Harbors

A man's find in an attic leads him on a strange adveture

 

 

Harbors

 

by

 

Jon McDonald

 

 

            Michael Sevarin’s grandmother had died and was buried without fuss a week ago.  Michael was the only contactable remaining relative.  There were a few cousins out west somewhere but they were no longer in touch with the family and he didn’t know how to reach them.  Michael at 38 and living in New York City had no choice but to go up to attend to his grandmother’s affairs.  He didn’t know - there might even be a small legacy involved.  So he took a week off from his job as a researcher at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and drove up to Corea, Maine where his grandmother had lived all of her life.  He left behind an indifferent wife and two daughters who would hardly miss him at all, so engrossed were they with their own frantic lives of school and texting.

            As Michael drove into the small town on the coast he had to refer to his map several times as it had been a long time since he had been up here and he was not sure how to find her house unaided.

            Opening up the house and walking in was strange for Michael.  He had not been up here for many years.  His parents were both deceased and without them he had tended to drift away from relatives as he became increasingly devoted to his career and his own family.  It was a late winter afternoon and the house was dark and stuffy as he walked into the living room.  He did not immediately turn on any lights but just stood in the house and listened.  There was a grandfather clock in the hallway but it was silent.  It was no longer being wound on a daily basis.  There was a wind coming off the harbor and he heard a tree branch knocking against an upstairs window. 

            The house was a modest fisherman’s bungalow - clapboard siding, two story, two bedrooms and a small front and back yard - much like the other nondescript residences on the block.  It’s only nice feature was that it was on a rise with a wide view of the bay �" lobster boats nestled in the harbor below, with the open sea stretching away outside the sheltered cove.

            Michael climbed the stairs to his grandmother’s bedroom.  He looked in and saw how drab and ordinary the room looked in the dim gray light.  There would be nothing in the house he would want to take back with him to New York.  He sighed and threw his backpack on the bed in the guest room.  He would stay here the night and contact the attorney who was handing his grandmother’s estate �" or what there was of it - in the morning.

            He treated himself to a lobster dinner at a diner near the harbor, and when he returned back to the house he found that his grandmother’s TV set was an old black and white job with rabbit ears that could barely get any signal at all.  Michael had not thought to bring a book to read, so he decided to go up to the attic, poke around up there, and see if there was anything of interest. 

            He pulled down the folding stairs from the ceiling in the hallway, turned on the attic light, and climbed up.  Michael figured it had been many years since anyone had been up here.  His finger dragged along the top of an old trunk left a very clear track in the dust.  He looked around and saw mostly cheap old furniture stacked haphazardly like scaffolding about to tumble.  He peeked out the attic window and saw that fog had crept into the harbor below.  The fog horn had begun to warn any boats that might still be returning late from a day’s lobstering. 

            His attention was drawn back to the trunk.  It was very old and when he opened it, it smelled like old newspapers and leather.  Written inside the top was - “Cpt. Jason Sevarin” �" his great-great-grandfather, he seemed to remember.  Yes, he had been a sea captain with his own ship.  But that is about all he recalled about him.  Michael rummaged through the trunk �" mostly ship’s logs, various papers, old clothing (might be worth a little something, he thought).  But there was nothing of much interest.  He sat down on floor next to the trunk, his legs resting on the steps of the attic ladder.  He was just about to leave when his eye was caught by a slight irregularity at the base of the trunk.  There were two bands of leather running vertically from the top of the trunk to the bottom, creating three equal sections.  Around the bottom, a metal band circumscribed the trunk.  But it looked as though this band was peeling away in the middle between the two leather bands.  Upon closer inspection, however, Michael could see that the band was not peeling away but was, in fact, the facing to a drawer hidden between the two leather bands.  Michael tried prying the compartment open but it would not budge.  He looked around the front of the trunk hoping to find a release of some sort that would open the drawer.  But he could not find anything that responded to his probing.  He thought a moment and then realized the latch might be inside the trunk. 

            Emptying the contents from the trunk Michael ran his hands along the interior surfaces.  He could find nothing.  He sat back and examined the trunk once again on the outside.  He turned the trunk around and examined the leather hinges.  He opened the top of the trunk all the way back as far as it would go, exposing a small area at the top of the trunk hidden by the leather hinges.  The middle hinge concealed a small lever that Michael was able to release with some effort, as it obviously had not been used in many years.  As the lever disengaged the lock he heard the drawer open at the front of the trunk.  He quickly turned the trunk around and examined the open compartment.

            The interior of the drawer was lined with a type of soft cloth that he did not recognize.  In the center was an indentation holding what appeared to be a large marble.  Michael picked it up and held it between his thumb and forefinger, examining it closely.  He was surprised by its weight and composition as it seemed to be made of solid gold.  There were no inscriptions or markings on the ball itself, and he re-examined the compartment but there were no other objects or any writing that he could determine.

            The orb was so smooth and perfectly shaped that it slipped right out of his grasp and bounced down the steps of the attic ladder.  Michael watched in some amazement as the ball bounced off each step perfectly, then when it hit the floor it rolled and banked off the hallway wall and began bouncing down each step of the main stairway.  Michael climbed down from the ladder and followed the ball as it reached the bottom of the stairs, banked off the front door, and rolled down the hall by the stairs leading to the kitchen.  Just as the ball was about to enter the kitchen it bounced off the door jam and scooted under a door that led to the basement.  Michael was just too amazed by the journey of this ball.  He could have stopped it and picked it up but it seemed to have a determination and direction of its own, so he just followed it. 

            He opened the door to the basement and turned on the light.  The gold ball was once again bouncing down each tread of the stairway to the basement.  He followed it down into the damp basement.  This was an unfinished basement with an earth floor.  After the ball reached the last step it landed on the floor and rolled around to the side of steps and rested in the middle of the floor to the right of the stairway.  There was only a single bulb lighting the whole basement, and the ball had settled in a part of the basement that was almost completely dark.  Michael leaned down to look at the ball and noticed that it was giving off a faint glow.

            He seemed to know instinctively that he was to dig there.  He picked up the ball, put it in his pocket and found a trowel on a work bench.  He began digging and was only about a foot down when the trowel struck something solid.  He brushed the dirt away with his hands and saw that he had uncovered a metal box about 8 by12 by 4 inches.  He dug around it and lifted it out of the hole carefully.  He went over to the work bench where there was an additional overhead lamp.  He turned that on and examined the box.  He brushed all the dirt away and picked the box up and looked at it carefully under the lamp.  He had never seen anything quite like it before.  Being a researcher at the Metropolitan Museum he had examined many artifacts from many different ages and civilizations, but did not recognize what this might be.  The box had no markings, no seams, no hinges and no latches.  It was completely smooth and without any visible openings.  He held the box up towards the light and turned it in his hands examining each surface.  He could not tell which side was the top.  He shook the box but heard nothing. 

            When he turned the box over again, what had been the underside revealed a small change.  Right in the middle of the box there was now a round indentation.  He didn’t know whether he had missed it before or if it had just now appeared.  He looked closely at it and it struck him that the indentation exactly matched the shape of the gold ball.   He quickly retrieved the ball from his pocket and placed it in the indentation.  It fit perfectly.  But nothing happened.  He set the box down on the bench with the ball in the indentation on top and backed away.  But still nothing happened. Then it struck him to turn the box over, resting the ball on the bench with the box on top.  He stood back again, and to his amazement the box was perfectly balanced on top of the ball.  No edge touched the bench, and as he watched, the box began to emit its own light, just as the gold ball had done.  Then, without any sound, seams began to appear at the top of the box.  Fine lines appeared along the four edges, and the lid detached itself from the base, resting loosely just above the box. 

            Michael reached over and removed the lid.  Even though it was made of a sturdy metal it was as light as a piece of paper.  He put the lid aside and looked in the box.  There were several folded pieces of manuscript and a book.  He picked up the first manuscript, unfolded and examined it.  The material seemed to be between a paper and a fabric.  It was sheer, but substantial as well.  It, too, had its own glow and could be examined without an additional source of light.  It was a map.  The letters were of a language that Michael did not recognize.  He was familiar with a number of the ancient languages �" Aramaic, Sumerian, Hebrew, Akkadian �" by sight if not by full understanding.  This was nothing like anything he had ever seen before.  He put the map aside and picked up the second manuscript.  It too was in the same unrecognizable language.  He then examined the book.  This was more ordinary.  Regular pages within a leather cover.  It appeared to have aged while the other manuscripts had not.  Michael was unsure of the language but suspected that it might be the language used in the ancient city of Ugaritic just a few kilometers back from the coast in what is now Syria.  He had been working on a project from a dig at Ras Shamra and while all the writing from there had been on clay tablets, he was sure that the language in this book was the same. 

            Michael took a deep breath and stepped back from the bench.  He was definitely overwhelmed with all that had happened in the past hour.  He needed to proceed carefully, not rashly.  He gathered the manuscripts, the box and the book and went back upstairs away from the darkness and damp of the basement.

            It was already way past eleven-thirty, but he was far too excited to think about sleep.  He turned on the light over the dining table, spread out the manuscripts and sat, looking at them in wonder.  He closed his eyes for a moment.  His attention was drawn away by the fog horn from the harbor.  The harbor must still be socked in.  He rose to look out the window and that is when he saw the shadow of a figure through the glass of the front door.  His heart leapt.  He froze for a moment but then went to the door to investigate.  But when he opened the door there was no one there.  He stepped out on the porch and looked about.  The fog was thick and he could barely make out the street lights from the road below.  He concluded it must have been the shadow of a night bird or a tree. He walked back inside.

            That was when it occurred to him that his great-great-grandfather’s ship’s logs might have clues as to where this mysterious box might have come from.  He dashed up the stairs to the attic.  He carefully examined the contents of the trunk one more time to see if he had missed anything, but finding nothing more of interest, other than the logs, he took them, closed up the attic and returned to the dining room.

            He had no idea why he had came into possession of these materials, but he could not help but suspect that it was not altogether an accident.  Of course it came to him through his family, but why now and after all these years?  It seems his grandmother knew nothing about them, for she had never spoken about any of this.  Certainly he had never heard anything either from his father.  And here he was, so perfectly placed to decipher these manuscripts - his education and his employment at the museum gave him access to what he would need to make sense of this - though he doubted he would ever understand the mystery of the box itself.

            Michael finally fell asleep around three o’clock.  He awoke slumped over the captain’s logs spread around him on the table.  It was after nine in the morning and he had a ten o’clock appointment with his grandmother’s attorney.  He dashed off a quick shower and appeared just a few minutes late at the attorney’s office.

            It was after one o’clock before Michael returned.  Everything was completed regarding his grandmother’s estate.  As sole surviving relative he had inherited everything.  The attorney, as instructed by Michael, would put the house up for sale and dispose of the contents.  There was a small legacy from a bank account but no stocks or other assets.  Michael would realize a little income from the sale of the house but that was still some time off, as real estate was not selling well just now.   All that was remaining for Michael to do was go through the house one more time to see if there was anything else he wanted to take with him besides the box and the logs.

            Having satisfied himself that he was done in Maine he hurriedly left with little regret, casting a brief look back at the house he would never see again before he drove off.

*      *      *

            Michael was uncertain how much of his discoveries he wanted to reveal to his family.  The girls could care less, but his wife would certainly be curious about what had transpired up in Maine �" more about any inheritance than any books or nick knacks he might have recovered from Grandma’s.  He decided that the less said about the magic box and manuscripts the better.  His wife would be satisfied with the contents of the bank account and the prospects for the sale of the house later on down the road. And as for the museum, he really wanted to use the resources available to him there to the maximum but would be cautious as to what he would show to anyone else.  He had trusted friends there, but also knew that he would have to keep many aspects of this find to himself.  He finally decided to keep the entire find to himself. 

            He decided he would begin with the log books.  There were about twenty books, so he organized them by date and began the tedious examination of cargo lists, ports entered and exited, crew discipline, on shore expenditures and details of navigation.  Michael had just about given up hope of finding anything pertaining to the box when in the fifteenth log he came upon an entry of some interest.

            It read:  “Cape Town, Thirteenth January, 1850 - Usual cargo of wool, tobacco, ivory and sugar.  Two days in port.  Midshipman Jenkins quarreled with Bos’n and jumped ship, signing on with that rascal Townsend of the ‘Quarry’.  Had occasion to visit an old comrade on the lay-over.  Charles Radcliff, late of the ‘Victory’, has settled just north of C Town.  His own land stretches far as one can see.  Invited for the evening dinner.  During conversation after, without the ladies present, he said he had something he wanted to show me.  But before, he spun me a yarn about a group of blackies on his land that claimed to be jews �" never heard of such nonsense.  He then brought out a small chest and opened it in front of me, taking out a plain metal box.  Curious.  Said he had confiscated it from the natives when he bought the farm.  They put up quite a fuss when he tried to take it from them, but he prevailed.  Didn’t look like much to me.  Some sort of a metal box.  Didn’t seem to have a lid.  More like a metal brick, but not very heavy.  Charles said he’d seen a tall figure outside his house at night ever since he got the damn thing.  When he went outside to confront it, it always disappeared.  Didn’t want the damn box any more and asked me if I would take it with me to the U.S. and try and sell it for him.  Might bring a sum as a curio to some collector he figured.  He gave me the box and a small gold ball which he said the natives told him was a key, but he could never figure out how to use it.  I said I would try to sell it for him in New York City when we docked there in March.  Struck anchor and left harbor, the fifteenth, bound for Porto Alegre.”

            That was all Michael could find in the Captain’s journals.  There were no further mentions of the box, or how it got buried in the basement, or how the gold ball got into the secret compartment of the trunk, or why it never got sold for Charles Radcliff.

            Michael sensed that there was some important information there about the black Jews.  He remembered reading something about one of the lost tribes of Israel ending up in Africa.  He would look into that.  That might provide a clue as to the origins of the box.

            Michael was working on a project for the museum for an up coming exhibit on Caledonia �" the Latin name for Scotland.  And while it was an interesting project he anxiously awaited his lunch hour and the time after work when he could delve into his own research. 

            He had identified the tribe in South Africa mentioned in the Captain’s log as the Lembaa.  They were said to have come down from what is now Syria after the time of Abraham.  They claimed to be one of the twelve tribes of Israel - each tribe the descendant of one of Abraham’s sons.  They had spent many years in Egypt before traveling deeper into Africa after repeated persecutions.  This seemed to confirm the Captain’s account of the history of the box.  And Michael had been able to identify the language of his book as the same language as the tablets of Ugaritic from Syria. He felt that he was now on track to discovering the mystery of the box’s origin.  Now if he could only uncover the mystery of the box’s contents and the box itself. 

            Michael had spent many evenings late at work this past week.  It was now almost nine o’clock before he exited the Museum.  The employee entrance was behind the museum and led directly into Central Park.  The museum entrance was well lit but once one entered the park it was quite dark till one turned the corner of the museum and was on Fifth Avenue.  However, Michael lived on the other side of the park on the West Side.  And while few New Yorkers would venture into the park after dark, Michael always walked home as he had been sitting at his computer all day and felt he needed the exercise. 

            There was a nippy breeze this evening and Michael pulled up the collar of his coat against the cold.  As he hurried along the park path he had the distinct feeling that he was being followed.  He gave a quick glance behind him and saw a very tall figure not far behind.  He hastened his step, and calculated the distance from where he was now to Central Park West, where he would be in the light, surrounded by people and traffic.  He looked behind once again and the figure seemed even closer now, and he was now certain that he was being followed.  He broke into a jog and before long reached the street.  The green light was with him and he sprinted across the street just before the light changed.  He stopped and looked back and he could see the tall figure almost hidden by a group of trees, watching. 

            Michael was very grateful when he finally got back to the safety of his apartment and family once again.  But his comfort was not long lasting.

            “I don’t know why you’ve been so late every night this week.” Susan griped as she slammed the microwave door after throwing in Michael’s cold dinner.

            “I’ve told you many times I’m working on an exhibit.”  Michael answered nursing a red wine.

            “Well, you’ve never been this late before when you worked on other exhibits.”

            Michael didn’t respond.

            “Are you having an affair?”

            Michael shook his head in disbelief and walked away from the kitchen counter, plopped on the couch and turned on the TV.

            “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”  Susan screeched. 

            “Can we have this tirade another time?”  Michael pleaded.  “I’m exhausted.” 

            “You can get your own damn dinner then.”  Susan snarled as she drove to the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

            Michael leaned his head against the back of the sofa and stared up at the ceiling.  He wished he was having an affair.

            He had lost his appetite and turned off the TV.  He would sleep on the sofa again tonight he figured.  He walked to the window overlooking 79^th Street to close the curtains.  He looked down at the street, and in the alley between two adjacent apartment buildings across the street he saw the tall figure looking up at his window.  Michael quickly drew the curtains closed.

*      *      *

            Michael suspected there might be a connection between the tall stranger and the box, but he was not certain, and at this point he had no evidence to connect the two, except for the reference in the ship’s log to a tall figure outside the landowner’s house.  But he would not let that idea deter him from continuing his research on the contents of the box.   So he pushed forward with his investigations.  Through his research Michael had learned that there was a small group of Lembaa settled in Queens, and he had arranged for a meeting with a Rabbi Toombeki, a leader in the Lembaa community.  It was Michael’s hope that the Rabbi might be able to shed some light on the box and the documents.

            Michael arrived on time at a small two story building on Elliot Avenue, with four apartments above two shops below.  The Rabbi’s apartment was above a Polish deli.  The Rabbi let Michael in.  The Rabbi was short and dressed in African garb.  The apartment was sparely furnished with a low metal table surrounded by pillows on the floor near the windows in the living room.  The Rabbi bid Michael sit, while he had his wife prepare coffee for them. 

            “I’m very grateful that you could see me.  I appreciate you taking the time.”

            The Rabbi nodded but did not answer.  He seemed to be sizing up Michael with his penetrating eyes.

            Michael took the box and the gold ball out of a bag, he placed the box on the ball and the box lid opened as it had done for him in Maine.  He didn’t speak, but let the event speak for itself.  He lifted off the lid when it opened and took out the manuscripts and the book, laying them on the table before Rabbi Toombeki.

            “I see.”  The Rabbi finally spoke.

            “I have reason to believe this came from your people in South Africa.  My Great-great-grandfather was a sea captain and this came into his possession many years ago.  My Grandmother recently passed away and I discovered these when I was arranging her affairs.  I was hoping you could shed some light on them for me.”

            The Rabbi carefully unfolded the manuscripts and inspected the book.  He looked at them a long time without speaking.  His wife brought the coffee but the Rabbi didn’t even look up at her or respond.

            Michael finally added, “The book I believe I will be able to translate �" it appears to be in Ugaritic - but the manuscripts are a complete mystery.  I cannot determine what they are made of, and I cannot find any clues as to what the language might be.  Do you have any knowledge of these at all?”

            Rabbi Toombeki put his hand on the book.  “This book,” he began, “I know of it.  It has been in our tribe for many centuries.  It contains the following story so you will not need to translate it.  Many many millennia ago when mankind was very primitive �" not much above our simian brethren �" a group of star beings arrived on our planet to help us.  They established a colony on a peninsula that stretched out into the Mediterranean from what is now Syria.  They chose this location because it could be well defended with only a small neck of land connecting it to the mainland.

            “There they brought knowledge and even their genetic material to help uplift the struggling humans.  They taught gardening, primitive industry, sanitation, and introduced tools and plant materials. 

            “At the center of their community was a fruit bearing tree which they called the Tree of Life - that they had brought with them from their planet.  It is what fed them, and the humans were not allowed to eat the fruit of that tree, as it was to be used only by the ‘A’dams,’ as their race was called.  They flourished for many centuries and greatly uplifted the surrounding tribes.  They called their garden colony E’don - after the capital city of their home planet. 

            But after many centuries it was becoming clear that the peninsula was sinking.  There had been much seismic activity in the area and it was feared that the colony would perish in a sudden cataclysm.  The leader of the colony was named A’bram.  It was his task to lead all the local humans away from the garden and close it to further habitation.  After clearing the colony, a ship from his home planet came to remove the Tree of Life and take away the A’dams - but as they felt their work had not been completed, promised to return again one day.   But for now it was time for the humans to take the lessons and tools they had been given and spread the knowledge they had learned throughout the world.  A’bram was the last to remain.  He guarded the entrance of the garden till the cataclysms over came the colony and then he too left.” 

            The Rabbi finished his narration and pointed to the book.  “E’don was completely submerged and all traces of the colony were destroyed - except for the narration of this book which we were able to preserve.  We believe that one day A’bram will return and will bring with him the Tree of Life again.  It is believed that he will found a new garden of E’don and the A’dams will once again bring enlightenment and peace to our lost and troubled world, finishing the task they began but were unable to complete.”

            Michael was overwhelmed with the enormity of what he had just heard and couldn’t immediately speak.

            “And I believe that you are the key.”  The Rabbi finally said quite softly.

            “What?” Michael responded.

            “Why do you think this material came to you now?”  The Rabbi asked.

            “Circumstance.  My Grandmother died and I found it.  Being a researcher and a scholar I naturally wanted to find out what I could about it.”

            The Rabbi shook his head.  “No, no.  I know you don’t believe that.  There is much more to it.  Now I have to ask you.  You have knowledge, but do you also have wisdom?  Are you intuitive? You must look inside and see why this has come to you.  Even though this box and these writings may come from my people, it is for you that they were intended.  And it is for you to pursue this mystery to its final conclusion.”

            The Rabbi picked up a pen and wrote on a piece of paper - E’don - followed by a series of Egyptian hieroglyphs.  He handed the paper to Michael.

            “This will help you in your further research.”

            Michael examined the paper.  “Are these Egyptian hieroglyphs?”

            “They are.”  The Rabbi answered.  “Our people were long in Egypt before they migrated further south.”  He paused, folded the manuscripts and packed them and the book back in the box, handing it to Michael when he was finished.

            “That is all I can help you with today.  I am greatly honored to meet you and I thank you for allowing me to see these great artifacts.”

            “Are these not something you want returned to your people?  I will gladly give them back to you when I finish my research.”

            The Rabbi shook his head.  “No, we were only the caretakers.  They are in the right hands now.”  He rose from his seated position and took Michael’s hand to help him rise from the pillows.

            “It will not be an easy journey.”  He bowed his head.  “Blessings on you.”

            When Michael left the Rabbi’s apartment it was already dark.  He hurried to the subway and glancing back was certain he was once again being followed. 

*      *      *

            Michael’s troubles continued at home.  He was sleeping every night on the sofa now.  Susan was barely speaking to him.  Their problems went long and deep - going back several years.  Susan worked as a pro bono attorney and seemed unable to separate herself from the tribulations of her clients.  Michael felt bad for her and on several occasions tried to talk to her about his perception that she brought her work home with her and into their lives.  In turn she blamed him for his obsession with work, his late nights and his seeming lack of concern for her and their daughters.  He rarely took the girls to the park, to the movies or appeared at their school events.  It was clear they had grown apart and harbored resentments towards each other that could no longer be bridged.

            This gave Michael every excuse to delve even further into his research.  Michael had taken the Rabbi’s hieroglyphs and run an initial search to decipher them, but had not come up with anything yet.  It was another one of his late nights.  He had a high clearance and was free to roam the museum unattended, even at night.  He was passing by the Egyptian Temple of Dendur on his way back to his desk after getting some tea.   The room where the temple was housed was faced by a wall of glass that looked out at the back of the museum facing Central Park.  There were no lights on in the temple room and Michael could see clearly through the window into the park.  When he was about half way through crossing the room, he glanced outside and again saw the tall figure.  The figure was standing very close to the window and pointing.  Michael froze.  A laser-like light was coming from the figure’s hand and Michael followed this light to where it was focused and lighting up a stele at the back of the room.  Michael walked over and examined the illuminated hieroglyphs.  They were the exact same hieroglyphs that the Rabbi had given him and were part of a longer text.  Michael looked quickly back to the figure, but it was already gone.  Michael ran to the window and looked around to see if he might see the figure retreating, but could not see it anywhere. 

            Michael hurried back to his office and took out the catalogue on the Temple of Dendur and found the translation of the text on the stele.  Most of it was in praise of the great ruler Hutmet of the lower Nile - about how many oxen, sheep, granaries and vassals he controlled.  But there was one section that leapt out at him.  It read �" ‘Hutmet from the treasured line of A’dam �" rulers and dearly trusted seraphim of new A’den that will one day be again.’  Then there was more about household servants, number of wives, horses and children and houses in numbers of endless value.  And so on and so on. 

            A footnote to this entry in the catalogue said that one of the glyphs on the stele was somewhat ambiguous, and that the word ‘seraphim’ might actually be ‘sefarin,’ referring to the line of rulers that was ancestor to Hutmet. 

            Michael was stunned.  ‘Sefarin’ was identical to his name but for the letter F that is often interchangeable with the letter V �" the spelling of his name.  All of a sudden things were beginning to pull together and make some sense to Michael.  Could it be that he was a descendant of an ancient royal line, somehow connected to this ancient civilization of E’don?  It would explain why the box had come to him through his family.  And the Rabbi’s comments were now more comprehensible.  Now, he really wanted to talk to the tall figure.  He was certain that the figure was out to guide him, not to hurt him, and perhaps he would be the key to understanding of all of this.

*      *      *

            Michael was in a meeting with colleagues, working on the catalogue for the Caledonia show when he was called away for an important phone call.  He excused himself and took the call.  It was his Grandmother’s attorney in Maine.

            “Great news.” The attorney greeted Michael.

            “Tell me.”

            “We have a cash offer on the house.  Never expected it would sell so quickly.  Just five thousand under the asking price.  Pretty good in his market.  You interested in accepting it?”

            Michael thought for a moment.  He had been concerned for some time about his daughters’ higher education, and with the marriage dissolving quickly around him, had been thinking how he might provide for them.

            “Absolutely.”  Michael responded.  “When will it close?”

            “It’s a cash deal so just need to arrange the paperwork and the inspections.  Two, maybe three weeks.”

            “Go for it.”

            “I’ll call you if there are any complications.  Will need to FedEx the papers for your signature.”

            “Sure.  And I’m going to send you an account number where I want you deposit the money when the deal closes.  It’s for my girl’s education.”

            The museum had an education program for employees.  They would match a portion of the employee’s contribution to the fund.  Michael had been putting money aside from his paycheck for some time now, and he would put the proceeds from the sale of the house there for his daughters.  He didn’t know how much longer he would be around or where his adventures would take him next.  Michael was beginning to suspect that the map in his possession was in fact a map for the new E’don, not a map of the old E’don. 

*      *      *

            “Please close the door, Michael.  Sit.” 

            Michael closed the door to Mr. Fugatti’s office and sat in the chair opposite his imposing desk.  Mr. Fugatti was back-lit by a large window overlooking the park and the late afternoon sun was streaming in at such an angle that it was difficult for Michael to see his boss’s face.  Michael squirmed in his chair as Mr. Fugatti was not yet speaking.

            “Is there a problem?”  Michael finally asked.

            “Michael, I have to ask, because there have been reports.  Are you sleeping here at the museum?’

            “A few times.  Working late, you know.”

             “Yes, and what is it you’re working on these days?”

            “The Caledonia project.”

            “Oh yes, and how’s that going?  We’re still a month out on that, aren’t we?”

            “Yes, the 27^th.”

            “So help me out here.  We’ve still got a month.  I know the exhibition is well on track.  Then why are you sleeping over?  Certainly, the project can be completed during regular working hours, no?”

            Now Michael was becoming uncomfortable.  “Well sir, I have a little side project I’m doing some research on.  Tend to loose track of time, I’m afraid.  Sorry ’bout that.”

            “Are there problems at home?”  Mr. Fugatti was trying to be sympathetic and sensitive to any other considerations Michael might have.

            Michael nodded, but didn’t immediately speak up.

            “I’ve looked at the record of your employee card scans �" coming and going each day.  You’ve been staying late very many nights, Michael.  It goes way beyond just a few late nights.  What is this ‘side project’?  Is it a museum program?”

            “No sir.”

            Mr. Fugatti sat looking at Michael and mulling over what he wanted to do.

            “Can you tell me what it is?”

            “Just some family research.  My Grandmother passed recently, as you know, and I found some documents.  Been following up with some research on those.”

            “I see.  Michael, how long has it been since you took some time off here?”

            “Couple of years, I guess.”

            Mr. Fugatti leaned forward and examined Michael’s personnel record.  “Three and a half since you last took some vacation time.” 

            Michael forced a chuckle.  “That long, huh?”

            “Ye-e-e-s-s-s.  Michael, I think it’s time for a little separation, don’t you?  You’ve become somewhat obsessive lately.  Time for some perspective.  I want you to take a couple of weeks.  There’s nothing so pressing that we can’t handle it here by ourselves.”  He leaned forward and examined Michael’s file once again.  “You’ve accumulated a lot of vacation time.  Let’s say you take a month. Huh?”

            Michael was flustered.  He was unsure about this.  He needed the resources of the museum for his research.  And he was unsure how he could spend an entire month at home with Susan always on the rampage.  “Is my job in jeopardy, sir?”  Michael asked with some hesitation.

            “Not at the moment.  But I think we’ll need to have a review in a month or so after your vacation.  Go on, take off.  Might as well start your leave right now.  Have some fun.  Go some place nice with your family.  Will do you good.”  Mr. Fugatti waved his hand and dismissed Michael.  The interview was over.

*      *      *

            Michael sat on a park bench behind the museum.  He had his box with him, which he carried everywhere with him now.  He would not let it out of his sight.  He looked around hoping to see the tall stranger.  He really wanted to talk to him.  But the stranger was no where to be seen.  Michael couldn’t face going home just yet.  And he was numb.  He was overwhelmed by all that had been happening and the implications of what he had learned about his family.  He needed to ground and get some perspective.  He decided he would go visit the Rabbi again.  Now that he had more information perhaps the Rabbi could help him further.

            It was about three o’clock in the afternoon by the time Michael descended from the subway steps in Queens.  He walked directly to the Rabbi’s apartment.  He had not called ahead.  At the entrance to the apartment building Michael studied the buzzers.  He could not find the Rabbi’s name.  There were only four apartments over the two shops.  Michael distinctly remembered it was the first button, but the name on the buzzer was ‘Malinski.’  What had happened to Toombeki?  Michael rang the buzzer.  A woman answered.

            “I’m looking for Rabbi Toombecki.  Does he live there?”  Michael said into the squawking speaker.

            The woman only spoke a language that Michael did not understand but assumed was Polish.  She shouted from the speaker.  “No, no Rabbi.  Not Rabbi here.”

            Michael was greatly puzzled.  He stepped away from the building, crossed the street, looking up at the Rabbi’s windows.  He remembered there had been a plant in the window but it was no longer there, and the curtains were different.  A woman was looking out the window down at him.  She was in her 60’s, nothing like the Rabbi’s wife.  She wagged her finger back and forth, indicating that this was not the right place.

            Michael walked over to the deli below the apartment. 

            “Are you the owner?”  Michael asked a heavy-set bald man at the counter.

            “I am.”

            “I’m looking for Rabbi Toombeki.  I was upstairs at his apartment just a few days ago.  Do you know where he might have gone?”

            The man had a puzzled expression.  “No, no.  You have it wrong.  That’s my apartment.  I’ve lived here sixty five years.  It was my parent’s apartment before that.  You sure you have the right building?”

            Michael backed away.  “I’m sorry, sorry.  Guess I have it wrong then.”  He dashed out of the shop and raced towards the subway.

*      *      *

            “Sir, sir, can I help you?”  The doorman at his apartment building called out to him as he headed towards the elevators.  Michael stopped and turned back.

            “Brian, it’s me, Michael Sevarin.”

            “Sir, I have to announce you.  What apartment do you want?”  The doorman walked up to Michael.

            Michael raised his hands in disbelief.  “Ten D.  Sevarin.  I’m Michael.”

            The doorman shook his head.  “Ten D is the Stephanson’s.  I’m sorry, I have to announce you or ask you to leave.”

            Michael could not believe what he was hearing.  “Brian.  You are Brian, right.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “My wife’s Susan.  My daughters - Chloe - Rachel…  Come on, what’s going on here?”

            “I don’t know who you are, but there are no Sevarins in this building.  No Susan; no Chloe; no Rachel.   Come along now.  You must have the wrong apartment building.”

            Just then the elevator was opening and a couple got out.  Michael made a dash for the elevator.  Brian was obstructed by the couple leaving, and Michael closed the elevator doors and pushed the button for the 10^th floor.

            Once at his door he took out his key putting it in the lock, but it did not open the door.  What?  He banged on the door.  A little girl opened the door. 

            “Who are you?”  She asked.

            “I live here.”  Michael was terrified now.  “Can I come in?  Is your mother home?”

            The little girl was frightened.  She called out - “Mommy.”  And slammed the door shut, locking it.

            Michael banged on the door again.  This time it was opened by woman in her early thirties.  “What is this?  What’s going on here?  Who are you?”  She had the door on a chain lock.

            “I’m sorry.  This is my apartment.  I’ve been living here five years now.  My wife is Susan.  Can I come inside.  I need to talk to you and find out what’s going on.”

            The woman slammed the door shut and locked it.  The elevator doors opened and Brian was there with a police officer.  Michael dashed in the opposite direction down the hall to the building stairwell.  He dashed through the door and flung himself down the steps three at a time.  He was far enough ahead that he reached the street and took off towards the park before the officer emerged from the building.

            Tears were running down Michael’s eyes as he sprinted across Central Park West and into the park clutching his bag with the box.  It was getting dark and he dove deeper into the park and sought shelter under a little used pedestrian bridge.  He sat on the ground, folded his arms over his knees and buried his head in his arms.  At this point he was beyond tears, or feelings, or even sensory awareness.  He drifted off into a deep state of unconsciousness.

*      *      *

            Michael felt a warm breeze caress his cheek.  He opened his eyes and blinked.  He was still seated but he was no longer leaning up against the pedestrian bridge, but was up against a tree.  It was also bright, and warm.  Michael was no longer hugging his bag with the box.  He stood up and looked around him.  He was on a ridge above a wide lush valley with mountains on both sides.  The valley had a river running through it down towards the sea where there was a small bay with a harbor with several fishing boats and a small village, perhaps ten or fifteen miles away.  Even though he knew he had fallen asleep in Central Park it did not seem at all strange that he should be here now. 

            Michael scrambled down the hill and set out through a meadow towards the river.  He thought he would follow it towards the village.  He was surprised that the valley was uninhabited, except for the village at the bay.  There were no plowed fields; no roads; no domestic animals.  It looked like a valley lost in time.  There was no way to identify where he was; no signs; no cars; no architecture to give him clues as to where he might be. 

            He finally reached the river.  It was gentle and free flowing.  The banks were lush with grasses and wild flowers and he could see schools of fish racing in the clear water.  There were many brightly colored birds that seemed to have no fear of him.  They looked up from the grasses or down from the branches of trees within easy arms length, completely unbothered by Michael’s presence.

            Michael was suddenly hungry and just as he realized that he passed by a grove of fruit trees laden with fruit, ripe for picking.  He picked a peach and a few plums and walked over to the river and sat down on a grassy bank. 

            After he had eaten, and even though he no longer had his box, he found the map and the manuscript spread out before him.  He picked up the map, and to his amazement, as he looked at it, he could now read and understand it.  The words were on his tongue, the comprehension was in his eyes �" they were now totally lucid.  The writing seemed to leap off the page, hover in front of his eyes, and be absorbed by his brain without even needing to actually read the words.  He had total, instant comprehension of the map and the manuscript.  The map was indeed, as he had suspected, the map for the new E’don.   And was, in fact, a map of this very valley.  The manuscript was the promise and the blueprint for this new colony. 

            Michael stood up, overcome with emotion, as he comprehended where this was and what his role might be in the establishment of this new E’don. 

            “Michael.” A voice spoke softly behind him.

            Michael swung around, and there in the trees by the bank of the river was the tall figure.  He was at least seven feet tall.  His long back hair fell down to his shoulders.  He had violet eyes and a faint lavender tinge to his skin.  He stepped forward and held out both of his hands.

            “I am A’bram.”  He took Michael’s hands.  An energy surged through Michael at the touch.  “Welcome home.”

            “Home?” Michael stammered, still adjusting to his new circumstances.

            “Oh yes, your line was seeded for this moment.  We had to leave, but knew we would return one day to continue our very important work in uplifting this planet.  Your ancestor of the Sefarin line volunteered to remain and seed the consciousness of future generations to accept, participate and await our return. 

            “Where are we?”

            “Your new home.”

            “But what country?”

            “Turkey, the Kubak Valley �" a stargate.  It has long been sheltered and untouched, just waiting our return.”

            “I don’t think I’m going to like what happens to me next, will I?”

            A’bram nodded.  “Sometimes our destinies are not always easy, but remember nothing is ever lost �" just transformed.”

            Michael was coming now from his new knowing.  “When will it happen?”

            “Soon.  It must happen for the rest to unfold.  And it is to be my transformation as well.  We shall share this together.  It will be how we ground the stellar energy - how we enliven the land.”

            “Do I have a choice?”
            “Of course, there is always a choice.  But I believe you will make the right one.”

            They walked along the river in silence for some time.

            “Will my family be safe?”  Michael finally asked.

            A’bram nodded.

            “Then I am ready.”

            With a rush, flocks of birds swept up into the sky from the surrounding trees and circled above A’bram’s and Michael’s heads.  From across the open meadows a circle of horses drove inwards towards the two.  They did not move is a straight line but created a circle that tightened in spirals.  The noon sun began conjuncting with the moon as it sliced into the face of the sun, creating increasing darkness.  Close in around the two a circle of what Michael knew to be the “Ancestors” began to materialize.  As the sun became completely covered by the moon, a ship appeared and began to slowly descend.

            “Now.” A’bram whispered into Michael’s ear.  Where upon he took Michael solidly into his arms.  The two began to glow, then vibrate at a frequency that created light.  And finally, with no sound, the light intensified till it seemed to burn out in a flash, and the two were no more. 

            High above where they had been, a golden tree descended from the space craft and settled into the ground where Michael and A’bram had disappeared.  It immediately rooted and became surrounded by the Ancestors. 

            By now the eclipse had passed.  The horses and birds dispersed and the space craft landed, followed by a dozen other crafts setting down gently into the surrounding fields.

            The new E’don was about to begin.

*      *      *

            Buried on page 13 of the New York Daily News was a small article.  It read:  “Captain Donaldson of the NYPD reports that a man in his late thirties or early forties was found unconscious in Central Park early Tuesday morning.  The man had no identification.  He was taken to Bellevue Hospital for observation but is currently in a vegetative coma.  The cause of the condition is undetermined.  There are no clues as to the identity of the individual.  He has dark receding hair; is just under six feet tall, about 185 lbs., and has a scar between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.  If any one has any information regarding this man, or if a man of that description is missing, please contact your local police precinct.”

*      *      *

            Sgt. Kincaid walked over to Capt. Donaldson’s desk.

            “Get anything on that John Doe from the park?”

            Donaldson shook his head.  “Nah, Somebody musta picked his pockets clean before we found him.  All we have is this.”  Donaldson indicated a metal 8 by 12 box sitting on the corner of his desk.  “He was clutching it so tight we had to pry it from his hands.  Poor, shmuck.”

            “What is it?” Kincaid asked, picking up the box and examining it.

            “Hell if I know.”

            Kincaid weighed it in his hands and shook it.  “Very light huh?  How do ya get in the damn thing?”

            “I da know.”

            “Shall I put it with his personal effects?  I’m going down to booking.”  Kincaid asked.

            Donaldson looked up.  “No need, he’s a gonner.  He’s never coming back.  Just toss it.”

            “Whatever.”  Kincaid tossed the box into a large trash can by the office door as he was about to leave for lunch.  “Want anything from the deli?”