among many." I reached for my cigarettes and tapped another from the pack. "So," I said dryly, "you've found what you came to find. You know why I left. What now?"
I looked at Diane. Her arms were clutching her knees and she was rocking back and forth just a little. I regretted my words, I regretted my tone. "Come on," I said softly. "It's all ancient history." I reached out and touched her shoulder, feeling awkward and foolish. She did not react. I wanted her to give me a sign that things were all right between us, but she kept her hands locked around her knees and she did not look at me. "Don't cry over what's long past."
"Can I stay for a while?" she asked.
I shrugged. "I don't know what's here for you."
"Neither do I."
I realized I was still holding the unlit cigarette, and I slipped it into my shirt pocket. "Fine. Stay if you like."
In the distance, I heard the sound of the truck horn. "That's the dinner bell," I said. "Let's go back."
We followed the same path the merchant had taken down the steps and into the light of the setting sun.
Chapter Four: Diane
D inner was served at a folding table set up in the open area in the center of the cluster of huts. The chairs were metal folding chairs. They looked as if they had traveled too far in the back of a pickup truck, sat in the sun and the rain too long, and generally lived a life unsuited to metal folding chairs. Once these chairs had been painted a uniform gray; now they were marked with rust and dents.
Tony introduced me to the other people at the dinner table. These people, like the chairs in which they lounged, had been exposed to the weather too long. Dirt, broken fingernails, sunburned and peeling faces, chapped lips, and under all that, a lean look, a kind of toughness. The men bore the stubbly beginnings of beards.
Carlos, a tanned Mexican in his late twenties, showed too many teeth when he smiled; he had the look of a friendly barracuda. He wore a tank top and shorts that showed off a deep tan.
John, a Canadian with broad shoulders and what looked to be a habitual slouch, mumbled "Pleased to meet you" and barely smiled at all. He wore a baseball cap pushed back on his head, a kerchief tied around his neck, a long-sleeved shirt, and long pants. He seemed to be fighting a losing battle with the sun. His nose was peeling.
Maggie, a blonde with a corn-fed American face, gave me a broad and meaningless smile. She reminded me of all the girls on the cheerleading squad in my high school. Robin, the woman beside Maggie, had hair a shade darker, a smile a shade less bright. Robin seemed born to be a sidekick.
Barbara was the only one to reach out and shake my hand. She was tanned and slender. Her dark hair was cropped boyishly short, and her face was dwarfed by her sunglasses, two great circles of dark glass framed with metal.
"Welcome to camp," Carlos said. He showed me his teeth again. Definitely a predator. "How long are you staying?"
"For a while," I said awkwardly. Hard to admit that I had no idea. A moment of silence as they waited for me to speak cheerful explanations of who I was and why I was there. "I'm on vacation and I wanted to see what a dig was like." My voice was a little hoarse.
"Great place to vacation if you like dirt and bugs," Carlos said. "Have you toured the site?"
"Some of it." I looked to my mother for assistance.
"Have you been down to the cenote?" he asked.
"That's the well. A natural pool formed by a break in the limestone," my mother said. "You haven't seen it yet."
"We use it as a swimming hole," Carlos said cheerfully. "I was just telling Robin about the bones that the Tulane group found at the bottom. Nubile young maidens, cast to their deaths to placate the Chaacob."
"Just what I like to talk about over dinner," Maggie said. "Human sacrifice."
"There was actually more of that sort of thing over at Chichén Itzá than there was here," commented John. He glanced at me. "Have you been to Chichén Itzá? The water level
I looked at Diane. Her arms were clutching her knees and she was rocking back and forth just a little. I regretted my words, I regretted my tone. "Come on," I said softly. "It's all ancient history." I reached out and touched her shoulder, feeling awkward and foolish. She did not react. I wanted her to give me a sign that things were all right between us, but she kept her hands locked around her knees and she did not look at me. "Don't cry over what's long past."
"Can I stay for a while?" she asked.
I shrugged. "I don't know what's here for you."
"Neither do I."
I realized I was still holding the unlit cigarette, and I slipped it into my shirt pocket. "Fine. Stay if you like."
In the distance, I heard the sound of the truck horn. "That's the dinner bell," I said. "Let's go back."
We followed the same path the merchant had taken down the steps and into the light of the setting sun.
Chapter Four: Diane
D inner was served at a folding table set up in the open area in the center of the cluster of huts. The chairs were metal folding chairs. They looked as if they had traveled too far in the back of a pickup truck, sat in the sun and the rain too long, and generally lived a life unsuited to metal folding chairs. Once these chairs had been painted a uniform gray; now they were marked with rust and dents.
Tony introduced me to the other people at the dinner table. These people, like the chairs in which they lounged, had been exposed to the weather too long. Dirt, broken fingernails, sunburned and peeling faces, chapped lips, and under all that, a lean look, a kind of toughness. The men bore the stubbly beginnings of beards.
Carlos, a tanned Mexican in his late twenties, showed too many teeth when he smiled; he had the look of a friendly barracuda. He wore a tank top and shorts that showed off a deep tan.
John, a Canadian with broad shoulders and what looked to be a habitual slouch, mumbled "Pleased to meet you" and barely smiled at all. He wore a baseball cap pushed back on his head, a kerchief tied around his neck, a long-sleeved shirt, and long pants. He seemed to be fighting a losing battle with the sun. His nose was peeling.
Maggie, a blonde with a corn-fed American face, gave me a broad and meaningless smile. She reminded me of all the girls on the cheerleading squad in my high school. Robin, the woman beside Maggie, had hair a shade darker, a smile a shade less bright. Robin seemed born to be a sidekick.
Barbara was the only one to reach out and shake my hand. She was tanned and slender. Her dark hair was cropped boyishly short, and her face was dwarfed by her sunglasses, two great circles of dark glass framed with metal.
"Welcome to camp," Carlos said. He showed me his teeth again. Definitely a predator. "How long are you staying?"
"For a while," I said awkwardly. Hard to admit that I had no idea. A moment of silence as they waited for me to speak cheerful explanations of who I was and why I was there. "I'm on vacation and I wanted to see what a dig was like." My voice was a little hoarse.
"Great place to vacation if you like dirt and bugs," Carlos said. "Have you toured the site?"
"Some of it." I looked to my mother for assistance.
"Have you been down to the cenote?" he asked.
"That's the well. A natural pool formed by a break in the limestone," my mother said. "You haven't seen it yet."
"We use it as a swimming hole," Carlos said cheerfully. "I was just telling Robin about the bones that the Tulane group found at the bottom. Nubile young maidens, cast to their deaths to placate the Chaacob."
"Just what I like to talk about over dinner," Maggie said. "Human sacrifice."
"There was actually more of that sort of thing over at Chichén Itzá than there was here," commented John. He glanced at me. "Have you been to Chichén Itzá? The water level
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