Juan Gómez-Jurado - Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

Fowler silenced her with a gesture.

‘The eight men who left Jerusalem with the Ark reached Jericho the following morning.’ Forrester had backed away and was now addressing the fourteen people who listened with growing interest. ‘We’re now entering the realm of speculation, but it happens to be the speculation of a man who has spent decades pondering this very question. In Jericho they would have picked up supplies and water. They crossed the Jordan River near Bethany and reached the King’s Highway near Mount Nebo. The highway is the oldest uninterrupted communications link in history, the path that led Abraham from Chaldea to Canaan. Those eight Jews walked south on that route until they reached Petra, where they left the highway and headed in the direction of a mythical place that would have seemed like the end of the world to the Jerusalemites. This place.’

‘Professor, do you have any idea which part of the canyon we should be looking in? Because this is place is huge,’ said Dr Harel.

‘That’s where all of you come in, starting from tomorrow. David, Gordon… show them the equipment.’

The two assistants appeared, each wearing a strange contraption. They had a harness across their chest, to which a metallic device the shape of a small backpack was attached. The harness had four straps from which hung a square metal structure that framed the body at thigh level. At the front corners of this structure were two lamp-like objects resembling the headlights of a car, which were pointed towards the ground.

‘These, good people, will be your summer outfits for the next few days. The device is called a proton precession magnetometer.

There were whistles of admiration.

‘Flashy name, isn’t it?’ said David Pappas.

‘Be quiet, David. We’re working on the theory that the men chosen by Yirm əyáhu hid the Ark somewhere in this canyon. The magnetometer will let us know the exact location.’

‘How does it work?’ Andrea asked.

‘The instrument sends out a signal that registers the magnetic field of the Earth. Once it is attuned to that, it will pick up any anomaly in the magnetic field, such as the presence of metal. You don’t need to understand exactly how it works, because the equipment transmits a wireless signal directly to my computer. If you find something, I’ll know before you do.’

‘Is it difficult to operate?’ asked Andrea.

‘Not if you know how to walk. Each of you will be assigned a series of quadrants in the canyon about fifty feet apart. All you have to do is press the start button on the harness and take a step every five seconds. Like this.’

Gordon took a step forward and stopped. Five seconds later, the instrument gave off a low whistle. Gordon took another step and the whistle stopped. Five seconds later the whistle went off again.

‘You’ll do this for ten hours a day in shifts of an hour and a half, with fifteen-minute rest periods,’ Forrester said.

Everyone began to complain.

‘What about people who have other duties?’

‘Take care of them when you’re not working in the canyon, Mr Frick.’

‘You expect us to walk ten hours a day in this sun?’

‘I suggest you drink plenty of water – at least a litre every hour. With a temperature of 111 degrees, the body dehydrates quickly.’

‘What if we haven’t completed our ten hours by the end of the day?’ another voice piped up.

‘Then you’ll finish them at night, Mr Hanley.’

‘Isn’t democracy fucking great,’ Andrea muttered.

Evidently not quietly enough, because Forrester heard her.

‘Does our plan seem unfair to you, Ms Otero?’ the archaeologist said in a silken voice.

‘Now that you mention it, yes,’ replied Andrea defiantly. She leaned aside, fearing another blow from Fowler’s elbow, but it didn’t come.

‘The Jordanian government has given us a fake licence for one month for the mining of phosphates. Imagine if I imposed a slower pace? We might finish gathering data from the canyon in the third week and then not have enough time to dig up the Ark in the fourth. Would that seem fair?’

Andrea lowered her head in embarrassment. She really hated the man, no question about it.

‘Would anyone else care to join Ms Otero’s union?’ Forrester added, scrutinising the faces of those present. ‘No? Good. From now on, you’re not doctors or priests or drill operators or cooks. You’re my beasts of burden. Enjoy yourselves.’

AL MUDAWWARA DESERT, JORDAN

Thursday, 13 July 2006. 12:27 p.m.

Step, wait, whistle, step.

Andrea Otero had never made a list of the three worst experiences of her life. First, because Andrea hated lists; second, because despite her intelligence she had little capacity for introspection, and third, because whenever problems did happen to hit her in the face, her invariable response was to rush off and do something else. If she had spent five minutes the night before thinking about her worst experiences, the top of the list would undoubtedly have been the incident with the beans.

It had been the last day of school, and she was marching through her teenage years with a firm and determined step. She had left the class with only one idea in mind: to attend the opening of the new swimming pool in the housing complex where her family lived. That’s why she’d bolted down her food, aiming to get into her bathing costume ahead of everyone else. Still chewing her last mouthful, she had got up from the table. That’s when her mother had dropped the bomb.

‘Whose turn is it to do the dishes?’

Andrea didn’t even hesitate because it was her oldest brother Miguel Angel’s turn. But her three other brothers weren’t willing to wait for their leader on such a special day, so they answered in unison: ‘Andrea’s!’

‘Like hell it is. Are you out of your minds? It was my turn the day before yesterday.’

‘Sweetheart, please don’t make me have to wash your mouth out with soap.’

‘Go ahead, Mama. She deserves it,’ one of her brothers said.

‘But, Mama, it’s not my turn,’ Andrea whined, stamping her foot on the floor.

‘Well, you’ll do them anyway, and offer it up to God as penance for your sins. You’re going through a very difficult age,’ said her mother.

Miguel Angel suppressed a smile and his brothers elbowed each other triumphantly.

An hour later, Andrea, who had never been good at holding back, would think of five good replies to this injustice. But at that moment she could think of only one.

‘Mamaaaaaa!’

‘Mama nothing! Do the dishes and let your brothers go ahead to the pool.’

Suddenly Andrea understood everything: her mother knew it wasn’t her turn.

It would be hard to understand what she did next unless you were the youngest of five children and the only girl, growing up in a traditional Catholic home where you’re guilty before you’ve even sinned; the daughter of a military man of the old school, who made it clear that his sons came first. Andrea had been stepped on, spat at, mistreated and shunted aside merely for being a female – even though she possessed many qualities of a boy, and certainly had the same sensibilities.

That day she said enough is enough.

Andrea returned to the table and lifted the lid off the pot of the bean and tomato stew they had just finished eating. It was half full and still warm. Without thinking twice, she poured the remainder over Miguel Angel’s head and left the pot sitting there like a hat.

‘You do the dishes, you bastard.’

The consequences were dire. Not only did Andrea have to do the dishes, but her father came up with a more interesting punishment. He didn’t forbid her to go swimming all summer. That would have been too easy. He ordered her to sit down at the kitchen table, from which she had a perfect view of the swimming pool, and placed upon it seven pounds of dried beans.