Angelopolis A Novel Page 0,51
wrought topographical map, “there is something much, much better than the ark below the Black Sea.”
“So the Ryan-Pitman theory of the Flood is correct,” Vera said. “The land under the Black Sea was once inhabited.”
“Exactly,” Sveti replied. “Only, after years of research, we now believe that the Flood did not occur in one grand cataclysmic deluge, as the mythology from the Bible to Gilgamesh describe. Rather the water rose in small increments over a vast span of time. The Bosporus broke bit by bit and the waters flowed into the basin over a period of decades, subsuming the villages as it rose.”
“Forty days and forty nights were more like forty years,” Vera said.
“Or even longer,” Sveti said. “In our explorations we’ve discovered that the first wave of flooding caused a massive migration from here to here.” Sveti moved her finger along the map in Vera’s hand. “You can see the present-day shoreline of the Black Sea drawn in a solid red line. The dotted line you see about two inches inside—and then the next dotted line you see two inches from that, and the third three inches from that—these are ancient shorelines.” Sveti pointed to the innermost dotted line, then the middle one. “The second wave of the Flood caused another migration—and the construction of new villages—and so the pattern continued over the course of many decades. Many of the oldest villages on the Black Sea coast, such as Sozopol and Nessebar to the north, were built generations after the settlement of the present shoreline. The villages under the sea are, obviously, ancient. Thousands of years older than anything we can find above water.”
“I see the scholarly significance of this discovery,” Vera said. “But what does it have to do with Noah and his sons?”
Sveti smiled, as if she had been waiting for that precise question. “It has everything to do with them.” She took the map from Vera and folded it. “As you will soon see.”
• • •
As the boat veered toward land, Vera climbed to the prow, feeling the wind rushing against her body as she tried to get a better view. The island was covered in long wild grasses that shivered in the breeze. Seagulls swooped and circled, as if scouring the scrub for mice. From such a close proximity, the lighthouse seemed to tilt away from the land, a trick of perspective that allowed her to see a man standing at a small red door, gazing out at the boat as it approached. The driver cut the engine, and the boat slowed and slid alongside a long wooden dock.
She climbed out of the boat and followed Sveti over the dock and up the uneven terrain. The lighthouse loomed ahead, its stone surface ragged with age, rubbed and eaten through by saltwater and wind. A great iron casement sat at the top of the tower, protecting the enormous spotlight from the seagulls. A helicopter was perched on a paved circle, its bulbous plastic windshield awash in sunlight. The man Vera had noticed earlier was gone, but the red door had been left ajar.
“Come,” Sveti said. “Follow me. Azov will be waiting inside.” She turned and led her up the winding, rough-hewn steps of the lighthouse, following the spiral to the very top.
Vera could hear voices behind a door. Sveti pushed the door open, the bottom scraping against the stone floor, and they walked into a bright, circular observation room, which had windows that gave a panorama of sea. The afternoon sunlight was brilliant and warm, glinting off the emerald water. A scattering of fishing vessels floated in the distance. The lighthouse was removed from the real world, peaceful, and she tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up every morning in that room, to rise and look over the sea as the sun rose.
Azov sat at the head of a table piled high with mollusk shells, slabs of wood, and a glass jar filled with odd-shaped beads. He was in his midfifties, with gray-flecked black hair and a matching beard. He watched Vera with affection as she stepped into the room. Standing, he switched off a radio, and gestured for Vera to sit.
“I have to admit,” Azov said, smiling at Vera, “that I was surprised to get the call that you were coming on official business. We’ve been all but ignored by your colleagues. The society in Berlin has extended some support, but other than that, nothing.”
“Scholars in Russia are always interested in making