THIRTY-SEVEN
Park Place
2660 Peachtree Road
Atlanta, Georgia
That Evening
A glass of single-malt Scotch in hand and clad in a sport shirt rather than a clerical collar, Father Francis Narumba stood on Lang's balcony, gazing south across the city. ' Deorum cibus est, Lang. Best meal I've had since…'
He intentionally left the sentence unfinished. 'Since Gurt left?' Lang was wiping his hands on a dish towel. Amantes sunt amentesP
'Lovers may be lunatics. I obviously wouldn't know. But anytime you want to talk about it…'
Lang shook his head as he joined his friend in viewing the panorama. 'Don't spoil a good meal.'
'It was that. How'd you improve your culinary skills so quickly?'
Lang reached behind him, producing a highly varnished wooden box. 'Easy. Instead of cooking, I pick up a couple of prepared dinners at Whole Foods or eatZi's.'
He was referring to two of the neighborhood's more upscale groceries/delicatessens, where shoppers listened to opera as they selected applewood-smoked bacon and Jarlsberg quiches at $12.50 a slice.
Lang opened the box, revealing a row of cigars. 'Would you like to finish off dinner with a Cubano, a Montecristo number two?'
The priest made a selection and held it out while Lang clipped and lit it before his own.
'It's a good thing we do this only every month or so,' Francis commented between puffs. 'I wouldn't want to declare myself a smoker the next time I filled out an insurance application.'
'You mean the Church doesn't provide health insurance?'
'Even the Church can't afford catastrophic health problems. It buys insurance for its employees like any other business.'
'I guess relying on prayer and the laying on of hands is a little risky.'
'Mus non uni fidit antro, or, in the vernacular, a wise person always has a backup plan.'
The two men enjoyed the aroma of fine tobacco for a moment before Francis asked, 'I suppose you got these illegally.'
'A mere peccadillo against an unreasonable government.'
'Facinus quos inquinat aequat.'
'Okay, so I'm a criminal no matter how slight the offense. I suppose you don't want to further enjoy the fruits of unlawful activity.'
Francis contemplated the tip of his cigar, a red period on the night's page. 'I didn't say that. Besides, I can always confess my sinful complicity, a measure unavailable to the apostate.'
Lang watched the smoke drift in the breezeless evening for a moment. 'Now that I've furnished food, drink, and a fine smoke…'
'The necessities of life.'
'Whatever. I've got something I'd like you to look over.'
Francis gave a theatrical groan. 'By now I should expect quid pro quo, particularly from a lawyer and a heretic.'
Stepping across the room, Lang moved the telephone to a place in front of one of the speakers for the CD player, selected a disk, and turned up the volume. Hope they enjoy Vivaldi, he thought to himself.
'Hey' he said to Francis, 'you're the one learned in church history. Presumably that includes the Old Testament.'
Francis looked from Lang to the CD player and back again. He had long ago conceded he would never understand some of the weird things his friend did-like turning the sound up instead of down before beginning a conversation.
'Even a heretic can learn,' Francis said good-naturedly, reaching for the papers.
Inside, Lang fussed with the dishes while Francis read the translation of what Lang had come to call the Hebrew parchments.
When Francis stood to refill his glass, Lang asked, 'Well?'
The priest measured his drink with the care of one fully aware of just how much liquor he could safely hold. 'You never cease to amaze me. For a heathen you unearth some of the most startling religious relics. Who translated this?'
'A friend in London, a Jewish friend.'
'And the provenance?'
'So far, unknown.'
'What makes you think they're genuine?'
Lang almost answered that he doubted people would be getting killed over a historical practical joke, but he shared as little of the more violent side of his life as possible. Even though he was sure his friend would understand, Lang was never in a mood to hear the string of homilies on the virtues of nonviolence that would follow.
'You're the one in the faith business. Assume they're real.'
Francis looked around to make sure he wasn't stepping on Grumps and sat down.
He read for a few minutes. 'First, it's no surprise that Moses was no Jew. Exodus two: nineteen, I think.'
'Moses, the Jews' great lawgiver, not a Jew himself?'
'Exodus says not.'
Fascinated, Lang sat at the kitchen bar, facing the small living room and his guest. 'Then who was he?'
'A good question. Akhenaten, son of Amenhotep III by Queen Tiyre, a descendant of Esau, elder brother of Jacob, who became Israel.'
Lang took a drink. 'You've lost me.'
'Sorry. As your documents state and some biblical scholars have long thought, Moses was actually of royal blood. In fact, the Egyptian word Mose means 'royal.' The ancient Greek is Mosis. There are only clues. For instance, he was raised in the royal household of a pharaoh.'
'I thought he was found in a basket, where he'd been hidden to avoid the killing of Israelite babies.'
Francis winked over his glass. 'You'd never make that stand up in court To accept it, we must also accept that Pharaoh's daughter conspired to frustrate her father's orders, and that Moses's sister just happened to be nearby when he was found, even though she is never specifically identified. Later on, we learn of a Miriam who is described as a sister of both Moses and Aaron. The basket story is most likely an explanation of how an Israelite grew up in the royal household. Within a few years the new pharaoh, Akhenaten, rejected the polytheism of Egyptian religion, worshiping a single god represented by a sunlike disk. The new king closed the temples, infuriating the powerful priests. The swell of public opinion forced his abdication at a time about ten years before Moses's reappearance, still giving allegiance to the single god with no name. Could Akhenaten and Moses be one and the same?
'The Israelites might be willing to follow a former pharaoh, even one who lacked the usual oratorical skill attributed to most biblical leaders. See Exodus three: twelve.'
'Wait a minute,' Lang said, his cigar dead and forgotten in an ashtray. 'Are you telling me that Moses was actually an Egyptian pharaoh?'
Francis was looking around for a relight for his own smoke. Lang tossed him a box of wooden matches. 'The dates for Akhenaten, who became Amenhotep IV match, as do the dates when the new king closed all the temples. Consider that the single-god king was deposed about the same time Moses was banished and returned about the same time. Then there was the snake thing. Moses obviously knew the tricks of the court magicians, knowledge the royal court would have been unlikely to share with some maker of bricks.
'Look at the papers you've given me. They use 'Moses' and 'Pharaoh' interchangeably.'
'So, they were the same?'
Francis shrugged. 'No way to tell for sure. But there is a certain logic: Egypt forced a monotheistic ruler out.
