The Angel of Eden (26 page)

“I wish to apologize for this afternoon,” Alaz began. “My father is quite ill and I didn't want to disturb him any further.”

He gave me a searching look before he went on. “The birth certificate—it put us all in shock. We have not known anything of Yeva for decades. We thought she was long dead. My younger sister whom you met today is full of joy to hear of her but greatly aggrieved— Yeva never told us she went to America. My sister implored me to ask how we can get in touch with her.”

“And who is Yeva to you?”

“My oldest sister,” he said flatly. “Has she … passed away? Is that why you've come?”

“She's fine. Living in New York. She goes by the name of Evelyn now, was our housekeeper for many years. I'll have to talk to her first before I can put you in contact. You can appreciate that she's kept herself hidden from you all this time. And she's in fragile health.”

Alaz nodded solemnly. “We would be greatly indebted to you.”

His expression grew more serious. “And what of the boy? What became of him?”

What of the boy.
The words rang in my ears. I put my hand out to steady myself.

For the past year I'd been moving the jigsaw pieces around and ignoring the whole pattern, clinging to the story I'd been given of my birth until the holes became too obvious to ignore. Now everything fell into place.

I was Evelyn's son. That meant the man standing before me was my uncle; Mernoush Nemat, my grandfather. I looked Alaz in the
face again. He had wide, soft brown eyes and a mouth I imagined laughed often in happy times. He was almost exactly my size and build. I resisted the temptation to throw my arms around him. I'd keep my thoughts to myself for now.

“I'm not sure about the boy,” I said in a neutral-sounding way. “That's something I'll have to ask Evelyn about. Why do you think she didn't get in touch with you over all these years?”

He grimaced. “It's not like America over here. A woman with no husband …”

Alaz let the rest of his sentence drop, but the implication was plain. Yeva, the woman I knew as Evelyn, had given birth out of wedlock—likely considered a greater iniquity than killing someone. And it explained why she was so reluctant to tell me the truth: she was ashamed.

I swallowed hard. “Did you know the boy's father?”

Alaz gave me a long hard look as if he were trying to unravel my innermost thoughts. “Why do you ask that?”

“Evelyn may have mentioned his name.”

“You must understand it's not something we like to speak of in our family. The father came from Tabriz. He was not of our people and my father denied them the right to marry. He won't speak of him to this day.”

Alaz's lips tightened and he refused to say more. I did understand: it was a matter of family honor.

Nick cleared his throat in the shadows, recalling me to the other reason I'd traveled halfway around the world. “A man named George Helmstetter visited Kandovan thirty-five years ago. Is there any chance you'd remember him?”

He cast a quick, nervous look over his shoulder. “Yes.”

“You knew him?”

“I was only fourteen. In those days tourists were not as common here. He had money—a lot. Even without that, no one could forget him.” Alaz spoke quickly now, the words tumbling out. “The village people called him a magi—an enchanter. He could make you believe in what was not real. One evening, he asked people to gather around him in a square off one of the pathways. A very cold night; it was snowing. We had only kerosene lamps to see by. He wore a thick black cloak; the white flakes of snow dotted it like confetti. He murmured some words in a language we didn't understand—not English. He called them angel words. He bent low and swirled the cloak around his body, fast and then faster still. The cloak fell in a heap on the ground. He'd vanished beneath it. The next day he reappeared as if nothing had happened. From that time on, people regarded him with an equal measure of fear and awe. No one dared to cross him.”

An hour ago, I couldn't have imagined I'd make this much progress. “Do you have any idea what became of him?”

Alaz glanced fearfully down the pathway again as if expecting an enemy. He kept his voice low. “No one knows for sure.”

I pressed on. “He brought a rare book with him, very old and very valuable. Did you ever see it?”

“Why do you ask about that?”

“Because Helmstetter stole it from the rightful owner.”

“That book was evil.”

“Do you have any idea what happened to it?”

“My father burned it.”

I tried one more question.

“Helmstetter sent three ancient artifacts back to his wife in North America: two stone seals and a little statue of a man with a long head. Do you know where he got them?”

Alaz gave me a long, appraising look and then seemed to make up his mind to trust me. “I was there when he found them.”

Thirty-Five

F
or a second I was speechless. Alaz saw my surprise and hesitated, seeming to measure his words. “I said some people stood in awe of him. That included me. You can imagine the innocence of a fourteen-year-old boy, one who never ventured outside his village except to pasture his sheep. If lightning struck me, I could not have been more amazed than when I witnessed Helmstetter's magic. From then on, I followed him everywhere. He found me useful— to run errands, explain who the influential men in the village were, tell him about the natural features of the landscape. He paid me well. We were poor; my father welcomed the money. The old book you mentioned? Helmstetter carried it with him everywhere. Said it gave the names of many ranks of angels and showed how you could talk with them.”

“Did he ever explain why he wanted to come here?”

“Some call our territory—the land surrounding Lake Urmia and Mount Sahand—sacred. Our people lived here long before
men even knew of writing. We believe in reincarnation, that the divine being manifests himself in human form seven times. The first of those manifestations took the form of an angel.

“Helmstetter wanted to find the path to immortality. What he didn't understand until he came here was that reincarnation is a form of immortality. Of anywhere in the world, this was the most logical place for him to find it.”

My mind traveled back to Strauss's strange séance and the message he'd delivered from Gina's dead husband:
“When the unclean spirit has gone out of a person, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, and finding none it says, ‘I will return to the house from which I came.'”

I shook myself mentally. “And how did he find the treasures?”

“He'd heard about a cave system not far from here and wanted to see it. I showed him through it and we reached a cliff, a very steep drop. He scaled down it. I was too afraid to follow. I waited for more than a day—it was my duty not to abandon him although I feared he might be dead. When he did finally return, I was overjoyed. He had the treasures in his pack—all he could carry. He said he'd found many more.”

So much for Yersan's claim to family ownership. “Could you take us there?”

He hesitated. “It's dangerous terrain. I cannot promise you'll ever find anything.”

“I'd be willing to pay you well for your time.”

Alaz shrugged. “Then yes—why not? It's in the salt caves. An isolated area. Except for some scientific expeditions, no one ever goes there. I have to return to Tabriz soon. If you want me to show you, it will have to be tomorrow.”

He told me we'd need climbing gear and threw another glance over his shoulder, anxious to be off.

“One more question. Do you know a man named Yersan? A local antiquities dealer?”

“Everyone does. Why do you ask?”

“He just threatened me.”

“Don't cross him. You'll be the loser. He's a powerful man.”

Back at our room, I filled Nick and Bennet in, omitting the part about Evelyn and the boy, still feeling too overwhelmed by what I'd learned.

“Incredible,” Bennet burst out after I'd finished. “So now you have the information you wanted—far more than Strauss has any right to expect. Helmstetter's long gone. So is the book. Meanwhile we're supposed to be rejoining Rosan's tour, and every day we spend in Kandovan we risk the Iranian authorities finding out. I vote for leaving.”

“People here have no love for the government,” Nick put in. “There's been a long history of persecution. I don't think you need fear anyone going to the police.”

Nick was right. But so was Bennet. My task here was finished. I could go home, tell Strauss the book had been destroyed, offer up Alaz to verify the story. Plus, I'd heard enough for a very direct talk with Evelyn. She'd have to tell me the truth now.

And yet as a child I'd always imagined being at my brother Samuel's side, like the explorers of old, making fabulous finds. In time, of course, I'd learned that most archaeological work was anything but romantic—an exacting science that proceeded at a snail's pace, the “finds” more likely to be pottery shards than golden jewels. Still, an opportunity to unearth objects from the beginning of civilization had just dropped in my lap.

“You've been quiet, John,” Bennet said. “What do you want to do?”

“We have a one in a million chance to find some remarkable antiquities. I'd like to take Alaz up on his offer.”

“He's been awfully accommodating,” Nick said. “I wonder about that.”

“I said I'd pay him something to guide us. I imagine that influenced him. He could probably use the money.”

Nick was rarely temperamental, but this time his irritation showed. “I'm taking a risk to spend time with you here. I'd gone to ground in Turkey and that was working out well. You've got me for a couple more days—that's all.”

“Understood. Alaz wants to go to the salt caves tomorrow—we can get supplies in the morning before we head out. So just one more day and then we're out of here.”

Nick got up to go back to his room. “I'll hold you to that.”

The next morning we drove into Tabriz to get the climbing gear. I took the wheel, relishing the chance to drive. It was almost noon by the time we piled into Alaz's car to set out for the caves.

Thirty-Six

March 9, 2005

Salt Caves, Lake Urmia Region

T
he highway west from Kandovan ran through mostly barren terrain—beautiful in its way, with the early spring light enhancing the ground's coppery hues. Red earth: the soil from which Adam sprang and the meaning of his name. At one point we passed a semicircular mound rising about forty feet off the plain. At its top sat a little square brick building with a domed roof and arches cut into its sides. Gas flames shot up from chimneys placed at the four corners of the roof; another flame burned inside the building itself.

“A fire altar,” Alaz said. “A place of worship for us.” He indicated a round building set between two tall rectangular pillars some distance away. “Those are
dakhmas,
towers of silence where the dead are taken.”