The Copper Egg

by Catherine Friend

  No one met her steady gaze, not even Rigo. She crossed her arms, waiting.

  Rigo’s sigh could have toppled a small child. “The men at this dig did not yield as others have.”

  “Who started the fight?”

  No one replied, but enough eyes flickered in Tomas’s direction that she had her answer.

  Tomas straightened. “My son needs new shoes for school, and my wife has lost her job. I need money. We could see they’d found some good stuff.”

  Sochi’s jaw tightened. “Where is it?”

  One of the men coughed. “A few of them left with the loot while we were fighting.”

  Sochi briefly massaged her forehead, hoping to break up the approaching headache. “One of you take Tomas to a doctor to be sewn up. Otherwise, what few brains he has left are likely to leak out. The rest of you, go home. I know you are desperate for money, but we must be smarter in the future. Now that there has been violence, the cops will be less likely to look the other way.”

  The men gathered up their shovels and water bottles, murmured their apologies, then drifted toward the van. Rigo remained a minute. “Jefe, I am sorry. I know—”

  “You assured me you had these men under control.”

  “I did, until Tomas started punching. His frustration level is crazy high.”

  They stood in silence. Finally, Sochi broke the tension. “I’ll get some cash for you to distribute among the men. Desperate men are dangerous.”

  “I will speak to Tomas.”

  Sochi carefully turned her car around and headed back toward the highway, concern gnawing at her gut. What the hell was she doing? She had sacrificed everything, including Claire, for this country, and for what? The artifacts didn’t care. The dead certainly didn’t. Now that there’d been violence, the word would reach the police or the CNTP and both would double their efforts to find La Bruja.

  But she couldn’t stop. Not only did she fear for Mima’s safety, but she still had days when the ten-year-old still inside her couldn’t let go…

  …At ten, Sochi couldn’t bear to sit inside. One cool, pleasant Saturday she was hungry to go somewhere, to do something. In two weeks, they were leaving Peru yet again, this time for America. Sochi had just watched Raiders of the Lost Ark for the first time, and yearned to race ahead of giant boulders trying to kill her.

  Papa finally agreed. He grabbed two shovels from beside the house. “Follow me,” he said.

  Delighted to finally be on an adventure, Sochi slogged through the brush beyond the yard. They lived at the very edge of Lima, so she was unclear where their property ended and the desert began.

  “Where are we going, Papa?”

  “There is a mound just over that hill that I’ve always wondered about.”

  Sochi leapt with excitement. Buried treasure!

  The mound was about fifteen feet long and four feet wide. It just looked like a pile of drifting sand caught by a bank of weeds.

  “Let’s start by taking off the crown of soil,” Papa said, and they bent to their work, backs strong with enthusiasm. After thirty minutes, Sochi’s small fingers burned where they rubbed against the shovel handle, but by then they’d knocked down most of the mound.

  “Okay,” Papa said, “now we dig slower as we go into the ground. Kind of move your shovel around before digging in too deep. Feel for resistance.”

  Almost immediately, her shovel clinked against something. She dropped to her knees and pawed at the sand with both hands. “Papa, look!” It was a pottery sherd, glazed orange. Papa showed her how to sweep sand away with a hand brush until she’d uncovered the remains of a pot that had collapsed into itself.

  Something took hold of her as she worked quietly beside her father to uncover a row of similar pots. It was almost a feeling of reverence. She was helping to discover her own history.

  “Sochi, look,” Papa breathed.

  She stopped, seeing that he pointed to the mouth of the pot she was excavating. “It’s not broken,” she whispered. They released the water vessel from its sandy prison.

  Papa whistled. “This is a beauty.” It was in the shape of a fierce animal, perhaps a dog, with fangs bared. A handle curved from the back of the dog’s neck down to its tail. Faded red and orange glaze still covering the pot.

  Shaking with excitement, Sochi began working the area next to the line of pots. But when she brushed the sand from something long and white, she rocked back on her heels, heart pounding. “A bone.”

  She watched as Papa took over, gently brushing the sand aside until enough of the skeleton was revealed to determine it was human. Bits of fabric were still draped across the leg bones.

  “Do you think this person made these pots?”

  “It’s possible. But more importantly, he is an ancestor, Sochi, a person who lived right here, where we live now.”

  Sochi stayed still, struggling to understand. She touched the femur and shivered.

  Papa began mounding the sand back over the skeleton. “This person was loved by someone. He or she was buried with consideration.”

  “The looters I heard you and Mama talking about—this is what they do? They dig up people like this?”

  “They are digging up the valuables. Sadly, they care nothing for the bodies themselves, but just toss the bones aside.”

  “And they sell the pots and stuff?”

  Papa nodded. “Usually to foreign museums or private collectors.” He licked his thumb and rubbed sand off the face of the pot, revealing a bright orange glaze. “It’s hard to relate to people from so long ago,” he said. “Even now, staring at this skeleton, he or she doesn’t seem like a real person. But look what this person, or someone like him, created. It’s art. It’s proof the person who lived had skilled hands, a sense of beauty. What we leave behind matters. Most humans don’t last one hundred years, but this pot? It’s probably early Moche, so this pot has survived for over one thousand years. The artist is long dead, but this pottery continues. Entire cultures and races have died, but they continue to exist because of their art.”

  Sochi’s eyes stung at the thought of making something that could last that long. It seemed incredible, and impossible, and achingly important. Papa picked up a small sherd of one of the crushed pots. “Keep this in your pocket as a way to remember that.”

  Sochi stroked the smooth surface. “And the whole pot we found?”

  “Would you like to donate it to the CNTP? They will care for it forever.”

  “Yes.”

  Sochi and her father shoveled until the skeleton was once against buried under two feet of sand, unaware that the seeds for her degree in museum studies and her job at the CNTP had just been planted.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Claire

  Thursday, March 30

  The next morning, Claire knew what she and Nancho would find when they returned to the dig site they’d started yesterday. They parked and began the walk to the site. Claire was about to warn Nancho not to be upset when he stopped, cursing with despair.

  Their flat dig site had been turned into five towering piles of sand next to five holes. Nancho reached the nearest hole first. Four pots and a few dozen sherds lined the edge of the hole. They found the same at the other holes. Someone had dug furiously, tossed aside bones, and left the artifacts as if to say, “See, this was all we found.”

  Nancho turned to her, wild-eyed. “Me no tell. No tell!” His English skills, not good to begin with, disappeared with his anguish.

  She touched his arm. “I know. It’s okay, I believe you. It was one of the people following us. They must have tracked us on foot.”

  Claire surveyed the damage. It was impossible, of course, to know which of her three tails had reached the site first and dug it up. Perhaps they’d encountered each other, so she briefly entertained herself with the image of three groups of angry people digging up a site she knew had very little in it. This site wasn’t large enough to be Chaco’s tomb.

  “Let’s go home.”
/>   Nancho slumped with despair over the steering wheel. The poor guy was so sure they’d found it.

  *

  Claire was starting to worry about always ending up at Las Dulces. There were places where she could buy a nutritious breakfast of beans and rice, or pork and rice, or goat and rice. Yet here she was, once again, stuffing her face with sugar. It was entirely possible that she might be an emotional eater.

  She wanted to call Sochi. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Sochi in the church, every millisecond of their encounter burned into Claire’s memory. As a result, sleeping was becoming a challenge. Clearly, Mom was right. Claire needed closure. She needed to work through her negative feelings, her deep sense of betrayal, and move on.

  Claire stared at her phone. Now. She would do it now.

  “The orejitas are my favorite as well. They are worth it even though I always get powdered sugar on my suit.”

  Shading her eyes, Claire peered up at the man standing beside her. Not until he sat down could she see he wore a suit likely more expensive than her DC condo. His graying hair was short and bristly. His Japanese features revealed no emotion, but his voice, when speaking perfect Spanish, seemed friendly enough. Behind him four men, also in suits, stood in a protective row. One of them was the Japanese guy who’d been following Claire in the SUV. She smiled up at him. “Hey, long time no see. We’ll be heading out in about an hour. Shall I text you when I leave?”

  The young guy’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

  “Oh, and I’m sorry about all the work you had to do last night,” she added. “I’m guessing you didn’t dig up anything interesting.”

  The older man now seated across from her laughed politely. Carlos Higuchi. Claire refused to be intimidated. She extended her hand and shook his as firmly as she could. “Carlos, good to meet you. I could order another orejitas if you’d like.”

  The smile was strained, as if he were too important to spar with her. “I hear you are an avid geocacher. I hid my first cache yesterday. Were you FTF?”

  “Yes, I was. The woman you staked to the beach is fine, in case you’re wondering.” She spoke over his shoulder to the young guy. “You might want to apologize to her while you’re tailing me this afternoon. Your boss here almost killed her.”

  “Oh, my, so dramatic,” Higuchi crooned.

  “Yeah, that’s me. So what was the point? Why endanger the life of a woman I don’t even know?”

  “To show you how serious I am.”

  Claire sipped her water. “Serious about what?”

  “About King Chacochutl’s treasure.”

  “Don’t you know that’s just a myth?” People around them were staring now, recognizing the country’s biggest drug boss and the man who was terrorizing the regional government as he browbeat it into submission. If she’d been in the U.S., she’d have felt safe since people would react if anyone had tried to drag her away from a crowded restaurant and stuff her into a car. But she could see the fear on everyone’s faces. Some were even abandoning their food and leaving. If Higuchi and his men wanted to drag her away in broad daylight, they could.

  Higuchi shrugged. “We know you are searching for the tomb and that you hear the voices of the dead.”

  Claire was tempted to bring him up to date on that, but couldn’t figure out fast enough if that would help her or harm her. She mimicked his shrug. “Just a tourist, here on vacation.”

  He shot forward and smacked the table with his open palm. “Cut the bullshit. You need to find it, and soon.”

  Rattled, Claire slid her hand into the pocket without the eggs and sought out the moon shell she’d retrieved from the geocache. Rubbing her thumb over its smoothness reminded her of happier times, when being with Sochi had seemed to boost her self-esteem. You weren’t supposed to key how you felt about yourself to another person and she didn’t think she did that, but Claire had felt stronger and braver knowing Sochi was in her life. She played with the shell, struggling for calm.

  “Yes, Carlos—” She liked how he flinched at her disrespect. “I am seeking the tomb, but if it had been easy to find, you would have already done so, correct? So back off. I’ll find it when I find it.”

  “Look harder. Stop touring churches.”

  “Why are you in such a big hurry? The treasure, if it exists, has been there for centuries. It’s not going anywhere.”

  “I think the cache you found demonstrates that I can do anything to anyone. You would be wise not to challenge me.”

  She didn’t disagree but seemed unable to stop her mouth. “Did you send me the eggs?”

  His wry smile told her she’d just given away more than she should have. “Ahh, the eggs. No, but I am aware they are in your possession.”

  Claire frowned. “If the eggs came from Chaco’s tomb, then whoever sent the eggs already knows the location. Ask him—or her—where the tomb is. I have no idea.”

  Higuchi broke off a small piece of her orejitas, as if they were buddies, which made her jaw tighten. “Do you know the story surrounding King Chaco’s tomb, the story about the family?” He popped the sweet bread into his mouth.

  She vaguely remembered but wanted to hear his version, so she shook her head.

  “The story says that when King Chaco was entombed, a great miracle occurred. One family, blessed with this miracle, was so grateful that they committed to caring for the tomb into eternity. For centuries the family passed the task on to the next generation.”

  “That’s impossible. The Incas conquered the Chimú and marched them all to Cuzco. Then the Spaniards came and killed off thousands. No way could one family remain at the same location during all that upheaval.”

  When Higuchi reached for her plate again, Claire hissed with such menace that he withdrew his hand. “But this family somehow managed,” he continued. “You know the persistence of the indios in this country. Each generation passed to the eldest child the location to the tomb’s secret entrance, and all the things that must be done to keep everything ready for King Chaco’s return.”

  “What sorts of things?”

  “Replacing rotting posts, resoaking the torches, oiling the sacrificial altar.” He grimaced. “The usual stuff.”

  Realization dawned. “That chain of caretaking has broken down. The current generation had the eggs but no idea of the tomb’s location.”

  Higuchi watched a woman walk by, too involved in her cell phone to realize who she passed. “This is all I know. My family comes from Japan, of course, so we are not the caretakers. I just repeat what I’ve been told.”

  “Why should I work so hard to find it? You’re just going to swoop in at the last minute and steal the treasure.”

  There was that shrug again, oozing with innocence and malice at the same time.

  “And then you’re going to ship the treasure to Japan, leaving nothing here for the Peruvians.”

  “Now why would I do that?” He leaned back, face glowing with pleasure.

  She took her best shot. “Because you resent the hell out of Peru for what it did to someone in your family during WWII.”

  He nodded, impressed. “Yes, this is true. My grandfather was taken prisoner by the Peruvian police for doing absolutely nothing, then, in collusion with the Americans, imprisoned in the Texas of your country.”

  His voice had taken on a sharp edge that reminded Claire just how dangerous this guy could be. The longer this conversation dragged on, the greater the chance she pissed him off and ended up stuffed in the trunk of a car. Claire gathered her belongings together. “While I’m horrified at what my country—and yours—did to all Japanese, regardless of where they lived, your desire to harm Peru seems a little extreme.” She stood. “I’d recommend therapy, Carlos. Really, you need it. Time to let the past go. Retribution is so twelfth century, don’t you think?”

  With that, she whirled and walked back into the restaurant, praying he didn’t follow. Then she locked herself in the small bathroom and threw up.

 
*

  That night after Nancho dropped Claire off, she took stock. She’d had three visions. From these visions she knew that Ixchel lived in Chaco’s city, had an absent father, and loving parents in Uncle and Auntie. She loved life, loved llamas, and now clearly loved Cualli, a girl from the nicer side of the railroad tracks, so to speak. Claire hadn’t, however, picked up any clues to help her determine either the location of the city or of the tomb. No wonder Higuchi was getting impatient; she was too. Unfortunately, the team she’d assembled to search for the tomb was small: the copper egg and Ixchel.

  And the egg was freaking uncooperative. She held that thing dozens of times every day, and nothing happened. There was no rhyme or reason to when the visions came. There was no pattern as to location or time or her emotional condition. She hadn’t yet tracked them using her menstrual cycle, but that would be next.

  What was the worst that could happen if she didn’t find the tomb? Nothing, really. Despite Carlos Higuchi’s threats, harming her wouldn’t help him find the tomb. She marveled at the man’s impatient greed. He believed all he had to do was snap his fingers and he’d get what he wanted. But if Claire wanted to quit, she could be on the first flight home before Higuchi could stop her.

  Everything would continue here as if she’d never come. Peru would, like water, close over the ripple she’d made and there would be no evidence she’d even been here. Yes, Higuchi had gotten to her, but he was an idiot, albeit a scary one, if he thought that threats could hurry a treasure hunt.

  Higuchi had distracted her from her earlier purpose when she’d been sitting at Las Dulces. She would call Sochi because she couldn’t stop thinking about her. Every corner in this city was haunted by who they were before she betrayed Claire.

  She scrolled through her contacts until she found Sochi’s number. Then, taking a huge breath, she pressed CALL. With her other hand, she nervously reached for the copper egg.

  Ixchel looked into Cualli’s brown eyes. “Cualli, my heart, do not be sad.”

  “I am to marry Tochi, but I don’t want to.”