‘It’s a trophy mound, isn’t it?’ said Jameson.
‘I think so,’ said Kincaid. ‘I surely do think so. How many skulls have you found yet?’
‘None. They don’t have heads.’
They both looked up at the conical burial mound which sat atop the platform mound. It was untouched as yet, except for the two-foot profile cut.
‘I vote we go in there,’ said Bessie.
‘Get the photographer and artist down there on those skeletons,’ said Kincaid.
Thunder rumbled. ‘Shit!’ said Jameson.
THE BOX X
Smith’s Diary
*
January 4 – the new year
I was talking with Colonel Spaulding in his bunker.
‘When I was a boy,’ he said, taking a book out of his personal locker, ‘this book was it.’ It was The Book of Mormon.
‘You were raised a Mormon?’
‘The Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints,’ he said, almost automatically. ‘I still do that, listen to me. And I haven’t been to services in thirty years.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Well, you’ve probably never read it,’ he said. ‘Most people never have, never will. But parts of it keep coming back to me.
‘See, there are a couple of narratives within narratives. It took me a long time to realize that as a kid. The golden plates were supposedly found at Cumorah, but they also recapitulate earlier records also buried there, from an even earlier time.’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, the earliest migration involved prophets who sailed from Jerusalem and came to America. They built great cities here, but fell to fighting among themselves. They divided into the Lamanites and the Jaredites. The Lamanites were punished, their skins turned red, and all their cities fell to waste and ruin.’
‘Those are the Indians?’
Spaulding laughed. ‘I know, sounds like the old Ten Lost Tribes of Israel, or lost Phoenicians, or Egyptians, doesn’t it? When I was a kid, I was hot on archeology. But I’ve forgotten most of it, like I thought I’d forgotten most of The Book of Mormon. Seems some stuck with me, though.’
‘It would be a lot easier if it were true,’ I said. ‘Maybe Arnstein can go speak with them?’
Spaulding laughed, a different tone. ‘From what I remember, those theories about lost Romans and such came about because the early white settlers who found the mounds and earthworks couldn’t believe the Indians had built them. The only Indians they knew were the ones still in the area, who hadn’t moved there in many cases until fifty years before the whites got there. The Indians didn’t know where the mounds came from, either. So the settlers thought they predated the Indians themselves. And were a much more advanced civilization than the Indians could have had.
‘So they searched around for examples of Old World civilizations who had ever used mounds and high fortifications. That was nearly everybody, of course – Welsh, Mongol, Roman, Egyptian, all of them came in for their turn as the original Mound-builders.’
‘These people we’re fighting are certainly better at warfare than we thought they would be,’ I said.
‘The old adage is that primitive doesn’t mean stupid,’ said Colonel Spaulding.
‘Shooting at us is one thing,’ I said. ‘But I think it was the radio business that really upset everybody.’
‘Well, we deserve it,’ said Spaulding, with an anger I didn’t know he had. ‘We’ve disrupted their lives. We killed them as surely as if we held weapons to their heads. They can’t understand we didn’t want it to happen.’ He went quiet, staring down at his desk.
‘We’ve seen enough killing. We’ve seen the whole world killed. Now we’re killing the past, too. None of us wanted this, least of all the Indians.’ He picked up The Book of Mormon again, opened it.
I stood up. ‘I’d better check the guard.’
‘Certainly, Marie,’ he said. ‘Send Putnam over here, will you?’
I saluted and left. Sometimes Spaulding was hard to figure out.
Leake X
‘Man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, pompous in the grave.’
–Browne, Urn Burial
I never saw so much stuff traded in my life. Skins, furs, food, shells, art and pipes went into the ship, and out came beads, knives, tools, cloth, copper, and brass.
I helped as much as I could, going from one haggle to another. There seemed to be no set price for anything on either side. I kept busy, and watched the interaction of the merchants and the people of the village.
The Northerners spoke Greek as badly accented as my own. The turbaned merchants spoke an Asiatic Greek, a lot like that of the Turkish Cypriots. But strange things had happened to it – idioms were lost on me, lots of referents to arid lands, deserts, but also whales and ice-cold water.
They had their own translators who spoke a downriver or crossriver speech, Indians who dressed half merchant, half local. There was lots of gesturing, some common signs and symbols, much body language.
The whole thing was like a refresher course at the Tower of Babel.
Somehow things got traded and commerce went on. I looked to the boat and saw a merchant come out and shoot the sun with a sextant, all brass and enamel.
Sun Man looked up. ‘Noon,’ he said.
In the middle of the afternoon, the whistle on the ship blew and everybody picked up their goods and went back into the village or the ship.
Aroun el Hama and merchants and Northerners accompanied us back to the huts.
Took got into step beside me.
‘We’ll feast them in the village, then they’ll feast us on the ship tonight. There’ll be a little trading tomorrow. Then they’ll trade upriver and hit us back on the way down in a moon or so.’
The fun was already starting. People were tapping on drums and tootling on flutes. One of the merchants had a guitar-looking thing with only five strings.
About a third of the way to the plaza, my horse whinnied over in its pen.
The merchants froze as stiff as Larry, Curly, and Moe had the first time they heard it.
‘I must have trading fever,’ said el Hama. ‘I thought I heard a horse.’
‘You did,’ I said. ‘It’s mine.’
For a moment I thought he was going to cry.
‘Could we see it?’ he asked.
I led them to it. El Hama and the others gentled it down, then began patting it and talking excitedly in Arabic.
‘We have brought no horses to these shores yet,’ said el Hama. ‘Though they plan to begin trading them soon, up around the Eastern Ocean. Where did you get such an animal?’
‘It’s a long story,’ I said. ‘I have thousands of things to ask you, but they can wait. Would you like to ride him?’
‘All I have is yours,’ he said, bowing.
I put the bridle on the horse. El Hama sprang up on his back with the grace of a man half his age.
I opened the pen. El Hama guided the horse out onto the plaza to the cheers of the onlookers, put it into an easy canter. Then he turned it, brought it back to where we stood.
‘So that’s what you do with it!’ said Sun Man. ‘Someday, Yazoo, you will have to teach me to do that.’
El Hama took the horse a few more trips around the plaza, then reluctantly came back. He knew he was holding up his hosts.
‘He rides beautifully,’ he said, dismounting. ‘Ah, it will be fine when such animals as this live in this land.’ He looked at me. ‘You will dine with us this night aboard the ship?’
‘Certainly.’
‘I also have questions to ask you. Many, many questions,’ he said.
We had reached Sun Man’s house. People started handing us food and drink, and trying to get us to dance.
Bessie VIII
The platform mound looked like a pie graph. The test trench led in from each side, widened out in wedges where the headless skeletons had been uncovered on each side.
Jameson, Kincaid, and Bessie
were opening the conical mound atop the other.
‘We’d better work in from this side.’
‘We’re going to have to take this whole mound system down to ground level, starting with the top.’
‘Is that what I think it is? Give me that whisk broom.’
‘Look at that.’
‘There’s another one under it.’
‘Over here, too.’
‘I’ll bet these just fit some of the necks downstairs.’
‘You know they do.’
‘Still more. Was that thunder again?’
‘Hell yes! Washington! Tear down my tent and bring it down here. Put all my stuff in the sorting room.’
*
‘How’s the dam?’
‘I can’t see anything from here.’
‘Oh boy.’
‘What?’
‘See those mold marks?’
‘Everybody out! Get the photographer in here. You getting this profile, Bessie?’
*
‘More skulls down here. God knows how many. That means lots of skeletons down below, probably. These skulls must be piled up from the level of the top of the platform mound.’
‘And this mound has different soil . . .’
‘Look, look.’
‘Part of a long tomb?’
‘Has to be, has to be.’
*
‘Get more light in here.’
‘It’s darker outside.’
‘Must be storming again. This tent’s going to take off.’
‘I hope they got the other tarps back down. Who’s shellacking?’
‘Leroy!’
‘Good.’
‘Find me something about a quarter inch thick and ten inches long.’
*
‘Get the photographer in here! Bring the shellac!’
*
‘Is that rain again?’
*
‘God! This guy must have been the Rockefeller of his time.’
‘Ignore all that stuff right now. Look at the arm.’
‘Broken and regrown.’
‘But look at that nick on the bone!’
‘Get the photographer in here!’
*
‘Easy, easy. Try to brush – there. Let me have the ice pick. No. The curved one. There. Wait. Wait.’
‘What are those?’
‘Try to keep the head attached.’
‘I can’t do very much of anything with that damn breastplate in the way.’
‘Can you keep them in one piece?’
‘Maybe.’
‘That’s steel.’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’ve got it. Them. And the head’s still on.’
‘Get them back to the sorting tent. Is that rain again?’
*
Bessie walked with the object cupped in her hands. It was a necklace made of tiny metal beads. Attached to it through holes drilled in their edges were many dozen thin rusted oblongs of metal, one inch wide, two inches long.
On at least one was writing in English.
Dawn was breaking, wet and sodden. They had been at work on the mound for twenty hours.
THE BOX XI
DA FORM 11524 Z 3 Feb 2003
Comp: 147TOE: 148
Pres for duty
106
KIA
13
KLD
4
MIA
12
MLD
1for: S. Spaulding
Wounded, hospCol, Inf.
11Commanding
Total 147by: Atwater, Willey
2LT, Arm.
Act. Adj.
DA FORM 11721 Z 6 Mar 2003
Comp: 147TOE: 148
Pres for duty
91
KIA
22
KLD
6
MIA
21
MLD
1
Wounded, hosp.For: S. Spaulding
6Col, Inf.
Total 147Commanding
by: Atwater, Willey
ILT Arm.
Act. Adj.
DA FORM 12014 Z 11 Apr 2003
Comp: 147TOE: 148
Pres for duty
81
KIA
23
KLD
6
MIA
21For: S. Spaulding
MLDCol, Inf.
1Commanding
Wounded, hosp.by: Atwater, Willey
21ILT, Arm.
Total 147Act. Adj.
Bessie IX
WAR DEPARTMENT
20 July 1929
RE: Serial Nos Possible US
Army Personnel
Dr. Kincaid
Salvage Survey
c/o Dixie Hotel
Suckatoncha Louisiana
via Baton Rouge
Dr. Kincaid:
In re: list of 75 possible US Army personnel your communication 18 July 1929. Two (2) names match current active duty US Army personnel, one duty Philippine Islands, one assigned Ft. Meade Maryland, officer rank not NCO. DOBs do not match.
Check underway US Navy & Marine Corps. Message relayed DOTreasury for Coast Guard personnel. DOInterior Veteran’s Bureau checking, answer expected NLT COB this date. Will forward Daughters Confederacy, S-A War Veterans.
Expect arrival your area ASAP Cpt Thompson, Graves Registration Officer this command to assist, act as liaison govt. agencies this problem.
Jilliam, T. V.
Cpt, Art.
Acting Asst AGC
Leake XI
“But remembering the early civilitie they brought upon these countreys, and forgetting long passed mischiefs, we mercifully preserve their bones and pisse not upon their ashes.”
–Browne, Urn Burial
We had to quit eating late in the afternoon. We waddled back to our huts and lay down and went to sleep.
Just at dark we were wakened by the whistle of the ship.
Took and I, Sun Man, some of the nobles, several warriors, and a couple of the artisans had been invited to the boat. The only Buzzard Cult person there was Moe, who was also head of one of the kinship systems.
We all met at the landing. The ship was dark. Then, all at once, it lit up with a cool blue light like giant glowworms were inside the decks and passageways.
El Hama and his men came down to greet us and led us aboard. They seated us around the largest room, maybe a third the length of the ship, on the second deck.
We ate again, while three of the merchants played on a guitar, drum, and flute. Several of the Northerners did acrobatics for us, like great bears inside their shaggy skins. I was seated on the opposite side of the circle from Took, Sun Man, and el Hama. I followed the conversation as best I could. It was mostly of inconsequentialities, trade, hunting, weather, crops, the surplus of skins and the shortage of bear’s teeth, and (el Hama begged pardon) woodpecker scalps. It was a lot like my idea of what a Rotary Club lunch in Des Plaines on a slow Tuesday would be like.
Then they brought coffee.
I thought I was going to die. I knew what it was before I saw it; I smelled it first. I had not had any since my last pack of instant went into the canteen cup two weeks after I got here, months ago.
Took’s people drink several teas and herb drinks, mostly when it’s cold or they’re under the weather. Some of them, like sassafras and cedar bark, are good. But they’re not coffee.
I stared at the elaborate double urn like it was a metal god.
El Hama said something to Took, watching me all the while.
They served the coffee in a way as elaborate as any Japanese tea ceremony. The water in the lower part of the urn was boiling hot. One of the merchants poured a kilo of dark coffee grounds into the top urn, then put what looked like powdered milk and a half kilo of fructose in with it. Putting another urn under that, he dashed the boiling water into the upper pot.
The smell took me to heaven and back again. A minute later he pulled out the
lower pot. It was filled to overflowing with a brown cloudlike froth.
‘Now quickly,’ said el Hama to all present, ‘we must drink while the face is still on the coffee.’ Tiny cups filled with a small amount of liquid were handed, with the right hand, to the right. The cups foamed with a head of cream, sugar and puffed coffee. It was all I could do to keep handing the cups around the circle, instead of drinking them all up as they got to me.
At last, everybody had one, Sun Man being the last. Then the circle filled back to me. My cup, they handed me my cup!
When everyone had one, they all looked at el Hama. He took a tiny sip of the coffee head, rolled his eyes, put the cup back in his saucer. Disappointed, they took tiny sips also.
I wanted to gulp mine down, start a fight, take everybody’s cup away from them. I sipped mine instead.
It was wonderful, but it was only semisweet, and filled with cream. What I wanted was about two liters of coffee with a half kilo of sugar in it. I wanted a caffeine rush that would bring Dwight Eisenhower back to life.
I could hear coffee dripping into the pot, now ignored.
Sometime during the low talk which followed, Took came around the circle to me.
‘El Hama wants to see you afterwards. In the general milling around, go through the passageway to the right, and out onto the aft deck and wait for him there. I’ll see you in the morning.’
I nodded.
Soon there was a giving around of presents, at which I got a bird whistle necklace. The bird was made of something like a cross between hard rubber and anthracite coal. It made a sound like one of those tweeting Christmas tree ornaments when I tried it. I put it on around my neck.
There was general milling around. I went out the right doorway, up a blue-lit passage. There was a guard at the far doorway, a Northerner, who only nodded as I neared him, and I went by.
The blue lights had a faint buzz, like neon. Electricity. In one room off the passage I saw a clerk writing in a big ledger by the light of an oil lamp. He paid no attention to me, and I went out up onto the deck.
The night was dark; there was no moon yet. The next was the planting moon, time of the Black Drink ceremony Took had mentioned, after the crops were put down. It was supposedly only March here, by my reckoning, but it was already warm.
Them Bones Page 10
