The Genesis Secret

5

‘So these are the carvings, the new ones they mentioned in the article?’

‘Ja.’

Rob was in the middle of the dig, next to Breitner. The two of them were standing at the side of a pit, looking down at a circle of tall, T-shaped stones within the sunken enclosure. These were the megaliths. All around them the dig was proceeding with alacrity: Turkish workers were brushing and shovelling earth, shinning down ladders, trundling barrows of rubble along duckboards. The sun was hot.

The carvings were strange-and yet familiar, because Rob had seen them in the newspaper photos. There was a stone carved with lions, and a few weathered birds; maybe ducks. On the next stone was something that looked like a scorpion. About half the megaliths had similar carvings, many of them seriously eroded, others not. Rob took some shots with his cameraphone then scribbled a few impressions in his notebook, drawing the strange T-shape of the megaliths as best he could.

‘But,’ said Breitner, ‘that of course is not everything. Komm.’

They walked along the side of the pit to another sunken area. Three more ochre pillars stood in this enclosure, surrounded by a mudbrick wall. Traces of what looked like tiling glinted on the floor between the pillars. A blonde German girl said Guten Tag to Rob as she pushed past carrying a small clear plastic bag full of tiny flints.

‘We have many students here from Heidelberg.’

‘And the other workers?’

‘All Kurdish.’ Breitner’s twinkling eyes clouded for a moment behind his spectacles. ‘I also have other experts here of course, paleobotanists and two or three other specialists.’ He took out a handkerchief and wiped perspiration from his bald head. ‘And this is Christine…’

Rob turned. Approaching him from the direction of the tented headquarters was a petite but determined figure in khaki trousers and a remarkably clean white shirt. Everybody else in the dig was smothered with the ubiquitous beige dust of Gobekli Tepe’s exhausted-looking hillocks. But not this archaeologist. Rob felt himself go tense-as he always did when he was introduced to an attractive young woman.

‘Christine Meyer. My skeleton woman!’

The small, dark-haired woman extended a hand: ‘Osteoarchaeologist. I do the biological anthropology. The human remains and so forth. Not that we have found anything of that nature yet.’

Rob detected a French accent. As if he guessed Rob’s thoughts, Breitner interrupted. ‘Christine was at Cambridge under Isobel Previn, however she is from Paris so we are very international here…’

‘I’m French, yes. But I lived in England for many years.’

Rob smiled: ‘I’m Rob Luttrell-we share a back-ground! I mean I’m American. But I’ve been living in London since I was ten.’

‘He’s here to write about Gobekli!’ Breitner was chortling. ‘So I am going to show him the wolf!’

‘The crocodile,’ said Christine.

Breitner laughed, then turned and walked on. Rob glanced between the two scientists, confused. Breitner waved a hand, beckoning him to follow. ‘Komm. I will show you.’

They took another circuitous walk around the various pits and spoilheaps. Rob gazed about. There were megaliths everywhere. Some still half-buried. Others were tilted over at dangerous angles. He murmured: ‘It’s much bigger than I expected…’

The narrow path forced them to walk in single file. Behind Rob, Christine replied, ‘GPR and magnetivity imply there may be two hundred and fifty more stones buried under the hills. Maybe more.’

‘Wow.’

‘It is an incredible place.’

‘And of course incredibly old, right?’

‘Right…’

Breitner was now racing ahead of them. To Rob he looked like a boy eager to show his parents his new den. Christine went on, ‘In truth it has been very hard to date the site: there aren’t any organic remains.’

They reached a steel ladder and Christine moved beside Rob. ‘Here, like this.’ She skimmed down it-vigorously. Evidently she didn’t mind getting dirty, despite the shirt.

Rob followed rather less swiftly. They were now down at floor level in one of the pits. The megaliths loomed around them, like sombre guards. Rob wondered what it would be like here at night, and dismissed the fleeting notion. He took out his notebook. ‘So you were saying, about the dating?’

‘Yes,’ Christine frowned. ‘Until recently we couldn’t be sure how old the place was. I mean, we knew it was very old…but whether it was late PP Neolithic A, or PPNB…’

‘Sorry?’

‘Last week we finally managed to carbon date some charcoal that we found on a megalith.’

Rob wrote this down. ‘And it’s ten or eleven thousand years old, right? That’s what the Trib article said?’

‘Actually that report was inaccurate. Even carbon dating is only an estimate. To get a truer date we compared the radiocarbon analysis with some of the flints we found, Nemrik points and Byblos points-types of arrowheads and so forth. Taking these together with other data we think that Gobekli is actually closer to twelve thousand years old.’

‘Hence the excitement?’

Christine glanced at him, pushing dark hair back from her clear eyes. Then she laughed. ‘I think Franz wants you to look at his lizard.’

‘Wolf,’ corrected Breitner, standing by another half buried T-shaped pillar. At the foot of this pillar, attached to the upright of a stone, was a sculpture of an animal about two foot long. It was delicately chiselled and looked strangely new. Its stone jaw was growling at the floor. Rob looked at Breitner and at the Turkish worker just beyond him. The Turkish man was glaring at Breitner with what appeared to be anger, or even hatred. It was a shocking expression. When the man saw Rob looking at him, he turned and abruptly climbed a ladder. Rob glanced back at Breitner, who was stoutly unaware of this little exchange.

‘We only found this yesterday.’

‘What is it?’

‘I think it’s a wolf, judging by the paws,’

‘And I think it’s a crocodile,’ said Christine.

Breitner laughed. ‘Do you see?’ He put his spectacles back on and they glinted in the bright sun, and for a moment Rob felt a sudden admiration for this man: so delighted and enthused by his work.

Breitner went on, ‘You and me and these workers, we are the first people to see this since…the end of the Ice Age.’

Rob blinked. That was a truly impressive thought.

‘This carving is so new to us,’ Christine added. ’No one knows what it is. You are seeing something very important for the first time. There’s no one to interpret it for you. Your guess as to what this might be is as good as anyone’s.’

Rob stared at the jaw of the stone creature. ‘It looks like a cat to me. Or a mad rabbit.’

Rubbing his chin, Breitner replied: ‘A feline? You know I hadn’t thought of that. Some kind of wildcat…’

‘Can I put all this in my article?’

‘Ja, natürlich.’ Breitner said. But he wasn’t smiling as he said it. ‘And now I think-some tea.’

Rob nodded: he was thirsty. Breitner led the way back through the maze of covered pits, open pits, tarpaulined enclosures and bucket-carrying workers. Over the last rise was a flatter area of open-sided tents laid with red carpets. A samovar in one corner produced three tulip-shaped glasses of sweet Turkish cay. The open tents afforded a spectacular view: beyond them were the endless yellow plains and shallow dusty hills undulating towards Syria and Iraq.

For several minutes they sat and chatted. Breitner was explaining how the area surrounding Gobekli used to be much more fertile-not the desert it had since become. ‘Ten or twelve thousand years ago this area was much less arid. In fact it was beautiful-a pastoral landscape. Herds of game, orchards of wild fruit trees, rivers full of fish…That’s why you see carvings on the stones of animals-creatures that don’t live here now.’

Rob noted this down. He wanted to know more-but then a couple of Turkish workers approached and asked Breitner a question in German. Rob knew just enough of the language to glean the meaning: they wanted to dig a much deeper trench to access a new megalith. Breitner was evidently worried about the safety of such a serious excavation. Eventually Breitner sighed, shrugged at Rob, and went off to sort things out. As he went Rob saw that one of the workers was scowling: a strange, dark expression. There was definitely a tension here. Why? He wondered if he should mention his suspicions now that he and Christine were alone. The noise of the dig was muffled at this distance-all Rob could hear were little tinklings of trowels and spades, small noises occasionally carried over, on the hot desert wind. He was about to ask his question when Christine said, ‘So what do you think of Gobekli?’

‘It’s incredible. Of course.’

‘But do you know how incredible?’

‘I think so. Don’t I?’

She looked at him sceptically.

‘Why don’t you tell me, then?’

Christine sipped at her tulip-shaped glass of tea, ’Think about it this way, Rob. What you have to remember is…the age of the place. Twelve thousand years old.’

‘And…?’

‘And recall what men were doing then.’

‘What do you mean?

‘The men who built this place were huntergatherers.’

‘Cavemen?’

‘In a way, yes.’ She gave him a direct, earnest look. ‘Before Gobekli Tepe, we had no idea that such early primitive men could build something like this, could create art and sophisticated architecture. And intricate religious rituals.’

‘Because they were just cavemen?’

‘Precisely. Gobekli Tepe represents a revolution in our perceptions. A total revolution.’ Christine finished the last of her tea. ‘It changes the way we must think about the entire history of mankind. It’s more important than any other dig anywhere in the world in the last fifty years and one of the greatest archaeological discoveries in history.’

Rob was intrigued, and very impressed. He also felt a little like a schoolboy being lectured. ‘How did they make it?’

‘That is the question. Men with bows and arrows. Who didn’t even have pottery. Or farming. How did they build this enormous temple?’

‘ Temple?’

‘Oh, yes, most probably it’s a temple. We’ve found no evidence of domestic habitation, no sign of the most rudimentary settlement, just stylized images of the hunt. Celebratory or ritualistic imagery. Possibly we have found niches for bones, for funeral rites. Breitner therefore thinks it is a temple, the world’s first religious building, designed to celebrate the hunt, and to venerate the dead.’ She smiled calmly. ‘And I think he is right.’

Rob put down his pen, and thought about Breitner’s twinkling and merry expression. ‘He is certainly a cheery kind of guy, isn’t he?’

‘Wouldn’t you be? He is the luckiest archaeologist in the world. He is uncovering the most spectacular site.’

Rob nodded, and took more notes. Christine’s enthusiasm was nearly as infectious as Breitner’s. And her explanations were more lucid. Rob still didn’t quite share their wonderment at the ‘total revolution in perceptions’ Gobekli represented, but he was beginning to anticipate a very dramatic article. Page two of the main paper, easy. Better still-a big feature in a colour supplement with some vivid colour pictures of the carvings. Moody shots of the stones at night. Photos of the workers covered in grime…

Then he remembered Radevan’s reaction to the mention of the place, and the worker’s angry glare. And Breitner’s slight change of mood when they talked about Rob’s article. And the tension about the trench. Christine was over by the samovar, filling their glasses with more hot sweet black tea. He wondered whether to say anything. As she returned, he said, ‘Funny thing is, though, Christine, I know this dig is amazing and all that. But does everyone feel the same way?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well…I just…got some vibe from the locals…some real attitude. Not so good. This place upsets some people. My driver for instance.’

Christine perceptibly stiffened. ‘Go on?

‘My cab driver.’ Rob tapped his chin with his pen. ‘Radevan. He got really angry about Gobekli when I mentioned it last night. And it’s not just him. There’s an atmosphere. And Breitner seems…ambivalent. Once or twice when I discussed my piece with him this morning he seemed less than keen on me being here…Even if he does laugh a lot.’ He paused. ‘You’d think he’d want the world to know, wouldn’t you? What he’s doing here? Yet he doesn’t seem comfortable.’

Christine said nothing, so Rob stayed silent. An old journalistic trick.

It worked. Eventually, embarrassed by the silence, Christine leaned forward. ‘OK. You are right. There is…there are…’ She stopped, as if debating with herself. The breeze off the desert was even hotter, if anything. Rob waited and sipped his tea.

At last she sighed. ‘You’re here a week, yes? You’re doing a serious story?’

‘Yes.’

Christine nodded. ‘OK. Let me drive you back to Sanliurfa. The dig stops at one o’clock because it’s so hot, many people go home. I usually go home then. We can talk in my car. Privately.’