The Antiquarian (54 page)

“It's the diagram of the relationships existing among the sephirot. A complex structure conceived by the kabbalists of the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth centuries. See? And the Stone of God, since the true name of the Hebrew God is written on it, is the manifestation of a sephirah. Look at the names in the side columns.”

Bety and Carlos read Manolo's cramped, tiny handwriting. One of the columns was called the Pillar of Judgment; the other, the Pillar of Love.

“‘Assisted and guided by love and judgment,'” repeated Bety as if it were a litany.

“That's it!” Enrique exclaimed.

“But what's the relationship between all this and the manuscript?” asked Carlos, feeling a little lost.

“Each sephirah had a name,” Enrique answered. “You'll find them written there, in the circles.
Sephirah
is the singular form of
sephirot
,” he explained before Carlos could ask.

“But they're in Hebrew!”

“To find the solution all you have to know is where to look.”

Enrique's self-assurance grew proportionally as he explained his discoveries. If at first he'd seemed reluctant, it was due to a lack of confidence and the complexity of the structure that surrounded the entire mystery. Nonetheless, telling his friends of the connections among the facts only strengthened his belief in their veracity.

“Where'd you find the references to translate them?” asked Bety, who wanted to confirm the idea running through her mind.

“They were as close as you imagine: in the book collection Artur had in his shop, which I had moved to Vallvidrera last week, before you got here.”

“So … ?”

“Artur was a die-hard antique book lover; he had an extraordinary collection. But it wasn't just about having books: what he really loved was reading them, and then researching and expanding his newfound knowledge through the purchase of new, more modern volumes. He got a kick out of research.

“One of the books he had in his library at the shop was the Zohar, in its first version, printed in Mantua in 1559. It was way over my head, but along with it I found more modern books with interpretations of the original text. Obviously, I didn't think they had anything to do with the Stone until I had Manolo's notebook in my hands. Then I decided to study them until I could tie up the loose ends. Manolo told us that it
was an occult object, and the books in the shop were about the Kabbalah. I finally connected enough information to induce that the kabbalistic figure known as the Tree of Life was related to the Casadevall manuscript. Only someone as incredibly cultivated as Artur would have been able to unravel the mystery of the manuscript without knowing what the hidden object was. Of course, I can't even begin to compare myself with my father; without Manolo's help I never would've figured it out.

“The problem was defining the relationship between the manuscript and the sephirot. Just because there were common elements between them didn't mean the enigma had been cracked. But once I knew that Manolo was investigating here, on the roof of the cathedral, where Casadevall sealed the fourth vault the same year that, according to his manuscript, he decided to help the mysterious S., the pieces started to fall into place. He hid the Stone here, but not where I thought.”

“But why were you looking for a symbol over the keystone?” Carlos was making every effort to follow the plot of a story whose details were unknown to him.

“As I was telling you, the Tree of Life is like a chart of the sephirot. Well, one of them, on the lower part of the diagram, is the one called ‘the Kingdom.' The manuscript spoke of the Kingdom of God, and then said ‘that our Lord has deemed fit to show me.' I'm looking for the symbol of the kingdom according to the Hebrew word, because wherever we find it is where Casadevall hid the Stone.”

“And you think you'll find it over the fourth keystone,” Carlos said, understanding. “But, it's not here. And if it's not here, where the hell is it?”

“Well, I don't know,” Enrique admitted sadly. “Look, knowing the connection between all these things doesn't mean solving the riddle. I was expecting to find it here, on top of the fourth keystone, following Manolo's footsteps. It seemed like the logical place.”

“Wait,” interrupted Bety. “The manuscript said ‘that our Lord has deemed fit to show me.' And you think that Casadevall was referring to a symbol representing the Hebrew word for ‘kingdom.' But wouldn't it be more reasonable for the sign to refer to a specific site? The phrase points us to a place, the Kingdom of God, where he hid the Stone. And I think that the last part of the sentence, ‘has deemed fit to show me,' contains another clue, indicating the exact spot where he hid it.”

“It's possible,” Enrique admitted.

Bety's gaze took on a special shine; evening was falling, and her green eyes sparkled intensely.

“Look over there,” Bety pointed to the end of the cathedral that was behind them.

Across the entire bare roof there was no signal clearer and more evident than the cross that marked the closure of the vaults. Their eyes met with expectation; Enrique's entire body broke out in goose bumps with a sudden shiver. Small passing clouds darkened the vault of the cathedral and a cool wind suddenly picked up.

“The Kingdom of God. The Tree of Life. Check the elevation against the diagram. Each vault of the cathedral coincides with one of the sephirot. The sephirah of the kingdom. There it is,” Bety pointed.

“Yes,” Enrique confidently agreed. “It has to be there.”

They walked toward the cross. From where they stood, and owing to the height of the cathedral over the old buildings of the Gothic Quarter, the sky seemed to frame the cross as if it were a cartouche. At that moment they knew that Bety had been right, that there was no other possibility. On reaching the cross, they looked at it closely. It was a simple work, like the entire roof of the cathedral, barely six feet high counting the base on which it was erected, made up of two circular steps and a pedestal. The top of the cross, as well as the horizontal arms, were gently crowned with fleur-de-lis motifs. The
work seemed unaltered by the passage of centuries, though the same couldn't be said for its immediate surroundings, where recently installed pipes and reinforcements were clearly visible.

“You have to look for that symbol.” Enrique showed them the symbol of the kingdom according to the Tree of Life diagram. “I don't think he would've engraved it completely. It's more likely that he only engraved the initial.”

They knelt down around the cross, half crawling, in false reverence to a sacred symbol under which they hoped to find something altogether different. It was Carlos who cried out that he had found it. The other two rushed to his side and recognized in the stone, just as Enrique had thought, the first letter of the word ‘kingdom.'

They had found it.

It was on the side of one of the stones that formed part of the second step. Bety gently ran her fingertips over its face until she found the tiny slot that divided it in two. There, in final confirmation of his intuition, chisel marks proved Manolo's presence on the site. She showed the incision to the others. Carlos took the hammer and chisel out of his backpack. He set the chisel over the slot and looked at Enrique as if seeking confirmation.

“Go ahead,” Enrique said, and the hammer, muffled by the distant sound of the organ and the voices of the choir, began its monotonous song over the stone.

Five minutes later, and sweating profusely, Carlos showed them the fruits of his labor. The chisel had penetrated to a point where it no longer met resistance. There was an empty space inside the rock; it was hollow. He handed the tools to Enrique, who concentrated his efforts on the sides of the stone. Another five minutes passed, until he decided to check if the stone had come loose. He handed the chisel to Carlos, who positioned himself next to Enrique, and inserted the hammer into the slot. They levered
with both tools until, with a loud crack, part of the stone suddenly flew off the base of the cross and landed at Bety's feet. The detached stone, in the shape of an L, had been covering a fist-sized hollow. Inside was a bag of thick leather, sealed shut with heavy stitches, now covered by the dust their hammering had made. In reverent silence, Carlos was about to pick up the bag when Enrique stopped him.

“Wait. A moment like this deserves to be savored. These things don't happen more than once in a lifetime; it's best to stop and enjoy them.”

“You're so right,” Carlos admitted, gracefully bowing to his friend. “Enrique the writer is back. And I'm happy to see him!”

They remained in silence for a few minutes, all three of them lost in their thoughts, relishing the moment. For Enrique, it was time to pay special tribute to those who had died for the content of that tiny leather sack. Carlos was pleased to momentarily satisfy the sense of adventure that had driven him to become a private investigator. More pragmatic, Bety found this reverent waiting unnecessary, but she was too cautious to make any objection. Enrique and Carlos were two old friends with a lot common, and she didn't mind them playing the movie hero for a few minutes. Finally, Enrique knelt to pick up the leather bag. He weighed it in his hand. It didn't seem heavy at all. His attempts to open it failed.

“Congratulations, Bety. You were right. But I'm afraid we won't be able to open it without using a knife, scissors, or something like that. It looks like the leather is welded shut. We'll have to go home, or to Carlos's office.”

“That won't be necessary. I have some folding scissors in my purse that will do the trick.” She dug through the clutter of objects in her tiny purse until she found the tool. “Here you go.”

Enrique unfolded the scissors; they were small, but strong, with broad, sharp blades. The sack was sewn with what looked like a long, thin strip of leather. He inserted the tip of the scissors into one of the stitches and, for the sake of caution, pushed outward with force. After so many years, the cord was welded to the bag, and required several minutes of diligent effort. In the end, it gave with a dry pop that sent a shiver down his spine. A powerful feeling of déjà vu, the most intense he'd ever felt, made the hairs all over his body stand up. This scene seemed hauntingly familiar to him. He would've sworn that he'd opened the bag at some other time. The power of the impression was such that he was completely dumbstruck. He tried to grasp the fleeting images racing through his imagination—or was it his memory?—but they all slipped away. He only recovered when Bety, familiar with those spells that would have seemed strange to anyone else, put her hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it's nothing, I just felt like I'd been through all this before,” he explained.

“Well, now that you're back, let's see the Stone,” Carlos interjected.

Enrique nodded and placed his hand inside the bag as carefully as a snake charmer removing his animals from the basket where they were kept. The Stone was oval shaped, the size of a fist, with softly rounded edges. It was cold to the touch. He grasped it tightly and brought it out into the light. With his palm up, he opened his hand without realizing how slowly he did it. There, in his palm, before their eyes, was—at last!—the Stone of God, the mystic and mythical object for which two people had lost their lives in the final link of its story.

It was a mild green, pleasing to the eye, between opaque and translucent. Its color, chameleonic, seemed to fluctuate depending on the angle from which it was viewed. None of them would have believed that it could have been used as ammunition for a
catapult. It seemed fragile, more a beautiful object of decoration than the messenger of death it had become. The facet visible to them bore no inscription. Enrique turned it over and they saw several thin letters engraved on its surface.

“Can you translate them?” asked Carlos.

“I don't know the first thing about Hebrew. But I know who could help us: Samuel.”

“Well, what do you know?” Carlos replied. “From suspect to necessary collaborator to solve the mystery. Because, Bety, you wouldn't know—?”

“Me neither,” added Bety. “I'm afraid that'll have to wait until tomorrow, if you really want to read it.”

“Well, well! I wasn't expecting that from you!” Enrique taunted. “Are you really afraid of a four-thousand-year-old legend?”

“I am when for that tradition someone can infest their mind until they're driven to murder. Do you remember the words Manolo quoted Shackermann as saying? He said: ‘He believed.'”

“Well, we'll discuss that somewhere else.” Enrique was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Are you completely sure that this is the Stone?” Carlos pointed to the leather bag.

“What else could it be?” Bety retorted condescendingly. “Everything has led us to it. In that tiny leather bag is one of the most important historical objects discovered in this century. We're making history.”

“Let's not waste time. Carlos, help me put the base of the cross back the way it was.”

It didn't take that much effort to put it back; the block weighed no more than thirty or forty pounds. There was no mortar for the joints, but they didn't have to worry, as its
weight kept it fixed in place. At first glance, no one would have imagined that under that particular stone, something had been hidden for over six hundred years.

“Let's get out of here,” Carlos ordered. “We have the Stone; neither Manolo nor the killer ever got their hands on it.”

“Manolo got close. It must've been him who made that chisel mark,” Bety sighed. “Why didn't he take it out?”

“According to the report you read us, he left the cathedral late. Maybe he didn't find it until it was time to leave, or he was afraid of being caught making noise with the hammer,” Enrique conjectured. “A concert being scheduled for today is a stroke of good luck we weren't counting on.”