Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [64]
Espy and I are descending to Bete Medhane Alem, the largest of the churches. When we reach the base, it’s easier to appreciate the scale of the structure. Several freestanding pillars support the roof, also framing an intricately latticed doorway. The ancient artisans formed perfectly round pillars, cutting out the rock behind them, maintaining precise dimensions from top to bottom.
Even though there are already a large number of visitors in town, I see only a handful of people awake and eager to see the sites. The resident monk is out front, his colorful robes a counterpoint to the muted rock. He holds a long prayer staff and appears ready to outlast the day in that one spot if need be.
He greets us with a broad smile. Another man then appears at our side, gesturing at our feet. I’ve been warned about the shoes, so I slip them off and hand them over, Espy following my lead. I give the man a small tip and head toward the entrance.
“What is he going to do with our shoes?” Espy says, glancing back over her shoulder as the man to whom she has entrusted her pricey togs disappears.
“They’ll be waiting for us on the other side.”
She looks less than convinced but follows me in.
The interior is modeled after a basilica, and as I walk deeper into it, I count five naves. I can’t think of many churches this size with that number. There are more than thirty square pillars supporting a cornice, and Espy runs a hand along one of them. There are places that appear to be rubbed smooth—likely by the hands of countless visitors over the centuries. There’s a lot to take in and I’m trying to oblige, but I can’t move too quickly; I have to trust my gut to see something my eyes might pass over.
I’m drawn to the frescoes. Most of them are badly damaged, and it bothers me that they haven’t been preserved. The parts I can see appear to be the recounting of biblical scenes. Yet several rock carvings have, by their nature, navigated the passage of time with more integrity. There’s more than one theme to the carvings, but I fixate on the animals. I see representations of at least eight different animals, and I can’t decipher any connecting thread between them. I have Alem’nesh’s dragon in my mind, trying to tie it to something, but I feel handicapped by having no idea what I’m looking for.
There are eleven churches, each with its many details, carvings, and murals. And I’m presupposing that what I’m searching for is something that’s visible to the naked eye. That could be a risky premise yet I have nothing else to go on, and I have to believe that as much as it pained Alem’nesh to confide in me, I don’t think he would send me out here with no hope of finding something.
We spend perhaps a half hour inside, while other visitors come and go around us. When we leave, it’s through a tunnel connecting to Bete Maryam—the first of the churches to find its liberation from the rock. It is much like Bete Medhane Alem, but with its own peculiarities such as the windows, which were carved in odd shapes, allowing the light to fall on the Holy of Holies and on the tabot that rests there.
Another half hour passes and neither Espy nor myself are struck by anything out of the ordinary. There’s the very real possibility that we’ve walked right by whatever it is we are here to discover. I’m not sure what I was thinking, how I thought we could visit this place and find what we’re looking for without the months—perhaps years—of exhaustive research that something like this necessitates. Esperanza must catch the souring of my mood because she leaves her perusal of a Maltese cross to link her arm in mine.
“Two down, nine to go. I’d call that progress.”
Although I appreciate the gesture, I do not share her optimism. “You know as well as