“Her story is data, Myra.”
“Yes.” Sarah pumped her small fist.
Myra was staring at Sergei as if he had grown wings. “A fantasy, Sergei.”
“Didn’t you say, Myra, this is a land of magic, history and legend?”
“Who told you I said that? I didn’t say fantasy, Sergei.”
“It was the long day moon we had to get there by,” Sarah said.
“What I want to know, Sarah, is where did you eventually go? After The Place People Were?” Sergei refolded his copies of the sketches.
Myra grabbed William’s arm. “He’s crazy.”
“Why,” Sergei asked, “do you support young Sarah’s vision of the short face bear, but refuse to even consider that what she copied from that ancient atlatl might actually refer to a real place? “
“Now you’re defending Sarah?” said Myra.
“Sergei may have a point,” William said.
“I think this is a big mistake, coming in here.” William was sure Myra meant it was a mistake to bring Sergei.
“I thought it was a drawing of mountains, the sun.” Sarah was pleased with herself.
The trail followed the river. They passed nobody else. They reached the meadow and shelter where they had camped in May. Now the empty shelter lay dusty and tired in the sun. Brown grass filled the meadow.
“I saw that bear just up ahead, around that bend,” Sarah said to Sergei, pointing. They had been walking since the stop by the river. William was glad to rest. It was the middle of the afternoon.
They dropped their packs. Sarah led them further up the trail, past the meadow, to a smaller meadow beyond. “Right here, this is the stump I was sitting on.” Sarah patted the big stump. “And the bear swam the river, right there, and stood there.” She pointed. The distance between the stump and the trees where she pointed was less than 100 feet. “Then it went up that slope there. It stopped and peered back at me.”
“That’s damn close,” William said.
“Good distance to draw.”
“You say the bear swam the river?”
“Right there, Sergei. Didn’t make a sound.”
The small meadow was empty. Dragonflies hovered and then darted to hover again. They returned to the large meadow.
“How you doing, ‘Eye?” Tom asked.
“I’ll survive.” William wasn’t really sure he would survive, but he had his pride.
“If we camp here, I’ll have time to fish,” said Sergei, eagerly examining the river.
“We’ll have time to fish up ahead, another mile or two.” Tom wanted to get far in as fast as he could. “Can you do that, ‘Eye?”
As William nodded, Myra reached out and tapped Tom’s pack. “Here. We’ll stop here, Tom. If anyone’s coming after us, they’ll catch us anyway. But why would they? They’ll just wait until we get the piece and hike back out.” Myra dropped her pack.
“Maybe Sarah’s bear will reappear.” William was hopeful.
“I hope so. Maybe this time I’ll see it.” Tom smiled at Sarah.
“You wish.” Sarah scowled.
They set up camp, pitching their tents a distance from the shelter. They collected firewood. The sun was bright and hot. A thick cloud, billowing, white, approached from the west, distant still. The top of the cloud stood high, like an anvil.
“Thunderheads.”
“It’s that time of year, Myra,” William was unlacing his boots. “If we’re lucky it won’t rain here. And if it does, it’ll pass soon.”
Sergei sat on a log, preparing his fishing rod. Myra stacked firewood. Sarah fiddled with her pack.
“I wanted to support my father and his ideas,” Sergei said. He was threading a leader through the eye of a fly. “I told him, ‘We scientists, if we are honest with ourselves, live to destroy our theories. The bad scientist is one who stands in the way of new findings, protecting his thesis.’”
“What is your thesis, then?” asked Myra.
“Uh oh,” said Sarah.
Sergei considered Myra. “All right, Myra. Genetic data to date tells us the first modern people came from Africa or the Middle East, that we Siberians are descended from clades formed earlier. It also says that Native Americans are descended from Siberians.”
“Your data tells you that people came here after first coming to your home in Russia, then? ”
“Just as we Koryaks came from people who lived north of India, China, and Mongolia.”
“What about legend?”
“What evidence are legends?”
“What evidence are a few bones, taken over the years? From just these you build whole cities of thought.”
Sergei threaded his fly, then tied it. He pulled the knot tight with his teeth. Myra was standing straight, facing him. “This is human, Myra, to create patterns from scraps of evidence. We do it always. We are born this way. You say you have always been here. How long is always?”
“Always is always, Sergei.”
“We don’t even remember anything that happened two or three centuries ago. Whole civilizations in the last five thousand years have risen and fallen and we have remembered none of them. Now imagine twice that time, or three times that time. You think legends last from that long ago?”
“I think it’s possible, yes. Why else would the flood legend be universal among humans?”
“Perhaps.” Sergei hooked the tied fly into the bamboo handle at the base of his rod, over the reel. He rummaged in his plastic case for another fly. “What does the data say? The oldest human fossils are from Africa. Other hominid fossils have been found in Europe, Asia, and Indonesia. Hundreds of Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon skeletons have been found, but only in Europe and Asia. Compared to these, what has been found in the Americas? The oldest skeletal remains found to date are 10 to 13 thousand years old. No ancient hominids, no Neanderthals, no Homo Erectus. Nothing.”
Myra started to interrupt, but Sergei kept talking. “Human sites and camps have been found in Africa, Asia and Europe, which are tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of years old. The oldest verified sites found in the Americas, Myra, are less than 14 thousand years old.” Myra started to interrupt again. Sergei was speaking loudly. “Yes, Louis Leakey, who discovered the fossils of ancient hominids in Africa, came to this continent. He said he thought there were ancient stone tools in California, but by then he was ill and not thinking properly. Yes, there was that site in Mexico that supposedly was dated to a quarter million years, but the data was never accepted and careers were ruined. Supposedly they found a carved mammoth on a bone too old to date, but the carving vanished, and the site’s age has never been verified.” Sergei stood, holding a fly. The approaching thunderheads rolled over the meadow, blocking the sun. “No skeletons. No sites. No tools. Clear DNA links to European and Asian populations. That is what the data shows, Myra. With that data, no wonder the Clovis theory, that the Americas were first populated no more than 15 thousand years ago, is considered the correct theory.”
“Are you finished?” Myra was shorter than Sergei, but she faced him eye to eye. Sarah opened the fishing rod holder that had been tied to her pack. She was listening to Myra and Sergei but keeping her distance. Tom and William were keeping their distance too.
“I am finished unless and until new data appears that forces me to change my thinking. Belief will not change my thinking.”
“Well, here’s some data, Sergei. I’m not a PhD like you, and I’m not a genetic expert, but I am an anthropologist with a minor in archeology.” Myra stepped closer to Sergei. He backed up, still holding his fishing rod and the fly. “Based on language groups and number of separate languages, the Americas are the most diverse and complex systems of languages anywhere in the world, except possibly New Guinea. Linguists believe that people needed to be here in the Americas at least 40 thousand years to develop
such diversity.”
“You tell him, girl.” Sarah squatted on her heels, watching.
“The route to the Americas across that land bridge and along the coast was in existence many times during the last two million years. It was present from about 70 to 12 thousand years ago, and again from 160 to 130 thousand years ago. Mammoths and other mammals crossed to the Americas, but they also crossed from the Americas to Siberia. The mammoth that went extinct in Asia 12 thousand years ago was a version of a North American mammoth that travelled west, replacing the local Siberian mammoths at least 50 thousand years ago. If mammals could make that trek, so could people. Coming this way, or going that way.”
Sergei leaned forward. He had been nodding as Myra spoke, and now he seemed excited. “As a matter of fact, Myra...”
Myra had the floor and she wasn’t going to let it go. “No. You listen, please. I don’t want to hear another of your points, so smugly smashing down my ideas. Not now, maybe not ever.” Sergei closed his mouth. William suspected if they had been closer to the trailhead he’d have risen and left. “Homo Erectus, the ancestor of all humans, including us natives here, travelled as far as Asia over a million and a half years ago. Why not to the New World? Maybe Leaky wasn’t losing it. Maybe what he saw in California were ancient stone tools. That place in Mexico, Hueyetalco, yes, I know about it, maybe that was a quarter million years old. Of course we’ll never know now because they made a reservoir and flooded the site. Convenient. Jesus.”
“Myra, you may be right. The more we study genetic admixture among peoples the less clear the history. It seemed simple 20 years ago—everyone on earth descended from a common mother in Africa, 200 thousand years ago. Then we thought other ancient people, Neanderthals, Denisovian, Homo Erectus, were separate species that died out. Now we know we all carry Neanderthal and Denisovian genes. Surely we carry Erectus genes as well. We know ancient people bred together, often. This is human nature, it seems.” Sarah smothered a smile. Sergei opened his hands. “Someone in America sent the same genetic sample to three separate companies, all promising to list the ancestry. Those three companies, using the same samples, gave three totally different answers. Nevertheless, what data we do have supports what I was saying.”
”The absence of data doesn’t mean there is no data, Sergei. Maybe the data hasn’t been found, yet.”
“I hope data is found, and then I will change my theories, Myra. For me, now, the evidence in favor of an African and Asian origin is still overwhelming.”
“That’s typical, coming from someone raised in Asia.”
“I’m going fishing.” Sergei turned and marched across the meadow to the river. The cloud overhead passed and the sun re-emerged. More thunderheads could be seen approaching from the distance.
“That was fun.” Tom eyed the small pile of wood by the fire ring. “I’m going to get some more wood.”
“I’ll help you. Jesus. What an arrogant jerk.” Myra glared after Sergei. He was now standing barefoot, calf deep in the cold river, casting. Sergei’s back was to Myra.
People appeared, coming up the trail. William recognized Roger, the head surveyor, at once. He wore his trademark sunglasses. Sarah’s group was off the trail, near the shelter and trees, but William suspected Roger saw them, even though he didn’t even look their way.
In all, six people, walking 40 yards apart, passed. Tom, Myra and Sarah all watched them stride along the trail through the meadow. William paid close attention to their packs. They were heavy, tools swinging, coils of rope hanging. Their packs were carrying empty canvas sacks, surveyor tape tied to straps, small tools, mirrors and radios.
They marched by, packs creaking. Raymond and Bernie followed Roger, then two men William had never seen before. Pete brought up the rear. When he saw their tents, he veered off trail and approached. Myra watched with cold eyes.
“Myra. William.”
“What, Pete, you told Buckhorn where we went?”
“Myra, no. We’ve been in here four times, last time two weeks ago. This was long planned.”
“Survey?” Tom asked.
“We’re not here to bring Sarah back, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Pete hesitated. “Roger’s under a lot of pressure. We all are. I’d stay away from him, from all of us, if you can. ”
“This isn’t Buckhorn’s park. That isn’t Buckhorn’s Bear Valley. We’re going up there.” Myra’s voice was icy. “Tom’s grandfather is buried there and Sarah left something. We have the right.”
Sarah froze, watching Myra. Tom shifted. Pete squinted, confused.
William spoke up. “We’re just getting away for a few days, to let things cool down for Sarah.” He wasn’t sure whether or not Pete had picked up what Myra had foolishly told him. If it had been Roger or Raymond, they’d have known in a second.
Pete adjusted his pack. “I better get going. Anyway, keep an eye out, all right? I think Roger’s planning to camp by Godkin Creek, like before.”
Pete headed for the trail. They all watched him walk across the meadow and disappear in the trees.
“Myra, you’ve got a big mouth.” Sarah was standing before Myra. “Now they know we’re looking for something.”
“Maybe not, Sarah.” Myra was defensive.
“Yes,” Sarah said. “They’ll know exactly.”
“Only if Pete says something.”
“You think Roger won’t figure it out?” Sarah shook her head.
“Firewood.” Tom said, looking at the sky. Sergei kept fishing in the river. “Come on, Myra, let’s get some before the rain starts.”
William leaned against the log where Sergei had been selecting flies. Tom and Myra headed down the trail. There was wood on the flat benches by the river a few hundred yards beyond.
Sarah found a rotten piece of wood, an old stump, which she rolled slowly across the meadow to rest against a broken tree at the base of the slope to the east. Then she returned to her pack.
“I think Myra likes him.”
“Who? Sergei? I’d say the opposite, Sarah.”
“What do you know? You’re just her father.”
“What are you doing, anyway?”
“My experiment.”
Sarah pulled six sections of straight thin branch from the fishing rod case. They were darts. On one end were feathers, on the other, stone points, lashed to the willow shafts.
“Can I see one of those?” Sarah handed William a dart. The shaft was straight, firm, and clean. The feathers had been wedged in notches cut into the shaft. The sharp stone points were lashed with thin cord, wrapped many times around the head of the shaft. “You made these?”
“What else was there to do there?”
William lifted one of the darts. It was three and a half feet long, light and balanced, well made. Sarah came and stood by him while he examined the dart. She held a wooden thrower that resembled the atlatl Tom found under Bob-Bob’s hat. This one was wood, not bone, and had no carved raven. William wondered which of these darts was the one Sarah had used against Lynch.
Sarah took the darts and walked across the meadow. She turned and faced the stump section she had rolled against the broken tree. She stood about 20 feet away, well off the trail and away from the shelter.
“Don’t watch. I’m not that good.”
“Be careful, Sarah. That’s a dangerous weapon.”
Sarah took a dart, fitted it, and threw. William wasn’t sure what he expected, but he didn’t expect the first dart to whistle through the air and strike the rotten stump in the center. There was a solid thunk.
She threw again. This time the dart missed the stump, but only by inches, striking within a hand span of the first. Her third throw hit the stump, as did her fourth. The fifth hit the tree, the sixth the stump. Every throw the darts wavered and whistled.
She had to work to remove the darts from the wood,
even though the wood was soft. William was surprised to see how hard the darts struck. Sarah was a small girl, not 100 pounds, yet the darts flew like missiles.
The next time she started to throw she was another five paces distant. Now she was 35 feet from the stump. The stump was about a foot and a half in diameter.
William had searched for spear throwers on the Internet when he had returned from their trip in May. He watched some videos of people throwing darts, a shooting contest. He thought, when watching the videos, if people had wanted to hunt with these weapons, they better learn to throw with a lot more accuracy than they did on YouTube. Once they were more than 40 feet away, most of them were lucky to hit the target anywhere.
Yet Sarah, who had been practicing behind her grandmother’s house for only a few weeks, demonstrated a deadly aim. Even 80 feet from the stump, she struck the target five times out of six.
Tom and Myra came back with armloads of wood. After watching Sarah throw, they went for more. Sergei, now well down the river, also watched.
Sarah kept moving farther from the target. She went across the trail and threw darts all the way across the meadow to the broken tree. Still she hit the stump, or at least the tree. Finally she gathered the darts and returned to the fire, holding the darts and the thrower. She was sweating.
“That’s fun.” She packed the darts in the rod case and stowed the thrower.
“You’re my choice, Sarah, we get stranded up here. Deer wouldn’t have a chance.”
“I’m no good, not really.” Sarah plopped down next to William. “You should see someone who’s good.”
“I saw some YouTube contests. Nobody was very good, not that I saw.”
“Well, people can get very good at it if they have to.”
“Fletcher Lynch is going to be pissed off when he sees some of his stone points missing.”
“Well, I just took the dart points. I left the arrowheads.”
Sergei reappeared carrying four good-sized trout on a branch, already cleaned. Tom rubbed his hands together, then rummaged for the small frying pan and some oil. Thunderheads kept rolling by, but it never rained. They could hear thunder faintly to the south, perhaps over the Bear Valley. It became cooler. Wind blew high on the ridges. Myra and Sergei said nothing to each other. Myra was seated at one end of the log and Sergei the other.
Strong Heart Page 15
