Nevertheless, She Persisted

by Mindy Klasky

  Only then did she turn. With a sniff, she slammed her office door in his face, enjoying the wide eyes and open mouths of the volunteers, who for a moment had stopped prizing seeds and bones from the rat middens with tweezers and toothpicks.

  Once she was safely shut away, she buried her head in her arms and sobbed.

  She knew that the Board couldn’t be held to its decision if she stood firm. She thought that most of the other curators would back her—at least for a while.

  But without Calico, there was very little in the way of important work for Vi to do. Picking away at rat middens just wouldn’t cut it.

  Vi was the last to leave the Museum that night. She’d packed a great many things. Plaques, papers, boxes of old monographs and sheaves of onion-skin paper covered with notes and drawings. Petroglyphs, rock tools—sketches of the digs for years on end.

  It was strange that she was packing, since she had already decided that she would fight for her position. She planned to die at her old military surplus desk. Either that, or expire while hunched over a specimen table.

  Or, maybe, she’d die out at Calico.

  When her Jeep sputtered to life in the parking lot, she hadn’t quite known where she was headed. She rattled up the Pass in the slow lane, having made far too many trips that way to take a chance of overheating or wearing out her brakes for no reason.

  It was inky desert night, with only moon and starlight making the sand glow silvery-white when Vi reached the cut-off for the Early Man site.

  She did not stop there.

  Half-way down the dirt gully, creeping past cantaloupe-sized boulders and veering around tumbleweeds, Vi finally realized where she had been headed.

  She was surprised how easy the Airstream was to find, although she’d been there only twice before—and had never thought she’d return.

  Tim greeted her at his trailer door with a 12-gauge shotgun. “Digger Lady!” he cried, waving the barrel around.

  “Put that thing away,” she grumbled. She was too old and stubborn to be frightened. Still, there was no sense in taking unnecessary chances around a loaded weapon.

  As Tim put the shotgun aside, Vi’s nose was struck by an uncommonly strong odor of peppermint.

  On her prior brief visits, the Airstream had reeked like an old doghouse. Just as before, newspapers were crumpled amid piles of dusty books wedged between stacks of rusting hardware and broken pieces of plastic. Smaller amounts of similar debris were wedged between the cushions of Tim’s “easy chair.” Hunks of plastic and metal littered Tim’s sleeping platform at the end of the trailer. This object might once have been a love seat, but it had aged into the appearance of a man-sized, moldy hoagie roll.

  Now Tim’s trailer smelled more like a candy store—at least at Christmas.

  “Come on in!” Tim said, urging her past the threshold. “You’ll have to fight for a seat, though.”

  As she stepped across the threshold, Vi was stunned to see two shadowy figures sharing the seat of the hoagie roll.

  “This here’s Mister Touchey and Mister Crumb,” Tim said.

  These two were the locus of the odor of peppermint. Between them sat a one-pound tin of small, round English breath mints.

  “T-O-U-C-H-E,” Tim said. “He pronounces it ‘Touchey’—ain’t that a trip?”

  Tim was well into a suitcase of Budweiser, and now Vi caught that scent. The two strange trailer-guests said nothing, blinking up at her before grabbing handfuls of the white mints and cramming them hungrily into their mouths. Vi stared. Not only were the visitors abnormally thin and gray-complected, their eyes were large, almond-shaped, and solid inky black.

  Maybe the Jeep had overturned on the way to the trailer. She had to be either dead or unconscious because there was nothing normal about Tim’s guests. They weren’t old prospectors and they weren’t land speculators. They looked an awful lot like something she’d seen on late-night TV right before she changed the channel, as she did not watch pseudo-scientific shows.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said the one on Vi’s left—Touchey. “This is my associate, Mr. Crumb. I apologize in advance if we may misunderstand something you say. We are both—from France.” He smiled, showing a mouthful of sharp yellowish teeth, and indicated the individual to his right with a tremendously long, slender gray finger.

  Tim politely offered Vi his “easy chair,” moving to a metal stool tucked behind his built-in kitchen table. “You can’t get this type of table any more. It’s original to the trailer,” he said, his manner calm and relaxed, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to have two creatures out of a Roswell exposé gobbling breath mints while sitting on his love seat. “Look at the workmanship.”

  Vi examined the table’s mottled “birchwood” surface. At one point, Tim had chain smoked—and it showed.

  “My buddies here want to sell some more of my stuff on eBay,” Tim said. “We were discussing the terms of consignment when you came in.”

  “These are the friends you were telling me about?” she asked. If she was unconscious, at some point she’d wake up. If she was dead, it wouldn’t matter. For the time being, she saw no reason not to play along.

  Tim nodded. “Yeah. They’re the ones got me the good price for my Bowie knife.”

  “There are many customers for these special items,” Touchey said. Crumb appeared to be the silent type—he merely nodded.

  “God damn,” Tim cried. “I wish I had a cigar.”

  “There may be some unsmoked items in your shed,” Touchey said.

  “Right on,” said Tim, rising and stomping out of the trailer. Vi heard him rummaging outside.

  She leaned forward in the easy chair and looked closely at the pair. “You’re not from France,” she said.

  Touchey shook his head. For the first time, Crumb spoke. “I can see you are a woman of discretion and taste,” he said.

  Clad as she was in her XXL Pendleton shirt, worn Wrangler jeans, and cowboy boots, Vi had not heard this description of herself for years. The last man to address her in that way had been Dr. Louis Leakey, back in her salad days. And everyone knew his better qualities—and worse ones.

  “Where are you from?” she asked. “Really.”

  “Our vehicle is located approximately ten miles east of here in an alluvial basin that offers excellent shade during the day and sufficient privacy at night,” Touchey said.

  “Not Area 51?” Vi asked.

  “Certainly not!” Touchey said.

  “I thought by your appearance that—”

  “Appearances mean little,” Touchey said. “Possibly you may think that we are…how do you say it?” He turned toward his quiet friend Crumb and they conversed among themselves in odd tones for a moment. Vi couldn’t understand a word, except she was quite certain it was not French.

  “Space aliens,” Touchey continued. “Really, we are from an isolated area of France near the Alps. Homo has great variation. Surely you, of all people, as an expert in the origins of humanity, would know this.”

  Vi felt her mouth open and shut, but could make no reply. Suddenly, she wanted a Budweiser. She rose and grabbed one of the few remaining cans from Tim’s suitcase.

  The beer wasn’t cold, but it was soothing. Vi gulped half the can before turning back to Touchey and Crumb.

  “Neither one of you is a man,” Vi said.

  “I resent that suggestion!” Crumb said.

  “Now, now,” Touchey said, patting his partner’s abnormally thin, elongated arm.

  Tim was still rummaging outside. “Hey, where were those cigars?” he called.

  “Try in the rear of the structure, under the tires,” Touchey said.

  “How much money did he get for the Bowie knife?” Vi asked, sitting back in the easy chair. It smelled awful—too awful even for the peppermints to mask.

  Rather than answering, Touchey and Crumb grabbed more mints, chewing and smacking noisily.

  “Oh, so good!” Crumb muttered. His wide black eyes
narrowed creating an expression like ecstasy even in his alien face.

  “You fellas do like those mints,” Vi said.

  “They are so good, so delicious,” Crumb said.

  “Yep,” Vi said. “Don’t care much for them myself. But as I was saying, how much did old Tim get for the knife?”

  “About ten thousand of your dollars,” Touchey said. “Less our commission.”

  “Ten thousand!” Vi said. “For an old, dull knife?”

  “It’s a collector’s item,” Touchey explained. “We have a select group of customers eager for certain items.”

  “On eBay?” Vi asked.

  Touchey and Crumb exchanged glances. “Yes,” they said at once.

  “Rubbish,” Vi declared.

  “We have a list,” Touchey said. “You might find there are some items you own, but no longer desire, on it. You might find it very rewarding to place some of your goods with us. Our commission is…modest.”

  “I bet,” Vi said.

  “Perhaps you mistrust us. We ask only—” Touchey again exchanged a long look with Crumb. “Only that you not share our transactions with others unless we give express permission. There are some legal forms for you to complete,” he added. He took another fistful of mints and his gray, triangular face suffused with joy.

  “Careful—You could make yourself sick,” Crumb warned.

  Vi decided that she would already have become deathly ill from eating so many of those peppermints. Her teeth might well have fallen out; she knew they were packed with concentrated sugar as well as gallons of peppermint.

  “Our main trade is these…” Crumb said, fingering the mints, letting them drop through his fingers back into the large tin.

  Vi got the impression that the box was a treasure chest, and the mints precious jewels.

  “Is it good to branch out?” she heard herself ask. The peppermint scent was intoxicating.

  “Times change,” Touchey said. “There are all manner of…tastes.”

  “Here,” Crumb said, as from outside, Tim’s joyous cry of “Found them!” echoed.

  He handed Vi what looked to be a brand-new tablet.

  “Just touch the screen,” Touchey said.

  “I know how to use one,” Vi growled. She fumbled and moved her finger over the screen.

  Tim stumbled back into the trailer, grabbed another beer, and lit his cigar, which was in fact a pre-smoked stogie purloined from some uncertain source. The smoke mixed with peppermint produced an even more disorienting effect.

  A neat list with pictures appeared on the tablet.

  “Beemans gum,” she read.

  “Oh, yes!” Touchey said with enthusiasm.

  “Moon Pies,” Vi continued.

  “We have another supplier for those,” Touchey said with slightly less enthusiasm.

  “What about Clove gum?” Vi asked.

  “Not at this time,” Touchey said.

  “Too spicy,” Crumb added, cramming more mints in his mouth.

  “Bubblegum cigars,” Vi read. “Abba-Zabba and Ike & Mike—original flavors.”

  “There’s only one buyer for that—don’t waste too much time on it,” Touchey said. “Notice the highlighted items. These will bid up quickly.”

  Vi scanned the screen, reading further. Some things were highlighted. There were even starred listings.

  “Kit-Kat clocks,” she said. “Payphone, pre-1960’s. Aqua-Velva, original bottle only. Hai Karate. Hula Girl rear window doll. Bendable Gumby and Pokey.”

  “In original packaging,” Crumb said.

  “Frisbee circa 1964,” Vi read.

  “The first professional model,” Crumb said.

  “Is he the merchandise expert?” Vi asked. Touchey nodded.

  “Bob’s Big Boy doll or bobblehead,” Vi read. “Hey, I have one of those.”

  “Ah,” Touchey said, smacking his lips. “You may be astonished at what a dedicated collector would pay.”

  “How much?” Vi asked.

  Touchey looked over at Tim, who was enveloped in a cloud of cigar smoke, chuckling softly at some private joke. “You could fix many teeth,” said Touchey. He winked. Or, Vi decided, a nictitating membrane flashed up and down over one of his shiny almond black eyes.

  “How about a velvet Elvis?” Vi asked.

  “Item 57,” Crumb said. “But the market’s flooded.”

  “It’s not highlighted,” Vi said.

  “You’re catching on,” Touchey said encouragingly.

  “According to Tim, you may be in need of cash,” Crumb said. “We were pleased at your arrival this evening.”

  Vi blinked at the strange pair. “What’s the catch?” she asked. “Are you going to do experiments on me? Implant alien spawn in my abdomen?”

  Touchey and Crumb looked at each other, then began to wheeze rhythmically.

  “Oh, no, Dr. Elliott. We are businessmen,” Crumb said after the two stopped wheezing.

  “Do you think you could bring us some of these items? We will promise you a very generous return,” said Touchey.

  “Please keep the device with our compliments,” Crumb said. Apparently she was being dismissed. “We will enjoy the rest of our evening with our friend Tim. We have much left to experience.” He popped another large handful of mints and closed both of his enormous eyes, leaning back into the love seat.

  “Hey, great seeing ya,” Tim said when he noticed Vi had risen and was moving unsteadily toward the trailer door.

  “How?” Vi asked, turning as she left.

  “Meet us in seven days at…” Touchey paused. He glanced at Crumb, whose eyes popped wide.

  “Peggy Sue’s 50’s Diner in Yermo,” Crumb said. “Welcome, Sit Where You Like.”

  Crumb had repeated the diner’s marquee sign, word for word. “I could have figured you two would like that place,” she said.

  “Is she rather grouchy?” Crumb inquired.

  “Yeah,” Tim said. “But Digger Lady’s okay.” Turning to Vi, he took her arm in a courtly gesture. Vi thought it odd, but she felt strangely warm and secure as he led her to her Jeep, and gave her a soft kiss good-bye on the cheek as she turned the key in the ignition.

  “Drive safe,” Tim said. “You never know what type of weird people you could run into late at night in the desert.”

  Vi felt an odd excitement on her way to Peggy Sue’s 50’s Diner. It was almost like a first date.

  Her Jeep was packed with items from Touchey and Crumb’s buying guide. First, she had visited Costco and bought out their entire stock of Beemans gum. She had been in luck—it was Beemans time of the year. As a “nostalgia” item, the gum was produced and sold in time- and quantity-limited batches. Then, she had ordered two cases of original-flavored Mike & Ike from a bulk candy supplier. Shipping was free for more than one case and she got a discount by saying it was for a party at the museum for disabled children.

  It was actually not such a terrible lie; if sales went well, Vi planned to donate as much as possible to the nearby Ronald McDonald House.

  She had found an older Frisbee in her garage with no memory of when she’d acquired it or ever having used it. Asking around the neighborhood, she’d come up with two more. She wasn’t sure if they were the real thing, but they seemed similar.

  And on top of the candy, gum, and Frisbees rested her grand prize: the Bob’s Big Boy figure. The fat boy in the checked shirt and helmet hair had graced her mantel for nearly thirty years.

  Vi hadn’t been to Peggy Sue’s for years; she loathed the food, but she was glad to see Touchey and Crumb, both wearing broad-brimmed straw hats, in a booth facing the parking lot.

  She snapped, “Coffee,” when the waitress came over.

  “We don’t like coffee,” Touchey and Crumb said at the same time. They reeked of mint.

  “You prefer peppermint milkshakes?” Vi asked.

  “No,” Touchey said. “The mints, by themselves. So delicious, so soothing and comforting.”

  “Afte
r all this time,” Crumb said. “We still can’t get enough of them.”

  “Still?” Vi asked.

  “We got in on the ground floor with that product,” Touchey said.

  Vi thought for a moment. Those British breath mints had been around for a very long time. She thought of asking to see their tin to check the date, but decided she would buy a box on her own later. The things were front and center at every supermarket and gas station.

  “I’ve got the goods,” Vi said. She nodded toward her Jeep, parked outside. It was over 100 degrees in Yermo, as usual. Vi was a little worried that the gum and candy might melt.

  “Very good!” Touchey said. He rubbed his hands together. Vi noticed that both he and Crumb wore leather driving gloves in addition to the broad-brimmed hats. She guessed this made them look somewhat like foreign “tourists.”

  “Hey Frenchie, more iced tea?” the waitress asked on her return trip. “You want another box of mints?”

  Of course they had the curiously strong mints at Peggy Sue’s cash register. Right next to the Doublemint gum, Tic Tacs, and Certs.

  “Have you two ever tried Certs?” Vi asked. “They’re pretty strong.”

  “Disgusting!” Crumb declared.

  Vi decided to change the subject. “I’ve got three cases of Beemans, two cases of Mike and Ike, and a few other odd items,” she said.

  “Tremendous!” Touchey said.

  “We’ll load up after we finish our iced tea,” Crumb said. “We’re quite thirsty.”

  “I guess I’ll have my coffee,” Vi said. The waitress delivered the coffee with a glare. Apparently she preferred “French” tourists to semi-retired archaeologists.

  “We should have results for you soon. Beemans is very hot right now.”

  “I hope so,” Vi said. Wallace had been pestering her daily to accept some type of “emeritus” title and “gracefully step aside.” When she had been making copies in the office, she’d noticed a pile of CVs on the administrative assistant’s desk. All young archaeologists, fresh out of college. Some hadn’t even finished their dissertations.

  Vi felt like Wallace was sifting her life through a screen, as if she was nothing but worthless gravel. She knew what it cost to keep the department running, as well as the dig at Calico. She had a good idea of what it would cost to pay for the extra insurance to satisfy the gutless BLM paper-pushers that were so afraid of on-site accidents.