The Twelve (20 page)

He fell silent and hiked on ahead, his long legs lending him speed, leaving Max and Toby to contemplate all they had heard.

And Max was left to wonder how and why he had been chosen—if indeed he could believe in the vision at all.

Even the Dead Are Waiting

June 2012

O
NE OF THE FIRST CALLS MAX MADE UPON RETURNING TO
California was to Erol in Istanbul. He used his computer so they could teleconference with full video contact.

“It's happening, Erol,” he said.

But even as he said it, he found it hard to believe his own words. “I have found the rest of the Twelve. Running Bear, the one name I had all those years, is a Lakota shaman, and according to him, you are right. He claims it's my destiny to reunite the Twelve and take you all to Izapa, the home of the ancient Mayan calendar.”

“That is amazing, my friend,” Erol said. “I have known for years that our destinies remained intertwined, and this proves it. When are we to travel to Izapa
?
”

“You must all be there on August 11,” Max revealed. “Will you be able to make it
?
”

“You would not be able to stop me,” Erol replied. “And if there are any who do not have the funds to travel, I will cover their expenses. Money should not get in the way of destiny.

“I have always believed that your story hinted at a deeper purpose,” he continued, “and have believed that my own destiny was linked to something larger than my love for Istanbul and my homeland of Turkey.”

Max was delighted but told Erol that he might also need to fly to the various countries to meet with some of the Twelve.

“That will not be a problem,” Erol insisted. “Just let me know what financial assistance you might need for your own trips.”

“It is good to know your support is there if I need it,” Max replied, greatly relieved.

The next three calls were easy. Dr. Alan Taylor and Chill Campister were delighted to commit, and for Juan it was a chance to see his father, so there was no question.

Melody Jones was the first to require financial assistance, but once that was dealt with, she said that she would join the Twelve on August 11 in Izapa.

He reached Yoko via the Internet, and she replied that she would be delighted. August was her vacation month, and she had not yet booked her annual holiday.

Sun Pak had to rearrange a business trip but was able to do so. That left Yutsky, Maria, Rinpoche, and B.N. Mahars.

Max hadn't spoken to Rinpoche in almost ten years, and to the others in more than twenty. Still, he was able to track down the Buddhist—who had been living in Toronto, Canada, for the last eight years. He now spoke broken but adequate English, had married the daughter of one of his students, and together they had two small children.

When Max explained the situation, Rinpoche said he would be delighted to attend the momentous gathering.

The call to Maria was surprisingly difficult, he discovered. Despite the years, he had never entirely let go of the regret he had felt when she walked out of that park. Nor had he forgotten the intensity of the love they had expressed for each other.

He forced himself to call and discovered that she was still living in Trujillo, Peru. She sounded pleased to hear from him, and they spent the first part of the call catching up. Maria was the mother of four grown children, and the grandmother of seven. She had never regretted marrying her engineer husband, she said, and he had died a year earlier.

With mixed emotions Max said that he was sorry, but she told him that she was happy, living a tranquil life in Trujillo. She accepted his offer—this would be her first major outing after observing the traditional year of mourning. She had modest resources, though, and appreciated Max's offer to cover her expenses.

She would begin making plans immediately, she said.

They hung up, and Max realized that he was exhausted. Whatever it was that he had felt when he met Maria, some of it was still with him. He needed to take a break before continuing his calls.

***

Yutsky was harder to track down because he had retired from the film business.

However, Max used his knowledge of Yutsky's military service to find him. He was living in old Jerusalem and working as a security strategist for top-level dignitaries who visited Israel. When Max finally got him on the phone, it was as if the years just melted away.

“So good to hear your voice, my boy.” Yutsky barked. “How have you been
?
”

“I am so glad I found you,” Max replied. “I need your help.”

“Anything, my boy,” the Israeli said enthusiastically, and Max wondered if he was going stir-crazy, staying in one place. “Not much excitement for me these days. . . . So what do you have
?
A film crew on its way
?
Permissions to secure
?
Just let me know,” Yutsky volunteered, “and what you need will be accomplished.”

“It's nothing like that,” Max explained. “I need you to come and meet with me and eleven others in Izapa, Mexico, on August 11. We'll cover all your expenses. I will explain the details when I see you, but it's essential that you join us.”

There was a long silence, and Max could envision the man's face as he considered the strange request, coming out of the blue after so many years.

Then he heard a long exhale, and Yutsky spoke again.

“Who am I to turn down a free trip to the Americas at this stage in life,” he said cheerfully. “You can count on me. Just send me the ticket and the details, and I'll be at your service.”

That left only B.N. Mahars to contact.

***

Max punched the numbers into the phone, and soon he had made it through to the National Museum in Delhi.

“Can you connect me to B.N. Mahars, please
?
” he asked the museum phone operator.

“B.N. Mahars is no longer with the museum,” she said, “but let me connect you to the present keeper of the fifteenth century, who will perhaps be able to tell you where you might find him.”

Max was startled that B.N. would have retired so relatively young.

After a few minutes, a male voice came on the line.

“I am so sorry to let you know that B.N. passed away eighteen years ago. He was a good friend to me; I served as his assistant for almost twenty years. I still miss him.

“Are you a family friend from the States
?
” he then asked.

At first Max was speechless, and he asked for a moment to recover.

How can this be
?
he wondered silently. And what happens when there aren't twelve
?

When he was able to speak again, he explained that he had met B.N. back in 1972, when he had made a film at the museum.

“He was instrumental in getting us permission to do so,” Max said, “and I was able to spend a wonderful day together with B.N. and his family.”

His family, Max thought, and a glimmer of hope appeared.

“Do you know how I might be able to get in touch with them
?
” he asked. “It is very important that I speak with his brother or another of his relatives.”

The keeper was silent for a moment, then spoke.

“I do not know which brothers or family members are still alive, but B.N. had two daughters and several grandchildren, all of whom I believe still live in his home village. I can give you their telephone number, if you wish.”

Max took the number and immediately put through the call. He didn't recall the name of B.N.'s daughter, but as soon as she spoke, he remembered Shilpa's gentle, almost laughing voice.

“Oh, we still talk about you,” she said brightly. “I was only six years old that night you dined with us, and you were the first entirely white person I ever saw.

“My father used to talk about you often and always fondly,” she continued. “In fact, on his deathbed he gave me something that he said you might someday ask for.”

That took Max by surprise.

“What did he leave for me
?
” he asked curiously.

“It is a book, but he said that you must come and fetch it personally,” she explained. “He said that if you ever called, that I should tell you he is sorry that he could not wait for you any longer in human form. He told me much else as well, and there are some unexpected complications in giving you the book. But as he asked, I will explain it all to you when you come, if you choose to do so.”

Mystery piled upon mysteries, he mused. But as long as there was hope, he had to pursue it.

“Of course I will come as soon as I can,” he said. “It will be wonderful to spend some time with you and the rest of your family. Is your uncle who taught at the university still alive
?
” he asked.

“Uncle Gupta is alive and well,” she answered. “He is almost ninety, but his mind is still as sharp as ever. He was with me when my father died, and he may have more information to share with you.”

“I will fly over within the week and come and meet with you,” he said. “We can discuss the details of your father's message to me then.” With that, he said goodbye and hung up.

As he put down the phone, though, Max wondered how he was going to reunite the Twelve, when only eleven were alive.

C.D. Mahars

June 2012

M
AX ARRIVED IN DELHI JUST FOUR DAYS LATER.

The airport was twice the size it had been on his visit forty years before, and although the road was still jammed with bicycles, rickshaws, donkeys, cows, and pedestrians with huge bundles on their heads, there were primarily cars, trucks, and buses along the almost modern, four-lane highway from the airport to Delhi.

He spent his first night at the Taj Mahal Hotel, as modern and luxurious a hotel as any at which he had ever stayed. He arranged for a car to take him to B.N.'s village, just twenty miles outside of the city, where he would spend the rest of the time with B.N.'s daughter and extended family.

Max didn't remember the road, having only driven it once at night so many years back, yet he was astonished at how he seemed to go back in time with each mile driven. By the time he arrived at the town itself, he was able to recognize the streets, which were still filled with vendors and small shops where everything from water to fruit and candies, old pieces of metal, and modern, electronic toys were being sold.

Small boys played Kick the Can, and girls carried large water jars on their heads, filled from the town well, just as he remembered.

So much was still the same.

When Max entered the Mahars's compound, he noticed that the walls had received new coats of paint, and some of the chairs and benches that populated the outside dining area had been replaced.

Inside the house, however, the furniture was the same—the kitchen hadn't changed, and the many books on the shelves in what had been B.N.'s office were exactly as they were.

As he stood looking at the titles of the books, Shilpa—B.N.'s daughter—entered the room and greeted him warmly.

“We have organized a luncheon for you,” she announced. “All the relatives will be here shortly. It is most auspicious that you have come on this day, for today is a holiday and a day of great spiritual meaning. My uncle is certain that the timing is no accident.”

Soon the entire clan had arrived, and they moved into the dining area.

During lunch Max was captivated by Shilpa's son C.D. He was seventeen years old and had been born with a rare mental defect much like Down syndrome, so that his mental capacity was that of a three-year-old and would never improve. He could follow directions and make sounds, but he could not speak in sentences or even full phrases.

When he did make sounds, they were usually loud—he did not seem to have much control over the volume or to be able to judge the impact of what he might be trying to communicate. C.D. was very strong, so he was given tasks in the fields, such as picking vegetables. As a result his chest and arms were overdeveloped for his five-foot-six body, giving him the physical strength of a much larger man.

He had enormous brown, almost black eyes that shone with a brilliance and a light that was captivating. He was always smiling, and upon greeting Max, C.D. hugged him so hard that Max thought his ribs would be crushed.

Shilpa gently pulled her son away.

“C.D. is very strong,” she said reassuringly, “but he is very gentle. He will not hurt you. He loves everyone and animals most of all. He hugs every living creature he meets. He is more of a joy than burden to us, but of course we must be vigilant at all times, since he really cannot take care of himself.”

When she spoke, Max expected to see sadness in her eyes, but all he saw there was love.

As much as Max was taken with C.D., the young man seemed utterly enthralled with Max. He kept offering Max food and looking him directly in the eyes, coming within inches of his face. His intensity and attention were somewhat disconcerting, but at the same time Max felt a connection that was almost overwhelming.

He would look into C.D.'s large, dark eyes and see unconditional love and trust reflected back to him. He couldn't help but stare back, transfixed.

***

After lunch Shilpa and Uncle Gupta took Max into B.N.'s study, which he had always shared with the other scholars in the family. The shelves were full of books and maps, and drawings lined the tables. Some of the manuscripts were very old, and many contained exquisite hand drawings. These were the prize possessions of the Mahars, a family renowned for its scholars.

Gupta, who had just turned eighty-nine, was the first to speak.

“We have been waiting for you for many years,” he revealed. “It is almost eighteen years since my nephew B.N. died from cancer, and he was not even fifty years old. He spent the last several months of his life lying on a cot we placed for him in this very room.

“As you know he loved his books and spent the last years of his life studying the ancient texts of the Upanishads, in which the sacred traditions and beliefs of our Hindu religion reside.”

Gupta handed Max a small, slim, pink notebook. Its cover had a beautiful picture of mountains and trees and a stream.

“This is the notebook B.N. kept during that time and where he recorded his final thoughts. On the day he died, he summoned me and Shilpa to him and handed it to us. He told us that we must guard this book, that someday someone might come and ask for him, and he instructed that if they did, we were to give it to that person.

“I can only believe that the unknown person is you. B.N. never said so, but no one else has come seeking him in the last seventeen years, and I have no reason to think that there is anyone else out there who is waiting to appear.”

Max held the notebook but did not know whether to open it or not.

As he hesitated, Shilpa spoke.

“I was with my father every day and attended to him every hour during his final illness. We grew closer even than we had been, since my mother was no longer living, and I was his closest female relative. I was pregnant with my first child, and this gave us both joy.

“On the last day of his life, when he gave Gupta the notebook, he told us both that whoever came for the book must not take it from us unless my unborn child was to accompany the recipient, as well. The book could travel anywhere in the world, he said, but one day it must be returned to this room, and it must always be kept close to his grandchild.”

Gupta stepped in.

“This seemed a strange request, but as you know from our conversation forty years ago, we Mahars are full of surprises and strange knowledge.”

At that, Max remembered the yogi and his trip to the moon and beyond. Gupta's voice brought him back to the present day.

“We did not question B.N.'s request then, and we do not question it now. You are free to read this book here, and you are free to take it with you if you need to, but if you do, C.D. must accompany you, for he was the unborn child in Shilpa's womb.”

Max was both excited and confused. B.N. had been many things, but he had not seemed given to hocus-pocus, nor to whimsical fantasies. Why would he put such strange conditions on this “gift”
?

What was in this notebook
?

“Neither Shilpa nor I—nor anyone else—has ever opened the notebook,” Gupta explained. “B.N. told us that the contents were for the one who would come seeking him, yet would have no meaning for anyone else.”

Max thought about that for a moment—and no matter how he looked at it, what Gupta had said seemed to make no sense.

“We will leave you to read the notebook, and then you can let us know if you will need to have us prepare C.D. to travel with you or not,” the old man continued. “If you do, Shilpa will, of course, accompany him.

“C.D. has traveled before, and he even has a passport. He obeys Shilpa, and anyone can see that he has already taken a liking to you.”

Gupta and Shilpa turned to depart, and then the old man turned to speak one last time.

“When we return, we will ask for your decision.”

***

After they had gone, Max opened the notebook.

It was full of numbers.

There were almost forty pages of calculations, and on the final page Max found the final formula, and final notation.

21122012

This number appeared twelve times at various places in the notebook, as the answer to twelve different calculations based on twelve different sets of initial axioms that B.N. had formulated.

There was very little text in the book, explaining that each calculation was based on a different set of beliefs relating to the beginning of different eras of the Hindu calendar and other ancient systems, as well. B.N. had spent the last months of his life—right up until the end, it appeared—analyzing and comparing ancient calendars from cultures throughout the world.

On the last page B.N. had written a personal note:

The energy of my soul and essence is contained within these pages. As I transition and leave this body, I shall direct my essence into the body of Shilpa's unborn child. My essence shall survive within my grandchild and shall be available in that child's form, which, when in the presence of this book, shall embody the ancient vibrations and knowledge that the world shall seek.

In so doing I have fulfilled my destiny and my life's purpose, and I now pass along the task of planetary transformation to you who read these words.

—B.N. Mahars

Max knew instantly that the book and C.D. would have to accompany him to Izapa. Somehow B.N. had known that his essence would be required at some future event, at the same time he knew he was dying.

Max would study the numbers later, in an attempt to discern what they might mean, but it was clear to him that through the book and his grandson, B.N. would be present—and that Max would thus fulfill his purpose of reuniting the Twelve, as the Great Spirit had requested.

He took a moment to catch his breath and then emerged into the sunlight on the veranda where Gupta was napping and Shilpa was cleaning up.

“I will be taking you up on your offer,” he announced. “Can you arrange for both of you to fly to Mexico City on the ninth or tenth of August
?
We'll make arrangements to pick you up and fly or drive you to Izapa, the site of the ancient Mayan who created the Mayan calendar.”

He paused for a moment, sat in a chair, and gestured for her to do the same. When she did, he continued.

“I have been told to bring twelve special people to this site on August 11, and B.N. was to have been one of them. After reading his notebook, it is clear to me that C.D. is now one of the Twelve, for his grandfather's energy now resides in him.” He paused to see how she would react to this revelation.

Shilpa just smiled.

“My father never told me in words that I would go on such a journey, but in those final days he alluded to the fact that some day I might be called upon to assist with a great event and that I should be prepared, should I ever be called upon.

“I will prepare C.D. for the trip, and I am honored to be part of your gathering,” she said. “I am sure much good will come from this.”

***

Max spent the rest of the evening playing a local version of Pick-up sticks with C.D. and his younger sister. C.D. had excellent control of his physical movements and won almost every time. He would laugh whenever Max moved a stick and press a finger strongly into Max's stomach, letting him know he had lost his turn.

After every game he would hand over the sticks for Max to count, and although C.D. could not count himself, he could tell just by looking at his big bundle of sticks, compared to Max's smaller bundle, that he had won.

This, too, made C.D. laugh.

When it came time to go to bed, he gave Max a hug and kiss that was as intense as any Max had ever experienced. The energy of his unconditional love reminded Max of the feelings he had experienced in his original near-death experience in Dr. Gray's office in Tarrytown, New York, almost fifty years earlier.

As he fell into a pleasant and satisfying sleep, Max could not help but think, Finally I'm going to learn the purpose of my life. C.D. is the missing member of the Twelve.

And somehow, I think he is the one who has the most to teach us.