I heard footsteps crunching on stones behind me and turned to see Dave, who wore the same outfit as yesterday, with the exception of a green bandana, obviously a trademark of his, followed by six or seven delegates to the Moai Congress who had come on the bus with us that morning.
"Are these people going to follow us wherever we go?" Moira said.
"I guess so. They're filming a documentary on Jasper's work and theories," Dave said. "It's called Rapa Nui: The Mystery Solved."
"Which mystery would that be?" Moira said. She'd given up, as I had, pretending she knew anything. A tall blonde woman with large sunglasses and a straw hat glared in our general direction.
"The moai were carved using these," Robinson said, stooping to pick up what looked to be a lump of stone. "These are called toki, stone tools made of basalt. Thousands of them were found all over the site. Imagine carving these stone giants using only these toki. It is an amazing feat. The burning question is who carved these statues and not only carved them but moved them down the slopes—remember they each weigh several tons—and then raised them on ceremonial platforms called ahu," Robinson went on, taking a few paces toward the camera.
"I'll tell you what the Rapa Nui themselves say," he said, gesturing to a group of workmen who were leaning on shovels and laughing as they watched the action. The camera panned in their direction, and the men, embarrassed, dropped their tools and ran away, giggling as they went. The camera followed their retreating backs. "They say their ancestors carved them, but then the statues walked to the platforms all by themselves." He shrugged at the camera. "I guess we know that didn't happen." He laughed, gesturing once again toward the retreating workmen. The camera followed his hand.
"Do we believe them? Or do we believe that some other race, descendants of the builders of the great stone cities of South America, landed here and both built and transported these great monuments? That's the question we are going to explore over the next two hours."
"Horse manure!" a loud voice exclaimed, and we turned to see a giant of a man coming toward us. He had the bluest eyes I have ever seen, and his gray hair was parted in the middle and worn in long braids. He strode across the rocky terrain as if he owned the place. He was, it was clear, someone to be reckoned with, and he looked really peeved.
"Cut," a rather scruffy-looking man in horn-rimmed glasses and long hair that fell in his eyes yelled. "Could we have silence here, please?" he said, looking right at us as the giant among men joined our little group. "We are shooting a documentary."
"Stand clear!" Dave whispered. "Trouble coming."
"You call this a documentary?" the tall man said. "I call it science fiction, pure and simple."
"Do you mind?" the scruffy guy said.
"That's okay, Mike," Jasper Robinson said. "There are skeptics everywhere. We can take a break for a few minutes. I need to review my notes anyway. Were you able to stay with me through all that, Danny Boy?"
"Take a break," the director said, rather reluctantly. "Nice improvisation there, Jasper. And yes, Danny Boy kept up with you. Great footage." The cameraman, presumably Danny, waved. The bored young woman bestirred herself and applied a powder puff to Jasper Robinson's face before straightening the collar on his cream-colored golf shirt— which set his biceps off nicely—and brushing some dust from his khaki pants. She had not changed expression once that I noticed, not even when the blue-eyed giant had arrived on the scene.
"That was unconscionable," the tall man said, making his way over to where Robinson and the crew stood. "You panned the camera over those poor workmen to imply that they were incapable of much of anything. You took advantage of them to make your own point, and you are a bigot. You made them look like idiots."
"People can judge for themselves, Fairweather," Jasper said.
"That would be Doctor Fairweather," the other man said. "You know, it's several years of university study and after that years and years of field work before one begins to venture opinions on archaeology. I graduated with honors from USC. Where did you say you got your degree?"
"That is just the kind oiadhominem response I have come to expect from the academic establishment, of which you are surely one of the most reactionary representatives," Jasper said. "I believe my research speaks for itself. You'll have the chance to present your point of view at the conference, or at least you would have been able to do so if you hadn't declined to participate."
"What does ad hominem mean?" the woman we'd guessed might be Hottie Matu'a the previous evening and who had identified herself to us as Yvonne from Kansas asked.
"He means that Fairweather attacked the man rather than the argument," I said.
"He's made it personal, that's for sure," Yvonne replied, trying to kick some little stones out of her sandals, which were entirely inappropriate for the terrain, and tugging at her shorts, which were riding up on her in what looked to be a most uncomfortable way. She waved rather coyly at Jasper, and he rewarded her with a big wink. The relationship, apparently, was progressing nicely.
"And will I be filmed here, too?" Fairweather asked, loudly. "No, I won't, because you will only have your own ridiculous ideas on film."
"I am going to present a paper the day after tomorrow that will show you just how wrong you are, Fairweather. About me and about Rapa Nui. I'll give you a second chance. Do come. You have my personal invitation. I hope you accept it, because I look forward to seeing the expression on your face when I reveal my little surprise," Jasper said.
By this time, the two men were almost nose to nose, both red-faced and obviously angry. "I vote we just leave them to it and continue to look around," I said to Moira.
"Right behind you," she said. As we turned back, I noticed the tall, slim woman in the sun hat who had grimaced at us exchanging a glance with the cameraman, who nodded. I was pretty sure I knew what that nonverbal communication was about. Danny Boy was telling her that yes, he had let the camera roll through the entire encounter between Robinson and Fairweather. I wasn't sure what I thought of the heated discussion, but I didn't think filming it was the sporting thing to do.
Determined not to let the incident spoil our visit, Moira and I wandered a little longer on the grassy slopes, stopping to look, to touch, to admire the distant sea. Way off in the distance, close to the water, we could see a long line of moai, their backs to the sea. "Ahu Tongariki," Dave said, joining us for a moment. "It's been restored, as have several others, so you get to see what they would have looked like at the height of the moai carving period. There are fifteen of them on that ahu. It's an incredible sight from here, but wait until you see them up close. We'll go down there later."
"Are they still fighting up there?" Moira asked.
"Fairweather's gone," Dave said. "He was pretty upset. At least he left before they came to blows."
"Who was the glamorous woman, the tall blonde in the big hat?" I asked.
"Kent Clarke, the film producer," Dave replied.
"But what is her name?" I said.
"Kent Clarke. That's her name."
"What do you bet her father wanted a boy?" Moira said.
"Either that or she made it up," I replied. "Show biz and all."
Dave laughed. "I'm afraid it's time to go back, girls. Sorry."