The Road to Oxiana Read Online Free PDF Page B

sanctuary was blocked by three kneeling Franciscans.
    â€œWhom else do you know at Docheiariou?”
    â€œI know Frankfort. Is he well?”
    â€œFrankfort?”
    â€œFrankfort, Synesios’s cat.”
    â€œAh! his cat.… Don’t mind those men; they’re Catholics. It’s a black cat——”
    â€œYes, and jumps.”
    â€œI know. Now here we are. Mind your head.”
    Stepping through the Franciscans as though they were nettles, Gabriel dived into a hole three feet high, from which came a bright light. I followed. The inner chamber was about seven feet square. At a low slab of stone knelt a Frenchwoman in ecstasy. By her side stood another Greek monk.
    â€œThis gentleman has been to Mount Athos,” announced Gabriel to his crony, who shook hands with me across the body of the Frenchwoman. “It was six years ago and he remembers Synesios’s cat.… This is the Tomb”—pointing to the slab of stone—“I shall be in here all day tomorrow. You must come and see me. There’s not much room, is there? Let’s go out. Now I’llshow you the other places. This red stone is where they washed the body. Four of the lamps are Greek, the others Catholic and Armenian. Calvary’s upstairs. Ask your friend to come up. This is the Greek part, that the Catholic. But these are Catholics at the Greek altar, because Calvary was there. Look at the inscription over the cross. It’s in real diamonds and was given by the Tsar. And look at this image. Catholics come and give these things to her.”
    Gabriel pointed to a glass case. Inside I beheld a wax Virgin, draped in a pawnbroker’s stock of chains, watches, and pendants.
    â€œMy friend here is a Catholic,” I informed Gabriel maliciously.
    â€œOh, is he? And what are you? Protestant? Or nothing at all?”
    â€œI think I shall be Orthodox while I’m here.”
    â€œI shall tell God that. You see these two holes? They put Christ in them, one leg in each.”
    â€œBut is that in the Bible?”
    â€œOf course it’s in the Bible. This cave is the place of the Skull. That’s where the earthquake split the rock. My mother in Samos had thirteen children. Now only my brother in America, my sister in Constantinople, and myself are left. That there is Nicodemus’s tomb, and that the tomb of Joseph of Arimathaea.”
    â€œAnd what are the two little tombs?”
    â€œThey’re for the children of Joseph of Arimathaea.”
    â€œI thought Joseph of Arimathaea was buried in England.”
    Gabriel smiled, as though to say “Tell that to the marines”.
    â€œHere,” he continued, “is a picture of Alexander the Great visiting Jerusalem, and being received by one of the prophets—I can’t remember which.”
    â€œBut did Alexander ever visit Jerusalem?”
    â€œCertainly. I only tell you the truth.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I thought it might be a legend.”
    We emerged at last into the daylight.
    â€œIf you come and see me the day after tomorrow, I shall be out of the Tomb again. I come out at eleven, after being in all night.”
    â€œBut won’t you want to sleep?”
    â€œNo. I don’t like sleeping.”
    The other holy sites are the Weeping Wall and the Dome of the Rock. Nodding and ululating over their books, squeezing their heads into crevices of the enormous masonry, the Jewish mourners are not more attractive than the performers in the Sepulchre. But at least it is light; the sun shines, and the Wall itself is comparable to the walls of the Incas. The Dome of the Rock shelters an enormous crag, whence Mohammad the Prophet took off on his ride up to Heaven. And here at last, apart from its associations, is a monument worthy of Jerusalem. A white marble platform, several acres in extent and commanding a view of the city walls and the Mount of Olives, is approached on different sides by eight flights