Olmec Obituary

by L. J. M. Owen

  As Elizabeth flicked through the file, looking for soil analyses, she noticed another oddity. According to the date on the record of the earliest thermoluminescence tests, they were carried out more than five years ago. That had to be a mistake. They could only have been conducted about two years ago, when Carl first went to the site. A clerical error? That happened sometimes.

  Continuing to pore over photographs and drawings of the cave’s interior, Elizabeth felt something niggling at her. What was it? She sat still and concentrated…What was it, what was it…the stratigraphy! But what about it? Why did the layers of soil inside the graves catch at her brain?

  Elizabeth went back through the photographs that recorded each step of the excavation. Uniform. The layers of soil inside the graves were very uniform. Well, there was going to be uniformity of soil deposition and erosion inside a cave, of course; but the stratigraphy inside each of the graves matched almost perfectly, no variation at all.

  If the skeletons represented a long-term cemetery, or in fact any cemetery at all, the people would have been buried over time. But the lack of variation in their graves suggested they were buried at the same time. If so, did that make it a cemetery, or a mass grave? And if they all died at the same time was it accidental or deliberate? Disease? Mass murder? Had one of them died, and the rest been sacrificed in their honour, as had happened so often in ancient Egypt? That didn’t fit with anything she had read on the Olmecs so far, but she had to keep an open mind.

  Surely there was some clue in the inscription as to who was buried in the cave, and why. What was the context of the glyphs for ‘male’ and ‘royal’ that Juan and Carl were so fixated on?

  — —

  Elizabeth pondered the Olmec inscription for the rest of the day, returning to it again and again as she worked on her job application that night. It was a welcome distraction from checking her inbox for an email from Luke. His casual approach to staying in touch could be infuriating at times. Surely he had time to send her a quick hi?

  Partly to distract herself, and partly out of genuine curiosity, she decided to email Henry Evans in New York about the writing at Juluwik.

  The last thing Elizabeth was aware of was trying to fit her brief time at the dig in Egypt into her CV. Suddenly, Grandmère Maddie was knocking on her bedroom door, rousing on her for not being at the breakfast table on time. She had fallen asleep!

  ‘Sorry, Grandmère. I’ll be down in five minutes.’

  ‘I hope so, chérie!’

  Brushing her teeth and dressing as fast as she could, Elizabeth noticed her computer was still on. Out of habit she flicked the mouse across the desk and entered her password. New mail in her inbox…but not from Luke. It was a reply from Henry Evans.

  Dear Elizabeth

  I was pleased to receive your email. Nathan mentioned you might contact me. He also told me about the site you’re working on. It sounds extremely interesting.

  If you would like to discuss any aspect of the Olmec site, or Mesoamerican writing, please let me know by email, and we can establish a time to Skype that suits you. I am fourteen hours behind you, just at the beginning of my Saturday morning as I type.

  Warm regards,

  Henry

  He wrote quite formally. Perhaps he was older? Not that it mattered. Elizabeth dashed off an email arranging to talk to Henry late that night; she would have talked to Luke by then. She’d have to nap straight after breakfast to make sure she was rested for work tomorrow.

  Skipping the usual Sunday murder-mystery matinee, Elizabeth spent a restless afternoon cat-napping and reviewing her job application. She left her room for just long enough to make her excuses at dinnertime and to bring a tray back upstairs. Still nothing from Luke.

  At nine o’clock Elizabeth gave up on her application. It was simply swimming before her eyes now. She submitted it.

  Her Skype pinged. Henry Evans. Elizabeth reminded herself not to be rude just because she was ticked off by Luke’s silence.

  ‘Hi, how’re you?’

  Henry wasn’t old at all. He appeared to be about her age. ‘Good, thank you. How are you?’

  ‘Is it a good time to talk?’

  ‘Ah, honestly, I’ve been waiting for another call, from my partner in Mexico. We only get to speak once a fortnight, so if he calls I’ll have to go. I’ll call you back afterwards, though, or possibly next weekend. Is that okay?’

  ‘Sure.’ The warmth of Henry’s voice was reflected in his eyes. ‘I’ll talk to you about the philology of your site any time!’

  Elizabeth felt drawn in by Henry’s enthusiasm. ‘That’s good…by philology you mean…the writing?’

  ‘Yeah. Writing of any kind. Maybe you call it something else?’

  ‘Writing?’

  ‘Yeah, the study of writing.’

  ‘Epigraphology, I guess. Cryptography maybe?’

  ‘Hmmm…’ Henry hesitated. ‘We’re talking about slightly different things. Mind if I explain?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Cryptography…cryptographers are code-breakers. Like the people who broke ciphers in the First and Second World Wars.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Elizabeth had watched a documentary on Germany’s Enigma machine code once. ‘They work out what some­one is saying, when that someone is trying to keep it a secret?’

  ‘Yeah. Then, there are epigraphologists. You’re an archae­ologist, so you’d be familiar with this kinda philologist. They record the writing at archaeological sites, then give it to palaeographers, who translate it.’

  Elizabeth’s phrenic library offered an example. ‘Like Gertrude and Matthew Stirling, who worked out the basics of some Mesoamerican scripts?’

  ‘Yeah. And there they are!’ Henry was pointing to some­thing behind himself. He moved to one side, to give Elizabeth a better view.

  Henry’s apartment was a beautiful, light-filled room of wood-panelled walls and bookshelves. Elizabeth couldn’t spot any books on the Stirlings, though. ‘Sorry, I don’t understand…Are you pointing at a particular book?’

  ‘No, there.’ Henry pointed to a framed photograph on one of his bookshelves. ‘It’s a reprint of a famous photo of the Stirlings. Anyway, like I was saying, philology is all those things. It’s cryptography and epigraphology and palaeography. It’s studying Shakespeare and literature and poetry…anything at all to do with writing. That’s all philology.’

  ‘Ahh, I think I’m getting it now.’ Elizabeth liked this red-haired, softly spoken American. He seemed as passionate about the written word as she was about archaeology.

  ‘You look rugged up there, are you cold?’ he asked.

  Elizabeth had hurriedly flung a yellow woollen scarf around her shoulders when the Skype bell rang, thinking it was Luke. She hadn’t wanted Luke to see her slobbing in her Eeyore pyjamas.

  ‘Yes, it’s quite cold here. It’s the middle of winter. How about you?’

  Henry was wearing a loose weave T-shirt, and sipping a drink Elizabeth didn’t recognise.

  ‘It’s beyond hot here. New York summers, hey? So, now we’ve covered philology, what’s your question?’

  ‘Well, that’s part of the problem. I don’t know exactly what my question is. I was looking over photos of the writing at Juluwik, and realised I don’t know much about Mesoamerican writing. I’m told the writing can be translated to a particular date, and I want to understand how.’ Elizabeth hesitated. ‘This might actually be too simple a question to bother you with, maybe I should just work it out for myself.’

  ‘I’m happy to help. It’s rumoured Juluwik is the most important site in Mexico in the last twenty years. I wanna be involved.’

  ‘Well, have you got a copy of the writing in the cave? I want to understand how the glyphs can be translated to a date of three thousand, two hundred years ago, and if they support an interpretation of royal, male or cemetery.’

  ‘No, I don’t have a copy. Everyone’s heard rumours of the site, but no-one’s actually seen what’s th
ere. Have you got a copy?’

  ‘No, I’ve seen them, but…maybe we should wait for the initial paper to be published? It should be out soon. That way we can look at official photographs and not worry about sharing information that isn’t public yet.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. I hate waiting, but it’s the right thing to do. Once I’ve got them, I’ll see what I can do about translating them.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but there’s something else I’d like to ask you.’

  ‘Sure, fire away.’

  ‘What are you drinking?’

  ‘This?’ Henry laughed. ‘Cucumber lemonade.’

  ‘Cucumber lemonade?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s a favourite of mine. I found it my first summer here. It’s homemade lemonade with strips of cucumber. I don’t have air-conditioning, just a fan, so I drink this all summer long.’

  ‘I know someone who would love that,’ said Elizabeth. Luke’s face was swimming before her eyes.

  ‘Besides cucumber lemonade, I discovered pulled-pork sliders and bacon lattes when I came to New York. And, my secret passion…’ Henry whispered, leaning in to the computer’s camera with a look of guilty indulgence, ‘…Bollywood films!’

  Elizabeth burst out laughing.

  ‘It’s true,’ he continued in a more normal voice. ‘When I’m not home, or at work, I ride all over the city to see every Bollywood film I can find.’

  This man was funny! Elizabeth chatted with Henry about her own love of dark British sitcoms and Doctor Who until she glanced at the time display on her laptop.

  ‘Henry,’ she said, interrupting his diatribe on the evils of the Cybermen, ‘I have to go. I didn’t realise how late it was. I need to go to sleep for work tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, sure.’

  ‘It’s been good to talk to you, though.’

  ‘Yeah. We’ll talk again when the paper comes out?’

  ‘Absolutely, I better go. Bye!’

  As soon as she hung up from Henry, Elizabeth was aware again of Luke’s silence. What if he hadn’t made it to town this weekend, and couldn’t get an extension to submit his job applications? He wouldn’t win a job back here, and they would be apart again next year. She sank onto her bed, the uncertainty over the future driving her into awful dreams.

  — —

  Elizabeth woke less than six hours later, feeling groggy. She stumbled to her desk and flicked the mouse…Finally, an email from Luke.

  I’m sorry I didn’t Skype with you earlier, Lizzie-bear. We were delayed getting into town. I didn’t have much time to finish my applications. I’ve attached them for you. Thanks for the information you sent me. I’m running late…Gotta go, Luke.

  He’d made it! Elizabeth read his applications quickly. He must have liked what she sent him, as he’d used most of it word for word. Come on, Luke, win that job.

  Chapter Ten

  Standing on her balcony the next Saturday morning, Elizabeth peered out at the small fogged-up glasshouse nestled inside Nainai’s vegetable garden. The garden’s solar panels heated water that circulated beneath the glasshouse floor.

  The house bore matching hot-water solar panels arrayed across the entire north face of the roof, heating the inside. The beautiful floorboards downstairs that Loki and Paris loved to slide on in fact weren’t floorboards at all. They were polished concrete that had been stained and scored to look like dark Tasmanian oak. The concrete emitted a gentle heat in winter, courtesy of the sun-warmed water circulating through pipes in the concrete slab. Taid joked that it was his version of the Roman hypocaust underfloor heating.

  Although this system meant other heating wasn’t really necessary, Elizabeth was glad her grandparents had insisted on having gas fireplaces, as well as the wood-fired masonry heater in the lounge room. The flickering flames and radiant heat were so comforting…

  Was she really contemplating heating systems? She must be feeling better.

  Despite the cold and dark, Elizabeth had barely slept past six o’clock. It was going to be another great weekend. Today, she would take a second set of dental non-metric data, then work with Alice to organise the x-rays and other tests. Working with Alice would be good practice for becoming a tutor.

  Smiling as she observed the mist in the valley below her suburb, Elizabeth completed her pre-laboratory mental checklist: fed, showered, dressed – check. Lunch, laptop and plaster casts packed – check. Off to conquer the world – check.

  Just five hours later, Elizabeth finished taking a second set of dental non-metric data from her population of Olmec women and children. She poured herself another cup of delicious apple tea, and waited for Alice to arrive.

  Alice opened the lab door right on time. The poor girl still seemed nervous in Elizabeth’s presence.

  Together, they reviewed the process for x-raying the skeletal material for Harris lines, examining the remains under the microscope and taking samples for DNA analyses.

  ‘How are your funds looking?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Can you afford to do any radiocarbon dating?’

  ‘Yes! I checked after you asked. It turns out if I do two weeks’ work for the lab they’ll date all the remains in exchange for the funds I have left.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to do that?’

  ‘Of course. It’s a great opportunity. I want to learn more about dating anyway.’

  ‘That’s excellent news,’ Elizabeth smiled at a now beaming Alice. ‘Do you need anything?’

  ‘There’s a heap of paperwork to do, and I need lots of signatures, but it should be fine. I’ll make sure I CC your email address on all the forms so you get a copy of the results.’

  ‘Thanks, that’d be great.’

  Alice seemed to finally relax in her presence. ‘No worries,’ she replied.

  Hours later Elizabeth and Alice finished tagging the last item for dating. Waving the shy undergrad from the room, Elizabeth settled down for a very late lunch.

  A key rasped in the lab door. Alice must have forgotten something.

  ‘Hello, how are we today?’ It was Carl, dressed in an immacu­late suit, tie and overcoat. He looked quite out of place in the shabby lab.

  ‘Uh, fine thanks.’ Elizabeth hadn’t been expecting him.

  ‘I wanted to see how you’re coming along, and how young Alice is doing. Any news?’

  ‘Well, I sent you my initial report.’

  ‘Yes, thanks, good job.’

  ‘Alice and I just finished sorting out the material for x-rays and DNA testing. She said she has a few things for you to sign, then she can get started. It turns out she can also arrange radiocarbon dating for all the skeletons. I think she’ll need your signature for those as well.’

  ‘Brilliant. You girls are doing a super job.’

  ‘Also, I’ve been working on a dental non-metric analysis. I thought we might publish it as a separate paper? Perhaps with me as primary author?’

  Carl’s smile slipped slightly. ‘Ah…yes, of course. That sounds good.’

  Carl’s words didn’t match the expression on his face. Elizabeth wasn’t sure which one to believe.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘can you tell me when the first paper will be published? How much of my report do you think will be included?’

  ‘I have some exciting news on that front. I’ve submitted a synopsis to three top archaeological journals, and it looks like they’re all going to accept it. We’ll have our pick of the bunch.’

  Elizabeth would be in print very soon. Yay!

  ‘I’m certain the results from Alice’s tests will support what I’ve posited in the paper,’ Carl said.

  ‘Sorry? What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, as all our adults are female, buried under a royal male obituary, and with male grave goods, they must be some kind of ritual sacrifice to male gods or rulers. It’s brilliant! Once we publish, we’ll attract so much attention.’

  Carl’s glee was repulsive to Elizabeth. Was there any basis for thi
s new theory, or was it just more persuado-science?

  ‘Has Juan translated more of the inscription?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Does it mention a sacrifice?’

  ‘Well, no, but what other explanation could there be?’

  A dozen possibilities sprang to Elizabeth’s mind. ‘I have to say, I haven’t seen any evidence of violent deaths so far… How do you think they were killed?’

  ‘Poison, of course!’

  ‘Really? You found traces of something in the soil? I couldn’t find any records of soil analysis in the site files. Could I see what you found?’

  Carl seemed to puff up. ‘Look, this isn’t really your concern. You’ve done what I asked you to do. If I say they were poisoned, then they were poisoned.’

  ‘You mean you haven’t tested the soil?’

  ‘That’s neither here nor there. And why are you asking about Juan’s translation of the writing? He’s our expert.’

  Stay calm, Elizabeth counselled herself. Remember what Taid said: if Carl gets agitated, handle him carefully and he might listen. Start by agreeing with him and being helpful.

  ‘Of course, Carl, yes. Juan is our writing expert. There are other philologists who might be able to help him, though. I’m sure once you’ve published details of the inscription on the cave wall, other experts will offer to help.’

  ‘What do you mean, others? No-one else is supposed to know any details of the writing yet, not until I publish it.’

  It wasn’t working, Carl wasn’t calming down. ‘But surely there have been rumours?’ Elizabeth suggested placatingly. ‘I mean, it’s such an amazing site, with so many people working on it, surely lots of people are interested?’

  ‘What have you done?’ Carl’s eyes were wide with incredulity. ‘You’ve leaked, haven’t you? You’ve taken pictures of the writing and sent them to someone, haven’t you? Haven’t you!’

  Carl was red in the face now. She wasn’t going to win, no matter what she said.

  ‘No, I haven’t. Because I have integrity.’