side his head. The more he wanted to forget them, the more they stuck to his mind. The harder he tried to forget Jesus, the more the blue eyes of this dream apparition burned themselves into his memory.
He never wanted to care about such nonsense. Especially, since this nonsense had reached him in form of a dream. Already his father had told him ‘dreams are ten a penny.’ And besides – shouldn’t the dream figure have known that he, Michael, had very little interest in God or his son. This was even an understatement. Michael believed neither in God nor in Jesus Christ. Also not in the church nor, as had become fashionable recently, in the fat-bellied Buddha, who was appearing in more and more gardens in his neighborhood. He neither believed in eternal torments of hell nor in singing angels, nor in the possibility of reincarnation on earth, although it was not more logical to him, to only be born once rather than several times. He also simply had spent far too little time considering faith. He neither believed in a universal creative conscience, nor in a bearded father in heaven. And he did not believe in Jesus Christ. Not even now, even if his nose had just caught a salty whiff of the nearby Dead Sea.
But just this in the end convinced Michael, that he should look into that dream and those numbers a little more intensively. If a James Bond had appeared in his dream, passing along coordinates as he sat next to a blonde co-pilot in some futuristic vehicle, than he would have forgotten the dream quickly. But it had not been James Bond, but rather a Messiah.
And yes, after endless hours of critical inner dialogue with himself, he finally had figured out that those numbers were not dates, but rather coordinates. These numbers were supposed to communicate a specific place to him. And this place was somewhere in the West Bank, north of the modern day excavation site Khirbet and Qumran. How was he, a happily engaged twenty-eight year old industrial clerk, who had no clue about archaeology, supposed to search for hidden scrolls in the desert? Did this Jesus really think that he, Michael Jansen from Germany, could find anything that legions of archaeologists had missed?
It should only be a few more metres before he would have reached his goal. One more quick glance at the GPS, and he was there. The satellite supported navigation system showed him that he had arrived. Michael stopped and looked around. Nothing except red brown cliffs and boulders was to be seen. Behind him the hill chain of the Judaic hill country rose up and diagonally in front of him he had a view of the Dead Sea, the lowest point of surface in the world. A truly inhospitable place in his eyes. He did not like deserts, he did not like scraggy country. And he did not like storms that constantly blew sand into his eyes.
Not a soul far and wide. No prominence in a radius of fifty meters. Just a large rock directly in front of him. And on first glance the rock did not look like it could hide a secret. But the data on the GPS left no room for doubt. This rock was the place that he had sought. Michael carefully walked around it, but it did not seem suitable, too normal to serve as hiding place of possibly important writings. A lot of debris lay all about it, and there was no clearly visible indication of an entrance.
Suddenly, as if an old memory had seized him, he began, with hands accustomed more to a computer keyboard, to remove first smaller, then larger pieces of rock. And lo and behold, he discovered a texture in the rock which encouraged him to continue removing rubble.
At first gingerly, then faster and faster. Patience was truly not his forte. However eventually the certainty dawned in him that he would find something. A narrow horizontal cleft emerged above the ground, into which he could barely squeeze himself. Now he even had to work hard in this heat. The thought of that alone was enough to cause his forehead to break into a sweat.
He looked at the rock again thoroughly. Directly above the possible entrance many holes were visible, which birds perhaps had left there over a long period of time. There was still a lot of rubble lying about, and one could make out, that the crevice under the rock must have once been much smaller. No grown up person could have crawled in here.
Michael hesitated. Should he really continue looking? How should this Jesus ever have come this way? So far away from any road?
“You and I, we are here now”, Michael admonished the lazy bum in himself. “You would prefer to just have your peace now, and I would prefer to be sitting in an ice-cafe enjoying spaghetti-ice-cream with Susanne. However, unfortunately you do not have your peace and quiet and I am not sitting next to my girl. So pull yourself together. We are here and I am going to continue digging.” He shook his head once he had noticed that he was already beginning to talk to himself. No surprise, considering the heat.
Michael unpacked his shovel, strapped his little headlamp on and began to enlarge the entrance. Then he knocked against the ceiling of the rock. Tack, tack, tack. Nothing unusual. Further right. Tack, tack , tack. Also nothing. Further back. Tack, tack, tack. Maybe he needed to check the floor. It took a while, until he had turned around in the narrow crevice. Tock, tock, tock. Nothing. Tock, tock, tock. Also nothing. Maybe further back. Tock, tock, tong. What was that? Had it really just sounded like there was a cave beneath him? It sounded hollow and somehow wooden. Was this cave only covered up by boards? He dug about in the floor with his shovel and was just trying to support himself when the floor gave way. He almost would have fallen into a little cave that now appeared underneath him. Stones rolled into the depths. Klong, klong, klong, pling. Now what was that? Something in roughly one metre depth sounded different than the rock. It sounded, he could not believe it, somehow... metallic.
Now a sense of adventure overcame him. Michael let himself down into the little cave and first shovelled rubble to one side, until he actually did spy metal underneath the sand. A kind of aluminum suitcase lay there, which however was larger than the hole through which he had entered the cave. A despairing grunt escaped his lips.
There was nothing left for him to do than to increase the size of the entrance. That might take time. Fortunately t was a little cooler underneath the large rock. After about an hour of hard work he had brought the suitcase into the light of day. It was locked and also did not show any way of being opened, but he wanted to look into that later. “First, to get away from here” he said to himself. “At last you have found it again” he heard a voice coming from somewhere.
Michael looked around. No one. No human being far and wide.
What is that supposed to mean, I have found them again?” he asked into the storm which was still raging all about. He shook his head as he noticed that he was speaking with himself again. “You have found them again.” The voice spoke a second time. It seemed as if the voice came from somewhere inside him.
Did he now have to worry about truly going crazy? Ah well, nothing was crazier than being sent here by Jesus through a dream anyway.
Michael packed away his tools and considered the suitcase. Good thing that is was a fairly inconspicuous suitcase, which meant that he would be able to carry it fairly easily and it would not draw attention when he reached densely populated Jericho. The suitcase was lighter than it looked. After a brief pause in the shade of the rock and a good swig of water Michael started on his way back. It was a long road – and quite strenuous with the suitcase. Late in the evening he finally arrived in his run-down but cozy hotel in New-Jericho.
In his hotel room he threw the backpack and the suitcase unto his bed and first of all took a long shower. After that he settled down in front of the suitcase. But how was he was he supposed to open it? It really was quite light, much lighter than aluminium and looked much sturdier. No lock was visible, not even an edge at which he could have tried leverage with a screwdriver or such. Only the handle was visible. He pressed against the suitcase from every side, shook it, but nothing happened. How was he supposed to open it? Frustrated and downcast he let his head drop onto the surface of the suitcase. He quickly lifted his head in surprise, for an electronic beep sounded and the suitcase opened itself as if my magic and as quietly as the CD-player in his office.
Michael
