It was a strange tale Nicolas Carter told.
“On my 21st birthday, my father sat me down at the kitchen table, just like I’m sitting with you today.” He looked meaningfully across the mahogany table at Augusta.
“He told me that our family possessed a remarkable legacy: we were the inheritors of a book that no one else knew existed. And as the book’s owners, we are responsible for perpetuating its legacy throughout the world, a legacy of insight, wisdom, and action. The legacy of Epictetus and the ancient Stoics. A legacy dating back to Socrates and perhaps even farther back in ancient Greece, passing out of recorded history.”
Nicolas watched Augusta carefully to see the impact of his words. Her face was impassive, but he could tell she was listening attentively.
“These philosophers prized wisdom above all else. They were on a relentless quest to discover how to live the best possible life. What they discovered is that the best life does not consist in silent contemplation and prayer, or self-denial and withdrawal from the world, or even in the pleasures of the flesh. No amount of food, wine, and free love will make you truly happy. What they found is that the highest human potential resides in reason and the pursuit of truth. Understanding the most elemental forces of the cosmos. And the application of this knowledge to the intractable problems of the world. They called this justice. ”
At the word justice, Augusta shot her father a nasty look across the table. “What do you know about justice? You’re guilty of one of the greatest acts of injustice. Abandoning your child!”
For an instant, Nicolas’s face clouded with dismay, and Augusta briefly wondered if he might yell, or pound a fist, or cry. She had never seen a man look so disappointed and yet remain so calm. But after a moment he regained his composure and met her gaze across the table, smiling complacently. His eyes were full of an emotion she couldn’t name.
“You might think that. But remember, I ask you to listen first, before you judge. Withhold your condemnation until you know all the facts.” He cleared his throat and continued.
“You will learn more about these doctrines when the time is right. At present I will only say that the responsibility that falls on our shoulders is a heavy one, but when borne appropriately, it is an elixir for justice in the world. After much training, you will understand this too. Right now, all I can tell you is that sacrifices are sometimes required. Difficult choices must be made. The choices I made were to protect you and your mother. I left the two of you to live a safe, peaceful life. Surely you don’t regret the childhood you had, growing up with your mother and grandparents? Your mother always told me you were happy and thriving.”
The color drained from Augusta’s face. “You talked with Mom? When? How?”
“We speak regularly on an encrypted line. She sends me photos and news of how you’re doing. I’ve always been very proud of you, Augusta. I’ve stayed as close to you as I could, without endangering you.”
This was a conspiracy! Augusta couldn’t believe her mother could betray her so crassly. She had lied to her face all these years, claiming her father was dead. And all the while she was passing secret information to him, even photos of their family as she grew up. The betrayal cut her to the quick.
Seeing the anger on his daughter’s face, Nicolas quickly said, “Please don’t be angry at your mother. She wants, she’s always wanted what’s best for you. We decided this would be the best way. No one could ever trace me to you, but I could still have you in my life, in a very small way.”
“Well what is it exactly that you do?” Augusta shouted. “You keep saying you’re protecting me, you can’t get close to me, but you haven’t told me what’s so dangerous.”
“You’re right. It all goes back to the book, and to our renowned ancestor, Elizabeth Carter. Surely you’ve discovered by now that she was one of the foremost intellectuals of her time. As a distinguished essayist and translator, she moved in the first circles of the 18th century, respected by scholars and royals alike. Somehow or other—it’s not known exactly how, but there are hints and rumors—she came into possession of the only remaining copy of the lost discourses of Epictetus. The volume clearly originated in the Ottoman empire, as it’s printed in Ottoman Turkish, and it’s likely that it was transmitted by Mehmet Ragıp Pasha when he met Elizabeth in London in the 1750s. Beyond that, we can only speculate.
“What’s known for certain, though, is that the book passed to one of her nephews, who passed it on to his heir, who passed it on to his heir, and so on. The book passed from one generation of Carters to the next, but it was imperative that it remained secret. The book has high monetary value and would certainly become a target of thieves and a coveted item for collectors if its whereabouts were publicly known.”
Nicolas glanced again at Erol, who looked away quickly, pretending to study the pattern of the carpet beneath their feet.
“But for the Carters, the book’s value has never been monetary. We value it for the incredible insights it enables us to achieve. Together with the other texts passed down from Epictetus and his fellow sages, the lost discourses enable us to live the best possible life known to mankind. We are its guardians, the inheritors of this ancient wisdom tradition. It’s up to each of us to apply it as we see fit for our times.
“For the past two hundred years, each Carter heir has learned of this legacy on his or her 21st birthday. Children are not allowed to be told directly as they grow up. They may learn this subtle wisdom indirectly, by watching the actions of their parent, or in some cases aunt or uncle. But the responsibility is too great for a child to bear. Experience and understanding are required in order to use this legacy wisely. It must be kept secret from all except the heir him- or herself, and any immediate associates.”
Augusta blinked. Her mind was reeling with the effort of understanding these latest revelations. Her life just kept on getting stranger and stranger. Every day was a new twist or turn that completely upended everything she thought she knew about her life, her family—and herself. How was she supposed to make sense of all this?
She leaned forward, head in hands, elbows resting on the polished table. Her anger had now subsided, replaced by a torrent of questions that flooded through her mind all at once.
“I don’t understand,” she said, rubbing her forehead, where the dull throbbing from yesterday was recommencing. “How does the book transmit all these secrets to us? Is there a code? Are there rituals and divination practices, like the Rumelovs were searching for?” Skepticism crept into her voice. “I’m pretty sure Grandfather wouldn’t have gone in for all that.”
For the first time she could remember, Augusta heard her father laugh. It was a wonderful laugh, she couldn’t help thinking—rich, sincere, and full of good humor. “You’re right, he certainly wouldn’t,” her father said with a smile.
“And no, that’s not how the book works. There are no occult rituals, no fortune-telling, no buried treasure. It’s all up here.” He tapped the side of his head.
“It changes the way you see the world. It gives you the gift of knowledge into the deepest workings of the world. The gifts of truth, insight and understanding. The greatest gifts of all.” He regarded his daughter with quiet pride.
“You already have these gifts within you. You just need a little help to bring them out and make them visible.”
Augusta’s head was now pounding. Her vision was blurry, her father’s voice was ringing in her ears. She pushed her chair back and stood up quickly, pressing her palms heavily on the table in front of her.
“I need to get some air.” Without pausing she tucked the lost discourses under her arm, rushed out of the boardroom and down the stairs, and hurried out the front door of the museum.
Out in the street, Augusta took huge, heaving breaths of air. Air, that’s what she needed. To breathe. Space. Away from that claustrophobic room with its heavy furniture and heavy carpeting. And heavy conversation. She inhaled deeply through her nose, and never had the aromatic scent of Istanbul smelled more appealing.
She started walking. In which direction, she neither knew nor cared. She just had to move, to match the pace of her feet to her thoughts. There was still so much she didn’t know. About her father, about her grandfather, about this oh-so-heavy book. She was beginning to suspect the book was a curse rather than a blessing. Her father spoke of it like a sacred mission, but it seemed to her more of an albatross around the neck. How could so many generations of Carters pass it on to their children?
Augusta turned around to the sound of rapid footsteps behind her. It was Nicolas. She was forcefully reminded of the day before, when he tailed her from the Hatira bookshop to the museum, and how frightened she had been. Frightened, but blissfully ignorant of the surprises that lay in wait.
How much she would have given to go back to that time before she met her father! She had a strong feeling that her girlhood days were now firmly behind her. There was no turning back the clock, no relinquishing this duty that had been thrust upon her. Why did it have to be her? She didn’t want the dubious distinction of inheriting the lost discourses. She would happily have handed the book off to someone else and gone back to her old life in North Carolina, never giving it another thought.
She kept walking, and her father fell into stride beside her. They continued for several blocks in silence. Augusta stared down at the cobblestone streets in front of her, barely noticing the beautiful buildings and marble monuments along the way.
“I know it’s difficult,” her father said at last. “I went through the same thing on my 21st birthday. You may not believe it, but I once felt exactly like you do.”
Augusta was no longer angry, but she had to hold her father accountable for what he had done to her. “No, you didn’t go through the same thing. Your father didn’t walk out on you as a child. Grandfather stayed at home and raised you.” She stopped walking, her hands shoved into her jean pockets, and turned to her father.
“You keep saying you had no choice, but your father made a different choice. Why should I forgive you for leaving me?”
Nicolas sighed. “You’re right. But I didn’t get to finish the whole story. As I was saying, each heir of the lost discourses must decide how best to apply their knowledge to benefit the people of their era. In the past, some became doctors, diplomats, inventors, or teachers. All of these endeavors require knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom, and all of them benefit society. These were all worthy ways of bringing truth and justice into the world.
“Your grandfather—” Nicolas paused. “He saw things differently. When he first learned of the legacy, he wanted to become a code breaker. He trained as a linguist and became involved with the CIA. He was brilliant. Top-secret intelligence missions and all that.”
Nicolas resumed walking, and Augusta followed his lead.
“But after a few years he grew disillusioned. He witnessed corruption, abuse of power, oppressive and dishonest tactics. The strong taking advantage of the weak. The downtrodden becoming even more downtrodden. He realized he wasn’t helping anyone. He was helping to make things worse.
“Your grandfather retired to a quiet life, where he could start a family and live peacefully. He didn’t give up the legacy, but he saw fit to apply it in a different way. He became a carpenter and woodworker. He created objects of integrity and beauty, handcrafted with love and skill. These things will endure, benefitting the people who interact with them long after Grandfather is gone.”
Her father abruptly stopped speaking, and Augusta realized his voice had been trembling. For the first time since their reacquaintance, she thought about how he must feel. He had lost his father, just as she had lost her grandfather. He had obviously loved him, just as she did. And he had to live the last 20 years of his life in hiding, not able to spend time with the people he loved. She began to feel ever so slightly sorry for him.
They rounded a corner and found themselves facing a long, rectangular plaza lined with trees and paved walkways. Two enormous stone obelisks jutted up in front of them, standing sentinel over the wide-open space, as elegant buildings looked on from the sidelines. Although they were in the very heart of the old city, Augusta immediately felt a sense of openness and freedom here. She could breathe. She led her father over to a park bench and they sat down amidst the ever-hopeful pigeons crowding around their feet.
“The hippodrome of Constantinople,” her father said, pulling out a small pack of sunflower seeds from his jacket pocket. He began throwing seeds one at a time to the pigeons now gathering around them. “This is where the Greeks held their horse races. The stadium once held 100,000 people. Can you imagine them all crowded in here, cheering and clapping, watching the chariots race by.” He looked up and down the enormous expanse, now filled with only tourists and pigeons. “It must have been spectacular.”
Augusta leaned back and gazed around the square, taking slow, deep breaths. But she wasn’t thinking about ancient Constantinople. She was thinking about how odd it was to be sitting here on a park bench with her own father, whom she had believed dead for so many years. To passersby they must have looked like any other father and daughter, taking a rest while enjoying the sights of historic Istanbul. If only they knew the strangeness of the situation—how 24 hours before, she hadn’t even known this man existed!
“I haven’t yet told you what I chose to do, how I’ve spent the last two decades. Why I had to leave you.” Nicolas didn’t look at her as he spoke. “I chose a very different path from my father. He spent his life creating things of beauty and raising his family. I felt compelled to have a bigger impact. I decided to become an international spy.”
He said it so casually, as if it were an obvious career choice for the philosophically-minded son of a carpenter.
“I wanted to help bring order to the world, but I didn’t want to be a politician or judge. No desk jobs for me. I was ambitious and…restless.” He had a faraway look in his eye, remembering. “You can ask your mother, if you like. There were times when she was fed up with my desire to change the world.”
Augusta was no longer shocked at anything her father told her. It certainly sounded outrageous, but then so did everything else about the lost discourses and the Carter family. Why not an international spy? Everything made perfect sense now. The secrecy, the special ops forces, the military precision with which his team had dispatched the Rumelovs.
“Do you work alone?” Augusta asked, turning to look her father full in the face. Sitting this close to him, in the sunlight, she could see the faint crow’s feet around his eyes, the mouth that curved into a smile just like her own. She suddenly felt pieces of herself she hadn’t even known were missing clicking into place.
Nicolas returned his daughter’s warm gaze and lowered his voice. “No. I work with my own organization. The Cosmopolis. We’re not exactly a government agency, not exactly a non-governmental organization. Something in between. We work across national borders, tracking international threats that are usually off the radar of conventional governments. We are discreetly funded by a number of philanthropic billionaires, but we don’t work for anyone. We’re not controlled by any outside force. We have only one goal, and that is to advance the pursuit of truth and justice throughout the world.”
Scattering the last of his sunflower seeds to the pigeons, Nicolas leaned back against the park bench and tilted his head up to the blue sky. White clouds puffed their way overhead, swimming through their own azure sea toward the sun. A light breeze ruffled the treetops around them, and pigeons cooed as they pecked up the last bits of seed.
“Our work is often dangerous. Sometimes we face terrorists, sometimes crackpots, sometimes despots. Sometimes we work alone, when a perpetrator isn’t a clear threat to any particular nation or group. Often we collaborate with other agencies. But the work is always interesting. And always important. We save the lives and preserve the societies of people who don’t even know we exist.”
Listening to her father describe his secret, daring life—watching his gestures, which must have been so characteristic of him, but which she had never seen before—it slowly dawned on Augusta how perfect this moment was. All the uncertainty of the past few days, the anger, the fear, the resentment, seemed to simply dry up and vanish. Her heart surged with pride that her father was behind such an important mission. So it was his helicopters, his organization—what did he call it, the cosmo police?—that had vanquished the Rumelovs and protected her and Erol. His organization was a force for good in the world. She was starting to like the sound of that.
Augusta turned and, for the first time, gave her father a shy smile. He accepted it gratefully and gave her one in return. Nicolas didn’t seem to expect anything more. They sat quietly together for a few more minutes, watching the pigeons, the tourists, the clouds. Augusta knew this moment was almost over, and she knew it would never come again: the first time she sat on a park bench with her father. She closed her eyes and tried to press it into her memory, to last forever.
Eventually her father looked at his watch and said, “Maybe we’d better get going. Can I walk you home? I assume you’d like to go back to your friend’s apartment.”
“Good idea.” Augusta stood up, the lost discourses back under her arm. “I do need your help with something, though. Can you get me get a new phone? The Rumelovs took mine when they snatched the book.”
Nicolas laughed. “Of course. That’s what fathers are for, right? Buying phones for our daughters. And when you get back to Eda’s apartment, maybe you should call your mother. Let her know we’ve talked.”
Stepping through the broad, beautiful plaza, her heart lighter than it had been since her grandfather died, Augusta felt that all was right with the world. Her friends were safe, her book was by her side, and she finally knew the truth about herself and her family. Not only had she discovered something fundamental about the purpose of her life, but she had discovered she had a father. And that he was a good man.
Not everyone received such an extraordinary gift on their 21st birthday.
Whoa--such twists and turns; wonderful story.
And the cosmo police!!