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"And unto Shem, the father of all the children of Eber, the elder brother of Japheth, to him also were children born. The sons of Shem: Elam, and Asshur, and Arpachshad, and Lud, and Aram. And Arpachshad begot Shelah; and Shelah begot Eber. And unto Eber were born two sons; the name of the one was Peleg; for in his days was the earth divided; and his brother's name was Joktan."

• Genesis 10

Excited by the meeting with Rivah Tsur and eager for our class next Thursday, I rushed to the library and checked out several books on the development of the alphabet. I packed them into my briefcase along with the Gardiner article and headed home.

"Hey, what's the hurry?" said Ping. I lightly slapped her butt as I came in through the kitchen door and kissed her on the top of the head. It was 11:30 and she and her high school helper, Sandy, were in the final stages of loading the car with food for the trade fair. Actually the helper was loading, and Ping was at the stove stirring a huge wok full of broccoli, carrots, and snow peas with a big wok shovel. She always did the vegies last so they were fresh and hot and crisp and shiny.

"You look like the one in a hurry," I quipped back, grabbing a couple of egg rolls from a tray that Sandy was taking out the door. "I'm flying to New York this afternoon. I can catch a two o'clock plane out of Cedar Rapids and rent a car at JFK. I'll drive out to the lodge and get there around dinnertime. They'll do the Night Fight after dark, and tomorrow morning the course ends. This way I can get both Kang and Yamada at the same time face to face."

"Well, you better take those guys something to munch on after all that exercise," said Ping dumping the wokful of vegies into a deep stainless steel pan. "Vegies won't stay fresh, so you take some of these." She scooped about twenty freshly baked peanut butter cookies into a styrofoam container and handed them to me.

I took them and kissed her on the lips in 'payment.' Now she was adding desserts to her trade fair menu: cookies, apple pies, and chocolate cakes. Not very Chinese, I thought, smiling and shaking my head silently. But they sold well. I wonder where that'll all end up.

I packed a light carry-on bag with a change of clothes, my black obi martial arts uniform rolled in a small bundle and tied with its white belt, toothbrush and a Bic shaver. With that and my briefcase I headed for the car. Ping had already left in the station wagon, so I locked the door and left.

I bought a ticket at the airport, and went through airport security with my carry-on luggage. As I boarded the plane, I reflected on the steady increase in airport security.

Only a few years ago there were no such airport procedures as armed guards, security checkpoints, X-raying of baggage, body searches, showing ID for domestic flights, and constant reminders to watch your bags. Of course, this was all because of something the media called 'International Terrorism.' Now the government had commissioned me to help them get to the bottom of the whole thing. And here I was looking at a bunch of ancient alphabets! It all seemed very bizarre. But my intuition kept nagging at me that I was on the right track.

Settling into my seat, I opened my briefcase and started going through the materials with some attention. After reading and browsing for an hour, I took a sheet of paper and made a chart summarizing what I had learned. On the left I wrote the 22 Moabite letters. To the right of each letter I wrote its Modern English equivalent, if it had one. To the right of that I wrote the Hebrew name of the letter, capitalizing the letters that corresponded to Hebrew spelling. To the right of that I wrote the meaning of that word, if I could find it in the dictionary. Finally I wrote its numerical value, since the letters also serve as numbers in Hebrew. Here is what I came up with.

[Alphabet Chart]

As the plane began its descent, I reviewed what I had compiled. Some of the glyphs were clear. For example, the Aleph did resemble a bull's head. The Yad looked like a man flexing his arm to show strength. The Kaph looked like a hand with his fingers spread and his palm open. The Mem looked like a simplified form of the Egyptian wavy water symbol. The Moabite Nun did not resemble Gardiner's match with the fish glyph, and the Hebrew word for fish is DaG. But it occurred to me that fish live in water, and the Nun glyph was a truncated version of the Mem glyph. A little study of the meanings derived from the root Nun - 'waste away,' 'descendant,' and 'midget' (NaNa$) suggested that the idea of the glyph was something like 'small' or 'reduced.' The 'Oayn was clearly an eye. The Resh could be taken as a very stylized head. But in the South Semitic lists it looked more like a swelling belly. The Shin looked like teeth or fangs. And the Tau looked like the widely used 'X marks the spot' or a conventional 'X-mark' signature.

Some of the other glyphs were odd, but still had suggestive names. The Moabitic Beth didn't resemble a house, but the Egyptian glyph clearly showed a house with a door, and the Sinai version looked rather like a corral for livestock. The other South Semitic glyphs did too. The Gimel could easily be taken for the camel's hump. The triangular Daleth did not look like a door as we know it, but I thought it might represent the flap to a nomad's tent. The Vav did not look very much like a hook, but might actually represent a type of shepherd's crook for guiding livestock. The Peh looked more like a curl than a mouth.A third group of letters had glyphs that were suggestive but lacked clear meanings in Hebrew. For example, Heh might be a flail or a flywhisk. The #heth looked like a ladder or a staircase. The @eth, precursor of the Greek Theta, resembled a wheel. The Cady (pronounced Tsady or Chady) could be interpreted as a flag waving on a pole, or a fishing pole with a line and hook. However, since Vav was already a hook, Cady must represent something like bait, which ties in with the dictionary meanings such as hunting, lying in wait.

A fourth group of letters showed no clear connection between glyph and meaning. Zayn did not look like a weapon, but could conceivably be a lightning bolt or jagged knife. Lamed uniquely had a very abstract meaning. This seemed odd, since the other names so consistently referred to concrete things. I suspected euphemism. Samekh, which apparently mixed with the glyph for Shin and through metathesis transformed its name into the Greek 'Sigma,' may have been some sort of crutch to lean on, but the glyph was not really clear to me.

Well, this was a start. The letters seemed to be selected so as to describe the basic physical aspects of a nomadic herdsman's life. There were key body parts such as eye, mouth, and hand; essentials for survival such as water, cattle for food and clothing, camels for travel. Maybe I could deduce the other symbols by considering what other essentials to nomadic life there were.

In a flash the word SEX came to mind, I don't know why. In many cultures there are taboos around sexual issues, and this leads to the use of euphemism on that subject. The most obviously euphemistic name among the meaningful letter-labels was 'Lamed'. The various forms of the glyph all suggested an erect penis or a penis with a scrotum!

Was I imagining things, or was it possible that this was a major clue. Perhaps the 'Teaching' referred to by the name 'Lamed' had something to do with sex. The word LaMeD contained a Lamed, a Mem and a Daleth. Mem meant 'water' or perhaps any kind of fluid. Daleth meant 'door.' Maybe that's why the letter was triangular! It was not the door to a brick dwelling, but the entrance to the temple of Woman. It was the doorway of birth into the world. Maybe it was another euphemism, and the letter was a pictogram of the triangular cunt! The 'Teaching' had to do with the exchange of juices between a cock and a cunt!

Was I seeing things, or were the Hebrew letters not only representing things, but the arrangement of letters into words spelled out ideas as clusters of basic images?

LaMeD = COCK-JUICE-CUNT = THE TEACHING

Hurriedly, as the plane was landing, I scribbled down some ideas that came to me as I scanned the other glyphs just looking for imagery. For #heth I got not only stairs and ladders, but also images of nets, ropes and threads, fences, beds and litters. For $amekh I got some kind of abacus, a tool for assistance in calculating; or possibly a pillar for support. I remembered an Egyptian glyph that looked like that and made a note to look it up. For Qoph I got images of axes and awls and needles; but also a cartoon-like flash of someone sticking his tongue out. If Shin represents the teeth, could Qoph be the tongue and Peh the curling lips? If Cady is a root meaning 'to shoot,' and Daleth is a cunt, maybe (following my sexual imagination) Cady is a picture of a cock shooting its wad!

I was excited. The seed of a theory was starting to form in my mind. Perhaps the Semitic tribes that adopted true alphabets - the Phoenicians (Pelagians or Seafarers), Palestinians (Pelesti or Philistines, the Invaders), the Hebrews, Aramaians, Lydians, Elamites, Assyrians, and later the Arabs - though speaking different dialects, nevertheless all eventually shared a code based on symbols representing the essential objects in their world. Each symbol had a simple glyph and a name that started with its sound. The image of the object could represent the object itself, or a whole cluster of related ideas. Other ideas were represented by spelling out clusters of the basic images to form compound images. From the context or by convention you chose the particular interpretation that you intended to convey.

What a curious system - sort of like writing in Chinese with only 22 characters! I would have to explore this more deeply. But it was time to deplane and start the drive to Evergreen Lodge.

I picked up a car at the Avis lot, crossed over the Whitestone Bridge and headed north for the Catskills, taking the Bronx River and crossing the Hudson at Bear Mountain past West Point onto 17. As I drove, the discoveries I had made on the plane kept reverberating in my mind, and another big piece of evidence surfaced. In English I could think of only three words that could be spelled with single letters: the pronoun 'I," the indefinite article 'a,' and the vocative marker, 'O,' as in 'O Lord.' They are all vowels. Hebrew, on the other hand, has quite a few single letter words, all made with consonants. I listed six right off the top of my head:

B = in

H = of, the

V = and

K = as, like

L = to, toward

M = from

Furthermore, the meanings of these one-letter words made sense according to the imagery of the letter names. One lives INSIDE one's 'house,' and livestock are kept IN a corral. The conjunction AND joins words and phrases together the way 'hooks' link objects together, and shepherd's crooks keep the flock together. The erect 'penis' guides sperm TOWARD a woman's womb. Our bodies come FROM 'water.' This evidence convinced me that in ancient times each consonant sound in Hebrew might have carried a certain type of meaning that was suggested by the glyph chosen from the essentials of nomad life. I would have to explore the early Semitic cuneiform writing for further clues.

The Evergreen Lodge was not far from the old New York Jewish watering hole and entertainment center at Livingston Manor that was now a TM movement facility. However, the lodge was much more rustic, built in log cabin style. Like the Manor, after its heyday it went unused for some years until the followers of the Tibetan Lama Norbu Lopsang Dorje Rinpoche bought it as a retreat location. Under his guidance it was revitalized under the Ashram name of Shambala. However, a few years ago the Rinpoche had unexpectedly entered Nirvana, and the community dwindled down to about a dozen remaining staff. In order to make ends meet, the remaining followers of the Dorje Path rented the place out to New Age groups for various self-improvement seminars, often serving as a venue for New York Open Center events.

Since the entire culture of Tibet had gone into exile after the Chinese occupation, the mysteries of that ancient land were now being revealed for no other reason than to preserve whatever could be saved. Itinerant Rinpoches toured about demonstrating sand mandalas, meditation, bodhisattva visualization, breathing, Dumo fire cultivation, Ngal-So healing techniques and much more. Several of Dorje Rinpoche's people had an interest in the martial arts and introduced the place to Kang, who was in nearby Long Island. So Kang and Yamada started doing their week long martial arts workshops at the lodge on a fairly regular basis.

The grounds were very secluded, with abundant forest and a little lake. At the entrance was a carved wooden sign with the words SHAMBALA under a traditional stylized glyph of the prayer OM MANI PADME HUM in Tibetan. The long winding access road terminated at the lodge, which overlooked the lake. Scattered around near the lake's edge were about fifteen small log cabins that could sleep up to four people each.

As I drove into the turnaround at the lodge, I caught sight of the last red glow of the setting sun through an opening in the trees over the lake. The glow momentarily illuminated the dark-colored log and pole construction of the lodge as if through a rose wine before fading into the undifferentiated gray-brown of dusk. It was very quiet and deserted looking. Participants had parked their cars by the cabins, each of which had a little gravel lane leading to it.

I parked in front of the lodge and walked up the wooden steps onto the railed porch. The same emblem as at the entrance was reproduced in smaller scale on the front wall of the lodge. No lights were on yet inside. I peered through the screen door. In the dim dusky light that filtered through the windows I could see that the main refectory hall with its beams and poles and plank floor was empty. It had been cleared except for two long rough-hewn wooden tables at the end near the door to the kitchen, to my left as I looked in. They probably work out sometimes in that space, I thought to myself. At the far end was an altar with indirect lighting and a picture of the Rinpoche in the center. In front of the photo was a silver Sarira reliquary, probably containing bone pearls from the deceased Lama. On both sides were hanging Tankas of Tsongkhapa on the one hand and Maitreya on the other. Also on the altar were some brass statues. From the distance I couldn't be sure what they were, but one looked like Yamantaka, and the other looked like a Yab-Yum of some bodhisattva and consort. I saw no one in the room.

"Where is everybody?" I wondered. To the right I saw a number of leather chairs and a sofa in what seemed to be a common room area. To one side was a counter that appeared to be a reception desk, and beyond that was an administrative office, a small hallway, and some rest rooms.

I stepped inside and began walking over toward the reception counter to see if I could summon a staff member to register for the night and find out what was happening with the seminar. I had taken about four steps into the room, when I suddenly felt a powerful instinct to flinch. I can not actually say that I even saw a shadow, but I felt a light touch on my neck. I froze - not merely from fear - I simply could not move. A moment later a short wiry figure wearing a gray jacket with cloth buttons and cloth shoes shifted into focus in front of me. It was Kang. At his side, standing up from behind a sofa, was the barrel chest of Brian Yamada, eyes aflame and a big broad-lipped smile on his face. Kang coiled his arm in the air like a cobra and then flicked out with his index and middle fingers, releasing my nerves from paralysis. Then he flopped down into a leather arm chair and shook his head: "Oh, Derek, Derek, when you gonna learn? After dinner we got the Night Fight. How you gonna make it if you walk around like that half asleep?"

I should have remembered. One of the favorite hobbies of these guys was to ambush friends when they arrived. If they pick you up at the airport, you had better watch out as you deplane. They pop out from behind any pillar or counter and pick your pocket or steal your sunglasses before you even know what's happened.

"So how's the course going?" I said as casually as I could, at the same time settling my barely recovered physiology onto the sofa.

"It's great," said Brad. "This is an advanced group. They have all had several years of training in one or more branch of the martial arts. We are really challenging each other. There are 14 on course, including three from the Dorje Community. Well, actually 13, because Tom is assisting. And Norm is helping out, too."

This is good, I thought to myself. Tom was a Taiji instructor from South Africa who lived in the Chicago area. He was also pretty skilled with swords and staff. And best of all, he knew Tuan. So I could set up a meeting with him after the course.

"The students are resting and getting ready for tonight," said Kang. "We'll have a light supper at 6:30 and then at 8:00 the fun begins. Did you bring your obi? Brad has an extra sword for you, and you can play with us if you like."

Brad was already walking back from the reception counter from behind which he had extracted a bamboo practice sword. It was a bamboo staff almost four feet long. The hilt was wrapped in leather and over a foot long, like the real samurai sword, so that you could grip it with both hands. Actually the staff was four split bamboo sections that were tied into a bundle with string and leather. This pre-split bamboo bundle gave the sword great strength combined with resilience, so it would not split during combat. A good whack from one of these gave a major bruise and easily broke bones. In the hands of an expert it was as deadly as steel.

In mock samurai swordplay we did not encumber ourselves with helmets and padding as many Kendo practitioners did. Brad emphasized speed and freedom of movement. I had been through the beginner's weekend workshop and knew most of the basic moves. But to play with these seasoned fighters after they had just gone through a week of intense training was daunting. I would do it, though. After all, I had to keep up face. Well, tonight we would face the Masters. I hoped that they wouldn't let me get in over my head.

In twos and threes the students were now drifting in. Norm emerged from the kitchen and turned on the lights and they began to set the table. While they were setting up, Tom took me for a little walk in the gloaming to show me the territory of the Night Fight. It began at an open place around a bend in the lake and headed through some tall grasses and then up a heavily wooded slope at the top of which was a little gazebo that looked out over the lake. The gazebo was our target. It was simple. Just get from the lakeside to the gazebo. I stood for a moment looking out over the waters of the lake at Venus, and a few bright stars that had begun to show themselves in the darkening sky.

We walked back to the lodge, and most of the participants were now seated at the two long tables. Brad introduced me to them. There were three from the Ashram, two Americans and a Sino-Tibetan name Geleg Tang. There were two Navy Seal buddies of Brad's, Ed and Jim. Ensel Jones was a Black from Harlem. A Columbia grad student of Japanese background named Itoh, and an NYU part-time night student, whose name I forget. A businessman, Chuck Giordano, travelled a lot in Asia and had practiced Shaolin and some Taiji. Joe Wieger was an itinerant martial artist from Tennessee who specialized in a super-fast street-fighter brand of Okinawan Karate. There were two women - a Chinese-American named Gracie Wu and a TM meditator, Maria Castellano, who had lived several years in Fairfield, Iowa. More recently she had been staying at Livingston Manor on the Mother Divine program, but currently was taking leave to campaign for the Natural Law Party candidates in the upcoming elections. This course was preparation for going out on the road collecting signatures to get candidates on the ballot, she later confided. Brad mentioned also someone from Special Forces was here reviewing and recreating, but hadn't come into the room yet. The teaching staff was Kang, Brad, Norm, and Tom.

The tables had been set with rice congee, some dishes of tofu and vegetables, and pots of tea. I pulled out my container of cookies and put ten on a plate for each table. Then I sat down at one of the tables. The itinerant martial artist, Joe, sat opposite me, and began regaling me with a story of how someone one day let a pit bull fighting dog come after him. He was walking down Main Street in Spot, Tennessee. A bunch of black guys were hanging outside a convenience store watching to see what would happen. The terrier came after him barking and snapping from behind. Suddenly Joe spun around, grabbed the dog, bit him on the nose, and then tossed him over his shoulder. The black guys laughed and laughed, slapping their thighs. But the startled dog never recovered and was useless afterward as a fighter or a watchdog.

"Now that's really a 'Man Bites Dog' story," I commented.

"Oh, that's nothing," replied Joe. "My brother Kenny is even more outrageous. He can knock people out with the sound of his voice. One day he was sparring with me in the Dojo, and a couple of rowdy types came in to watch. Suddenly Kenny leaps up in the air and lands in front of the rudest dude of the two, glares right into his face, and lets out a bloodcurdling 'Kwat!' The guy's eyes just rolled up and he fell to the floor twitching."

Before I could respond to that tale, there was an insane peal of laughter and a large body eased itself into the chair next to mine. There was no mistaking those thick hairy hive-lifting arms and wild laughter. It was Noah Rook.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" I said in surprise. "I thought you were back in Nebraska. If it was you in that Dojo, I bet you'd laugh them to death."

"Actually I've been here all along," Noah chuckled. "My home number automatically pages me on cellular wherever I am. But, like I told you - no more phone calls. I said I'd work a way for us to meet. So I just stayed here doing nothing, having fun in the woods, and waiting for you. I figured you'd show up to talk to your friends, and sure enough here you are."

"So what do you need me for?" I thought to myself in sarcastic amazement. While I recovered from appreciating that spooky bit of efficiency, he continued. "You know, Joe here is now in semi-retirement. He used to have a routine where he'd set two chairs about four feet apart and then he'd lie across between them like a bridge with his feet on one chair and his head on the other. His assistant would then pile four twenty-pound blocks of concrete on his stomach and then start smashing them with a sledgehammer. He'd crack off the first, then the second, then the third, down to the last one. When the last one shattered, the assistant would keep pounding on his belly with the hammer while the audience thought he had gone crazy. Actually Joe would just catch the hammer with his belly like a ballplayer catching a baseball, flexing his body up and down with the strokes to absorb the battering. Then one day he caught the hammer with his timing a bit off, and his intestines burst. He finished his show and then calmly drove to the hospital to have them sew his guts back together. The doctors couldn't believe it, but they cut him open and sewed him back together. He tells me he's retired that stunt now. But he's still mighty fast."

Joe nodded, apparently agreeing with both of Noah's assertions, and pulled up his T-shirt to display the scar across his abdomen.

Noah was good at shifting attention. "Well, let's eat a bite, but not too much, because we're going to have to move fast in the woods tonight." 

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