The Matriarch Matrix

Chapter 1-3

“And Ma blames you for his death,” Peter says with tears forming. “I loved Pa. I love Ma. I think I understand why it was so hard for her. Sarah said the same thing to me.”

Pappy peers down at his hands. “I’m so sorry. She was a lovely girl. I thought you two would…I thought she was so much like your grandmother. Even better, as she shared your passion for history and discovery.”

“Pappy. Sarah, Ciara, Tara—all of them keepers according to Ma’s definitions. All of them left me because of my pursuit of this mysterious object. At this rate, you’ll never have great-grandchildren for me to pass these traditions down to. My sister’s like Ma. She doesn’t want to learn them. Says it’s just a man thing.”

“My boy, we are close. Our dreams last night. Close. Close as they have ever been. It’s time for you to be introduced to something. Your granduncle James wanted to pass a written document on to you, but your mother refused to give it to you for fear that you’d end up like your father. James and I agreed we would only show you when you found a good woman as your partner. I thought once you married Sarah…”

“Pappy, I’m trying my best to move on from Sarah. Evidently, I’m not the kind of man who could provide the protection, the security, a woman like her desires.”

“That’s what your father said. That is, until your grandmother had the good sense to introduce him to James’s niece, your mother.” Pappy coughs. “My boy, it is no secret that I am slowly dying. We cannot wait until you find that woman you are to meet. The dream we had must be the signal. Please, in that drawer, you’ll find James’s document.”

Peter opens the drawer in the closet and finds a metal cylinder, like a mini thermos, with air lock seals. He opens it to find a small scroll. Animal skin parchment, with drawings looking like Hs. These progress to two abstract figures with their hands in front of them, forming an H. Alongside the H, another tall male figure with a long face, long ears, and large dark eyes points to a long-tailed star. Alongside this man, a smaller female points to an oblong shape under a series of dots. A third female figure has one hand pointing at the series of dots and the other at an angle of sixty degrees. Adjacent to the figures is an area with some sort of characters.

“What is this, Pappy? How old is it? What is this part, writing?”

“What you’re holding is faith. My faith. Now our faith. When James showed me this parchment, my faith was renewed. It’s a dialect of Akkadian cuneiform. Right after the war, carbon dating was just being introduced to the archeological community. Through my war buddies, we got a sample of this tested.” Pappy pauses to catch his breath. “It’s four thousand years old. Four thousand.”

Stunned, Peter sits on the side of the bed. He stares at the parchment and his mind races with the possibilities. He takes several snapshots with his MoxWrap and turns towards Pappy, asking, “Do you believe in God?”

Looking down with a dour expression, Pappy responds, “My boy, with what I saw—with all that happened—there could not be a God.” He pauses and sighs. “At least, not one who loves us.”

“Hence why Ma wanted to distance herself from you,” Peter laments. “She so wanted me to believe, to have faith. To have faith in her God. But your faith, this animal skin in my hands, is my faith too. These are aliens, Pappy. These are aliens who met the Akkadians in 2000 BCE.”

Pappy holds his hand out so that Peter can hand him the parchment. He turns it upside down and sideways and says, “It could be Akkadian Halloween. It could be aliens. It could be God’s angels.” He gives the parchment back to Peter.

“Your father was working on translating the cuneiform. It’s an old form and a rare dialect from the northernmost reaches of the empire. He became lost in dozens of interpretations when your mother forced him to stop. It’s now up to you, Peter. In this digital age, in a world that is interconnected, maybe it’s you who will find the answer.”

“Mr. Gollinger, how are we doing today?” says Dr. Fontaine as she enters the room. “Did Peter tell you? He’s offering to work with me on a new book on religion and the psychobiology of the soul. With what you’ve passed along to him, his talents will be especially invaluable to me.”

Pappy glances at Peter and gives a thumbs-up. “Go for it, my boy. She’s a keeper, this doctor.”

And the nonagenarian Gollinger takes the doctor’s hand so he can rub her palm. “And, Doctor, could you do me a favor and take my grandson home with you tonight? He’s behind on his ancient obligation to make more Gollingers who can continue our search for our precious object.”

Beet-faced, Peter just wants to crawl under a bed somewhere and hide. But the good doctor turns and takes his hand into hers and says, “I have to say, with your grandson’s killer dimples, his eyes that emote an adorable innocence, he is handsome. But if I married him, I would lose my best editor.” She winks at Peter and says, “We couldn’t do that, now could we?”

She then spies the parchment in between hers and Peter’s hands and says, “May I?”

She gently examines the antique animal skin, carefully scanning both sides, then looks at Peter and says, “I have to wonder if this is related to your grandfather’s dreams. I would love to learn more. But I have to get back to Mrs. Fitzgerald and adjust her medications again.” She leaves, writing notes down on her clipboard.

“Pappy, exactly what did you tell her about Grandma? From Beverly’s, I mean Dr. Fontaine’s recounting, she thinks s*x is the treatment protocol for your condition,” Peter jests.

“My boy, I’ve surmised that you’ve already found out that s*x helps. It calms your nerves so you can grapple with what the dreams, and your inability to remember the dreams, do to you.”

Shaking his head, Peter exclaims, “Ma says you told her she had to have s*x with Pa every night, in the middle of the night. She thought you were just passing along ancient male power plays over women, so she resisted your ideas. Dr. Fontaine more politely said this is another case of male wish fulfillment. I can’t believe s*x is the only solution to our problems.”

Pappy shakes his head too. “Peter, do not mistake my words. I should have said passionate bonding, not necessarily s****l bonding or, more crudely, physical penetration.” Pappy pauses for oxygen. “The touch of passion creates bonds between you and your mate. Bonds that create dialogue. Bonds that will help the two of you decode the dreams. You need to talk about what you’re coping with in order to make any progress in understanding what is happening.”

Pappy stops to catch his breath, and then he says in a fatherly way, “I think you need—the tradition requires that you are paired with a woman. A good woman to find the answer to our traditions. The answer to that scroll.”

A frown passes over Peter’s face as he ponders his failings with Sarah. “How do I know what makes a woman ‘good’ according to your definition?”

His grandfather closes his eyes, and a warm smile lifts his mouth. “You will know, my boy. You will know first from her touch, her smell, her voice and the sounds of her heart. And only then can you know her with your eyes.”

Closing his eyes too, Peter tries to remember Sarah’s touch, her smell, but he can only remember the shame, the failure of discovering her in their bed with that alpha male muscleman. Everything he is not. And that deep pain wells up, and water seeps from the corners of his closed eyes.

“My boy, are you all right? Did you have one of those damn flashbacks?” asks Pappy.

“I’m sorry, Pappy. I just had one of those moments. I’m okay.”

Pappy stares somberly down at his hands. “I’ve had those moments for near eight decades now only to have failed my father. Peter, please don’t let me fail you as well. Please.”

Scrolling his MoxMail to find that message, the message, Peter says, “Pappy, I have the solution. I’ll apply for the junior editor position with MoxMedia in their Middle East correspondence unit. I’ll have access to all of MoxMedia’s resources to find the object. I’ve been sitting on this invitation to apply for a couple of days, wondering whether I have what it takes. I won’t fail you, Pappy. I’ll make sure I have what it takes.”