The 13th Tablet

‘Five more to go’ thought Mina, stretching. She was correcting essays in her office, but from time to time she would glance at the thin stone tablet peeking out of her handbag. She was still unsure what to do about it. Why had it been encased in an ancient fake clay tablet? Obviously to conceal its importance, to make it look like any of the tens of thousands of clay tablets produced at the time. She could not understand what was so special about the stone tablet that would require such a sophisticated disguise. Moreover, the tablet was incomplete, yet still someone had found it necessary to conceal it.

What she really needed to do was speak to an independent scholar who would understand the importance of the find without questioning the particular context of the discovery. There was someone she remembered from a seminar she had attended at Harvard years ago. He was an old scholar in Hebraic studies who specialised in the philological history of Noah and his counterpart in the Sumerian tradition. He had an unusual name. She remembered thinking it sounded almost Japanese. What was his name? Shobai, Moshe Shobai. That was it.

With a bit of luck she might still have his contact details. She turned on her laptop, drumming her fingers on the table, cursing her old computer for being so slow.

‘Bingo!’ She still had his email address. He worked for a Jewish foundation in London, The Key to Tradition. She remembered that it was ‘A very well-funded institution,’ a colleague at the seminar had told her in hushed tones. She emailed a short summary of the translation to the old man with a few notes reminding him who she was and what the problem was with the tablet. Hopefully he would get back to her soon. As she sifted through her emails, she noticed one from Nigel. Anxiously, she opened it.

Dear Mina,

I’m sorry to be the one to give you this news. Your travel grant application was turned down. I don’t think it has anything to do with your qualities as a scholar. There were many other high-calibre applicants and only two grants were offered this year. Don’t hesitate to re-apply next year. You may be luckier next time…’

She couldn’t read anymore. She slumped in her chair, crushed by the consequences of this news. She wouldn’t be able to pursue her research on Benjamin of Tudela in Safed. She had been so looking forward to it. She wondered if the result would have been different had she remained in New York as a full-time PhD student. But she hadn’t. It was idle thinking.

The next step was to call Hassan and ask where she could find the old labourer who had brought him the tablet. Hassan would be curious about this. Could she trust him with such sensitive information? She would think about what to do when it came to it. First she needed to ensure that he would keep his mouth shut.

‘Hassan?’

‘Morning Madam Mina’ answered the young man, sheepishly. ‘I’ve just made up my mind to come and see Professor Almeini, to apologise for my behaviour over the last month.’

‘That’s great news. Listen, could you come to see me first? I need to talk over a few things with you.’

‘Alright I’ll come before lunch.’

She still had a few hours ahead of her to focus on research. Hopefully no-one would disturb her. She picked up her notes on Benjamin of Tudela. She was so disappointed not to have obtained the funds to travel to Safed. She would have loved to research the strange discrepancies in his stories. She’d left out a few details in her account of Tudela’s manuscript when she’d spoken to Nigel. More importantly, she couldn’t tell him about her intuitions as he clearly didn’t seem to care. But like all researchers who spend a lot of time reading and deciphering every aspect of an author’s work, she could almost sense what Tudela had left out in his accounts.

She refocused on Tudela, and on his travels in Palestine. She sensed he had intentionally withheld information in his account of Safed. There was a mystery here that she needed to unravel.

It was almost lunch time. Where was Hassan? The phone rang. ‘Ah’ she thought, ‘he’s calling to say he can’t come’. But it was Jack.

‘Hi there Mina,’ he said in a cheerful voice.

‘Hi Jack,’ she answered, pleasantly surprised by the phone call. ‘Was the search successful?’

‘Yes, very. That’s why I’m calling. Would you like to come over to the village tomorrow and see how your and the professor’s deductions have created a lifeline for this village? We should hit the water source tomorrow, early afternoon.’

‘That’s great.’

‘So will you come?’ he asked again.

‘Well…’