When Myriam saw her son coming down the steps from the plane at Heathrow, a little after midnight, thin, rumpled, with a knapsack on his back, it was as if she’d given birth to him a second time. Her tears flowed uncontrollably as little Ben embraced her, crying and smiling, too, like a newborn. His father also hugged him tightly, feeling as if he’d recovered a part of himself he thought he’d lost forever. The entire nightmare had vanished with his son’s smile and the opportunity to touch, embrace, and caress. Everything was good.
‘You can never go out again without my permission, son,’ Myriam said with a voice still heavy with emotion.
‘I need a vacation, Dad,’ Ben said with a smile.
‘Of course, Ben. I’ll take care of everything.’
They got into the backseat of the car. Myriam gave both of them an unhappy look. ‘You’re going to delegate authority, Ben. All three of us are going on vacation, as a family.’
‘Please, not another cruise,’ Ben Isaac objected.
‘We will not be taking another cruise. I promise.’
‘Take us home, Joseph,’ Ben Isaac told the driver.
Having his son safe and sound was worth any price, all the money he had… any parchment.
They looked at the London streets as if seeing them for the first time. The long lines of traffic didn’t matter, nor did taking more than an hour to get home. The lights in the dark streets were comforting. The most important thing was that they were all together. They were a family again, or for the first time.
Myriam wanted everything to last forever. Her husband, her son, together, united, the Isaacs.
‘I’m going to call Dr. Forster to see if you’re all right,’ Myriam advised when they arrived at the house.
‘That’s not necessary, Mother. I’m fine.’
‘Your mother’s right. We want to make sure,’ Ben Isaac admonished him. ‘Do you want me to call a psychologist?’
The experience could have been traumatizing.
‘Not for now,’ the young man declined. ‘Let’s see how things go and decide later, okay?’
He couldn’t lie to himself. It hadn’t been a walk in the park. He’d been tortured, and had seen an innocent person killed in front of him. That couldn’t be erased, wiped from his memory like a computer hard drive.
‘That seems sensible to me,’ his father agreed. ‘What about you, Myr?’
His mother held his face in her hands and looked at him directly. ‘Don’t hold things in. That does no one any good. If you need help, we’re here.’
Little Ben didn’t say yes or no. The car parked at the door of the large house inside the Isaac property.
‘I’m going to take a long shower and go to bed,’ the young man declared as soon as he got out of the car. Coming home was a wonderful feeling.
‘That sounds like an excellent idea,’ his father said jovially.
‘Ah!’ Little Ben remembered something, opening his pack and taking out a package for his father.
‘What’s this?’ The older man asked curiously.
‘Your friend sent you this. He said you should guard it in the vault, and it couldn’t be in better hands.’
Ben Isaac had no idea what his son was talking about.
‘You’ve never mentioned him,’ little Ben observed.
‘Who?’ his father asked.
‘JC.’
‘Let’s go, darling,’ Myriam called, hugging her son. ‘Go take your shower and rest.’
She walked her son to the door and stopped to look at Ben Isaac.
‘Are you coming?’
‘In a minute,’ he replied.
He walked to the vault with the package in his hand. It should contain a large bound book inside.
He descended the twenty steps and walked to the solid door. He was nervous. Who was this JC, whom both his son and Sarah mentioned?
He entered the code to open the door: KHRISTOS.
He placed his eyes in front of the screen and a blue light read his retina. Entry authorized.
He entered a cold chamber as soon as the heavy door opened. He didn’t have the courage to look at the showcases. He felt sad about not being able to look at the written words of the parchments again.
He turned in front of the door to unwrap the package his son had given him. Inside was a book protected by a plastic bag with a hermetic seal. There was a Post-it attached. He read the message.
Nothing has changed, except only you and I know, and I’ve already forgotten.
He opened the seal and took the book out very carefully. He was completely perplexed. Nothing has changed?
The cover revealed nothing, but the first page said it all.
The History of Jesus, the Nazarite.
The entire text was written in Hebrew.
Tears ran down his face. The experience sent waves of anxiety through him.
He turned some of the pages, yellowed with time, of the ancient transcription. The story of Jesus according to Mathew, John, Simon Kepha, Judas Tome, Phillip, Bar Talmay, Myriam. It was all there, a testimony from those days.
He would guard it in one of the showcases, since there was room now. He went over and looked at the displays, astonished. There, immune to the passage of time, were the Gospel of Jesus and the inscription placing Jesus in Rome in A.D. 45. How could that be? Only one of the showcases was empty, the one containing the Status Quo agreements of 1960 and 1985.
He read the Post-it over again and smiled incredulously. Nothing has changed, except only you and I know, and I’ve already forgotten.
Who was this new unknown friend, known by two letters that could mean nothing? He glanced at the inscription and the Gospel of Jesus again and locked the new item very carefully in the empty showcase.
He returned to the heavy door and looked at the three showcases. He took a deep breath and turned his back. The world always sets things right.
70
God had expressed Himself, but for the first time he hadn’t understood Him. Since he first found Him in the Holy Scriptures that had turned him into His most faithful servant. He had sent him Aloysius, who had guided him through the meanderings of the Word and the Mystery, teaching him the true meaning of all the passages of the Bible.
Tonight God had sent him a message he couldn’t decipher. The pain in his shoulders made him almost lose consciousness. He was laid out on the backseat of the car Aloysius was driving.
‘I should take you to the hospital, Nicolas,’ his worried tutor advised.
‘No, Professor. I’ll deal with this at home,’ he said, in pain.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
Aloysius, or Schmidt, or the Austrian iceman, was devastated by what had happened. Everything overthrown by a stranger, a legend.
He had no doubt he had started a war with the church and if things were bad now, they would only get worse.
She was already in bed when they arrived. She was awakened by loud knocking on the door. She hurried to open it, and saw an unknown man walk in behind Nicolas, who was wounded.
‘My God!’ she stammered, frightened.
Nicolas lay down on the floor, full of pain. ‘You don’t need to stay, Aloysius. She’ll take care of me. Get some rest.’
Aloysius looked hesitant, then said to him, ‘If you need anything, call me. Do you hear?’
‘Of course,’ Nicolas agreed.
