origins, societies, and cultures. Most of my time is spent teaching
ancient history: Mayan, Inca, Roman, Egyptian, civilizations that thrived for
hundreds or thousands of years.” He frowns, seemingly bored.
Not me, I
studied art history in university, even spent an entire semester addicted to
Egyptian pottery.
“Have you
published any articles or books I might’ve read?”
He shrugs.
“I mostly speak at conferences, schools.”
He looks
too young to have such experience.
“Do you
get to go on archaeological digs?” Bryce doesn’t strike me as someone who likes
to get dirty . . . in the dirt.
The right
side of his mouth twitches. “Every once in a while one of the archaeologists or
geologists I work with calls me to a site.” He reaches behind me, his scent,
soap mixed with vanilla and apples, engulfs me as he pulls something from a
shelf. “ Gotta love the dig,” he says. Cradled in his
hand is a tiny porcelain dish encased in plexiglass .
The dish is covered in symbols of various shapes and sizes, all encircling a
naked woman standing waist high in water, holding a tree branch above her head.
My breath blooms over the plastic box as I investigate the etching too
intricate for tools of this century, let alone one past.
I take a
stab at dating the piece. “The Minoan civilization, sixteen-hundred BC?”
“Add a
thousand years. Early eighteenth century. A rare find.” He points to the center
of the plate. “The woman is Xi Wang Mu, known as the goddess of immortality.
Here, she’s following the other gods of life across the sea, away from her
former Palace of Immortality, which has been swallowed by angry waves. Her
chief duty is to tend to this peach tree, the tree that bestows eternal life to
anyone who eats the fruit.” He returns the priceless plate to its haven on the
shelf and turns to me, now brimming with excitement. He’s young, my age I’d
guess, and articulate, speaking with a maturity beyond his years. His knowledge
is mesmerizing.
“Truth be
told, my specialty is prehistory, cultures that existed prior to written
language. I’m especially close to Lemurian culture.”
This
sounds familiar, the concept floating close to acknowledgement, but still out
of reach.
“ Lemurians . . . I’ve read about them before.
They’re more myth than fact, right?”
“Depends
who you ask,” he says, not bothered by my skepticism. “Unlike the Atlanteans , who were obliterated before sunrise, Lemurians struggled to survive the catastrophic remains of
comet bombardment for thousands of years, until they were eventually overtaken
by tsunamis.”
“ Atlantean , as in Atlantis?”
“Atlantis
was a fantastical place, brimming with scores of people. The sun shone for all
but a few hours of the day, bringing life to boundless acres of garden. The
land, laced with volcanic soil and fed by an immense irrigation system of fresh
mountain water, offered feasts of fruit, flowers, vegetables, and herbs. The
markets were busy day and night with trade beyond wonder, and the evenings
filled with song, laughter, and dance. Oh, the dancing,” he says, sighing. “The
imperial palace was a magnificent mega of early Etruscan architecture, and clad
with silver and copper, it radiated warmth that could be felt for miles. One
could spend countless days exploring the city’s streets, the gardens, the
temples, the shrines, and the royal residences that encircled the heart of the
city. From atop a bridge you could look upon a canal bustling with import or
take in the glory of one of four grandiose harbors. And that,” he says with an
awe-inspiring smile, “was just the place. The people, ah, the people were
something to behold.”
His
account, so vivid, takes my breath away. I tingle from the inside out and feel
like I’ve magically returned from a stroll down the stone-lined streets of the
majestic city only seconds ago.
“You are a
fabulous storyteller,” I say, truly impressed.
“I get
carried away
ancient history: Mayan, Inca, Roman, Egyptian, civilizations that thrived for
hundreds or thousands of years.” He frowns, seemingly bored.
Not me, I
studied art history in university, even spent an entire semester addicted to
Egyptian pottery.
“Have you
published any articles or books I might’ve read?”
He shrugs.
“I mostly speak at conferences, schools.”
He looks
too young to have such experience.
“Do you
get to go on archaeological digs?” Bryce doesn’t strike me as someone who likes
to get dirty . . . in the dirt.
The right
side of his mouth twitches. “Every once in a while one of the archaeologists or
geologists I work with calls me to a site.” He reaches behind me, his scent,
soap mixed with vanilla and apples, engulfs me as he pulls something from a
shelf. “ Gotta love the dig,” he says. Cradled in his
hand is a tiny porcelain dish encased in plexiglass .
The dish is covered in symbols of various shapes and sizes, all encircling a
naked woman standing waist high in water, holding a tree branch above her head.
My breath blooms over the plastic box as I investigate the etching too
intricate for tools of this century, let alone one past.
I take a
stab at dating the piece. “The Minoan civilization, sixteen-hundred BC?”
“Add a
thousand years. Early eighteenth century. A rare find.” He points to the center
of the plate. “The woman is Xi Wang Mu, known as the goddess of immortality.
Here, she’s following the other gods of life across the sea, away from her
former Palace of Immortality, which has been swallowed by angry waves. Her
chief duty is to tend to this peach tree, the tree that bestows eternal life to
anyone who eats the fruit.” He returns the priceless plate to its haven on the
shelf and turns to me, now brimming with excitement. He’s young, my age I’d
guess, and articulate, speaking with a maturity beyond his years. His knowledge
is mesmerizing.
“Truth be
told, my specialty is prehistory, cultures that existed prior to written
language. I’m especially close to Lemurian culture.”
This
sounds familiar, the concept floating close to acknowledgement, but still out
of reach.
“ Lemurians . . . I’ve read about them before.
They’re more myth than fact, right?”
“Depends
who you ask,” he says, not bothered by my skepticism. “Unlike the Atlanteans , who were obliterated before sunrise, Lemurians struggled to survive the catastrophic remains of
comet bombardment for thousands of years, until they were eventually overtaken
by tsunamis.”
“ Atlantean , as in Atlantis?”
“Atlantis
was a fantastical place, brimming with scores of people. The sun shone for all
but a few hours of the day, bringing life to boundless acres of garden. The
land, laced with volcanic soil and fed by an immense irrigation system of fresh
mountain water, offered feasts of fruit, flowers, vegetables, and herbs. The
markets were busy day and night with trade beyond wonder, and the evenings
filled with song, laughter, and dance. Oh, the dancing,” he says, sighing. “The
imperial palace was a magnificent mega of early Etruscan architecture, and clad
with silver and copper, it radiated warmth that could be felt for miles. One
could spend countless days exploring the city’s streets, the gardens, the
temples, the shrines, and the royal residences that encircled the heart of the
city. From atop a bridge you could look upon a canal bustling with import or
take in the glory of one of four grandiose harbors. And that,” he says with an
awe-inspiring smile, “was just the place. The people, ah, the people were
something to behold.”
His
account, so vivid, takes my breath away. I tingle from the inside out and feel
like I’ve magically returned from a stroll down the stone-lined streets of the
majestic city only seconds ago.
“You are a
fabulous storyteller,” I say, truly impressed.
“I get
carried away
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