back at the welcome center, and now she’d just like to be left alone to oversee the unloading.
“I promise, Dr. Silvey, Bill and Andrew here know what they’re doing. They’ve unpacked fossils before.”
“They’ve never unpacked my fossils before.”
One of the men, skinny, muscular, in a gray Atlanta Braves sweatshirt and a red baseball cap turned around backwards, sets down a crate marked THIS SIDE UP and MORRIS FISH ; he smiles for Chance and nods his head reassuringly.
“No, ma’am. But last summer, I worked for the High Museum and helped unload a whole shipment of those fancy Fabergé eggs. And I expect they’re a whole lot more fragile than your fossils here.”
Chance stares at him, offended, and, “No,” she replies. “Not necessarily.”
“They can handle it, Chance.” Alice says, “C’mon, let’s go see some dinos,” and she takes Chance’s arm and leads her into the building.
The museum was designed around a great central atrium capped with a vaulted dome of steel and glass, whitewashed beams to form the formerets and tiercerons, the transverse arches and diagonal buttresses. An industrial cathedral of welds and bolts instead of keystones and mortar, and the October afternoon sunlight floods into the atrium, warm and clean, illuminating the Cretaceous giants below. Chance stands with Alice on one of the balconies, staring in wonder at the skeletons, her fossils and the two workmen momentarily forgotten, even the weird shit at the rest stop forgotten for now.
“They’re not the real skeletons, of course,” Irene says apologetically. “They’re only fiberglass and resin casts. The real bones are still in Argentina.”
“Of course,” Chance says, and she takes a step closer to the edge of the balcony. Below, the skeleton of an impossibly immense titanosaurid sauropod, Argentinosaurus, is pursued by the skeleton of a hungry Giganotosaurus . The sauropod is one hundred and twenty-six feet long from its small head to the end of its whiplash tail, too enormous to have ever been real, a creature to put all other dragons to shame. Its pursuer, larger even than Tyrannosaurus rex, seems puny by comparison. The air around and above the dinosaurs is filled with the delicate skeletons of flying reptiles suspended on not-quite invisible wires, a whole flock of Pterodaustro, their peculiar flamingo-like jaws lined with bristles for filter feeding, and a couple of the much larger Anhanguera like something a desperate, escaping vampire might become. A moment forever lost in time, some South American floodplain or tropical forest more than ninety million years ago, and these giants striding beneath the light of a younger sun, the earth literally shaking beneath their feet.
“It’s beautiful,” Chance says.
Irene makes a satisfied sound deep in her throat, and “Yes,” she says. “We’re very proud of it, Dr. Silvey.”
“Please, just Chance. Only my students call me Dr. Silvey.”
“That’s an unusual name.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” Chance says, and she leans a little way out over the railing, letting the yellow-white sun bathe her face. “I wish I’d brought my camera.”
“Too bad we don’t have anything like this in Birmingham,” Alice says and puts one hand on Chance’s back, twining thick fingers protectively around the straps of her overalls.
“I’m fine,” Chance mumbles. “I’m not going to fall,” but Alice holds on anyway.
“Whatever became of the Red Mountain Museum?” Irene asks. “They had that wonderful mosasaur skeleton.”
Alice frowns and shakes her head. “The city decided it would rather have a science center for the kiddies than a real museum. They closed Red Mountain down back in ’94. Now that wonderful mosasaur’s sitting in a crate in the attic of the kiddy place.”
“Oh,” the collections manager says. “Well, that’s a shame.”
“Yeah, it is,” Chance whispers, still warming her face and staring
“I promise, Dr. Silvey, Bill and Andrew here know what they’re doing. They’ve unpacked fossils before.”
“They’ve never unpacked my fossils before.”
One of the men, skinny, muscular, in a gray Atlanta Braves sweatshirt and a red baseball cap turned around backwards, sets down a crate marked THIS SIDE UP and MORRIS FISH ; he smiles for Chance and nods his head reassuringly.
“No, ma’am. But last summer, I worked for the High Museum and helped unload a whole shipment of those fancy Fabergé eggs. And I expect they’re a whole lot more fragile than your fossils here.”
Chance stares at him, offended, and, “No,” she replies. “Not necessarily.”
“They can handle it, Chance.” Alice says, “C’mon, let’s go see some dinos,” and she takes Chance’s arm and leads her into the building.
The museum was designed around a great central atrium capped with a vaulted dome of steel and glass, whitewashed beams to form the formerets and tiercerons, the transverse arches and diagonal buttresses. An industrial cathedral of welds and bolts instead of keystones and mortar, and the October afternoon sunlight floods into the atrium, warm and clean, illuminating the Cretaceous giants below. Chance stands with Alice on one of the balconies, staring in wonder at the skeletons, her fossils and the two workmen momentarily forgotten, even the weird shit at the rest stop forgotten for now.
“They’re not the real skeletons, of course,” Irene says apologetically. “They’re only fiberglass and resin casts. The real bones are still in Argentina.”
“Of course,” Chance says, and she takes a step closer to the edge of the balcony. Below, the skeleton of an impossibly immense titanosaurid sauropod, Argentinosaurus, is pursued by the skeleton of a hungry Giganotosaurus . The sauropod is one hundred and twenty-six feet long from its small head to the end of its whiplash tail, too enormous to have ever been real, a creature to put all other dragons to shame. Its pursuer, larger even than Tyrannosaurus rex, seems puny by comparison. The air around and above the dinosaurs is filled with the delicate skeletons of flying reptiles suspended on not-quite invisible wires, a whole flock of Pterodaustro, their peculiar flamingo-like jaws lined with bristles for filter feeding, and a couple of the much larger Anhanguera like something a desperate, escaping vampire might become. A moment forever lost in time, some South American floodplain or tropical forest more than ninety million years ago, and these giants striding beneath the light of a younger sun, the earth literally shaking beneath their feet.
“It’s beautiful,” Chance says.
Irene makes a satisfied sound deep in her throat, and “Yes,” she says. “We’re very proud of it, Dr. Silvey.”
“Please, just Chance. Only my students call me Dr. Silvey.”
“That’s an unusual name.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” Chance says, and she leans a little way out over the railing, letting the yellow-white sun bathe her face. “I wish I’d brought my camera.”
“Too bad we don’t have anything like this in Birmingham,” Alice says and puts one hand on Chance’s back, twining thick fingers protectively around the straps of her overalls.
“I’m fine,” Chance mumbles. “I’m not going to fall,” but Alice holds on anyway.
“Whatever became of the Red Mountain Museum?” Irene asks. “They had that wonderful mosasaur skeleton.”
Alice frowns and shakes her head. “The city decided it would rather have a science center for the kiddies than a real museum. They closed Red Mountain down back in ’94. Now that wonderful mosasaur’s sitting in a crate in the attic of the kiddy place.”
“Oh,” the collections manager says. “Well, that’s a shame.”
“Yeah, it is,” Chance whispers, still warming her face and staring
Similar Books
