Reading the Bones. Gina McMurchy-BarberЧитать онлайн книгу.
that’s just because you don’t know him. Why don’t I tell you a bit about our friend here?” Aunt Margaret’s pinched face didn’t relax, and Eddy must have sensed she had a lot of convincing to do. She bent over and gently picked up some of the bone fragments.
“You see, an archaeologist reads bones like someone else might read the pages of a book. They tell us quite general things about the individual, like gender and height. But often there are other details etched into the bones like a primitive code that can tell us more intimate things — perhaps about a person’s childhood, whether he had enough to eat, or what caused his death. It’s a bit like being a detective who finds it’s the tiniest details that can tell the most.”
Some of the bones Eddy held were the size of a Tootsie Roll. But one was a sickly boomerang shape. “You see here? These phalanges or finger bones show a terrible case of arthritis. It must have made doing handiwork difficult. And the vertebrae in this spine are fused into a single carious bone, so it must have been pretty tough walking with a crooked old back like this.” Eddy smiled at me and placed the curved spine in my hand. It was so fragile that dry fragments fell off and settled in the crease of my hand like crumbs of toast.
“We know that everyone was needed to contribute to the survival of the whole village, and for this poor soul, carving or basketry would have been difficult. But this burin here tells us that somehow he did it. The arthritis also strongly suggests this was an individual who lived a long life. Maybe he was an elder, a keeper of clan stories, perhaps a grandparent like me. And while he struggled to do his share of the work, all along he was probably in pain.”
As the gnarled backbone rested in my hand, images flashed through my mind of an elderly man struggling along the sandy shores or down rooted forest trails.
“I know there are many differences between us and these ancient people,” Eddy continued, “but I’m pretty sure we have a lot in common, too. They must have laughed at silly things, cried when someone they loved died, squabbled occasionally. But even during the tough times, every member of the village had an important job to perform, whether it was bringing in the fish, making baskets, or preserving food for the winter. So there wasn’t much time for feeling sorry for yourself.” Eddy took the fragile bones and put them back in the pit ever so gently as though trying not to cause them any further suffering. “And like everyone else, this poor dear had his place in the clan and his job to do.”
“Hmm, that’s very interesting, Dr. McKay,” Aunt Margaret said without a hint of sympathy. “But it doesn’tchange the way I feel. I’ll sleep better at night when it’s out of my yard.”
Blink! Her words had the same effect as a sudden power failure.
That evening I tried to call Mom on the phone to tell her about the excavation. I was desperate to talk to someone who cared about what I was learning. But her voice sounded tired, and she asked me to call back the next day. It wasn’t like her to hang up without some kind of encouraging word.
After that I hid in my room. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to Aunt Margaret complain about the mess in the yard, so I decided to organize my shell collection. At first I arranged them on my bed from largest to smallest, then reordered them into shell families. When that didn’t seem right, I placed them in groups according to shapes. The tusk shells were the only long, thin shells in my collection. As I held them in my hand, I was reminded of the burial in the backyard. Eddy had talked about those old fragmented bones as if the man they had belonged to was someone deserving of respect. Then I recalled the stone tool. Eddy had called it a burin and had said it was used for carving. To her it was another clue, something to help her understand a prehistoric old man whose hands didn’t work the way they used to.
I sat on the edge of the bed and closed my eyes. There, in the darkness of my mind, I began to see him. He had long grey hair that cascaded past his shoulders and down his bent old spine.
Far beyond the village the sun rests for a few moments on the mountaintops just before it slips behind them and into the sea. The people are getting ready for sleep inside the dark clan house. Many small pit fires burn low, and embers give off warmth and light. Some of the elders are already asleep on their cedar-bough beds. A few of the women rock and feed babies, while their men talk in hushed voices, clouds of smoke rising from their pipes.
The old man lies as comfortably as possible, propped slightly upon the bearskin rug at one end of the clan house. The children around him sit motionless, attention fixed the way the white-headed eagle watches for dinner.
“So Dark Sky wandered far and wide each night, searching for his courage.” Shuksi’em speaks slowly, his deep voice rising and falling ever so slightly like the gentlest waves on a beach. “And every morning he returned to his village disappointed that he had failed to find it. We know he still searches to this day because every morning we wake to find the grass drenched in his tears.”
The children gaze at Shuksi’em’s wise old face ... knowing ... waiting ... for the story’s life lesson. They have heard it many times already in their young lives, but each time is like the first, and they wait to gobble every word like baby birds swallowing worms from their mother’s beak.
“It took great courage for the boy to wander alone in the woods each night, yet he thought he had failed in his mission. Someday you, too, will wander alone, struggling in the darkness, searching for the strength to face life’s challenges. And when you do, remember to have faith in yourself. The courage you need is within you, waiting to guide you into the light.”
Shuksi’em smiles, his eyes dancing with firelight. Slowly, he turns away to flatten his bed and lays his head down for sleep. One by one the children quietly creep off to their own beds somewhere close to a mother or father.
Feeling joy bubble up inside him, Shuksi’em smiles again. He enjoys his time with the children. They are filled with the promises of new life and none of the sorrows. Suddenly, a large, warm body pushes against his bent spine. It is a familiar shape that wraps around him like a shell to its clam.
“It seems like your stories grow longer every time you tell them, old man,” Talusip says to her husband. “You should not forget that some of us need our sleep more than you.”
“I, too, would like more sleep, but the damp mist of the night sneaks into my back and hands leaving me stiff with pain” Then Shuksi’em feels his wife’s strong fingers gently pound and rub his crooked old spine until he finally drifts into a dream.
In the dream Shuksi’em returns from sea after many days. He is tired and ashamed that he has no catch of fish for his hungry clan. As he rounds the small finger of land only a short distance from his home, he suddenly thinks he has come to the wrong place — for the land is bare. He searches for a familiar sign, but even the clan house is gone. His heart thumps harder, faster. He is so weak now that he can hardly paddle his canoe. With no fish in the ocean to eat and no forest to provide food and shelter, how will his people survive? As Shuksi’em pulls his boat onto the shore, he feels himself dissolve into the sand.
When Shuksi’em awakes, the frightening images are still in his mind. But around him are the gentle sounds of the sleeping clan. And Talusip’s body heat still seeps into his own. He is relieved that all is as it should be. As his fear slips away, his heart begins to settle and the rhythms of the night lull him back to sleep.
CHAPTER 4
It was almost nine o’clock when I crawled out of bed the next morning, but I felt as if I hadn’t slept for more than a couple of hours. Slowly, I made my way downstairs, rubbing sleep from my eyes. I stopped midway when I heard a strange voice coming from the kitchen.
“It’s too bad I didn’t know about your plans for the backyard. I would have told you what could happen when you start digging in this town.”
“It’s been a terrible shock to my system, not to mention a real hassle,” Aunt Margaret said. “I’ve spent