The Kabrini Message

The fire in Professor Gregory’s study burned low. Outside, it was just getting dark and the first drops of a cold London rain splattered against the windows. “Alrighty, then,” Gregory started as he sat down behind his desk. “As you may know, the Romans had umpteen gods. So did the Greeks. So what’s one more soothsayer? With a god for every occasion, they were only being religious by convenience anyway. That's why I never took this damn thing so seriously in the first place.” "Took what seriously?” asked Driscoll. “The Romans…or the Greeks?” "Neither,” said Gregory sounding exasperated already. “I’m talking about the Oracle, the Oracle, you numpty.” Gregory was clearly annoyed. He was used to dealing with his razor-sharp archeology students, and they were used to paying attention to details. Driscoll was not…at least, not to the point required for Gregory’s complex explanation. Driscoll practiced what he liked to call a holistic approach to life situations. In other words, he took in the big picture and then did whatever was necessary to keep from getting chucked out of it. “The Oracle, right, at Delphi,” said Driscoll. “You mentioned that on the phone. But what’s the fuss? It's not news. That's where rich folks went for advice about the future, right? The place where people went for prophecies…from priests or something.” “But the Oracle wasn't just a place, like a fountain or a shrine,” corrected Gregory. “It was supposed to be a person, or a deity, who only spoke through priests. The priests in turn doled out the information to the faithful.” “And by ‘faithful,’ you mean those who could afford to pay,” said Driscoll. “Well, yes,” agreed Gregory. “But my point is, it couldn't have been all rubbish or they wouldn’t have kept coming back for advice. And they did…important people, like Caesars and such. There must have been something to the Oracle’s prophecies.” “Unless it was just fashionable,” said Driscoll. “Ah…wait, what?” stammered Gregory. Driscoll had broken his train of thought, which stunned the professor into silence. “This is what’s so difficult about talking to Driscoll,” thought Gregory. He never knew when to expect an intelligent comment. This one had caught him by surprise. Driscoll kept talking as Gregory struggled to regain his composure. “I mean, in those days, you couldn't impress your wealthy friends by buying a flat screen TV or a Ferrari—so you blew a load on the Oracle to show off.” Gregory was mildly shocked. “Has money made Driscoll wise?” he wondered. “No, no, surely not. It never works that way. But trust Driscoll to do everything ass-backwards, including getting smart,” he thought. “Precisely!” Gregory finally answered. “And what do you suppose the priests did with all that wealth, mate?” “I don't know,” Driscoll responded as he thoughtfully scratched the stubble on his cheek. “Neither did anyone else,” Gregory said with a slight leer in his eye. “Until now.” Driscoll dropped his boots to the floor and leaned forward on the leather couch. This had definitely piqued his interest. “Listen to this,” said Gregory, producing a notebook from his jacket pocket. “This is an exact translation from a scroll my colleague Jessup unearthed near Delphi.” The professor flipped through the tattered pages of his composition book and read aloud: “‘I am an apprentice to a scribe. But, by the time this is read, I will not only have been a scribe, but will have been dead for some two thousand years. However, due to my experience as apprentice to Piros—scribe, scholar and personal acquaintance of the Great Emperor Claudius—I have access to certain knowledge, which if I do not set down, may be lost forever; unless the High Priests forsake their vows, which is not likely. But to share this knowledge in my own time would certainly be the cause of my death. Therefore, I share it with yours.’” Gregory paused and glanced at Driscoll, who seemed to be mulling over the words. “So this guy has something important to say, is that it?” Driscoll said sarcastically. Gregory rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes…brilliant. Now, listen to this part, mate,” he said. He continued reading: “‘In my time, I have no understanding of what I have seen. Yet I hope the passage of many centuries may bring wisdom to my words so that you, in your distant world, though you are standing exactly where I am now, may read and understand. For I have seen the Oracle at Delphi. And It is not Human.’” “Not human?!” Driscoll repeated. He was leaning so far forward now, Gregory thought he might tumble off the couch. “That’s what the bloody man says,” said Gregory, “and he should know. He claims to have been there several times and seen this Oracle thing twice. Once while it was reclining and going about ‘business as usual’ with the High Priests, and once when it was being carried out. During this second viewing, the scribe said the Oracle didn't look at all well. It might have been dying or perhaps already dead, and the priests were taking the body to some secret burial place. Anyhow, It was never brought back. Apparently, interest in Delphi seemed to wane after that, at least among the big shots. For the Caesars and the like, the Delphi prophesies seemed to have lost most of its punch. The priests continued to sell prophesies, but more so to the public—at a cut rate, I presume.” “Discount prophecies,” Driscoll said with a pensive grin. “Talk about bargain shopping.” He paused briefly to take another sip of brandy. “Did he write anything else about the Oracle, Itself?” he asked anxiously. He was already getting involved. “I mean, did he say what it looked like?" “Oh yes,” said Gregory with a smug smile. He knew he had Driscoll now. “In fact, he was quite descriptive. The scroll was very long . I only copied the first part, but I read Jessup's entire translated version. He said the Oracle's appearance was that of a boy with longish hair—except It had pale blue skin and dark blue hair.”