CHAPTER 2—Jonathan
Alex continues…
The next day, after the afternoon classes, I ran into Sirota right outside the classroom. He had been waiting for me. “Alex, would you have some free time this afternoon?”
I shrugged. “My classes are over, so I would.”
“I would like you to go with me to visitMr. V.. He's still in St. Agnes Hospital in the city. and he asked to see you.” He looked at me. “Of course, you don't have to go, but I think he wishes to thank you.”
“Of course I'll go,” I agreed. St. Agnes was not far away. The college was located just outside the city boundaries, and the traffic was usually light at this time of day. We took Sirota’s car and a short time later we entered St. Agnes and took an elevator to the 8th floor. I noted that we entered the Department of Neurology. So it was not the cut in his hand that keptMr. V. in the hospital after all.
Sirota stopped in front of the third door on the left. It was closed, but we could still hear muffled sounds of an argument going on in the room. Sirota hesitated briefly, then knocked on the door and entered without waiting for an invitation. I followed him. I expected a regular hospital room, but instead we found ourselves in a living room of what was apparently a small private suite.
Mr. V sat in an easy chair and in front of him stood a rather frustrated-looking, shortish girl, fiercely gesticulating:Mr. V.’s daughter, the one whose answer had trumped mine in class the previous day. I sighed.Mr. V.’s daughter did not have a high opinion of me, and she made sure I knew it. I was not thrilled to see her here. “Come on, Dad, what is the worst that could happen?” she exclaimed, and continued, not waiting for answer. “Of course I'm going back to Egypt.” She ran her hands irritably through her hair. In the classroom, she had worn it in a severe Victorian bun; now it looked utterly untamed, with black ringlets falling all over her shoulders, swinging this way and that as she continued to gesticulate.
I compared her to her father. Skinny like him, but her face, with her large blue eyes, small nose, and full mouth must have come from her mother. So must her notorious temper—I never heardMr. V. even raise his voice, but I had friends who had been on the receiving end of her invective just for having a reference book she needed off the shelves at the college library.
“I wish you wouldn't, Heather,”Mr. V. told his daughter. “I will not be there and you know what was happening before we left.”
“You mean things were disappearing?” asked Heather skeptically. “So we have some minor thief at the dig. I am sure he'll be caught sooner or later.”
“Okay,”Mr. V. gave in resignedly. “I guess nothing I say is going to stop you. Promise me at least that you will not play detective and try to catch the thief yourself.”
“Sure, Daddy, no problem,” Heather almost sang out, knowing the victory was hers. “I'll keep you posted.” She had kissed her father and turned to leave, when she finally noticed us. “Oh, hi, Alex,” she said disinterestedly to me. “Dr. Sirota.” She nodded respectfully at him and left.
“Hello, Alex,”Mr. V. welcomed me. “I apologize for the argument,” he said to both of us. “I find the bigger the children one has, the bigger the problems they cause,” he added. “Alex, I can't thank you enough. You very likely saved my life yesterday. If there is anything I could do to make your life easier, please let me know.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I think I just did what anybody would have done in my place…” I started, when we were interrupted again by a very loud knock on the door.
Mr. V frowned. “Come in.” The new visitor was a tall, blond guy in a bomber jacket and black jeans. “Jonathan,”Mr. V. said and raised his eyebrows. “I thought you were in Egypt.” Then he introduced me. “Jonathan, this is Alex Khyan. Alex, Jonathan Stern.”
Jonathan waved his hand at me as if I was of no account, nodded coldly at Sirota, who seemed to know him, and then re-focused his attention with a raptor-like intensity onMr. V.. “I arrived a few hours ago,” he said, “and I'm bringing a business proposal for you.”Mr. V. raised his eyebrows. “You know my father.”Mr. V.’s manner altered abruptly. Where he had been mild and even cordial, attempting to introduce the intruder to us, his face now turned to stone. “He would like to obtain—buy—the Rerek spell we found at the dig.”
“Jonathan, you know very well it is not possible,” answeredMr. V..
“Okay, let me repeat myself,” said Jonathan. “My father wants to buy the artifact. He will pay any price you ask. He can afford it,” he added boastfully. “My father will pay well.” Ah. A trust fund baby, waving his family’s money around. I loved those.
“I am sure he would, Jonathan, but that is not the point. The expedition was paid for by the college and Egyptian government, and our agreement states that our findings, including the statue, lawfully belong to Egypt. No, and that is final,”Mr. V. asserted.
Something dark moved behind Jonathan’s eyes. “I will convey the message.” He took a few steps toward the exit, when he quickly pivoted back. “How dare you refuse? Don’t you know what my father did for this college?”
“Mr. Stern,” Sirota’s voice rang out. Up till now, he had been quietly observing the exchange. From Jonathan’s reaction, he had catalogued but then completely discounted Sirota’s (and probably my) existence. “The college faculty is quite aware of your father’s huge donation to the college. In fact,” he continued in a quiet voice, “it was this donation that made the college administration overlook some unsavory events in your past, events that I understand led some other colleges, with less greedy administrations, to reject your application entirely. However, donations or not, as long as you are a student of the Van Senmut College, you will follow the rules and kindly refrain from threatening the college faculty and trustees.”
Jonathan became very still. Then, suddenly, he smiled and responded smoothly, “Of course.” He turned his look inMr. V.’s direction and announced, “As I said, I will inform my father of your decision.” Then he left as quickly as he came. I checked the floor for a slime trail, but he must have been a more advanced creature. A snake, perhaps.
Sirota and I took our leave shortly afterwards. I said good-bye to Sirota at the college, where he dropped me off, and went to the dorm.
* * * *
Tony was in our room, flexing muscles in front of a mirror. “No, you do not have any abs and never had,” I told him.
“I’m going to Cancun after finals,” he announced, unperturbed. “With Cheryl,” he added significantly.
“She still hasn’t dumped you?” I asked.
“Nah,” he answered, and then he grinned. “I'm going to send you a postcard, if I find time between parties.”
“Lucky bastard,” I growled and heaved a pillow at him. He ducked and disappeared into the bathroom, laughing all the way.
I threw myself at the bed. I couldn't get the hospital visit out of my head. What was wrong with Mr.V? I didn’t want to ask, but I did not like mysteries. And who was this Stern character? Finally, I got up and turned on my computer and went to the college website. The expedition was prominently displayed on the History Department’s page.Mr. V.’s team had found the site of an ancient Temple of Osiris somewhere on an island in the Nile River in Egypt. Judging from the displayed photographs, their findings were spectacular. I opened the link toMr. V.’s interview with the Cairo Daily newspaper about a month ago.
“We’ve been looking for this temple for a long time,” the article quotedMr. V. as saying. “From the papyri dating back to the Old Kingdom, we knew it was somewhere on the island. It is said to be the oldest Temple of Osiris, the God of the Underworld, in Egypt. “
I looked again at the attached photographs. Jonathan appeared in several pictures, bossing around the local diggers. Something in his expression and posture disturbed me. He looked tense, his eyes wide open, but with a hint of smile. After a moment, I placed it. I had thought of his gaze as raptor-like. Now I realized that described his entire aspect. No matter what I saw him doing, he looked like a hungry predator regarding his cornered prey.
Tony emerged from the bathroom and leaned over my shoulder to look at the computer screen. “God help anybody who gets in his way,” he remarked and laughed briefly. Then he inhaled. “You stink,” he remarked. “Did you hear of this new invention, I think it's called a shower?”
“I didn't have time,” I offered. “I was at St. Agnes, visitngMr. V.. And had a class before that.”
“I know you were in a hospital,” Tony answered. “I can smell it on you.”
I decided to change the subject. “Do you know Jonathan Stern?” I asked, pointing to one of the photos.
Tony nodded. “As a matter of fact, I know him some. He is from New Jersey like me. His dad is an odd duck, but a very rich guy. Everybody knows him there. They have a mansion somewhere in the Pine Barrens.” He leaned toward me. “They are originally from Salem, Massachusetts. The family lived there for centuries. Some people in New Jersey say that when they burned those witches in Salem, they made a stupid mistake when they spared the Stern clan. I say maybe they were scared of the real thing.” He laughed.
I shook my head and turned the discussion back to Jonathan. “Did he do something before he came to the college? Sirota said something was fishy.”
“Sirota said something?” Tony stopped abruptly. “There were rumors,” he said vaguely. He stopped for a moment, lost in thought—or indecision. Indecision won out. “You know, Alex, I would rather not talk about it.”
“You’re not going to tell me?” I asked disbelievingly. “Come on, you know I can keep my mouth shut.”
He hesitated. “Well,” he finally started with his back turned toward me, “I went to the same high school as Jon, although he was a senior and I was a freshman at that time. It was a boarding school, I think I told you. There was this girl…He seemed to like her, but she thought he was creepy…She left the school one night. Teachers said she transferred to another school and nobody saw her again. But my girlfriend got her room the next year, and when I visited her, I tried to open a window, and I saw scratch marks on the windowsill…”
“Do you think she jumped?” I asked.
“No,” he said, surprised. “That isn’t it. Those marks… there were four of them, spread like a fan.” He swallowed. “Like a giant claw caught there.” He shook his head. “You know what, Alex, you’re my best friend, but I would rather not to discuss this, seriously. If Jonathan heard I went around blabbing… Let’s just say I prefer to be safe than sorry.”
“Okay,” I said. “But this may have nothing to do with Jonathan and could be totally innocent. Yes,” he agreed abruptly. “You are probably right.” He turned to the door. “I have to go see Cheryl,” he said, and quickly walked out.
* * * *
On Monday, I had a meeting with my career counselor, Mr. Brown. When I entered his office, I again spied Sirota. The guy really got around. When he saw me, he bowed and left. I sat down and went with Mr. Brown over my options. To my relief, I saw that with some financial aid from the college, loans, and part time jobs, I could manage to stay on as a full time student.
When we finished, Mr. Brown asked, “Do you have any summer plans, Alex?”
“Apart from finding a summer job? Not really,” I confessed.
“In that case, I have a suggestion for you. You may not realize it, but teachers—at least some of them—observe their students. Anyway, you saw professor Sirota here.” I nodded. “He noticed that you recently had trouble with his classes. Since he thinks you are actually a bright guy,” Mr. Brown continued with a grin, “he thought you might again be facing the same sort of financial problems you came here with. Anyway, he proposed, since summer is here, that you might be interested in taking part in a summer research project led by our history department. Do not look so surprised,” Mr. Brown continued. “Yes, we do have a history department.”
“Yes, I know that,” I replied. “I checked the web. They are kinda famous.”
Mr. Brown continued, “As it happens, the department could use some help at their dig in Upper Egypt. I know that your family is originally from the region and you speak Arabic. That would be a big plus, since we do not really have that many Arabic speakers at the college. The stipend that would go with the job would go a long way toward covering your tuition and fees for next year.”
“But I don’t know much about Egypt,” I objected.
“What you need to learn, you can learn quickly. I know you. Besides, you can learn from Heather Van Senmut. She will be at the dig too. She was there last summer and has gone back as frequently as her studies allowed her. A discovery of hers was the seminal find that triggered the request for the college’s support, the first, I hear, of many interesting findings. I’ve heard she can be a good teacher.” His smile changed to a frown at whatever he was seeing on my face. “Stop looking so upset. I'm sure she won't mind answering a few questions. In any case, please think it over and let me know if you want to go. “
I nodded slowly and got up. “Is it okay if I tell you my decision by the end of the month?”
“That’ll be fine. The summer expedition will be leaving in four weeks.”
Alex continues…
The next day, after the afternoon classes, I ran into Sirota right outside the classroom. He had been waiting for me. “Alex, would you have some free time this afternoon?”
I shrugged. “My classes are over, so I would.”
“I would like you to go with me to visitMr. V.. He's still in St. Agnes Hospital in the city. and he asked to see you.” He looked at me. “Of course, you don't have to go, but I think he wishes to thank you.”
“Of course I'll go,” I agreed. St. Agnes was not far away. The college was located just outside the city boundaries, and the traffic was usually light at this time of day. We took Sirota’s car and a short time later we entered St. Agnes and took an elevator to the 8th floor. I noted that we entered the Department of Neurology. So it was not the cut in his hand that keptMr. V. in the hospital after all.
Sirota stopped in front of the third door on the left. It was closed, but we could still hear muffled sounds of an argument going on in the room. Sirota hesitated briefly, then knocked on the door and entered without waiting for an invitation. I followed him. I expected a regular hospital room, but instead we found ourselves in a living room of what was apparently a small private suite.
Mr. V sat in an easy chair and in front of him stood a rather frustrated-looking, shortish girl, fiercely gesticulating:Mr. V.’s daughter, the one whose answer had trumped mine in class the previous day. I sighed.Mr. V.’s daughter did not have a high opinion of me, and she made sure I knew it. I was not thrilled to see her here. “Come on, Dad, what is the worst that could happen?” she exclaimed, and continued, not waiting for answer. “Of course I'm going back to Egypt.” She ran her hands irritably through her hair. In the classroom, she had worn it in a severe Victorian bun; now it looked utterly untamed, with black ringlets falling all over her shoulders, swinging this way and that as she continued to gesticulate.
I compared her to her father. Skinny like him, but her face, with her large blue eyes, small nose, and full mouth must have come from her mother. So must her notorious temper—I never heardMr. V. even raise his voice, but I had friends who had been on the receiving end of her invective just for having a reference book she needed off the shelves at the college library.
“I wish you wouldn't, Heather,”Mr. V. told his daughter. “I will not be there and you know what was happening before we left.”
“You mean things were disappearing?” asked Heather skeptically. “So we have some minor thief at the dig. I am sure he'll be caught sooner or later.”
“Okay,”Mr. V. gave in resignedly. “I guess nothing I say is going to stop you. Promise me at least that you will not play detective and try to catch the thief yourself.”
“Sure, Daddy, no problem,” Heather almost sang out, knowing the victory was hers. “I'll keep you posted.” She had kissed her father and turned to leave, when she finally noticed us. “Oh, hi, Alex,” she said disinterestedly to me. “Dr. Sirota.” She nodded respectfully at him and left.
“Hello, Alex,”Mr. V. welcomed me. “I apologize for the argument,” he said to both of us. “I find the bigger the children one has, the bigger the problems they cause,” he added. “Alex, I can't thank you enough. You very likely saved my life yesterday. If there is anything I could do to make your life easier, please let me know.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I think I just did what anybody would have done in my place…” I started, when we were interrupted again by a very loud knock on the door.
Mr. V frowned. “Come in.” The new visitor was a tall, blond guy in a bomber jacket and black jeans. “Jonathan,”Mr. V. said and raised his eyebrows. “I thought you were in Egypt.” Then he introduced me. “Jonathan, this is Alex Khyan. Alex, Jonathan Stern.”
Jonathan waved his hand at me as if I was of no account, nodded coldly at Sirota, who seemed to know him, and then re-focused his attention with a raptor-like intensity onMr. V.. “I arrived a few hours ago,” he said, “and I'm bringing a business proposal for you.”Mr. V. raised his eyebrows. “You know my father.”Mr. V.’s manner altered abruptly. Where he had been mild and even cordial, attempting to introduce the intruder to us, his face now turned to stone. “He would like to obtain—buy—the Rerek spell we found at the dig.”
“Jonathan, you know very well it is not possible,” answeredMr. V..
“Okay, let me repeat myself,” said Jonathan. “My father wants to buy the artifact. He will pay any price you ask. He can afford it,” he added boastfully. “My father will pay well.” Ah. A trust fund baby, waving his family’s money around. I loved those.
“I am sure he would, Jonathan, but that is not the point. The expedition was paid for by the college and Egyptian government, and our agreement states that our findings, including the statue, lawfully belong to Egypt. No, and that is final,”Mr. V. asserted.
Something dark moved behind Jonathan’s eyes. “I will convey the message.” He took a few steps toward the exit, when he quickly pivoted back. “How dare you refuse? Don’t you know what my father did for this college?”
“Mr. Stern,” Sirota’s voice rang out. Up till now, he had been quietly observing the exchange. From Jonathan’s reaction, he had catalogued but then completely discounted Sirota’s (and probably my) existence. “The college faculty is quite aware of your father’s huge donation to the college. In fact,” he continued in a quiet voice, “it was this donation that made the college administration overlook some unsavory events in your past, events that I understand led some other colleges, with less greedy administrations, to reject your application entirely. However, donations or not, as long as you are a student of the Van Senmut College, you will follow the rules and kindly refrain from threatening the college faculty and trustees.”
Jonathan became very still. Then, suddenly, he smiled and responded smoothly, “Of course.” He turned his look inMr. V.’s direction and announced, “As I said, I will inform my father of your decision.” Then he left as quickly as he came. I checked the floor for a slime trail, but he must have been a more advanced creature. A snake, perhaps.
Sirota and I took our leave shortly afterwards. I said good-bye to Sirota at the college, where he dropped me off, and went to the dorm.
* * * *
Tony was in our room, flexing muscles in front of a mirror. “No, you do not have any abs and never had,” I told him.
“I’m going to Cancun after finals,” he announced, unperturbed. “With Cheryl,” he added significantly.
“She still hasn’t dumped you?” I asked.
“Nah,” he answered, and then he grinned. “I'm going to send you a postcard, if I find time between parties.”
“Lucky bastard,” I growled and heaved a pillow at him. He ducked and disappeared into the bathroom, laughing all the way.
I threw myself at the bed. I couldn't get the hospital visit out of my head. What was wrong with Mr.V? I didn’t want to ask, but I did not like mysteries. And who was this Stern character? Finally, I got up and turned on my computer and went to the college website. The expedition was prominently displayed on the History Department’s page.Mr. V.’s team had found the site of an ancient Temple of Osiris somewhere on an island in the Nile River in Egypt. Judging from the displayed photographs, their findings were spectacular. I opened the link toMr. V.’s interview with the Cairo Daily newspaper about a month ago.
“We’ve been looking for this temple for a long time,” the article quotedMr. V. as saying. “From the papyri dating back to the Old Kingdom, we knew it was somewhere on the island. It is said to be the oldest Temple of Osiris, the God of the Underworld, in Egypt. “
I looked again at the attached photographs. Jonathan appeared in several pictures, bossing around the local diggers. Something in his expression and posture disturbed me. He looked tense, his eyes wide open, but with a hint of smile. After a moment, I placed it. I had thought of his gaze as raptor-like. Now I realized that described his entire aspect. No matter what I saw him doing, he looked like a hungry predator regarding his cornered prey.
Tony emerged from the bathroom and leaned over my shoulder to look at the computer screen. “God help anybody who gets in his way,” he remarked and laughed briefly. Then he inhaled. “You stink,” he remarked. “Did you hear of this new invention, I think it's called a shower?”
“I didn't have time,” I offered. “I was at St. Agnes, visitngMr. V.. And had a class before that.”
“I know you were in a hospital,” Tony answered. “I can smell it on you.”
I decided to change the subject. “Do you know Jonathan Stern?” I asked, pointing to one of the photos.
Tony nodded. “As a matter of fact, I know him some. He is from New Jersey like me. His dad is an odd duck, but a very rich guy. Everybody knows him there. They have a mansion somewhere in the Pine Barrens.” He leaned toward me. “They are originally from Salem, Massachusetts. The family lived there for centuries. Some people in New Jersey say that when they burned those witches in Salem, they made a stupid mistake when they spared the Stern clan. I say maybe they were scared of the real thing.” He laughed.
I shook my head and turned the discussion back to Jonathan. “Did he do something before he came to the college? Sirota said something was fishy.”
“Sirota said something?” Tony stopped abruptly. “There were rumors,” he said vaguely. He stopped for a moment, lost in thought—or indecision. Indecision won out. “You know, Alex, I would rather not talk about it.”
“You’re not going to tell me?” I asked disbelievingly. “Come on, you know I can keep my mouth shut.”
He hesitated. “Well,” he finally started with his back turned toward me, “I went to the same high school as Jon, although he was a senior and I was a freshman at that time. It was a boarding school, I think I told you. There was this girl…He seemed to like her, but she thought he was creepy…She left the school one night. Teachers said she transferred to another school and nobody saw her again. But my girlfriend got her room the next year, and when I visited her, I tried to open a window, and I saw scratch marks on the windowsill…”
“Do you think she jumped?” I asked.
“No,” he said, surprised. “That isn’t it. Those marks… there were four of them, spread like a fan.” He swallowed. “Like a giant claw caught there.” He shook his head. “You know what, Alex, you’re my best friend, but I would rather not to discuss this, seriously. If Jonathan heard I went around blabbing… Let’s just say I prefer to be safe than sorry.”
“Okay,” I said. “But this may have nothing to do with Jonathan and could be totally innocent. Yes,” he agreed abruptly. “You are probably right.” He turned to the door. “I have to go see Cheryl,” he said, and quickly walked out.
* * * *
On Monday, I had a meeting with my career counselor, Mr. Brown. When I entered his office, I again spied Sirota. The guy really got around. When he saw me, he bowed and left. I sat down and went with Mr. Brown over my options. To my relief, I saw that with some financial aid from the college, loans, and part time jobs, I could manage to stay on as a full time student.
When we finished, Mr. Brown asked, “Do you have any summer plans, Alex?”
“Apart from finding a summer job? Not really,” I confessed.
“In that case, I have a suggestion for you. You may not realize it, but teachers—at least some of them—observe their students. Anyway, you saw professor Sirota here.” I nodded. “He noticed that you recently had trouble with his classes. Since he thinks you are actually a bright guy,” Mr. Brown continued with a grin, “he thought you might again be facing the same sort of financial problems you came here with. Anyway, he proposed, since summer is here, that you might be interested in taking part in a summer research project led by our history department. Do not look so surprised,” Mr. Brown continued. “Yes, we do have a history department.”
“Yes, I know that,” I replied. “I checked the web. They are kinda famous.”
Mr. Brown continued, “As it happens, the department could use some help at their dig in Upper Egypt. I know that your family is originally from the region and you speak Arabic. That would be a big plus, since we do not really have that many Arabic speakers at the college. The stipend that would go with the job would go a long way toward covering your tuition and fees for next year.”
“But I don’t know much about Egypt,” I objected.
“What you need to learn, you can learn quickly. I know you. Besides, you can learn from Heather Van Senmut. She will be at the dig too. She was there last summer and has gone back as frequently as her studies allowed her. A discovery of hers was the seminal find that triggered the request for the college’s support, the first, I hear, of many interesting findings. I’ve heard she can be a good teacher.” His smile changed to a frown at whatever he was seeing on my face. “Stop looking so upset. I'm sure she won't mind answering a few questions. In any case, please think it over and let me know if you want to go. “
I nodded slowly and got up. “Is it okay if I tell you my decision by the end of the month?”
“That’ll be fine. The summer expedition will be leaving in four weeks.”