The Lotus Cross by Ray Anderson (top 10 novels of all time .txt) 📕

but I’m not aware of any written document found to verify its existence.” He touched the edge of the ancient manuscript bearing the Chinese characters. “If this document is authentic, it may very well be the only one in existence that identifies the actual artifact.” He turned to face Charles with a pensive stare. “This is describing a treasure that possibly contains the residue of the blood of the risen Christ.”

Charles reacted by pulling back his shoulders. “I’d never heard of this legend,” he said as he turned his gaze to the document and translated copy lying on the oak tabletop.

“There’s very little known about it. I went online after we spoke this morning. There wasn’t one reference to the Lotus Cross.”

“How did you find out about it in the first place?” Charles scratched the side of his head.

Michael gazed at the manuscript and translated copy on the table in front of him. “I only became aware of it because of my interest in the ancient trading routes between the East and West. It seems the only reference to it is the folklore of local peoples that keeps the legend alive.” His eyes focused on the translated copy as he adjusted himself in the old leather chair. “There’s something else here that’s been a mystery for almost fourteen centuries.”

Charles raised his eyebrows. “What else, pray tell?”

Michael looked into his brother-in-law’s questioning eyes. “It’s been assumed by most scholars that Christian monks came into China in the seventh century from Persia, which is present-day Iran.” He rubbed his chin. “Whether they did or didn’t, this manuscript describes the journey of Christian monks coming into China from the land of a multitude of gods. That would be India. They must have brought the Lotus Cross with them.”

“Why were the monks welcomed?” Charles asked. “The Chinese went so far as to build the Great Wall to keep out foreigners. I don’t know all the history, but something must have changed.”

Michael smiled a small smile. “An enlightened Chinese emperor by the name of Taizong ushered in the Tang Dynasty in 617 AD. Taoism became the state religion, relegating Confucianism to an administrative role in government.”

“I don’t mean to be asking so many questions,” Charles said, “but what’s the difference between Taoism and Confucianism?”

Michael waved his hand. “There are many differences, but I think it can be encapsulated by saying Taoism is of the spirit whereas Confucianism is about the law.”

“So, this enlightened emperor was a Taoist?” Charles leaned forward in his chair.

“Yes, and he opened the borders to monks and scholars of all religions and philosophies. It was truly the beginning of an era of enlightenment—a golden age of tolerance never seen before or since in Chinese history.” Michael let out a sigh. “Unfortunately, subsequent rulers weren’t as enlightened, and the Tang Dynasty only lasted for 150 years, but during that time Christian monasteries were established in over a hundred cities in China. This is the period described in the manuscript as the Awakening Dragon. Christians would travel the caravan routes to touch the Lotus Cross and rub their fingers along its face.”

Charles slapped the arm of his chair. “My God! Michael, what would it mean to the world if the Lotus Cross could be located?”

“If there really is an artifact containing traces of Christ’s blood, it would be a find like no other.” Michael raised his hands. “The quest for the Holy Grail would pale in comparison, to say nothing of the controversy surrounding lineage issues. With the advances in DNA research, this would be the Mother Lode.” Michael paused for a moment. “How do you know this translation is accurate?”

Charles pulled himself up. “My father was proud of his service during World War II. He was in Foreign Services. He spent ten years in China before and during World War II. He related to me how Japanese spies infiltrated China under the guise of being archaeologists and historians during the late thirties.” He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “By that time, Mandarin had become the official written form used in Chinese government communications. The spies used the out-of-date classical Chinese characters to communicate with each other and as a cover for getting messages to Japan without raising suspicion. My father spoke of the arduous training it took for him to become fluent in Mandarin and master classical Chinese character writing. I’m sure he put the same expertise into translating this document.”

Michael nodded. “Tell me more about your grandfather. I remember when we first met you said he had been an archaeologist.”

“Yes.” Charles took off his glasses and laid them on the table. “It’s a long story, but from what my grandmother said, he was an adventurous spirit. All the treasures being brought back to England from China intrigued him,” he said as he massaged his eyes. “He mounted a small expedition into China in the early part of the twentieth century. Because the rumblings had already begun that led to the First World War, he cut his expedition short and came back to England. He enlisted in the Army. She said he felt it was his duty—he had a wife and young child to protect. Like so many other young men sent off to fight, he never returned.” He put his glasses back on. “My grandmother lived out her life on the country property. She wouldn’t let any of his possessions be touched. I believe she kept alive the hope that one day he’d return.”

“So, you believe your father came across the manuscript after your grandmother passed on?”

“Yes. I told you this was a long story.”

“You’ve got my undivided attention.” Michael sat back in his chair.

Charles took as deep a breath as he was able to muster and stood up. He was well over six feet tall, but with age he had started to stoop a bit. He buttoned up his sweater and filled two water glasses from the decanter on the side table. “When my parents retired and moved up to the country to take care of my grandmother, they had their work cut out for them. She didn’t want anyone doing anything for her, but as her health deteriorated, it became an around-the-clock commitment that my parents dealt with,” he said as he handed Michael a glass and then eased himself back down into his chair. “After my grandmother died, my parents had a few happy years up there together. My father remodeled the old barn and transformed it into a pottery studio for my mother and a workshop for himself.” He took a sip of water. “My mother was happiest when she was creating pottery. When she died four years ago, my father withdrew from everyone and became a recluse. I think he became delusional and paranoid.”

Michael leaned forward. “What makes you say that?” A flash of light filled the room, followed almost immediately by a loud thunderclap.

Charles turned his head momentarily toward the window. “After my mother died and I went up to visit, he told me he was worried about spies and thought people were out to get him because of what he knew.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “What was he talking about?”

“I couldn’t make any sense of it, but he must have come across this manuscript while rummaging through my grandfather’s papers. He had plenty of time on his hands after mother died.”

Michael became quiet for a moment. He rubbed the spot between his eyebrows with the first two fingers of his left hand. “If this document is authentic, the Lotus Cross is one artifact I’d hate to see get into the wrong hands.” He pursed his lips. “I’ve seen how sacred artifacts have been used for personal gain or held in private collections instead of being made available to everyone, and…” he held up his hand for emphasis, “how religious institutions and governments have used artifacts of the past as pawns in a quest for greater power and control.”

Charles folded his arms. “I don’t understand the world of ancient religious artifacts, but I can only imagine the uproar something like the Lotus Cross would cause.”

“You have no idea,” Michael said. He listened to the wind whistling through the branches of the trees outside the window and thought of the reference to the Gentle Wind in the manuscript. “I’m going to do some research when I get back from Africa. I want to find out if there’s any more information available about the possible whereabouts of what’s referred to in this manuscript.” He waved his hand over the ancient parchment with the delicate Chinese characters.

Charles gazed at the manuscript. “I have another question.” He touched his chest. “What’s the significance of the cloth that Thomas wore around his neck?”

Michael shook his head to clear it of otherworldly images. “In ancient times, it was common practice to suspend a cloth inside a pouch attached to a leather strap or length of twine around one’s neck so the cloth could be close to the heart. Usually, the cloth had the name of God on it. In Thomas’s case, it would have been Yahweh.” He reached for his water glass and took a sip. “This practice goes on today with crosses, brooches, and pendants that people wear on chains and straps to keep these sacred objects close to their hearts, as in ancient times.”

Charles gave out a small chuckle as he pulled a small, heart-shaped brooch on a gold chain out from under his sweater. Inside was a picture of his wife. “Margaret gave me this on our first wedding anniversary. I’ve worn it ever since.” His voice dropped as he viewed the picture. “I’m concerned about Margaret.” He raised his eyes. “She’s been a nurse her whole adult life and has dealt with death and dying professionally, but…if something were to happen to me, you’d make sure she would be okay, wouldn’t you?”

Michael set his glass down. “Of course I would,” he blurted out. “But you’ll probably outlive us all,” he added with a rap on the table.

“I don’t know about that,” Charles said with a hint of a smile. “But I hope I’m around for a while.” He looked at his watch. “Maybe we should get back in there.”

“You’re probably right.” Michael turned his attention to the manuscript and the translated copy one last time before getting up.

“Margaret dear, we’re finished,” Charles called down the hall.

“The roast is coming out of the oven now,” she answered.

They entered the dining room as Margaret came in from the kitchen. They ate in amiable conversation. It was a warm dinner, the likes of which Michael had missed in the last year. After they had cleared off the table and Margaret had the dishwasher running, she led Michael into the living room.

Charles excused himself and went down the hallway.

As they sat down, Michael noticed a collection of pictures of Karen arranged on the table across from them. His eyes danced from picture to picture showing Karen at various stages of her life. “I’ve been looking forward to going to Uganda for the last year. Now that it’s finally happening, I have mixed emotions.” He cocked his head. “On the one hand, I want to see where Karen is buried. On the other hand, I don’t know what I expect will happen.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be careful?”

He turned to her. “Of course. I’ll be all right. I wouldn’t be allowed to go at all if the rebels were still active.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll go put on some tea.”

Michael was studying the pictures of Karen when Charles came in from the hallway and sat down across from him. He carried a folder in his hand. “Do you think the Lotus Cross could still be somewhere in China?”

Michael turned his attention to Charles. “I don’t know,” he said as he glanced at the folder. “There’ve been many areas that have turned up artifacts along the ancient trading routes.”

Charles crossed his legs.