Angelology(104)

early Slavonic reference texts and found that there were indeed correspondences to the sounds

represented in Latin. Endeavoring to smooth the inconsistencies over, he supplied what he believed to

be the correct terms, checking each one with the surrounding context to assure that it made sense. At

the time the lack of precision had struck Dr. Raphael as unfortunate but routine, the kind of guesswork

one must make in any ancient manuscript. Now he saw that his method had corrupted the integrity of

the language at the very least and, at worst, had led him to egregious errors in the translation.

Examining the list together, we soon isolated the early Bulgarian words that had been

misrepresented. As the words were fairly elementary, I picked up Dr. Raphael’s fountain pen and

demonstrated the errors. Deopus had written the word 3лOTO (evil), which Dr. Raphael thought to

be 3лaTO (gold), and had translated the phrase “for the angel was formed of evil” as “for the angel

was formed of gold.” Similarly, Deopus had written the word Дyx (spirit), which Dr. Raphael had

mistranslated as Дъx (breath), rendering the sentence “It is thus that the spirit dies” as “It is thus that

the breath dies.” For our purposes, however, the most intriguing question became whether Gyaurskoto

Burlo, the name Clematis gave for the cavern, was an early Bulgarian place-name or if it had been

corrupted in some fashion. With Dr. Raphael’s fountain pen, I transcribed Gyaurskoto Burlo in my

remedial Cyrillic and then in Latin letters.

Γяypското Ъърло

GYAURSKOTO BURLO

I stared at the paper as if the exterior form of the letters might break open, seeping the essence of

meaning upon the page. For all my efforts, I could not see how the words could have been

misconstrued. While the question of the etymology of Gyaurskoto Burlo was well beyond my

capabilities, I knew that there was one person who would understand the history of the name and the

misrepresentations it had suffered at the hands of its translators. Dr. Raphael packed the manuscript

into his leather case, wrapping it in its cotton cloth to protect it, and by nightfall the Valkos and I had

arrived in my native village to speak with my grandmother.

The privilege of my access to the Valkos’ thoughts—not to mention their manuscripts—was

something that I had long wished for. Only months before, I had been outside their notice, a mere

student who wished to prove herself. Now the three of us were standing in the foyer of my family’s

farmhouse, hanging our coats and wiping our shoes as my mother and father introduced themselves.

Dr. Raphael was as polite and affable as ever, exemplifying the very embodiment of decorum, and I

had to wonder if my image of him with Gabriella had been correct. I could not quite reconcile the

perfect gentleman before me with the rapscallion I had witnessed holding his fifteen-year-old student

in his arms.

We sat at the smooth wooden table in the kitchen of my parents’ stone house as Baba Slavka

examined the manuscript. Although she had lived in our French village for many years, she had never

come to resemble the women born there. She wore a bright cotton scarf tied over her hair, large

silver earrings, and heavy eye makeup. Her fingers flashed with gold and gemstones. Dr. Raphael

explained our questions and presented her with the manuscript and the list of words he had extracted

from Deopus’s account. Baba Slavka read the list and, after considering the manuscript for some time

stood, went to her room, and returned with a collection of loose sheets I soon understood to be maps.

Opening a page, she showed us a map of the Rhodopes. I read the village names written in Cyrillic:

Smolyan, Kesten, Zhrebevo, Trigrad. The names were those near the place of my grandmother’s birth.

Gyaurskoto Burlo, she explained, meant “Hiding Place of the Infidels,” or “Infidels’ Prison,” as

Dr. Raphael had rightly translated it from Latin. “It was no wonder,” my grandmother continued, “that

a place called Gyaurskoto Burlo has never been found, as it does not exist.” Placing her finger near

the town of Trigrad, Baba Slavka pointed out a cavern that fit the description of the one we sought, a

cavern that had long been held to be a mystical site, the place of Orpheus’s journey to the underworld,

a geological marvel and a source of great wonder to the villagers. “This cave has the qualities that

you describe, but it is not called Gyaurskoto Burlo,” Baba Slavka said. “It is called Dyavolskoto

Gurlo, the Devil’s Throat.” Gesturing to the map, my grandmother said, “The name is not written

there, or on any other map, and yet I have walked to the opening in the mountain myself. I have heard