As the year went by, Li felt the changes in her body begin which would make her ready to mate. Having watched slightly older friends go through the change she was aware what was going to happen. It would be soon after the next rains, when all the land was clean, shining, new-made in the wetness, like a baby when first lifted from the mothering sea.
But those rains came early and different, without wait or tension or warning thunder. Instead the smoking mountain rumbled, and then there was a night when the cliffs where they roosted seemed to quiver and rocks tumbled into the sea. At the caves the water had a strange taste. The dolphins didn’t come.
Two nights after they’d left the caves, without warning, thunder crashed overhead. A huge wind lashed the coast. Lightning blazed from horizon to horizon with barely a blink of dark before the next dazzling shaft. Even that glare was veiled as the rain slammed down, loud as the pealing thunder. The world drowned. They breathed water as much as air. Dawn came, and they saw the sea churning against the cliff below in a broad, slow swell, ugly but swimmable. To them it seemed much more friendly than the racketing air. They made their way down and found that once below the surface they could forage easily enough, though the water itself felt strangely chill.
By mid-day, though they couldn’t see the sun, the waves were beginning to rise and the rain and thunder were no less. These cliffs were dangerous in such a sea, tricky to leave or land on, or to forage along. They would have to go elsewhere. South lay more cliffs, some of them safer in a storm, but only ledges to roost on as exposed as these. That was why, when Presh went round the families making signals to leave, they were ready to follow him back north to the water-caves.
They came there without more trouble than could be expected from such seas, and though it was still light, crowded into the caves and huddled together shuddering from the unfamiliar rain-chilled air. That night the cave trembled and rocks fell from the roof and they woke and rushed in panic out into the open, but the rain was still belting down, so when the trembling had been still for a while they went back in and slept until dawn.
They woke to the rising sun, a clear sky and no wind, the only sounds the call of birds and the slow churn of waves against the bar. The water at the back of the caves was now too foul to drink, but rain-fed streams and waterfalls were running down the cliffs outside. As the sun rose the air stayed cool and fresh. But despite the calm and beauty of the day there was a fretfulness in the tribe. They hadn’t yet forgotten their fear – fear not of something they knew as a familiar danger, like sharks or wave-lash on rocks, but of things that were strange, different, wrong. These rains, so soon, so short. This quaking earth. This stinking water in the caves. Wrong.
They looked to Presh for leadership and Presh looked to Li for help and she had none to give. So they spread out and began to forage for food, as usual without much reward on this scant shore, but Presh stayed by the bay. More than once he climbed out and scrambled up the rocks to a vantage point from which he could gaze seaward, sniffing the wind and staring out for signs of some fresh danger. From there he could also see the central mountain, no longer gently smoking but sending up a black tumultuous cloud which rose high in the sky before it was blown away southward.
He had climbed there again, taking Li with him this time, still trying to make up his mind whether it was now safe to lead the tribe south, when suddenly he shouted and pointed north along the shoreline.
Li looked. The tribe had all stayed fairly close, waiting for Presh’s signal. Well beyond them she saw a number of black flecks in the water. She knew them at once. Not dolphins, not birds, but the heads of people swimming towards her. Strangers.
NOW: WEDNESDAY MORNING
VINNY WOKE BEFORE dawn, when it was just light enough for her to see Dad’s shadowy movements as he tried to dress without disturbing her.
‘I’ll come and help,’ she said.
‘Not much for you to do yet.’
‘I can wheel the barrow if you don’t fill it full. I’d much rather work before it gets too hot.’
‘If you really want to.’
While they were climbing the hill, the stars went out as if someone had turned off a switch. Only a few minutes later the sun’s rim clipped the horizon. Dad hacked soil out and Vinny wheeled the half-full barrow down the slope (no problem) and lugged it back empty (hard work). It was already getting hot before Dad decided they’d done enough. They went down the hill and breakfasted in the slant shadow of the big awning. For a while Dad said nothing so Vinny was silent too.
‘I’ve been thinking about what May Anna told you,’ he said.
‘So’ve I.’
‘What was your conclusion?’
‘I’m not going to choose between Mum and you. Not if I can help it. Mum tried to make me and I fought her off. That was OK. But I can’t fight you – it wouldn’t work. We’ve got to agree.’
‘Right. I’m going to make one condition, though. You are not to mention your sea-ape theory again to anyone in this camp.’
‘Oh . . . All right.’
‘It’s not because I think it’s nonsense, though at the moment I do. Some day, if you still want me to, and if I’ve time, I’ll read up enough about it to give you a considered opinion, but not now. It’s not in itself that important, but the atmosphere on this expedition is already quite trying enough for me without Joe or Fred or anyone having the extra leverage of being able to needle me about it. I’m afraid I’m not at all good at that sort of thing. I don’t want to have to cope with it now. Understand?’
‘Yes, of course . . . only . . .’
He looked warningly at her.
‘It’s all right. I’m not going to talk to anyone about it. I promise. If anyone asks me I’ll say I think it’s nonsense too.’
‘You don’t have to go that far.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Only . . . you know those toe-bones? I suppose Joe’s taken them back to the camp.’
‘He won’t let them out of his sight.’
‘If you find another one will you look at it and try and see if it might have been, you know, webbed? You needn’t say anything to anyone. Just look.’
He thought about it and nodded.
‘That’s fair,’ he said. ‘Mind you, I think it’s highly unlikely, even if that were the case . . . and you’d probably need laboratory equipment . . . All right, I will try to look as objectively as I can.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Not at all. Your mother in your position would have expected me to take on the lot of them in your cause.’
‘I’m not Mum.’
‘I am aware of that. But yesterday, for instance, when you were arguing with Watson about your theory and all I could hear was your voice, I had to keep reminding myself of the difference. And at times you look quite extraordinarily like her when I first knew her.’
‘I’ve seen the photographs at Gran’s. Did you love her then?’
For a moment she thought she’d put her foot in it again, but he smiled without apparent effort.
‘Since you arrived I’ve been reminding myself that we had two or three very good years before things went wrong.’
‘What did you call her?’
‘Debbie.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘She had something I felt I needed. More than just liveliness. A real excitement with life, a delight in its promises and possibilities, a readiness to plunge in, to take emotional risks. Conviction.’
‘What did you give her?’
‘Not enough. I think she felt she needed a stable centre, reliability, level-headedness, a stone to strike her sparks off. I am a doubter, I see at least two sides of every question, I am emotionally cautious, organized, orderly. I felt myself becoming a silence for her to fill with words, an emptiness for her to pour her life into. I think. It’s difficult to place things such as feelings, and changes of feelings, into their exact time. I’ve been tending to say to myself (and to other people, to be honest) that we should never ha
ve married. We were too different. There was no bridge between us. But that’s not true. You’ve made me remember that there was a perfectly good bridge for a while. We let it fall down and then we couldn’t find a way of rebuilding it, but it was there.’
‘Was it me made things change?’
‘Of course you made things change. There were two people now in your mother’s – Debbie’s – life for a start, but you didn’t bust the bridge, if that’s what you mean. We did that. I think even before you were born, while she was still pregnant . . . I should never have let her call you that ridiculous name.’
‘I’m used to it. It’s me now. Did you have a row about it?’
‘I’m bad at rows. I don’t remember exactly. I expect I said, “Well, if that’s what you want,” and left it to her.’
‘I can’t imagine being called anything else now. Of course I hated it when some kids found out I was really Lavinia and started calling me “Lav”. I’m no good at being needled either.’
‘Watch out for Fred, then. He’s got a tongue like an asp.’
‘I guessed.’
He grunted approvingly and they fell back into companionable silence, Vinny feeling that the damage she’d done yesterday had been repaired – more than repaired. Like a broken bone that’s mended well, the link would be stronger than before. Dad had put his mug down when the immense and empty silence around them was broken by the gear-change of the truck nosing down to cross the dry river-bed. Dad stretched and sighed.
‘End of idyll,’ he said. ‘Let’s let Joe find us at work. I think it’s going to be hot.’
‘It can’t be hotter than yesterday.’
‘I’m afraid it can.’
Vinny and Dad had just reached the trench when the truck stopped below. Vinny watched the party climb out, the Hamiskas, Michael, Dr Wessler, Nikki and three or four others she’d scarcely met so far.
‘He hasn’t brought Watson,’ she said.
‘That’s something,’ said Dad. ‘Well, let’s let him find us hard at it.’
In fact he’d scarcely loosened his first trowelful from the fossil-layer when Dr Hamiska came striding up the hill, shouting good mornings, and peered in under the awning.
‘Great work, Sam. You’ve shifted a lot. Found anything?’
‘Hardly started on that. We were doing the heavy stuff before it got too hot. Vinny’s been carting the soil away. We’ve been at it since sunrise. I see you haven’t brought Watson.’
‘Your every wish catered for, Sam.’
There was something in the tone of the remark, or perhaps the laugh that followed it, that made Dad look questioningly at him.
‘It was his idea, Sam,’ said Dr Hamiska. ‘We were talking about Vinny’s shell last night and I said it would be useful to have an accurate identification. Dating, you know. Something to tell the Craig people. “Some kind of Myaceae” sounds a bit feeble. Watson offered to drive back to his department and get the references.’
‘They won’t have that sort of thing here.’
‘He’s got access to the university computer. He can call up a data-bank. It would take me or anyone else a week to get permission.’
‘He’ll tell everyone what we’ve found.’
‘No way I could stop him, Sam, seeing whose nephew he is. I don’t want Wishart turned back at the airport. And it’s not that much of a risk – if Watson’s the only palaeontologist in the country, who’s going to listen or understand? And in any case, anyone who knows him will reckon he’s shooting a line.’
‘Well, it’s done now. OK, Vinny, I’ll be wanting the A-layer bag.’
The morning wore quietly on. It was at least as hot as yesterday, and Vinny found it even more shattering. She’d been hoping to get used to it fairly quickly, but now she realized she’d be lucky if she did before she left. Dr Wessler was in the second trench beginning to work his way into the fossil-layer the way Dad had done, and Vinny looked after both lots of bags and labels. Michael and another African called Ali started to clear the topsoil for another trench, further along, while Dr Hamiska and Nikki made a systematic series of shallow excavations all along the sloping line of tuff, trying to chart how far the fossil-layer extended. Mrs Hamiska drifted over the plain below, just looking.
Dr Wessler was held up by a crocodile-jaw jutting sideways into his trench. It was large but fragile, so that he had to scrape round it and burrow into the side wall, hardening it section by section with resin as he went. Dad found pig-teeth, the leg-bone of a small deer, and in the second section of H-layer some fragments of another clam, and then more in the third section. There were no hammer-marks on them, but when Vinny did a jigsaw with them she found that though there was still a lot missing the chips near the centre were the smallest and seemed to make a sort of star-pattern with a crack curving round it, just what you might get, she thought, if the shell had been broken first go, with one good bash. The actual point of impact was missing, but those chips would be tiny, so perhaps Dad had missed them. He was tipping the loose soil from the fossil-layers separately on a plastic sheet, to be sieved through later.
‘Can I have a look in your bucket, Dad, if you’re not using it?’
‘Hold it.’
The words were little more than a murmur, but she could hear something in them – total absorption, interest, excitement. Ducking under the awning and peering into the trench she saw Dad crouched below, picking the clay away, crumb by crumb, from around a little cylinder of fossil.
‘Is it a toe-bone?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Don’t forget about the webbing.’
Grunt.
‘Shall I get Joe?’
‘Five minutes.’
But Dr Hamiska was already there. Usually he made a point of crunching round in his heavy boots as if he wanted to tell the world that the great Dr Hamiska was coming, but this time, he must almost have tiptoed down. He leaped off the boulder beside the trench and squatted by the awning.
‘Got it sorted out now, Sam,’ he said. ‘What we’ve got must be something like a stream-bed running into the lake. That’s just this nine-metre stretch. You’re near the top of it – there’s nothing beyond the boulder here – and it peters out just beyond the new trench. That’s all. Just this one needle in the haystack, and we’ve found it! How are you doing?’
‘Come and look.’
Dad hardly had time to stand aside before Dr Hamiska was in the trench, gazing at the new fossil, touching it with his forefinger, peering through his magnifying glass.
‘Terrific!’ he said. ‘I knew it was there! I knew it! This’ll show ’em. Fred! Fred! Come over here! Someone tell Jane!’
He climbed out and waved his cap and hallooed to Mrs Hamiska, who heard him, waved back and started to come. By the time she arrived everyone else had had their turn to crouch and gaze and revere the tiny object, and now they were standing round, oblivious of the battering sun, talking like kids after a concert. In the middle of it all, Dr Hamiska laughed as if he’d thought of a new joke. They looked at him.
‘And Sam didn’t want to tell me!’ he crowed.
‘What do you mean?’ said Dad.
‘I heard Vinny ask if she should fetch me and you said no.’
‘Oh, rubbish,’ said Dad.
‘I’m not deaf, Sam.’
Dad gave an exasperated sigh but said nothing.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ muttered Vinny.
‘Of course it wasn’t,’ said Dr Hamiska. ‘But I must insist that the moment any object of significance comes to light I am immediately informed, and that no further excavation takes place till I have seen it.’
‘Are you suggesting that I was in some way trying to keep this to myself?’ said Dad.
‘My dear Sam! Don’t be so touchy. Everyone can keep in mind what I’ve said and we’ll say no more about it. Now, let’s imagine a stream running out of the hills, from roughly that direction. There has recently been a volcanic eruption which has altered the c
ourse of the stream into a new channel. It deposits its silt here for a number of years and then alters its course again, but in the meanwhile a number of creatures have died, leaving their bones to be preserved in the silt-layers. One of them is our friend here. She dies. Her body lies in the water. The flesh decays. The skeleton falls apart. The flow of the stream gently sifts the bones, scattering them in a regular pattern before the silt-layers harden and hold them. We come along and find three points in that pattern. Can we from those three points deduce the rest of it?’
For a moment he made it sound actually possible. Dad shook his head unbelieving. Dr Wessler giggled.
‘It’s a lovely line, Joe,’ he said. ‘I hope John Wishart buys it.’
Dr Hamiska ignored him, entranced by his vision.
‘Sam?’ he said. ‘You’re the taphonomist.’
‘Not a hope,’ said Dad. ‘For a start, it needn’t have been a stream, and if it was how can we yet tell which direction it came from? I’d need to get the whole area cleared and mapped and do a series of computer-simulations, and even then the best I’d be able to show you would be some probability-curves. But if you want to tell Wishart that there was a stream and that the creature was female and died of hiccups on a Thursday afternoon, I’ll keep my mouth shut.’
Everyone laughed. The row seemed over as soon as it had started, and the others went back to their work. Vinny looked at her shell-fragments, but felt too worn-out with heat even for something as simple as that, so she sat in the shade of the awning, looking out over the shimmering grey plain and trying to imagine it with water, and reeds, and pigs, and crocodiles, and something (someone?) sitting where she was sitting, looking out over it then. Dad seemed not to have noticed she was there, but he must have, because he spoke without looking round.
A Bone From a Dry Sea Page 12