The Bible of Clay Read Online Free PDF Page B

profile. He made it clear that his boss, Robert Brown, supports our excavation but that he can't help us directly—his board of directors would have his head. He can't tell the board that he's interested in some unknown archaeologist who's the granddaughter of an old friend and married to an Iraqi in what they call Saddam Hussein's 'inner circle.' Ralph said it loud and clear—Robert Brown would be digging his own grave. And now you've made it worse. What on earth were you thinking, Clara?"
    "I was thinking of my grandfather! Why can't I talk about him and my father—or about you? I have nothing to be ashamed of. Why shouldn't their contributions be recognized? They were distinguished antiques dealers, and they've spent fortunes helping to excavate in Iraq, Syria, Egypt—"
    "Wake up, Clara! Your grandfather and father are just businessmen, not great financial backers of cultural preservation! Grow up! Stop climbing on your grandfather's lap!"
    "You're right, he was a businessman, but he loves Mesopotamia more than anyone, and he passed that love down to my father and me. He could have been a great archaeologist, but he didn't have the chance to pursue that. But it was he and he alone who discovered those two tablets, and it was he who kept them for more than fifty years, who spent his own money so that others could find more evidence of Shamas. I'd remind you that the museums in Iraq are filled with pieces from excavations financed by my grandfather."
    Ahmed gazed at her with an expression of such disdain that Clara was shocked. Her husband was suddenly a stranger.
    "Your grandfather has always been a man who shunned the spotlight, Clara, and your father was the same way. They have never made any gratuitous shows of their money or their archaeology. Your actions today would have disappointed them. It's not what they taught you."
    Ahmed suddenly fell silent and sank into a chair with a look of weariness.
    "The Bible of Clay—that's what my grandfather called it. Genesis as recounted by Abraham," Clara mused in a low voice.
    "Yes, the Bible of Clay. A Bible written on clay tablets a thousand years before it was written on papyrus."
    "It would be an incredibly important discovery for mankind, one more proof of the existence of Abraham. You don't think we're wrong, do you?"
    "I want to find the Bible of Clay too. But today, Clara, you've thrown away the best chance we had to do that. These are the elite of world archaeology. And we do have to apologize for who we are."
    "And just who are we, Ahmed?"
    "An unknown archaeologist married to the director of the Bureau of Archaeological Excavations in a country with a dictatorial regime whose leader has been condemned to fall because he no longer serves the interests of the powerful. Years ago, when I lived in the United States, being Iraqi wasn't a handicap—quite the contrary. Saddam went to war with Iran because that served Washington's interests. He murdered Kurds with weapons that were sold to him by the Americans— chemical weapons prohibited by the Geneva Convention, the same weapons they're looking for now. It's all a lie, Clara, but we have to tread carefully now. But you don't care about anything that's happening around you; you couldn't care less about Saddam, Bush, and all the people who may die because of the two of them. Your world is your grandfather, and that's it."
    "Which side are you on?"
    "What?"
    "You attack the Saddam regime, you seem to understand the Americans, but other times you hate them. Which side are you on?"
    "I'm not on either side, anybody's side. I'm alone."
    His answer surprised Clara. They rarely talked so frankly. She was impressed by Ahmed's candor but stung by her husband's sense of alienation.
    Ahmed was an Iraqi who'd been over-Westernized. Through the years, as he'd traveled the world, he had lost his sense of heritage. His father had been a diplomat, a man close to the Saddam regime who was rewarded with posts at several important