The Second Messiah

“No, I don’t. Father Becket told me he’d tried to force open the door to free my parents. He must have shattered the window as well. I’m sorry, Sergeant Raul, but I’m really not up to talking right now.”

“Of course. But I need to inform you that your father’s colleagues have suggested erecting a grave memorial where the tragedy took place. It’s a particularly beautiful spot, looking toward Qumran, which your parents loved.”

“Y—yes, of course.”

“I also understand that your parents expressed the wish to be cremated in the event of their deaths. They wanted their ashes scattered in the Holy Land where they spent so much of their time. Sadly, your parents’ bodies were so badly burned there was little left but ashes. Perhaps I can arrange a symbolic gesture to help you carry out their wishes. I can arrange that an urn be filled.”

Jack was overcome, fought back tears. His body felt scarred by wounds but the scars inside him were the hardest to bear. “I—I appreciate that.”

“The grave memorial will be looked after, I promise you. Arabs and Jews have great respect for the dead. If only we had the same respect for the living.” The sergeant stood briskly, then said, “One final question, Jack, and then I won’t trouble you any longer. Do you know if the pickup had any maintenance work carried out recently?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

Sergeant Raul pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You’re sure about that? There was nothing mechanically wrong with the brakes, for instance?”

“I—I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

The sergeant considered, then shook his head. “No reason. Keep a firm grip, you hear? Try to stay strong, Jack. Your parents would have wanted you to.”

Two days later, Jack was sitting in a chair outside his hospital room, his leg propped up on pillows, as he stared out absently at the parched hills beyond Jerusalem.

As he sat there, numbed by grief, he heard footsteps and turned. A priest—small, wiry, with thinning red hair—stood there, carrying a brown paper bag. It was Father Kubel, the archaeologist who had tended to Lela. He placed the bag on the table. Jack noticed the man’s fingers were stained brown, the sign of a heavy smoker.

“Some fruit,” the priest said awkwardly, his accent German. He looked upset. “I—I just came to say how sorry I am about your parents. They were good people. Your father was a fine archaeologist. It was an honor to work with him.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“I wanted you to know that Father Becket and I tried our best to rescue your parents. In fact, I’ve been asked by my superiors to write a report about the scroll’s destruction and the tragic accident. It will be an internal church document, of course, not meant for public consumption. But my superiors are anxious to know what happened. Your father’s work was a great asset to the dig.” Kubel hesitated. “I’m so sorry. If Father Becket and I could have done anything more, we would have, I assure you.”

Jack fought back his emotion. “I’m grateful for what you both did.”

Kubel placed a hand firmly on Jack’s shoulder. “I know it’s little consolation, but we will always remember your parents in our prayers.”

Four days later Jack was discharged from the hospital, hobbling on a crutch until his leg healed. He made the final arrangements for his parents’ burial. It was to be a brief affair, yet more than two hundred people turned up, huddled in prayer along the roadway overlooking the ravine where Robert and Margaret Cane had died.

A commemorative marker had been erected, and when the prayers finally ended Jack numbly shook the hands of mourners. Sergeant Raul waited until the crowds had driven away, then he touched Jack’s shoulder and handed him a metal urn containing a few handfuls of his parents’ ashes. “At least you can have a private moment to do what your folks would have wished, Jack. Someone wants to say hello, so I’ll leave you alone.”

And then Sergeant Raul was gone and a voice said, “Hello, Jack.”

He turned, saw Lela Raul. A white gauze patch covered her forehead, her pretty face bruised and drawn. It was the first time Jack had seen her since the accident and his heart lifted a little. “Lela, it’s good to see you.”

They hugged and she kissed him on the cheek. “I don’t know what to say, Jack. I’m still in shock too. I wanted to come see you in the hospital but they wouldn’t allow you visitors for the first few days. I had to peer in at you through your door whenever I could.” Her voice broke off as she stared at the urn in Jack’s hands, then she reached out, her fingers touching his. “It must be so difficult for you. I just want you to know that you’ve got a friend.”

Jack looked into her face, her chocolate eyes pools of concern. “How are you, Lela?”

“I’ve felt a lot worse.”

“How about Basim Malik’s family? They must be distraught that they’ve lost their father.”

“It’s thoughtful of you to ask. My dad says they’re just about coping, like we all are.” Lela’s expression changed, as if there was something she was going to add but she fell silent.