LC 02 - Questionable Remains (11 page)

"I had the dream for three nights," Piaquay told the gathering.
He, Cacheci, and the elders sat around the fire.

The men wore dearskin breechcloths. Some wore leather necklaces holding large round gorgets of shell carved with birds, serpents, or spiders. Cacheci sat on her heels with her legs tucked
under her, unlike the men, who sat cross-legged. She wore a deerskin skirt from her hips to her knees. Her skirt was decorated
with drawings to please the gods. Like the men, she wore nothing above her hips, and like the men, she had elaborate tattoos
around her arms and legs and around each breast. Cacheci wore
necklaces of shells and pearls. She had a handsome face, made all
the more so by the flowerlike tattooing across her forehead and on
her chin and cheeks. Some of the men wore turbans of animal
skin around their heads. Others, like Piaquay, wore their hair
long and straight.

"I dreamed," he continued, "that an eagle swept down to the
lake and snatched a snake in its claws and rose to the heavens."

"A good omen," said the shaman, "but your war party would
take you far and distant."

"The devils have spread across the land of our friends and our
enemies," said Piaquay. "They are like the drought that takes the
corn and leaves us but scorched earth."

"Will you return?" asked Cacheci.

"I don't know," answered Piaquay. "I know only that I must do
this."

"We can't afford for you to take a war party of twenty," said an
elder.

"The war party must be small," said Piaquay. "1 will take my
brother, Tesca, a young warrior to feed us, and the slave Roberto.
Nayahti the trader wishes to go. That would be good. He knows
the land through many chiefdoms."

"Four men is not the right number," said the shaman, who did
not count Roberto. "Find two more to take with you."

"Then you favor this journey?" said Cacheci.

"Yes. His dream is a good dream," the shaman said to the new
chief. The shaman turned back to Piaquay. "Be observant in all
things on this journey. It will be dangerous. I'll give you new
things for your medicine bundle. Don't allow your thirst for
revenge to blind you to bad omens. Listen to your dreams. Return
if they are not good. Take and keep afire from this village, and read
the crystal every morning."

Roberto sat in the deep shadows watching Piaquay and the
braves dance in the flickering firelight. The way Piaquay danced
with the bladelike war club was both elegant and fierce. The
whoops and shouts of the braves sounded like a celebration, but
Roberto knew better. His captors were deep in grief for their loved
ones killed by Calderon. He understood that. Seeing Calderon
again had brought to Roberto a longing for his family and for
Cristina that had been numbed for years. The knowledge that
Calderon had plotted his ruin lit an anger deep inside Roberto. He
did not doubt that Calderon arranged his capture years ago, even
meant him to die. Everything fit together like a giant puzzle that
suddenly came together of its own resolve. Slowly, he rose and
danced the war dance.

Lindsay had spent four days at the Royce Site enjoying
excavating and visiting with her friends, but she was also
looking forward to moving on to the next place on her itin erary. She stood looking at the map spread out on the hood
of her vehicle. She wore jeans, a T-shirt, and aviator sunglasses, her long red-brown hair in a ponytail and threaded
through the opening in the back of an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. She was ready to go.

"Where to next?" asked Sally.

Lindsay pointed to a spot on the map. "Jane and Alan are
digging a small campsite in a rock shelter not far north of
here," she said. "They think it may have been used by the
Spaniards. This highway route," she traced her finger along
the roads that led her to the next site, "runs parallel to several routes that explorers might have taken. Interesting,
huh? I guess a good route is always a good route."

"Good trails make good roads. Isn't that akin to 'central
place' theory or something?" asked Sally.

"Yeah, I guess it is," Lindsay said, folding her map. "Well,
I'll say good-bye. Thanks for the hospitality."

"Where to after Jane and Alan's dig?" asked Sally.

Lindsay grinned. "Derrick's Cold River Site."

"I'll bet you're looking forward to that," said Sally, grinning back at her. "Derrick's taking you dining and dancing,
I imagine?"

"He said he has a special evening planned," replied Lindsay.

"Derrick's a special friend?" asked Emily, walking up to
say good-bye.

"Yeah," said Lindsay, nodding her head. "He's my very
best friend."

Emily stuck out her hand. "It was nice to meet you,
Lindsay. I don't think we can ever agree about the burials of
my people, but I still enjoyed talking with you."

Lindsay shook her hand. "Me, too."

Brian came over to say good-bye; so did Gerri and some
of the others she worked with. She hugged Brian, then Sally.
"Do you know where I can get gas and ice?" she asked.

"You'll pass Caleb's Grocery about ten miles on down the
road," Brian said.

Lindsay drove away from the site and turned onto the
road that went through a deep mountain forest. It was relatively early in the morning, and she had her window down
while the day was still cool. A light fog still clung to the
trees. It was going to be a good day for traveling-clear and
bright after the fog burned off. She was smiling to herself as
she traveled up the winding mountain road. As she reached
over to turn on the radio, there was a sudden loud, sharp
sound, like an explosion, and her Rover was suddenly
swerving all over the road.

LINDSAY HEARD A car horn blaring angrily at her as she
struggled to get the Land Rover back in her lane. She couldn't do it. The oncoming car swerved, missing her with such
a narrow margin she felt its vibration as it passed. Now the
direction of the Land Rover was toward the edge of the road
and down the mountainside. Lindsay turned the steering
wheel hard and stomped on the brakes. The Rover skidded
to the edge and stopped. She tried to back away from the
edge to get to a wider place on the side of the road a few feet
ahead, but it wouldn't move. Lindsay took a moment to
catch her breath before getting out. Her legs were weak, and
she was still shaking from the near misses. She walked
around the Rover and saw that not only was her left rear tire
ruined, but her right front tire was just off the edge of the
embankment.

"Damn," she said. It would have to be towed back onto
the road. She started for her car phone when a pickup truck
pulled in behind her and stopped. John West stepped out.
His long hair, black and as shiny as obsidian, flowed over
the shoulders of the brown shirt he wore.

"Having problems?" he asked, looking at the precarious
position of her vehicle.

"I had a blowout," she said.

John looked at her and at her tire. "Are you all right?"

"A little frightened," she replied. "I swerved into the
other lane and almost hit a car, then ... well, you can see."

He went to the back of his truck and took a chain out of
the bed. "I'll have to pull you away from the edge," he said
as he proceeded to hook the chain to the rear of her Rover.
He attached the other end of the chain to his truck, linking
the vehicles together. He walked to the front of the Rover
near the edge of the precipice and looked underneath the
vehicle. He gave it a hard shove on the side, as if testing its
stability. He grunted, looked up at Lindsay with a smile,
raised an eyebrow, and said, "I don't think it'll go over the
edge. Get in and try to hold it steady as I pull."

She did as he told her. The chain jerked as he started
pulling, but her Rover gradually moved away from the
precipice. He unhooked the chain, and she drove slowly to
the pull-off just ahead, her blown-out tire wobbling and
bumping.

"I'll change the tire for you," he told her.

"I appreciate it." She gave him her key and he opened the
back to get the spare and tools. He stood the spare tire against
the side of the Land Rover and laid the tools on the ground.

"I'm lucky you happened along," she said.

"I didn't just happen along. Emily said you were going to
stop at Caleb's. I was on my way to catch up with you there."

Lindsay watched him as he sat on his haunches beside
her tire. She observed his tall frame, his long thighs and
broad shoulders, how his raven hair flowed over his back,
his very brown skin. He was like one of the skeletons
fleshed out and animated. She squatted beside him as he
jacked up the vehicle.

"Why were you trying to catch up with me?"

"I want to talk to you."

?
"Why?"

He took the lug wrench and began removing the lug nuts
from the wheel. "You're the enemy. A strong enemy. I want
to get to know you."

Lindsay was surprised. "I'm not your enemy."

John West stopped what he was doing and stared at
Lindsay, as if trying to see inside her. "You're the most dangerous kind. One who speaks straight and persuasively. We
Indians can have our say and convince your people that
what you do hurts us, hurts our soul. Someone like you gets
up and makes your side sound more wise. Many people
will be persuaded by you and will agree with you because
they think you will really do what is best for us, for our history, and for our future, and because they value what you
value, and don't understand what we consider sacred." He
turned and continued taking the nuts off the wheel. He
removed the ruined tire and laid it down in the grass and
put on the spare. "At least they are ignorant. You understand what is sacred to us, yet it means nothing compared
to your research questions." He said "research questions"
the way some people would say "profit." She supposed
answers to questions were the profits of science.

"What is it you want?" she asked.

"How does it make you feel to know that I hate what you
do?" he asked, looking at her, his black eyes glittering with
his indignation.

"Frustrated," she answered.

He stopped, making no movements for several moments,
then looked at Lindsay again. "You feel frustrated? Why?"

Lindsay sat down cross-legged in the grass and took off
her sunglasses. "I'm not sure you would understand."

"You think I'm stupid?" he asked, returning to his work
on her wheel.

"No. You know that is not true," she said.

"Tell me then," John insisted.

"It's hard to explain to anyone how I really feel about it."
She hesitated. "I'll try. The ancient villagers are not really
dead to me. They are just not of my time. They can tell me
things about themselves, and you want to stop them. I find
it frustrating."

As Lindsay spoke, it seemed that John West's movements
as he bolted the spare tire in place became fast and jerky. He
waited until all the nuts were in place and tightened before
he spoke. He turned to Lindsay, still sitting on his haunches, his forearms resting on his thighs.

"They are dead. They lived once, and now they're dead.
They don't talk to you. You examine the marks on their
bones and make educated guesses about what their lives
were like. But that's all they are-guesses."

"You're guesses right, of course," Lindsay said.

He stood, reaching out to Lindsay, bringing her up with
him. His hands were strong and firm as he gripped hers. For
a moment he kept her hands in his, looking at her light skin
contrasting against his brown. Then he let go.

"Thank you for changing my tire," said Lindsay. "Can it
be repaired?"

"No," he said. "When it blew, it did too much damage."

Lindsay walked with him to his truck. He tossed the
ruined tire into the back. The sign on the side of his truck
said: West Builders.

"Your business?" asked Lindsay, running her fingers over
the sign.

"Yes. I make a living for my family and myself, and I'm
not an alcoholic."

"I didn't think that you were."

"Then you are in the minority."

"I think you exaggerate."

"Get another spare," he said. "You shouldn't travel without one." He opened the door, ready to get in. "Follow me
to Caleb's. He'll take the tire off the wheel for you."

"I don't want to be your enemy," she said as he closed the
door.

"Then stop digging up my ancestors."

"Is there no compromise?"

"No. Tell me, Lindsay Chamberlain. What if my ancestors
'told' you that they want to be left alone? What if you found something that made you know that they do not want to be
dug up? Would you stop?"

Lindsay was silent for a long moment. John watched her
closely. "I would have to, wouldn't I?" she said finally.

"One of their descendants is telling you. As pure an
American Indian as they are, I'm telling you. You say that to
you they are not dead, just living in a different time. I'm living in this time, and I'm telling you."