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July 1993
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IT’S BEEN OVER twenty-four hours and Dr. Mansour still hasn’t called. I don’t understand it. You’d think she’d be falling all over herself to get a look at a second Phaistos disc. I stare at the number scrawled on yesterday’s menu wondering if it’s too soon to call again when my phone rings. It’s beside me on the bed and I pounce on it immediately.
“Hello, Dr. Kanter, it’s Amy Savas.”
My heart sinks, but I try not to sound disappointed. “Good afternoon, nice to hear from you.”
“It’s about the disc.”
Damn, she’s changed her mind. She wants it back.
“Something unexpected happened last night. The man who gave me the disc showed up at our house. He just rang the bell out of the blue. It’s a long story, but he’s willing to tell you everything he knows about where it came from and how he got it. Would you like to meet him?”
My mood brightens immediately, but I’m puzzled. “Of course, I’d like to meet him, but I thought you told me he was dead.”
“Well, it seems we were wrong about that. He’s alive, in good health and visiting Toronto. Cady doesn’t know about her dad yet, so please don’t tell her.”
“No, of course not, mum’s the word.” I’m astonished, imagining, Cady’s long-lost father returning from the dead. For years I’d fantasized about coming home and finding Bess in the kitchen putting away a bag of groceries. I’m always surprised and say, “Bess, what are you doing here? I thought that you were dead.”
“Oh no.” She turns to me with her angelic smile. “I was just away visiting my mother.”
So, miracles do happen. This man has returned from wherever he was just when I need him most. I can’t wait to meet this resurrected ghost. “When can he stop by? I’d like to see him before they move me out of here.”
“He could see you this afternoon if that’s alright. I don’t know how long he’ll be in town so the sooner the better.”
“How about three o’clock? I should be back from therapy by then.” The rusty old cogs in my brain start to churn. There are so many questions I want to ask. Knowing the story of the disc’s origins will give it a patina of credibility, although the disc will have to speak for itself. I’m the one whose credibility is in question. No one will do business with a man locked inside the memory ward of Bayside Manor. Michael may be well-intentioned, but he underestimates me. I’ll have to slip his leash before he ruins everything.
Amy arrives promptly at three. There’s a man with her, a bit overdressed for Toronto in the summer. Beneath his tailored jacket is a shirt unbuttoned halfway to his navel. I’ve never been a fan of jewelry on men, so I’m instantly put off by the gold chain he’s clearly showing off. I try not to be judgmental, but I wonder what a nice woman like Amy ever saw in him.
“Dr. Kanter, this is my old friend, Arcas, the man who gave me the clay disc.”
Introductions are awkward when you’re in bed and can’t even sit up properly. I extend my hand. “Jacob Kanter, thank you for stopping by.” His grip is firm, and he looks intelligent enough. Perhaps I’ve been too hasty.
He hands me a business card that I can’t read because the print’s too small. “Amy tells me you’re an archaeologist. My father worked for a group of archaeologists when I was little. That’s how he got the disc. We always knew it was old, but no one ever thought it was particularly valuable.”
“Please have a seat.” I realize there’s only one chair, so I ring for the nurse. “If you wait a moment someone will bring in another chair. Tell me, how old were you when your father brought home the disc?”
“Just a kid, maybe eight or nine. I’m not really sure. He used to bring us all sorts of little things he’d pick up on those digs.”
My eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling. “He brought home other ‘little things’? Was your father an archaeologist?”
Arcas laughs. “No, he was a cook, but he’d find odd bits of pottery and bring them home. He always said the Italians didn’t mind as long as he didn’t take anything valuable.” He suddenly stops and looks away. When he turns back to me two lines crease his brow. The penny’s dropped. He’s just realized a cook couldn’t know what was and wasn’t valuable. “He was an uneducated man. He didn’t know a piece of broken pottery could be worth anything.”
Maybe, but I have my doubts. “So, where are the other bits of pottery? Does your family still have them?”
A cloud passes over Arcas’s face. He clearly understands the implication of my question. “I don’t know where they are. Like I said, I was just a kid. Maybe he gave them away. Maybe he threw them out. I know we don’t have them anymore. My parents are both gone, so there’s no one to ask. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
“Yes, do you know why your father kept this one old relic when he apparently discarded all the others? Was there something special about it?”
A faint smile crosses Arcus’s face and I can see he’s remembering something. “I don’t know if he thought it was special, but he thought he had to keep it. It’s a strange story.”
“I’d love to hear it.”
“It’s nonsense, but he used to tell this story about something that happened on the ship crossing from Crete back to Athens. He was standing in line at the snack bar looking at the disc when a woman in a white uniform, probably a nurse, came up to him and said, ‘The disc belongs to another man in another time. Keep it safe for him.’ That’s all she said. Then she touched his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd. But after that he wouldn’t part with it.” Arcus chuckles and shakes his head, looking embarrassed. “I told you it was a weird story.”
“It is. Yet you parted with it. You gave it to Amy.”
“Why not? I’m not superstitious and it seemed like a nice gift. I thought the disc would be happier with her.”
I’ve made him uncomfortable, and he won’t tell me anything else if I don’t lighten up, but I’d bet money those other bits of pottery were sold on the black market. Security was looser in those days and a smart cook could get away with archaeological mayhem. Doro Levi’s team never even produced a definitive pottery report, so who could say what was there and what went missing? God knows what was lifted from the site. “Does the name Doro Levi mean anything to you? Was he one of the Italians?”
“Levi? That sounds Jewish, not Italian.”
“Yes,” I agree. “He was Jewish, an Italian Jew. He was head of the Italian School of Archaeology at that time. Do you remember hearing his name?”
“No, but my father used to talk about a Jew who ran the operation. He just called him, the Jew. That could have been him.”
I bristle, but try to maintain a neutral expression. “And do you know exactly where your father was working? There were several active sites in Crete at that time.”
“I don’t know the exact location, but they were excavating a palace, not the big one at Knossos, a smaller one somewhere else.”
“Could it have been in Phaistos? Does that ring a bell?” I was leading the witness, but I needed to tie the disc to Levi’s excavation.
“Yes, that’s it, the palace in Phaistos.”
I let out a sigh of relief. One man’s story wasn’t proof, but it certainly supported the idea that we had a second Phaistos disc. “That’s very interesting. It seems your father may have picked up a valuable clue to unlocking a lost language. It may change history, or at least our knowledge of ancient history. Did the Italians know about the little things your dad brought home?”
Arcas maintains his composure, but he’s clearly annoyed. “I doubt it. They were just souvenirs, and he figured they belonged to us, the Greeks, not the Italians anyway.”
Before I can respond the nurse is at the door. “You rang. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yes, please. Could you bring in an extra chair for my guests?”
Amy looks out the window at a patch of dark clouds gathering to the east. “Please don’t bother, we won’t be staying long. It looks like rain, and I don’t want to get caught in another downpour.” But the nurse has already disappeared.
“Yes,” Arcas agrees. “I don’t think I have any more to tell you.”
“There is something else.” I want them to stay. There’s more I need to know. “What did you think the disc was? Did you ever wonder what it was for?”
“Not really, it was just a curiosity. We used it for a paperweight.” He shrugs, indicating that he’s never given it any thought, and then he unexpectedly smiles, remembering something else. “My mother used it as a cheese press for a while. The customers liked the designs it made on the cheese, but it didn’t fit our molds properly, so she gave it up. Did the Minoans make cheese?”
“I’m sure they did.” I smile back at him, but I’m appalled. The disc had no doubt withstood worse than being pushed into cultured sheep’s milk over the course of its four thousand years, but the idea of it being used as a cheese press, my God.
The nurse returns with a chair from the waiting room. “Here you go. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes, would you mind taking that clay disc from the safe? I’d like to show it to my visitors.”
She hesitates, looking at her watch. “A patient down the hall is due for an infusion. Could we do that later? I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
Amy turns from where she’s been looking out the window. “Go ahead, we’ve both seen it. There’s no need to take it out.”
“Good then, no need for me to get it now.” The nurse turns to go.
“I’d like to see it. I haven’t looked at it in years.” Arcas addresses the nurse, but she must not hear him because she continues out the door.
“Well, then, if you don’t mind giving me the combination to your safe again, I could take it out,” Amy says. “But I really do want to leave before it starts to rain.
“It’s 5-4-0-8. We’ll just give Arcas a quick peek before he goes.”
Amy disappears into the closet then emerges a moment later, absolutely stricken. “It’s not in there. Are you sure that’s where you put it?”
I struggle to sit up in the bed so I can see her better. “Of course, I’m sure. The nurse put it in there for me. Look again. It has to be in there.”
She comes back with my watch, my wallet, my house keys and two quarters and lays them on the bed. “This is it. This is everything that’s in there.” We stare at each other, speechless. Then it comes to me. My son took it. Michael must have stolen a priceless artifact and sold it for a few dollars to subsidize my nursing home. I feel dizzy. Fireworks go off inside my head. There’s a vast array of exploding stars and then the screen goes blank.
“Dr. Kanter, are you alright?”
I feel a small hand on my shoulder. The Savas woman is standing beside me, a concerned expression on her face. “Yes, yes,” I start to tell her. “I’m fine, it was just the shock of finding that the disc is gone.” But not a word comes out, just a strange gurgling sound I’ve never made before. Her face comes into focus, and I can see that her eyes are wide with fright. “It’s all right,” I want to say. “No need to be alarmed.” But all that emerges is a hideous rasp. Is this how my story ends, babbling strangled sounds to a woman I barely know, the disc gone and betrayed by my own son? I close my eyes and wait while Amy calls the nurse.
Moments later all hell breaks loose. White coats surround my bed, needles are stuck in my arm, electrodes are pasted to my chest and a large machine begins beeping and blinking cryptic messages I can’t decipher. I try to swat away a woman covering my mouth and nose with a plastic mask, but my right arm won’t move. I’m too old for all of this, but I can’t get up and run away, so I do the only thing I can. I shut my eyes and go to sleep.
––––––––
“DAD, ARE YOU awake? Blink if you can hear me.” Michael is sitting by my bed patting my leg with one hand and dabbing at his runny nose with the other. Tears are running down his great, ruddy cheeks. I haven’t seen him cry like that since his mother died. I blink and he grabs my hand. I want to rock him on my lap like I did when he was a little boy, but then I remember the disc and turn my head away.
“You were a wonderful father,” he whispers in my ear.
Were? Am I already dead?
“You were the man I wanted to be, but couldn’t. I was never as smart or brave or generous as you, but I tried. I wanted you to be proud of me.”
Bess and I were always proud of him. He’d been a good boy. He’d done well in school, and he’d grown up to be a good father and provider. Who’d have guessed he’d betray me at the end? I’d never have suspected my Michael capable of such treachery.
“It was awful watching you fail these last few years. I wanted you to be strong and independent forever, but what could I do? Your mind started to go, your brilliant, curious, questioning mind that was so full of facts and stories. I had to protect you. I didn’t want people laughing at you. I didn’t want you to be the butt of mean-spirited jokes.”
What is he talking about? Why would anyone have laughed at me?
“I know you didn’t want to go to Bayside Manor, who would? I didn’t want to send you there, but you were falling apart, and I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t have you wandering around the city by yourself, lost and confused and falling down. I wanted to keep you safe, and then that nonsense with the disc. You had me going for a minute there. You almost had me convinced that it was real, that you’d made the find of the century, but it was just another fantasy as crazy as your magic ship. I checked, and there was nothing in your safe. The whole thing was in your head.”
He checked and there was nothing there? If he didn’t take it, who the Hell did?
“I’m so sorry, Papa. When Dr. Mansour called, I had to tell her it was all a terrible mistake, that you were suffering from dementia.”
I turn my head to glare at him, but I don’t see the blustering bully I expect. I see a little boy who’s lost his father.
“Papa, it broke my heart, but I didn’t want your reputation sullied. I wanted them to remember you as the great scholar, the esteemed Dr. Jacob Kanter. Do you understand? It was for your sake. Can you forgive me?”
I can’t speak, but I try to nod. He acted without malice out of love. My index finger stirs, and I press it against his hand. It says, I forgive you. It says, I still love you, son.
Michael sits beside me holding my hand until long after dark. My eyes are closed but I’m awake listening to the ticking of the wall clock, and to my son’s heavy, irregular breath. I. feel the weight of shadows shifting across my bed as the fan stirs the curtains and I wish Bess was here beside me. I think about the disc and how I almost had the chance to explore its mysteries, to decipher an unknown language, to reach across millennia to commune with a vanished culture. That would have been something, but it seems I’ve run out of time.
I hear the door open then the nurse’s gentle voice. “Go home now. You need some rest. We’ll call if there’s a change. I promise, we’ll take good care of him.”
Michael raises his great bulk from the small chair where he’s been sitting, kisses me on the forehead, and leaves the room. I hear the door close and the sound of footsteps as he makes his way toward the elevator. Good-bye Michael, I whisper in my head.
“Well, that was quite the confession. I’m glad your son got that off his chest.”
How did the nurse know about our conversation? Had she been eavesdropping? Had she been standing at the door the entire time?
I force my eyes open and turn in her direction. She’s taller than I remember. Her uniform glows in the light streaming through the window. Her straight white hair, always neatly combed and pinned beneath her cap, stands away from her head electrified and wild.
“I came to let you know, your ship is back in port. I told you, you have options.”
“The Aqua Meridian?” I’m amazed by the strength and clarity of my voice.
“Yes, and I’m authorized to offer you a first-class ticket, but you’ll have to hurry. She won’t be docked here long.”
“Impossible, I’m much too weak. Can’t you see the state I’m in?”
“You can do it. I’ll help you dress. We’ll have to slip out the service entrance.”
I feel her strong arms beneath my shoulders and a moment later I’m sitting up and she’s pulling an Aqua Meridian T-shirt over my head. Once I’m dressed, she lifts me to my feet. “Come on now, let’s get you to my car.”
“But I can’t walk. We’ll need a wheelchair.”
“Lean on me. I’ll support you until you get your sea-legs back.”
I do lean on her and my legs move as she propels me forward. To my surprise, no one gives us a second glance as she guides me to the elevator then out the back door onto Shuter Street. It’s a beautiful evening in July and Toronto is vibrant even at this late hour. I turn to her and shake my head, mystified to find myself alive. I inhale the scent of a city night: gasoline, French fries, hot asphalt, and a hint of the lake a few blocks to the south.
“Thank you,” I whisper, overcome with gratitude for this beautiful night.
In response, she reaches into her pocket and takes out a small package wrapped in gauze. “Here you go, take this with you. Those closet safes aren’t worth a damn, and I was concerned about your visitors.” She drops the disc into my hands. “Enjoy solving the puzzle. I understand it holds some surprising secrets.”
I put the disc into my pocket overcome with joy. “You were the nurse who told Arcus’s father to keep this disc, weren’t you?”
She looks indignant. “Just how old do you think I am?”
I shrug apologetically. I have no idea. But I know Dawson will be astounded when he sees this. We can work together on the project. We don’t need the university, fame, or recognition, just the joy of trying to solve the puzzle, the pleasure of resurrecting a bit of a long-lost past. What luck that I met Dawson. He’s just the man for the job.
“Thank you,” I say again as we climb into her old gray Chevy. I pat the disc inside my pocket as we head off toward the lake. “You know, there was a woman on the ship who looked exactly like my wife. It’s odd but I think she knew my name.”
The nurse smiles but doesn’t say another word until she pulls up alongside the dock where the Aqua Meridian is moored. “Out you go. Enjoy the trip.”
I open the door, tentatively place my right foot on the pavement, and stand up. To my relief, my legs hold. I take a deep breath and turn to see a small group of people waving from the lower deck.
“Go on now. They’re waiting for you,” the nurse says.
“Thank you.” I give her my best nautical salute and make my way up the gangway as she drives off.
The little group waiting to meet me is dressed to the nines. Joanie’s got herself dolled up in a long blue gown with flouncy sleeves that shimmer beguilingly in the moonlight. Her dark curls are parted to the side then done up in little ringlets and waves. Even more astounding is the sight of Dawson in a tuxedo and Sam in his best dress whites. Clearly, I’m undressed for the occasion.
Joanie greets me with a hug. “You’re back. We were worried about you. Did you know they’ve moved you to first class?”
“Yes, my nurse told me. Wonderful news.”
Sam puts his arm around Joanie. “We’re celebrating with supper in the first-class dining room tonight. You’ll love it. The chef is amazing.”
I turn an admiring eye to Joanie. “You look lovely. What’s the occasion?”
“We’re celebrating the Golden Age of Hollywood tonight. Everyone’s dressing for dinner and then they’re showing old Marx Brothers movies. You’ll find an appropriate outfit in your new stateroom.”
“You know,” I tell her. “I met another beautiful woman while I was in the hospital. She and her daughter both looked exactly like you, except, of course, she was older.” I’m about to tell her about the coincidence with the matching necklaces when Dawson pats me on the shoulder.
“Good to have you back. We’ve missed you,” he says.
“Good to see you too. In fact, I’ve brought you a little present”—I pat my jacket pocket—“a second Phaistos Disc.”
His look of astonishment is gratifying. “No! Impossible. Can I see it?”
His excitement is palpable, but he’ll have to wait since Joanie is pulling me inside where a big band is playing a schmaltzy rendition of that old chestnut, “Cheek to Cheek.” The conductor, wearing a curly blonde wig, comically oversized evening coat, and battered top hat is doing an impressive imitation of Harpo Marx.
Elegantly dressed couples are dancing in the large lobby that’s been decked out as a speakeasy from the thirties. Champagne is flowing and everyone seems to be having a wonderful time. I’m no dancer, but I feel myself swaying to the music when I notice a familiar figure. The woman who looks like Bess is standing with her back to me chatting with another woman and for once, she’s not racing away.
“Excuse me,” I say to my friends as I make my way in her direction.
“Excuse me,” I call out louder, hoping to get her attention. “Excuse me.” She’s wearing a beautiful green dress that shows off a figure that brings back memories of Bess in her prime. “Excuse me, Miss. May I have a minute?”
She turns, but I still can’t see her face because she’s wearing Groucho glasses with a bulbous nose, a small moustache, and bushy eyebrows she wiggles lasciviously in my direction. Above the music and the chatter of the crowd I can hear Joanie laughing.