6 months later. New York. East Village. Cafe Mogador
Mina played nervously with her cigarette. She felt restless, sitting on the terrace of Cafe Mogador, her favourite hang-out. She fidgeted with her soft pack of Camel filters, not like an addict, but more like an actor in need of a prop. She’d been suffering from anxiety for months, and her state of mind had hardly improved. Whenever someone alluded to or spoke about the tsunami her head would start spinning. Sometimes, all it took were a few simple words, ‘sea’, ‘wave’ or ‘blue sky’ and she’d start to feel queasy. The only person with whom she’d even tried to talk about the tsunami was her counsellor. But every time she was about to speak, she froze up. She’d bottled it all up inside her, and thought about the tsunami like something that had happened, but not really to her. Even worse, as far as her parents were concerned, she’d been to visit Jack’s family in West Virginia for Christmas. She didn’t know how to begin to explain that she was in Thailand on December 26th and was, in fact a tsunami survivor. Not being able to talk about her experience made it impossible for her to deal with the existential questions that had haunted her ever since that day.
When she finally made it back to the US, she had stayed a few weeks with her parents in the East Village, before finding a cosy apartment in the Upper West Side, closer to campus. During those first weeks at home, they’d gently tried asking Mina why she had cut short her holidays with her new boyfriend. She had not said a word, even when they had asked her directly about Mosul. She preferred to let them think that she’d kept silent about her last month in Iraq because things hadn’t worked out with Jack. She had also written a letter along those lines to Professor Almeini, thanking him for the opportunity he’d offered her at the Department of Cuneiform Studies, and for his constant support. She knew that he would guess there was more to her sudden flight than this boyfriend story, but she also knew he wouldn’t pry. On the positive side, she had made up with Nigel, her doctoral supervisor, and she was back on track, working harder than ever on her dissertation. She had also managed, with Nigel’s help, to secure a three-year grant for Hassan to pursue his studies in New York. She had delivered on what she had promised. After that, Hassan could make anything he chose to of his life. She wasn’t too worried about him; he would always land on his feet. Hassan’s personality would always lead him to success. He was clever, wouldn’t let anyone tread on his toes, and yet his heart was in the right place. She took a sip of mint tea and lit another cigarette. She inhaled the smoke and then watched its blue-grey plume rise swiftly, and vanish into the air. Her arms dropped limply by her side. The sky was deep blue and peaceful, just as on that fateful day. She sighed deeply, and her thoughts drifted away to forgotten places. Eventually her gaze hardened as it returned to the table, the street and the people around her. None of the people who walked by her table could possibly imagine what she’d been through. How could they picture the indomitable power of nature destroying all humans, regardless of race, age or culture; indiscriminately tearing their constructions and beliefs to shreds?
She had survived, and like many survivors felt guilty about the very fact of having survived. She couldn’t stop thinking of all those who hadn’t made it. But something else tormented her. The more she tried to avoid thinking about it, the more it made her mind reel. The naked truth was that she had had prior knowledge of the event. So had Jack, Daniel and Joshua. It was predicted in the 13th tablet. Of course, none of them knew that a tsunami would actually happen for a fact, nor what shape the disaster would take, but they had held the strong belief that something terrible would happen and knew precisely when it would strike. Could they have done more? Had they still possessed both tablets intact, or even Benjamin of Tudela’s letter, maybe they’d have stood a better fighting chance. But Shobai and his men had made sure that their vision of what they believed was God’s plan would run its course smoothly, unhindered by humans. But was it God’s plan? This was no Deluge. It was a flood, a horrendous one, certainly, but nothing as awesome as Noah’s Flood which had destroyed all of humanity. As the rabbis had correctly concluded in Safed, so long ago, whatever God’s plan was, it was beyond human reach. Nature proceeds for better or for worse, but it is up to mankind to do everything in its power to save and perpetuate life on earth. She would never know if Oberon had lied about there being other tablets around the world, as he had disappeared that day in Phuket with all his men. Was Shobai aware of these other tablets? Was he still tracking her whereabouts? These were the questions that had been tormenting Mina almost daily since she’d returned to New York.
She was suddenly brought out of her reverie by a light tap on her shoulder and a familiar voice from the past. She couldn’t quite put her finger on who it belonged to and yet she did recognise it.
‘Hi Mina,’ the voice said quietly again, ‘your parents told me I’d find you here.’
Mina was afraid to turn around. She was frozen to her chair. A few seconds passed before she could summon up her courage. She slowly turned round, raised her eyes and saw her dear friend Liat. Mina had tried contacting her many times since she’d returned from Thailand, but Liat had made it clear she needed time and space, while she recovered from her wounds. Mina thought Liat would never want to speak to her again. She’d suffered greatly at the hands of Oberon’s henchmen in their attempt to make her reveal anything she knew about Mina’s tablet. Another wave of guilt swept over Mina.
As Mina looked at her friend, the fine-tuned speeches she’d prepared in the unlikely case she’d meet her again, all the words of explanation and justification vanished. Tears began to stream down her face. Liat’s face still carried the thin scars of her ordeal. They didn’t make her less attractive. On the contrary, they made her look wiser.
‘Liat, I’m so, so sorry,’ whispered Mina, her gaze dropping to the floor.
Liat stroked her hand, trying to soothe her sobbing friend. Slowly lifted Mina’s chin with her hand and looked into her eyes.
‘It’s over, Mina,’ said Liat softly, by this time also weeping profusely, ‘I forgive you, but this time I want the whole story,’ adding ‘and a cigarette!’
Mina burst out laughing amid her tears. She stood up clumsily and gave Liat a long hug.
‘I can’t believe you’ve taken up smoking!’ said Liat, ‘Miss my-body’s-my-temple!’ she grinned and snitched a cigarette from Mina’s packet.
They sat down and Mina ordered two drinks. Liat watched her friend smile. It was odd, as if all the smiles that had been locked away had been bundled together. She wasn’t far wrong. Mina beamed, unbelievably happy to be reunited with her friend. She also smiled because she knew that this time she could take Liat on a shopping spree in New York — Oberon’s grant money was still being credited to her account every quarter. And last, but certainly not least, Mina smiled because she’d finally be able to properly introduce Liat to Jack that evening.
About the Author
Alex Mitchell (Dr. Alexandre G. Mitchell) is an Honorary Associated Researcher at the Institute of Archaeology, Oxford University, where he did his D.Phil in Classical Archaeology.
He specialises in ancient Greek material culture. He is fascinated by what made people laugh in the ancient world, especially what it reveals about politics and society. His first book Greek Vase Painting and the Origins of Visual Humour (2009) was published by Cambridge University Press. His current research focuses on the reception of classical myths, statesmen and art in editorial cartoons from the turn of the 20th century to the present day.
As a fiction writer, Alex enjoys sharing his take on history and myth, weaving it into the plot of a fast-paced thriller. His first novel,
Find more about The 13th Tablet at www.alexmitchellauthor.com
