apartment door open. Bennet walked in, or rather tried to put one foot ahead of the other while keeping her toes pointed in the same direction. Tipsy from her night out. “Had a good time, did you?” I remarked. She gave me a salute while balancing her other hand on the armchair to avoid falling over, made it to the couch, and tumbled onto it. “Night,” she said, and closed her eyes. I got the eiderdown from the bedroom and tucked it over her.

The break in my concentration proved fruitful. The name I'd seen annotated in Samuel's journal—Reginald Arthur Walker— popped into my mind, and I decided to look him up on the web, expecting more wild speculation that he'd found Eden near the Nile headwaters or in the Himalayas. Not so. I should have known as much; Samuel would never entertain such baseless theories. It turned out that Walker had written a paper, “The Land of Eden,” and the brief summary I managed to find was enough to make me sit up and take notice: Walker's conclusions were ingenious. Apparently the New York Public Library had a copy. I resolved to look it up in the morning.

Twenty-One

February 19, 2005

“I
've lost a few hours out of my life. I have no
idea
what I did last night,” Bennet said as she struggled out from under the eiderdown.

“I can only hope it was legal.”

“I'll never know. Shit. My head is one tremendous crucible of pain.”

The rain continued to cascade down; Loki got soaked when I took her out. Back at the apartment I toweled her dry and fed her, then made extra-strong coffee for Bennet and poured some in a travel mug for myself. “It'll take me around five hours to get to Strauss's, and I'm stopping off at the library first. So I'm not likely to get home until late. You'll be okay with Loki?”

“No,” she mumbled, sipping the coffee and holding her head. “I might not be alive when you get back.”

I blew her a kiss and left.

I filled Dr. Cass's prescription at the local Duane Reade, but after reading all the cautionary notes, decided not to risk any dizziness before a long drive. I reached the library before it opened. By mid-morning I'd found Walker's essay, photocopied the fifty pages, and was back on the road. Rain misted the windshield but thankfully didn't slow traffic.

My Maserati had been totaled in the accident that took my brother's life. I used to love letting my car rip on country drives. Now I put on J-Kwon and pushed the Porsche up to seventy-five. It had been a while since I'd tasted the true freedom of the road. It felt good.

Heavy clouds turned the sky into a dense curtain of gray and the wind blew across the fields with a vengeance. An hour before Albany the rain hit again in earnest. Flat sheets of it whipped sideways at the cars. The pavement turned slippery, water sprayed out from wheels, and even with the wipers slapping away I could barely make out the cars in the southbound lanes. Traffic both ways slowed; it felt like driving through an endless waterfall. A red glow from the truck taillights ahead of me faded and disappeared.