Angelology(106)

gorge. Looking about the cavern, I wondered what had become of the objects Clematis had described.

The clay amphorae would have crumbled in the moisture long ago if they had not been taken by

villagers to store olive oil and wine. But the cave contained no amphorae. Only rock and thick ice

remained.

Holding the case of medical equipment with both hands, I walked toward the ledge, the rush of

water growing more distinct with each step. As Dr. Seraphina moved the beam of the flashlight

before her, something small and bright caught my eye. I squatted to the ground and, placing my hand

upon the freezing rock, felt the icy metal of an iron stake, its head hammered flush with the cave’s

floor. “This is a remnant of the First Expedition,” Dr. Seraphina said as she knelt at my side to

examine my discovery. As I traced the cold iron stake with the tip of my finger, a great sense of

wonder came over me: Everything I had studied, including the iron ladder that Father Clematis had

described, was real.

And yet there was no time to ponder this truth. In haste Dr. Seraphina knelt at the precipice and

examined the steep drop. The shaft plunged in a straight, lightless verticality. As she removed a rope

ladder from her pack, my heart began to beat faster at the idea of stepping away from the ledge and

relinquishing myself to the dark insubstantiality of air and gravity. The crossbars of the ladder were

fastened to two strips of synthetic rope the likes of which I had never seen before, most likely the

very newest technology developed for the war effort. I crouched at her side as Dr. Seraphina dropped

the rope into the gorge.

Using a hammer, Vladimir secured the iron spikes into the rock, pinching the rope under iron

clasps. Dr. Seraphina stood over him, watching his movements with great attention. She gave the

ladder a hard shake, a test to determine that it would hold. When satisfied with its strength, she

instructed the men—who carried the sacks of equipment, heavy burlap bags of twenty kilograms each

—to secure their packs and follow us down.

I listened to the depths, trying to determine what lay beyond. In the stomach of the cavern, water

pounded against rock. Looking over the ledge, I could not be sure if the earth below me remained

stable or if it was I who had begun to tremble. I placed my hand upon Dr. Seraphina’s shoulder, to

hold myself steady against the nauseating spell the cavern had cast upon me.

She took me by the hand and, seeing my distress, said, “You must calm yourself before you

proceed. Breathe deeply and do not think of how far you have to go. I’ll lead you. Keep one hand on

the crossbar and the other on the rope. If you somehow slip, you won’t lose your footing completely,

and if you should fall, I will be directly below to catch you.” Then, without another word, she

descended.

Gripping the cold metal with my bare hands, I followed. Trying to find comfort, I recalled the

joyous account Clematis had written about the ladder. The simplicity of his pleasure had inspired me

to memorize the words he’d written: “One can hardly imagine our delight upon gaining passage

into the abyss. Only Jacob in his vision of the mighty procession of Holy Messengers might have

beheld a ladder more welcome and majestic. To our divine purpose we proceeded into the terrible

blackness of the forsaken pit, filled with expectation of His protection and Grace.”

We formed a line, each angelologist moving slowly down the rock face into the darkness, the sound

of crashing water growing louder as we descended. The air became frigid as we moved deeper and

deeper into the earth. A startling heaviness began to spread through my limbs, as if a vial of mercury

had been released in my blood. It seemed that no matter how often I blinked, my eyes were filled with

tears. In my panic I imagined that the narrow walls of the gorge would pinch together and I would be

trapped in a granite vise, fixed in a stifling darkness. Clutching the cold, wet iron, the rush of the

waterfall in my ears, I felt as if I were moving into the heart of a whirlpool.

Quickly I went, letting gravity take me. As the shaft deepened, the darkness thickened to a cool,

opaque soup. I could see no farther than the whites of my knuckles wrapped around the ladder’s rung.

The wooden soles of my boots slipped on the metal, knocking me ever so slightly off balance.

Clutching the case tightly to my side, so as to regain balance, I slowed my pace. Measuring each step,

I positioned my feet carefully, delicately, one after the other. The blood rushed in my ears as I looked

up at the dissolving track of the ladder. Poised at the center of the void, I had no choice but to

continue into the watery darkness. A biblical passage rushed into my thoughts, and I could not help