Olmec Obituary

by L. J. M. Owen

  Taking her seat, Elizabeth pulled a thick white linen napkin from its polished silver ring and placed it in her lap.

  ‘And, for madame’s enjoyment,’ Grandmère joked, ‘we have, as always, the duck and the custard.’

  She wasn’t wrong. Elizabeth requested the same thing for every birthday: duck and custard. It might start with tea-smoked duck, or canard à l’orange, or even Peking duck, but her birthday dinner always concluded with a dessert involving custard.

  This year, to Taid’s delight, it was the succulent Hwyaden Hallt Cymreig – Welsh salted duck – to be served with crisp bacon-and-leek potatoes, asparagus, and onion sauce. For afters there was apple-and-blackberry pie smothered in brandied custard. Grandmère had even prepared the freshly baked bread rolls Elizabeth loved, as well as a potato and asparagus quiche for Sam. Everyone could eat to his or her heart’s content.

  At the end of the meal, over tea and coffee, Taid brought out Elizabeth’s present. By family tradition, each of them received one joint present from the rest of the family for birthdays. This year it was a huge vintage book, leather-bound and gold-lettered. Elizabeth examined it closely, then laughed out loud. It wasn’t a book…It was a box made to look like an antique book. She opened it to reveal a pair of pyjamas and laughed again. The print on the pyjama pants was especially appropriate: bookshelves filled with old books and sleeping cats.

  ‘Thank you, everyone, I’ll wear them tonight.’

  Opening the accompanying card, Elizabeth took her time to read the messages, smiling at each of her family in turn. There were touching quotes and sentiments from Taid, Grandmère and Nainai, and a teenage boy’s ‘Happy Birthday’ from Matty. But nothing from Sam. Elizabeth worked so hard to support the family, including Sam; how could she be so rude? She was so ungrateful!

  ‘You didn’t have a chance to write in my card?’ Elizabeth kept her voice steady.

  ‘Honestly,’ Sam sighed, ‘I couldn’t think of anything to write. I didn’t see the point. You don’t actually want me to be your sister. You’d prefer it if I wasn’t here at all, so why bother?’

  Elizabeth froze. What could she say? Sam was right, but they simply couldn’t fight in front of Matty. She glanced at him to see his reaction. He was staring at Sam with a look of horror on his face.

  ‘Ahh, that’s okay,’ Elizabeth stammered. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She looked at Taid for help. He opened his mouth and…

  ‘No, Elizabeth, really, why should I bother?’ Sam pressed her. ‘Nothing I do is right. You’d be happy if I disappeared altogether. Why not be honest?’

  Stay calm, don’t upset Matty. ‘Sam, I don’t want to talk about it. If you don’t want to sign my card, that’s fine, just leave it.’ Elizabeth turned to Grandmère. ‘The dinner was delicious, thank you. Would you like help clearing up?’

  ‘Don’t you dare do that! Don’t ignore me. I am your sister, whether you like it or not.’

  Elizabeth felt her ire rising. She looked at Matty again; he was white in the face. She had to diffuse the situation.

  ‘Sam, I’m not ignoring you. I’m trying to have a nice birthday with my family. Can we please not fight?’

  ‘Oh, that would suit you, wouldn’t it. Lady Elizabeth, all her servants bowing and scraping at her birthday party. We mustn’t upset her ladyship!’

  That was it. ‘What are you talking about? I work for you, not the other way around! You’re happy enough to live in a house that I pay the bills for, happy enough to suck away my whole life while you go out and get drunk, all to make up for a mistake you made! And you can’t even be bothered to sign my birthday card? If anyone around here is Lady Muck, it’s you.’

  ‘What mistake?’ Sam looked genuinely confused. ‘You’re talking rubbish, as usual.’

  ‘Girls, that’s enough,’ said Taid.

  ‘Are you actually going to make me say it?’ Elizabeth dared Sam.

  ‘Yes. What are you blaming me for this time?’

  ‘Girls, I said that’s enough.’

  Taid was right, it was enough. Enough, enough, enough! Elizabeth was sick of everyone protecting Sam. ‘The car accident, Samantha, the car accident. You. Killed. Mum.’

  ‘What?’ Sam looked shocked. ‘You’re insane!’

  Elizabeth leapt to her feet. ‘You were playing with the tennis ball. Mum told you not to, but you did it anyway!’ She shook her finger in Sam’s face. ‘You dropped it, it rolled under her foot, she couldn’t hit the brakes…That mistake, Sam. The one that devastated our whole family. The one that means with Dad gone I will have to give up years of my life to look after everyone. And you can’t even be bothered to sign a lousy birthday card.’ She threw both her hands in the air. ‘You’re such a self-centred…monster!’

  Elizabeth’s last word echoed around the courtyard. Seconds ticked by.

  ‘It was me.’

  All heads swung to look at Matty.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sam demanded.

  ‘It was me,’ he repeated. ‘I’m the one who killed Mum. It’s my fault. I’m the monster.’ Matty’s voice cracked.

  ‘No. No, of course you’re not,’ Elizabeth said. She glanced at Sam. ‘Matty, you don’t have to cover for her.’

  ‘I’m not lying,’ Matty yelled. ‘I played with the tennis ball. It was me. I wanted to be like Sam, but I couldn’t hold onto it. It fell and rolled under the car seat. I didn’t know. I didn’t know!’

  Matty’s chair hit the ground as he stumbled away through the gravel, his crutches catching at the flagstones. Matty had to be covering for Sam, but why would he do that? Elizabeth stood to go after him.

  Taid pushed his chair back to join her. She waved him back into his seat. ‘No. I’m the one who has to go to him.’

  Elizabeth followed Matty inside the house. She heard his bedroom door slam closed. She waited a few moments, then followed him up the stairs. She knocked softly on his door. ‘Matty, it’s me.’

  ‘Go away, Lizbet. You mustn’t look at me. I am a monster. I killed Mum. I’m the one who ruined your life, not Sam. It’s my fault,’ Matty’s voice rose to a wail. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m the one you should hate, not Sam!’

  Elizabeth turned the door handle. It wasn’t locked. Matty was curled into a tight ball on his bed. She sat next to him and tried to put her arm around him. He pushed it away.

  ‘Matty, sweetheart. You’re not a monster. I don’t understand why you’re saying this. Did Sam put you up to it?’

  ‘No! You’re not listening. I’m the reason you had to stay in Canberra after Dad died. I’m the reason you can’t be with Luke. I’m the reason you had to give up archaeology, not Sam. It was me!’

  ‘Matty, where did you hear that? How do you know about…that?’

  ‘Earlier this year. In Taid’s courtyard. You were talking. Grandmère sent me with another pot of tea for Taid, but then I heard what you said, how you think she killed Mum. But you’re wrong, it was me. I’m the one you should hate.’

  Elizabeth’s throat throbbed. He had to be lying, he had to be covering for Sam. ‘Matty, you were only four when Mum died. It couldn’t have been you. How could you even remember back that far?’

  ‘Because I’m like you,’ he looked at her, his brown eyes filled with self-loathing. ‘I remember!’

  Dread cannoned into her stomach; he was telling the truth.

  There was a tap at the door. Sam. Prickly heat flooded Elizabeth’s body.

  ‘I might forgive you, one day,’ Sam said evenly, ‘but always remember, when you thought I made a mistake, you never forgave me.’ Sam looked at Matty. ‘But that’s not important right now.’

  Elizabeth bowed her head. She felt Sam’s weight on the bed as her sister sat down. Sam took one of Elizabeth’s hands and put it on top of Matty’s.

  The three of them stayed on the bed for hours, each sister holding one of their little brother’s hands, telling him that it would all be okay, somehow.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Th
e next few weeks passed in a daze as Elizabeth tried to come to terms with her mistake. How could she have been so wrong? Not only had she spent years blaming Sam for something she didn’t do, but she had hurt Matty terribly. How could she repair the damage?

  At some point during the month she received a letter from the university. She hadn’t won a tutoring position, but would she come in for a debrief? It barely registered.

  One Monday, as she was leaving for work, Taid invited Elizabeth into his library.

  ‘Beth bach, it’s time for you to stop berating yourself for what happened with Samantha and Mathieu.’

  Elizabeth’s cheeks burnt with embarrassment. ‘But I was wrong, so terribly wrong.’

  ‘Yes, you were, and you’ve admitted it, and apologised repeatedly. Now it’s time to move on.’

  ‘How can I?’

  ‘Elizabeth, please listen to me. If you’re not careful, this obsessive regret of yours could turn to self-pity. I understand you’re sorry. Samantha understands you’re sorry. And Mathieu understands you’re sorry.’

  ‘It’s not enough.’

  ‘It is for now. You can discuss how to make amends in the best possible way when the three of you go to counselling. I wish we could have got you in to see Dr Strzelecki sooner, but she wasn’t available until January. Okay?’

  ‘Yes Taid.’

  ‘Until then, I suggest you spend whatever time with Mathieu and Samantha that they ask for, and for goodness’ sake stop apologising. It’s becoming annoying.’

  ‘Yes, Taid. Sorry. Oh, sorry. Ahh…’ Elizabeth fled to the garage for her commute to work.

  As she pulled into the Library car park, she spotted Mai getting out of her car three bays over. Even though she was running late herself, Elizabeth chose to stay in her car until Mai was inside. She didn’t want a run-in with her, or to be reminded of what might have gone on between Mai and her father. Just thinking about it made her feel ill. Whatever had happened, it didn’t matter now; that was one skeleton Elizabeth didn’t need to dig up.

  The elevator door opened onto the top floor of the Library, revealing the double entry to Preservation. It had become Elizabeth’s haven, a world removed from heartache, remorse and loss. She enjoyed working here even more than in Maps. The meticulous repairing of old records and manuscripts filled a deep-seated need to return old and broken things to working order.

  At the moment, Elizabeth was working on a nineteenth-century treatise that explored the merits of various sheep varieties for different regions of colonial Australia. Turning a page with her gloved hand, she came across a map that looked familiar but somehow wrong. She turned the book this way and that, trying to place the chart.

  ‘Julie, would you mind taking a look at this?’ she called out.

  Elizabeth’s new supervisor walked over to her desk. ‘Ah, you’ve discovered it!’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The reason this book is such a valuable acquisition – the Inverted Jenny,’ Julie said.

  ‘The what?’ It rang a bell, but she couldn’t recall why. Searching her phrenic library was slow, her mind muddled with worry about her family.

  ‘The map is of southern Victoria. It’s back to front.’

  Elizabeth flipped the image in her mind. ‘Oh, of course it is.’

  ‘Whenever an image is printed the wrong way around, either upside down or back to front, we call it an Inverted Jenny. It comes from a famous misprint of an American stamp that had an upside down airplane on it. A Curtiss JN-4, which was apparently known as a “Jenny”. ’

  A welter of images flew at Elizabeth in her library.

  ‘The edition you have there had some plates reversed when it was printed,’ Julie continued. ‘They fixed it for the later editions, of course.’

  Elizabeth wasn’t listening. The corkboard. The photos. The lines of red wool. She had blundered around for months trying to figure out what had happened at Juluwik, when part of her mind had known all along.

  Oh. My. Gods. How could she not have seen it before? It was like something from the early days of cowboy archaeology! Forget Carl moving some skeletons from one site to another, how could anyone be so brazen?

  She had to get out of here so she could think properly. ‘Sorry Julie, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I really need a coffee.’

  ‘All right, see you in a while.’

  Elizabeth tried to keep the door to her phrenic library closed as she hurried outside. Standing by the lake, checking no-one was nearby, she closed her eyes and let the images flow through her mind. How could she have been so dull-witted? Not only had she been wrong about Sam, she had been wrong about him! Was she such a poor judge of character?

  Her library hadn’t become a psychotherapist’s couch at all; the corkboard of images wasn’t some kind of emotional collage, they were clues. Good, old fashioned clues!

  The Body in the Library didn’t represent Dad, it signified the bait-and-switch device Agatha Christie used in that novel.

  The photo of the birthday cake with four candles didn’t symbolise Matty, it was simpler than that. It just meant four years.

  And the book on Mesoamerican writing was actually a book on Mesoamerican writing. She had leafed through it in her first year at university. It was linked to, not a little upside-down female donkey wearing a straw hat, but an inverted jenny. Elizabeth, Elizabeth, how could you have missed it?

  The raven on Seth’s shoulder belonged to Edgar Allan Poe, from Grandmère’s mysteries. It was Quoth, landing on the skull of an orang-utan, signifying The Murders in the Rue Morgue.

  And, of course! The syllabus for Archaeology 101 wasn’t about Luke. It was her first year syllabus, which included Piltdown Man, which was part orang-utan…and a famous hoax!

  Elizabeth reviewed her blundering investigation throughout the year – gods, had she messed up! But she had it now, she was sure: she had figured out the perpetrator of the hoax – and it was a hoax – and their motive, means and opportunity.

  But this time she had to be absolutely certain.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It took her more than a fortnight, but eventually Elizabeth nailed down every last detail.

  She went through the online catalogue of the university library and found several editions of the same book. She ordered every copy the library held, then made a late-night dash to collect them, hoping to avoid bumping into anyone she knew. Later that night, as she scoured the pages and borrowing records, her triumphant yell startled Thoth into falling off the bed.

  In her phrenic library, Elizabeth reviewed every photo from the Juluwik site files, paying close attention to the tool marks on the cave wall. She researched everything she could on rock carving, and crosschecked it against the type of rock found in the cave.

  She pieced her hypothesis together and ran through the assumptions again and again, trying to disprove it.

  She walked through her train of logic with Taid.

  She checked everything with Henry.

  Finally, she had it. Now, what could she do about it?

  — — —

  Grandmère, Taid and Elizabeth gathered around the coffee table in Grandmère and Taid’s suite. Grandmère poured them each a cup of richly aromatic Maxim’s Rue Royale.

  ‘Are you sure this time, cariad?’

  ‘Yes, Taid. It’s too fantastic to be a coincidence. It explains everything.’

  ‘All right then, how do you prove it?’

  ‘That’s where I’m stuck.’

  ‘If this were Miss Marple,’ Grandmère said, flicking a drop of tea from her lustrous black satin nightgown, ‘she would simply gather everyone in the drawing room, then point the accusing finger.’

  ‘I know, Grandmère, but real life’s not like that. I need to get Carl and Juan into a situation where I can confront them, with an important person in the room as a witness.’

  ‘I can’t help you with Juan,’ Taid said, ‘but I have a good idea as to how you can set up a meeting with Carl and
an important person.’

  ‘Who? How?’

  ‘Would the head of the archaeology department be important enough?’

  ‘Of course! But…Oh.’

  ‘Indeed. You need to take up Dr Williams’ offer of a debrief after your interview. Carl was on the panel, and trust me, if he’s in the country, he will be there.’

  Elizabeth flushed with excitement. ‘And, I think I know how to get Juan there, too!’

  But she would need Henry’s assistance, and possibly Nathan’s. Would they agree to help her?

  — — —

  Elizabeth sat nervously in the office of the head of the Department of Archaeology. Would it work?

  ‘I’m glad you’ve decided to come in for a debriefing after your interview,’ Dr Williams said. ‘My apologies that Dr Marsh can’t be here. She’s on holidays at the moment. But…’

  Dr Williams’ door opened to reveal a very confident Carl. He swaggered in and took a seat opposite Elizabeth, fiddling with the levers of his chair until he sat above her, looking down.

  Elizabeth held his gaze and smiled broadly. Carl’s look of self-assurance slipped slightly.

  ‘Ah. Here we are. Thank you for joining us, Dr Schmidt,’ Dr Williams said. ‘I was just explaining to Elizabeth that we are happy to give her pointers for her next interview, and to answer any questions she might have.’

  ‘Of course,’ Carl responded, glaring at Elizabeth.

  ‘That’s kind of you, Dr Williams,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Thank you. And I know it won’t make any difference to the outcome, but I’d like to explain why I performed so poorly in the interview.’

  ‘Perhaps you misunderstood?’ Dr Williams said. ‘We rated you as suitable, it’s just that there were more people ranked above you than positions available. Dr Marsh said she would be happy to give you a position if one becomes available.’

  That was unexpected. ‘I didn’t realise.’ Now, now, stay focused on why you’re here.

  ‘You thought you did poorly?’

  ‘Yes. I was distracted.’

  Dr Williams gave her a direct look, somewhat like Taid’s when he wanted the truth.