The Book of Lies - Brad Meltzer [56]
“Says who?” my father asks.
“Look at the text, sir: The word apple never appears in the Bible. It ain’t there. Eve ate a fruit—probably a fig—but in ancient Greece, when the Old Testament was translated from Hebrew, the scribes put in the word apple because at the time, apples were the big symbols of desire and destruction. And those slight editorial changes—over time, they start affecting how we think about the Bible, even though they’re not even in the original text.”
“But now, thanks to the wonders of Bible college, you’ll reveal the far more interesting alternate history that’ll surprise us all,” I say.
“Cal, this ain’t about what you believe. It’s about what Ellis believes. And right now, you gotta understand that he’s coming at you with what he perceives is the power of God on his side.”
We all fall silent. Serena scootches up in her seat and scratches my dad’s shoulder. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose.
“So to understand the tattoo, we need to understand Cain,” I say as Serena points to the right, signaling for us to get off at the next exit. In the rearview, the Jeep with no lights is barely two car lengths back. I tap on the brakes and slow down to get a better look. Annoyed, the Jeep pulls around us and passes on our right. I get my first good look at the driver: a pissed-off mom with three kids in the back.
“It all goes back to how we view him,” Roosevelt says. “Cain’s the ruthless brother-killer, right? For thousands of years, he’s the symbol of our worst sins—the bad man who makes us feel better about ourselves. But when you check out the earliest theories—like those geniza fragments they found in Cairo centuries ago—those fragments are as close as we get to the earliest copies of the Bible, and in there, they question the entire premise,” he adds with a brand-new seriousness in his voice. “Or to put it more bluntly: Instead of thinkin’ Cain’s the ultimate villain, what if he’s the good guy in the tale?”
“Yeah, except for that part in act one where he kills his own brother,” I point out.
“Forget your Sunday school, Cal. Sure, over the years, we all demonized Cain. But the Bible doesn’t.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “When Cain asks, ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’—those’re hardly the words of a saint.”
“And that’s fine. But the story of Cain and Abel isn’t just about fratricide. It’s about what happens after Abel’s death. God’s reaction. Punishment versus redemption.”
“So now the Mark of Cain is God’s way of rewarding Cain?”
“Again, look at the translation. According to most modern Bibles, Cain thinks God’s punishment is too much—‘My punishment is greater than I can bear,’ is what the text says—which is why Cain is seen as such a remorseless monster. But when you go back to the original text—like in the geniza fragments—that same passage can just as easily be translated as ‘My sin is too great to forgive.’ See the difference there? In this version, Cain feels so awful . . . so sorry . . . for what he’s done to poor Abel, he tells God he should never be forgiven. That’s a pretty different view of Cain, no?” Roo-sevelt asks, letting it all sink in. “Of course, most religions prefer the vicious Cain. A little threat of evil is always the far better way to fill the seats. But sometimes the monsters aren’t who we think they are.”
In the backseat, Serena has long forgotten the map. My dad stares down at the phone. “So God forgave Cain?” he asks.
“Think about it: What if that’s the whole point of the story? The Mark of Cain wasn’t a punishment. It was God’s reward: to show Divine mercy—to teach us that those who repent get forgiveness.”
“So the Mark of Cain could be something good?” Serena asks.
“This is a gift straight from God,” Roosevelt replies, his southern accent lingering on the final word. “So, yeah, I’d wager ‘good’ covers it.”
“C’mon, you’re telling me that the whole reason we’re running around—the reason my dad got shot—”
“I think he got shot for the address,” Serena interrupts. When