By P. J. Benjamin
Exhausted, Dr. Eitan Broshi clapped his hands together to dispel the clinging dirt from the dig site. His limbs trembled from the long hours of tedious effort. The sun had wandered behind the low mountain, and all his colleagues had long since returned to the camper. Even at this distance, he could hear their drunken debate.
The subject? Today’s find from site A-12.
“Gold in an ancient grave is hardly uncommon,” cried the voice of Dr. Mutahl. “While I agree it is unusual to find it as crushed debris instead of adornment, it’s not enough to validate your suspicions that we are at the base of Mt. Sinai. They found similar graves at Jabal Maqla as well.”
“Surely you can see the significance!” retorted Dr. Golan, punctuated by the hiss of opening another can of his favorite Egyptian beer. “After Moses broke the first tablets, he made the Israelites drink the crushed remnants of the golden calf before killing them. They must have been buried with the gold inside their stomachs!”
Eitan sighed. Their government was eager to claim Mount Sinai, but if Dr. Golan overestimated the findings, it would mean fewer opportunities to pursue their own research. Besides, if they confirmed this site, it would only be another reason for war in these holy lands. Proof had never brought peace to their people.
Stepping carefully out of section E-32, Eitan clicked off the video camera. It was always recording to guard against accusations of artifact planting. The camera sat on a table with a long-since-forgotten water pitcher and the halogen lights that illuminated the space beneath his canopy.
He clasped his hands behind his back and stretched. Cracking his spine was just a habit now—it no longer offered much relief to his sciatica.
Misjudging the force of his arching, he stumbled. Grasping wildly, his hand landed on the pitcher and clutched it instinctively. Tumbling, Eitan fell back-first into his excavation plot.
Water rushed into the thirsty ground just as the air rushed from his lungs. In a panic he rolled over despite the pain, desperately using his coat to frantically sop it up. Water could compromise potential artifacts.
Thank God the camera was off.
By the time Eitan could think past the adrenaline enough to remember protocol, his hand brushed against something solid beneath the muddy space.
Carefully he removed his coat and inspected the area.
It was rock, but there was no mistaking the two carefully hewn edges as anything but man-made.
Pulling his largest brush out of his back pocket, Eitan worked with the careful speed of a practiced professional. Soon the space revealed larger sections of broken stone, each covered with writing. Eitan was not an expert in paleo-Hebrew, but any Middle Eastern archeologist could identify the lettering, especially the dotted early geresh and gershayim.
He gently lifted the first shard for inspection only to recoil as if burnt, dropping the piece in shock.
Forget experts, any Jew could recognize the four letters that made up the name of God.
“Well, Dr. Broshi. It seems you have a situation on your hands.”
Eitan rounded at the amused voice, hands clutching his brush like the hilt of a sword. As if bristles could protect him.
A man stepped from the darkness wearing a linen kaftan robe. He had black hair, and a coarse beard curled around his angular face. He raised his hands, saying, “You can put down the brush. You need not fear me.”
“Wh-Who are you?”
The man steepled his fingers speculatively. “I think who I am is of much less interest to you than what I am. I am the Angel Winnriel.”
“R-Ridiculous!”
Only… it wasn’t ridiculous.
The man emanated otherness. His dark eyes bore the gravity of experience, yet without any of the haggardness that accompanied such age.
And then there were the stone shards.
“You’re not here to-to smite me or something?” Eitan fumbled with the thought. “I don’t want golden tumors, or to get turned into a pillar of salt!”
“Be at peace,” Winnriel said. “Angels do not smite. Even the Speaker avoids such things since the justification of his wrath has been met. I was just nearby, at Pishon.”
Winnriel descended into the plot with pietistic care. His hands shimmered like heat haze, then he plunged them into the ground without disturbing a grain of sand. When he straightened, his stack held enough shards for two large stone tablets. Reverently, Winnriel offered them upward.
Eitan recoiled again. “No, do not give them to me. Haven’t you come to take them away?”
Those tablets were the find of a lifetime; they proved this was Sinai. With countless book deals, interviews, and grants, his career would be assured.
Yet he knew he could not take them.
“I’ve been sent on no such mission. You would refuse your discovery?” asked Winnriel, arching his eyebrows. “Why?”
Eitan had grown up in this land; he knew the answer almost instinctively. “Would they bring peace?”
“I cannot say. But is it not a curse on Adam’s line to value proof over trust?”
Eitan hesitated, trying to find the words. He knew what he was giving up, but also the danger. “Please, you must take them. Maybe we do value proof, as you say. But these parched sands are drenched in blood lost over lesser proof than this. I’ve lost friends and family in disputes over ancient promises. We are too broken by our wrath for this.”
Winnriel smiled, and he shook his head, murmuring, “Wisdom and humility? I see the Cherubim were right. I have been at war too long.”
Stowing the shards carefully in a rucksack, the angel continued, “I think I see why it was you to find them. Well, if you are sure. At least I can leave something for your friends over there to argue about.”
With the blink of an eye, Winnriel was gone.
Looking down, Eitan laughed.
Sitting there in the mud was a plastic cow, painted gold.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I enjoyed the characters! A cleverly spun yarn.
Thank you! I’ve used Winnriel in other pieces and it was fun to pull him into a more supporting role
I enjoyed your story and how you wove the setting of Mt. Sinai with the topic of how people struggle with faith.
Thank you very much!
I like the discussion about consequences.
It may sound weird to say as the author, but I agree. It was one of my favorite sections to write. Placing a value on proof is not a bad thing. Nor is proof the antithesis of faith. But proof without the context of truth can be even more dangerous than faith without reason.
Clever! Could have read so much more!
Powerful and unexpected. I really like this.
great story with lots of food for thought!
Original!
Quite a temptation Eitan gave up! Loved the twisty ending!
Well-written. Intriguing subject material. Three Stars. Would rate again. XD