When artist, Nicole Jeffords, learns that a reputable psychic who often works with the police has had a vision that the remains of a fifty-year-old male may be buried under an artist's studio in Austin, she becomes convinced that the studio in quest...
Alicia suggested we move to the back porch to have a discussion about the Bukh. It was nine o'clock and the last vestiges of light were leaving the sky. Out on the porch, which was screened against bugs and mosquitos, overhead fans moved the sluggish air. We made ourselves comfortable in big soft easy chairs, sipping our coffee and savoring the chocolates Alicia had brought out with her. Emil lit a small cigar. Down below we could see the turquoise of the pool gleaming like an eye in the middle of the dark lawn. "So the Bukh," Emil said. "What a fearsome thing."
"Have you ever actually seen it?"
"Hell no! I only know what Victor told me and that was some scary shit."
According to Victor, the Bukh was passed to persons in his lineage who had inherited the gift of healing. His great grandfather Meir had sent the Bukh out of Poland to Canada with his three older children when they emigrated in 1911. It had been important to him to get the Bukh to a place where Jews weren't persecuted, although at the time he had no idea who -- if any -- of the three kids had healer tendencies. The Bukh was ancient. "I mean really ancient," Emil said, puffing on his cigar. "We're not talking a mere two, three hundred years. We're talking back to medieval times and maybe even then some." A whole history was in the Bukh, not just of medicine, but of a migration of people from the Middle East into Asia and Central Europe. The diaspora of the Jews. "But there's more than history in it," Emil said. "There are secret codes about how the world works, and predictions of what's to come. Everything about the human condition is hidden in those pages. The answers to all sorts of mysteries." He stubbed out his cigar. "That's why the thing is so dangerous. Everyone wants to get their hands on it."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The Bukh, Photo Credit Gilbert Garcia
"Who's everyone?" I asked.
Emil laughed. "The US government and probably the Russians. Various pharmaceutical companies. Private individuals with tons of money. Whoever stole Victor's portrait, for instance, would be very interested."
"So someone from any of those groups could have been after Victor?"
"Correct."
"Could have killed him?" I persisted.
Emil laughed again, a soft sound against the strident hum of cicadas in the backyard. "Who says he's dead?" he said in such a low voice I had to lean forward to hear him.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Victor
That was a question that sent shockwaves up my spine.
