CHAPTER SEVEN
ALEX TAPPED his fingers against the steering wheel and stared up at the church. It looked cool and peaceful in the late-afternoon sunlight. Strange that he should be so reluctant to go in. It was six o’clock; they would all be in the Sunday school room having dinner-a flavorless concoction prepared on a hot plate. Alex wondered at his own distaste for the project. For the first time in his career, he resented having to leave his comfortable home, well-cooked meals, and especially his Posture-Perfect mattress. Roughing it had lost some of its glamour, perhaps in proportion to his own loss of youth. Or perhaps the real reason for his reluctance lay in the fact that he would have to face Mary Clare. He was going to feel like a fool, and he dreaded it. Even that stupid act of vandalism bothered him, although he didn’t know why it should. If the Neanderthals had still been around, mightn’t they have risen up in the caves of Lascaux and said, “Leave our dead alone!” If the protest over his work always existed in theory, why should he mind the expression of it?
The side door to the church opened, and he saw a figure in jeans standing on the porch. By the time he noticed the blond hair, which identified the person as Mary Clare, she had seen the van and was running toward it. Alex, who had planned to rehearse everything in his mind, had no idea what he was going to say.
Mary Clare rested her elbows on the van’s open window and peered in happily at Alex. “I’m real glad you’re back,” she beamed. “I’ve been looking out for you since five or so. How was your trip?”
“Fine. Is everything all right here?”
“Yep. Milo spent most of yesterday and today either at the sheriff’s office or guarding that motel room with Comfrey Stecoah, though what they meant to accomplish by that, I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Probably a symbolic gesture,” said Alex.
“Well, the work is coming along fine. Do you want to go up to the site and take a look?”
He nodded. “After supper.” He wasn’t hungry, but eating the tasteless food in the common room would postpone his having to be alone with Mary Clare. He followed her up the hill to the church, still wondering what to say.
Inside the Sunday school room, Victor Bassington was holding forth to a captive audience of diggers, who were bolting their food as quickly as possible in order to escape.
“Archaeology! The mysteries of the ages! That’s why I’m studying it. Why was Machu Picchu abandoned? Why did the Neanderthals die out?”
“You’ll never know,” muttered Jake between mouthfuls of bread.
“Ah! Can we be sure? Science opens new doors every day. Take this Cullowhee mystery. Who are they? I think they came from the Orient-”
“I thought all Indians originally came from the Orient,” Elizabeth put in.
“Ah, but these Indians seem more Oriental than most,” said Victor without missing a beat. “Those skulls you’re working with remind me very much of the skull of the Peking man I saw in England. Something about the shape-”
“That’s very interesting,” said Elizabeth politely. She hoped that her comment had distracted Victor from the sound of Jake’s snickering.
“Yes, very interesting indeed,” said Alex, who had been standing in the doorway listening. “I should like to hear more.”
Victor turned slowly, a blush creeping upward toward his ears. “Why, welcome back, Dr. Lerche. I was just talking about how interesting all this is.”
“Yes, I heard you,” said Alex evenly. “You mentioned seeing the skull of the Peking man. That must have been quite an experience for you. When was this?”
“While I was in England,” Victor said in a much more subdued voice. “Two or three years ago.”
“I see,” said Lerche. “Was this in a museum, perhaps?”
Victor hesitated. “The… ah… British Museum. But I don’t think they’re there all the time. I believe it was a traveling exhibit. I guess I was just lucky to be visiting at the right time.”
“Lucky,” Lerche repeated sarcastically. “Oh, you were phenomenally lucky, Mr. Bassington. You saw the actual bones, not a plaster copy?”
“The actual bones,” Victor agreed cautiously. “In a glass case, of course.”
“Here it comes,” whispered Jake to Elizabeth.
“I find it very interesting that you saw the skull fragments of Sinanthropus pekinensis two or three years ago in the British Museum. Do you know why I find that so interesting, Mr. Bassington?”
“Uh… did you see them then too?” asked Victor hopefully.
“No-and neither did you. The remains of Peking man were found in China in 1929 and they disappeared in China in 1939! When the Japanese invaded Manchuria, the museum people entrusted them to soldiers who were supposed to get them to a safe place. The soldiers were captured and the bones were never found.”
“Oh,” said Victor in a small voice.
“I don’t know why you have a compulsion to be an expert on things you know nothing about, but you’re wasting your time, because no one will ever believe a word you say.” He turned to the rest of the group. “All of you could stand to do a lot more studying and a lot less posturing. You’re not scientists yet!” He left the Sunday school room, slamming the door behind him.
Mary Clare hurried to keep up with him. “He’s had that coming,” she said softly. “But it’s not like you to do it in public thataway.”
Alex grunted. “Where’s Milo?”
“Well, he figured you’d be sending the new monitor up by bus, so he found out when the bus gets in and went down to wait for it. He’ll be back soon. Are you going to the site? Because if you are, Elizabeth MacPherson has a whole boxful of skulls already measured. She’d like you to check her work.”
“All right.”
Mary Clare hoped that if she could get Alex to talk, he would slow down and stop crashing through the woods like a wounded razorback. “Did you get the disks?” she called.
Alex turned to look at her. “My wife is bringing them,” he said.
She looked at him saucer-eyed, then began to smile. “I guess you haven’t told her yet, have you? But I don’t think there’ll be any problem if you just tell her what you’re planning to do from now on.”
“And what is that?” asked Alex quietly.
Mary Clare blushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean about us. Though I reckon it might be kinder to tell her straight out. I meant what you were talking about the other night: about quitting the university and going off to be an independent archaeologist. Living in camps under the stars, doing whatever job takes your fancy…” She smiled, thinking how wonderful it was going to be.
“You want me to be a shovel bum?” Alex demanded. He sat down on a fallen log and began to laugh.
Mary Clare, who wasn’t sure what the joke was-or on whom-watched him nervously.
“I can’t believe it. A shovel bum.”
“What’s that, Alex?” she asked timidly.
“That, my dear, is a contract archaeologist who digs up any site for a price. Antiquities bounty hunters. Most of them lack advanced degrees, and they aren’t backed by those universities you scorn so much. Who do you think pays for projects? Universities, that’s who! And without their backing, you have no professional standing in the field, and no one will pay very much attention to your findings.”
“But… Schliemann found Troy on his own.”
“We’re not talking about a hundred years ago, Mary Clare. I’m telling you that today the shovel bums dig up a site with no research concept and probably destroy evidence that a real scholar could use. They simply take the money and run to the next job. University backing is the only symbol of integrity we’ve got. And you want me to throw it away!” He shook his head. “You are just as bad as Victor. You make childish plans based on something you know nothing about.”