spontaneously recognizing danger.
He watched her go, her cheap coat flapping in the wind, and thought, she’s hiding something. And his interest quickened. A hunter on the scent.
Bumi found her feet moving faster and faster. No milk for her coffee tomorrow morning. She felt disturbed. She had always managed to keep everyone at arms length, but this one was different. Some deep instinct warned her to be careful, very careful. Something about his eyes. Too close together. Too full of sex and badness, as her aunt would say. He would not be quenched as easily as Lord Carrington’s dinner guest. She fretted about the problem he posed all the way home, but when she opened the door to her son’s room her fears became soap bubbles that touch something real and collapse into nothing.
She clasped her palms to her cheeks. ‘Oh my God! Black, your hands,’ she cried. ‘They’ve straightened out.’ As if unable to believe her own eyes, she grasped his hands in hers and examined them closely. ‘It’s a miracle,’ she whispered, kissing them repeatedly and reverently. Suddenly she stopped and frowned. Her fingers left his hands and moved swiftly over his body. She raised an incredulous face to him and declared, ‘I know you’ll think I’ve gone mad, but with God as my witness, you’re bigger now than you were this morning.’
And God said, ‘Let US make man in OUR Image, after OUR likeness.’
- Genesis 1:26
The question is who are the ‘us’ and ‘our’?
Black found himself standing on a sun-drenched, yellow and orange-brown landscape. Only a few shrubs dotted the rocky land. Black glanced down at himself. He was dressed in a long, loose-fitting, white tunic and trousers. In the empty sky above a lone vulture circled. Black gazed at it in fascination. ‘Where are we?’
‘Persia, Earth time AD 13. I brought you here to tap into the memories of your own species. In there,’ he said, pointing to a rocky hill behind them, ‘is one of the greatest human seers that ever lived.’
‘Inside the rock?’
‘Is a cave.’
‘But there is no entrance.’
‘That shouldn’t stop you.’
He went up the pathway - it was full of loose stones, which he disturbed not - and walked right through the wall of rocks and mud that sealed the secret entrance, an experience that he had to admit, he thoroughly relished. Inside the air was neither damp nor dank, but cool and fresh. He followed the dim, narrow corridor of roughly hewn rock.
It opened out to a small enclosure, big enough for him to stand upright, but surely too low for the man who sat cross-legged in the light of a single lamp. Dressed in thick, white robes he was bent over his work, which was set on a low wooden table. His fingers were extraordinarily long and tapering, and his feet were bare. There was a stack of leather-bound books on the floor by his side.
At Black’s appearance he looked up, neither startled nor afraid. His beard was long and gray, but his face was rosy and youthful, and his eyes were calm and full of the music of the soul. He had found something special locked away in that cave. He laid down his writing instrument and gestured for Black to come forward. ‘Welcome, welcome. We have been waiting for you, and I, Jahanbakh, am honored to be the one to receive you,’ he said in Coptic.
Black stepped into the weak circle of light. ‘Have you really been waiting for me?’
‘Yes, really. What year have you come from?’
‘2012.’
‘That far forward. Well, well.’
Black looked around the sparse enclosure. Other than an Earthen jug and bowl next to him the small space was completely bare. ‘How long have you been imprisoned here?’
Jahanbakh’s eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘It looks like a prison to you, but this humble hole in the Earth is where I have chosen to lay my eggs in safety.’ He laughed like a child at the expression on Black’s face. ‘All human endeavors of a spiritual nature are eggs. They wait for
He watched her go, her cheap coat flapping in the wind, and thought, she’s hiding something. And his interest quickened. A hunter on the scent.
Bumi found her feet moving faster and faster. No milk for her coffee tomorrow morning. She felt disturbed. She had always managed to keep everyone at arms length, but this one was different. Some deep instinct warned her to be careful, very careful. Something about his eyes. Too close together. Too full of sex and badness, as her aunt would say. He would not be quenched as easily as Lord Carrington’s dinner guest. She fretted about the problem he posed all the way home, but when she opened the door to her son’s room her fears became soap bubbles that touch something real and collapse into nothing.
She clasped her palms to her cheeks. ‘Oh my God! Black, your hands,’ she cried. ‘They’ve straightened out.’ As if unable to believe her own eyes, she grasped his hands in hers and examined them closely. ‘It’s a miracle,’ she whispered, kissing them repeatedly and reverently. Suddenly she stopped and frowned. Her fingers left his hands and moved swiftly over his body. She raised an incredulous face to him and declared, ‘I know you’ll think I’ve gone mad, but with God as my witness, you’re bigger now than you were this morning.’
And God said, ‘Let US make man in OUR Image, after OUR likeness.’
- Genesis 1:26
The question is who are the ‘us’ and ‘our’?
Black found himself standing on a sun-drenched, yellow and orange-brown landscape. Only a few shrubs dotted the rocky land. Black glanced down at himself. He was dressed in a long, loose-fitting, white tunic and trousers. In the empty sky above a lone vulture circled. Black gazed at it in fascination. ‘Where are we?’
‘Persia, Earth time AD 13. I brought you here to tap into the memories of your own species. In there,’ he said, pointing to a rocky hill behind them, ‘is one of the greatest human seers that ever lived.’
‘Inside the rock?’
‘Is a cave.’
‘But there is no entrance.’
‘That shouldn’t stop you.’
He went up the pathway - it was full of loose stones, which he disturbed not - and walked right through the wall of rocks and mud that sealed the secret entrance, an experience that he had to admit, he thoroughly relished. Inside the air was neither damp nor dank, but cool and fresh. He followed the dim, narrow corridor of roughly hewn rock.
It opened out to a small enclosure, big enough for him to stand upright, but surely too low for the man who sat cross-legged in the light of a single lamp. Dressed in thick, white robes he was bent over his work, which was set on a low wooden table. His fingers were extraordinarily long and tapering, and his feet were bare. There was a stack of leather-bound books on the floor by his side.
At Black’s appearance he looked up, neither startled nor afraid. His beard was long and gray, but his face was rosy and youthful, and his eyes were calm and full of the music of the soul. He had found something special locked away in that cave. He laid down his writing instrument and gestured for Black to come forward. ‘Welcome, welcome. We have been waiting for you, and I, Jahanbakh, am honored to be the one to receive you,’ he said in Coptic.
Black stepped into the weak circle of light. ‘Have you really been waiting for me?’
‘Yes, really. What year have you come from?’
‘2012.’
‘That far forward. Well, well.’
Black looked around the sparse enclosure. Other than an Earthen jug and bowl next to him the small space was completely bare. ‘How long have you been imprisoned here?’
Jahanbakh’s eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘It looks like a prison to you, but this humble hole in the Earth is where I have chosen to lay my eggs in safety.’ He laughed like a child at the expression on Black’s face. ‘All human endeavors of a spiritual nature are eggs. They wait for
Similar Books
