Caine said looking briefly towards her, then glancing back at the devil mask.
“ It’s reminiscent of some primitive cultures in Africa and New Guinea.”
“ You know a lot about devils,” Caine toyed.
” It depends on who they are.”
He looked playfully into her eyes and moved around the display case to be next to her. “And what about this one?” he asked. Her perfume now aroused his senses.
“ This one?” She glanced at an intricate carving of an old man sitting on a tree stump smoking a pipe.
“ It doesn’t look like a devil at all.” He peered intently at the light brown wooden figure, intrigued by his own question.
“ Devils take on all kinds of disguises,” she explained. “Often human beings. Otherwise, we’d avoid them, wouldn’t we?”
Several passing guests lingered at the display to catch some of the woman’s explanation about its unusual exponents. Caine periodically darted his eyes towards the guests for a possible glimpse of Victor Sherwyck.
“ For all the detail and intricacies of this carving, you’ll notice that this kindly old gentleman has no nostrils, even though he’s smoking a pipe.”
Some of the guests moved closer.
“ People familiar with the folklore recognize that right away,” she said.
“ I’m sure they do,” Caine replied as he studied other details of the statue. “I see that his feet take on animal form just as they disappear into his shoes.”
“ Yes. The kindly old gentleman has cloven hooves.”
A lady onlooker curiously looked down at her husband’s feet in champagne induced humor that brought polite laughter from those around her.
“ Reminds me of ‘Old Scratch’ where I come from,” Caine said. “We don’t hear much about him anymore.”
“ Nowadays it’s more like grotesque science fiction monsters, aliens,” Laura emphasized, as much to Caine as to the several guests eyeing the display. “But folklore is still very much alive in Europe— particularly Eastern Europe. This exhibit is just a small part of an entire museum in the city of Kaunas in Lithuania,” Laura Mitchell continued, reverting to her role as docent of the display. “It’s devoted entirely to devils from folklore.”
“ I think we’ve outgrown a lot of folklore here,” Caine responded.
“ It seems we have,” she agreed. “And left behind some inherent wisdom with it.”
A thoughtful moment ensued in which the assistant curator noticed them looking at each other expectantly, while some passersby drifted to other exhibits in the vast hall.
“ All right, then,” Alvin Carruthers intoned. He motioned to a passing server and scooped two more champagne glasses from his tray. He handed them to his friends who gave him their empty ones and turned to take one himself when the server lost his grip. A tray full of glasses clattered to the floor at their feet. There was a momentary hush around them as other guests stared at the result of the commotion. The server, a sullen looking dark ‐ skinned man, muttered something to himself and walked away.
“ Are you skimping on professional help for these fancy affairs, Al?” the Colonel asked, remembering a similar sullen man at the entrance. “Here!” He handed back the glass Carruthers had just given him. “You could use this right now more than I can.”
Carruthers took a swift gulp. “We don’t skimp, Chris. It’s in their contract. The Union has insisted for years that their members be involved in all phases of maintenance and service around the buildings. It’s like a little empire.”
The assistant curator looked around the hall for another attendant. None was in the immediate vicinity.
“ I’d love to get some real professionals to cater these events, but the Union keeps harping that we’re taking work away from their people. And the Smithsonian Board doesn’t like controversy. So we take the path of
“ It’s reminiscent of some primitive cultures in Africa and New Guinea.”
“ You know a lot about devils,” Caine toyed.
” It depends on who they are.”
He looked playfully into her eyes and moved around the display case to be next to her. “And what about this one?” he asked. Her perfume now aroused his senses.
“ This one?” She glanced at an intricate carving of an old man sitting on a tree stump smoking a pipe.
“ It doesn’t look like a devil at all.” He peered intently at the light brown wooden figure, intrigued by his own question.
“ Devils take on all kinds of disguises,” she explained. “Often human beings. Otherwise, we’d avoid them, wouldn’t we?”
Several passing guests lingered at the display to catch some of the woman’s explanation about its unusual exponents. Caine periodically darted his eyes towards the guests for a possible glimpse of Victor Sherwyck.
“ For all the detail and intricacies of this carving, you’ll notice that this kindly old gentleman has no nostrils, even though he’s smoking a pipe.”
Some of the guests moved closer.
“ People familiar with the folklore recognize that right away,” she said.
“ I’m sure they do,” Caine replied as he studied other details of the statue. “I see that his feet take on animal form just as they disappear into his shoes.”
“ Yes. The kindly old gentleman has cloven hooves.”
A lady onlooker curiously looked down at her husband’s feet in champagne induced humor that brought polite laughter from those around her.
“ Reminds me of ‘Old Scratch’ where I come from,” Caine said. “We don’t hear much about him anymore.”
“ Nowadays it’s more like grotesque science fiction monsters, aliens,” Laura emphasized, as much to Caine as to the several guests eyeing the display. “But folklore is still very much alive in Europe— particularly Eastern Europe. This exhibit is just a small part of an entire museum in the city of Kaunas in Lithuania,” Laura Mitchell continued, reverting to her role as docent of the display. “It’s devoted entirely to devils from folklore.”
“ I think we’ve outgrown a lot of folklore here,” Caine responded.
“ It seems we have,” she agreed. “And left behind some inherent wisdom with it.”
A thoughtful moment ensued in which the assistant curator noticed them looking at each other expectantly, while some passersby drifted to other exhibits in the vast hall.
“ All right, then,” Alvin Carruthers intoned. He motioned to a passing server and scooped two more champagne glasses from his tray. He handed them to his friends who gave him their empty ones and turned to take one himself when the server lost his grip. A tray full of glasses clattered to the floor at their feet. There was a momentary hush around them as other guests stared at the result of the commotion. The server, a sullen looking dark ‐ skinned man, muttered something to himself and walked away.
“ Are you skimping on professional help for these fancy affairs, Al?” the Colonel asked, remembering a similar sullen man at the entrance. “Here!” He handed back the glass Carruthers had just given him. “You could use this right now more than I can.”
Carruthers took a swift gulp. “We don’t skimp, Chris. It’s in their contract. The Union has insisted for years that their members be involved in all phases of maintenance and service around the buildings. It’s like a little empire.”
The assistant curator looked around the hall for another attendant. None was in the immediate vicinity.
“ I’d love to get some real professionals to cater these events, but the Union keeps harping that we’re taking work away from their people. And the Smithsonian Board doesn’t like controversy. So we take the path of
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