Reading the Bones (15 page)

“I can't believe we're talking about the same Mr. Grimbal,” I said. “What made him change?”

“Lily and Walter had a son, Thomas. He was born with Down's syndrome. The kid was sweet, but because of his mental disability he was never able to look after himself. Lily usually doted on him. But one day she left him briefly to make a trip to the gift store — by this time he was well into his twenties. I guess he decided to go to the beach. He'd never learned to swim, but he always loved the water. By the time she and Walter found his things on the shore, it was too late. The boy's body was found two days later, washed up on the mud flats of Point Roberts ...” Eddy's voice trailed off.

“That's really sad,” I said. “So you're saying that's what made him change?”

“No. It was what made Lily change. She became distant from everyone and just seemed to drop out of life. She wasn't interested in anything — not in the museum
or the store, not even in her husband. One day Walter came home to find her body slumped by the gas stove.”

That was a lot of sorrow to take in, and I didn't need Eddy to spell out the rest of the story. I think a lot of people would've crawled into a hole, like Mr. Grimbal, and just stopped caring.

“Over the years the shop has gone downhill,” Eddy continued, “and so has Walter Grimbal. I tried to ignore him as well as I could, but now he's gone too far. He's got to be stopped, Peggy. From what you've told me, he may have already sold the carved artifact. The only thing left to do is bring in the police.” She pulled out her cell phone from one of the pockets on her fisherman's vest.

“The Heritage Conservation Act permits only a qualified field director — that's me — to remove or examine any artifacts or remains from a site. In other words, Walter had no business messing with the burial, even if you invited him, Mrs. Randall. Now the most I could do would be to slap him on the wrist with a fine. So that's why you need to press charges against him for trespassing and coercing a minor to break the law. Peggy, you'll have to be willing to be a witness.”

At that moment I wished this was the Friday night late movie and I could shut off the TV and go to bed. Exhaustion had crept back into every muscle, blood vessel, and bone in my body. But as I watched Eddy press the pads on her cell phone, I shot off the sofa with some hidden reserve of energy.

“Eddy, wait. I know you might find it hard to trust me right now, but I want you to give me a chance to fix this my way.”

She didn't look too convinced. “Peggy, I've tried
many times over the years to get through to Walter.”

“Look, there was a time when I didn't feel anything for the old man buried in our yard. But then you showed me I could know him — in part — if I took the time to look closely. If I can do that for someone who lived thousands of years ago, maybe there's a chance I can do that with Mr. Grimbal, too. Just give me an hour.”

After a few moments, Eddy's frown dissolved and her face relaxed. “Okay, you've got one hour. That's how long it will take us to finish removing the burial. But after that ...”

“I know. Thanks, Eddy.” I took off down the street at a jog. I didn't have some amazing plan. I just wanted to try talking to Mr. Grimbal, to get him to give me back the ancient pendant.

After I got to his store, I gasped out loud when I saw the closed sign on the door. When I started banging on the window, I got odd looks from people passing by on the sidewalk. Then I tried the door and was surprised when it flung open. I stepped inside and got that familiar shiver as I passed Tsonokwa.

“What do you want now, kid? I told you already that our deal's done. Finished. Over.”

For the first time I wondered if the deep and furrowed creases on his forehead and at the corners of his mouth were really from being an angry curmudgeon, or just from being sad and lonely. I noticed his shoulders were stooped and that his fingers were gnarled. And he had no laugh lines around his eyes like Mrs. Hobbs's. Still, I gazed carefully into them to see if there was something I could recognize.

“I just want to talk, Mr. Grimbal.” I hoped he hadn't
noticed that my hands were shaking.

“I only have time to talk business,” he snapped. “And unless you've come here to do business, I'm not interested in talking.”

Desperately, I tried to think of something clever to say, but in the end I just opened my mouth and words tumbled out. “You pretend you don't care about protecting Crescent Beach's prehistory, but I don't believe that's true.”

“Oh, I'm not pretending. I really don't care.” He waved at all the artifacts in the store. “All these things are just junk from the past — stuff to clutter up shelves and collect dust. And I'll tell you something, nobody else really cares, either, about the prehistory of Crescent Beach, about dead cultures and dead men. They'll never understand that their pretty little beachside homes, gardens, and lives are only one more, tiny stratigraphic layer in a deep midden of human experience.”

For some reason, at that moment I remembered something Mrs. Hobbs had said. She was quoting a writer named Ralph Waldo Emerson. At the time I was more interested in how a guy with such a dorky name like Ralph Waldo could possibly write anything that would be relevant to me. But the line kind of stuck in my mind. Actually, it was a question: “Why do we grope among the dry bones of the past?” And just as suddenly I thought I knew the answer to Mr. Emerson's question.

“Mr. Grimbal, you're right. There are a lot of people who don't care. But I do. And so does Eddy and my aunt. And so did Mrs. Hobbs. And if we look really hard, I'll bet there are others, too.” My face got hot when he sneered and laughed callously. I tried to ignore him and
went on. “I think it takes courage to look at the past. A lot of times the things we find are scary, or make us sad, or just remind us that we won't live forever. But if we don't look back, then we'll lose all the good things and the lessons the ancients can teach us.”

I remembered the look on his face when he first held the tiny carving. “You care, too, Mr. Grimbal. I saw it on your face the day I brought you the stone.”

Mr. Grimbal glared through narrowed eyes. “Ha. The only thing you saw when I held that scratched-up rock were fat old dollar signs in my eyes. So if you think you can sweet-talk me into giving you back that artifact, you can forget it. Now get out of here and quit wasting my time.”

“Okay, I'll go. But there's something I want to ask you first. If all this stuff is just worthless junk, why do you keep it? Why don't you actually sell any of these ancient Native artifacts?”

“What? Of course, I sell this stuff. What do you think I am ... nuts? I'm running a business.”

“I'll tell you what I think, Mr. Grimbal. All of these things aren't just pieces of the ancient past. They're part of your past ... and Lily's.”

He waved my words off as if they were annoying black flies.

“Mr. Grimbal, what do you think your wife would want you to do? Would she want these important pieces of pre-history tucked away on your shelves for only you to enjoy? Or would she want everyone to have the chance to learn from the past, to know what you know?” For a moment I thought I saw the hardness crumble and something soften in his eyes. But just as quickly his face stiffened again.

“Okay, kid, you gave it your best shot. Now it's time to get lost.” He nudged me the last few steps out the door and bolted the lock.

Mr. Grimbal was right. I had given it my best shot, and it failed ... again.

For some time now Shuksi'em has been unable to leave his bed. Sleek Seal sits next to him feeding him fresh deer meat she has chewed into soft, tiny morsels. He is sorry the illness kept him from enjoying the celebration. The visitors have left the big house now, and Shuksi'em is glad that his granddaughter did not go with them. He thinks her father made a wise decision to give her another season with her own clan. But the union with Hulutin next year will be good for making bonds between the coast people. The clan is happy because the young man's parents left many gifts of wealth to secure the marriage between the two young people.

Shuksi'em knows his life is near its end, but he must not speak of it. It angers his wife, who says, “You cannot die, you foolish old man. I need your help next spring to make my basket string.”

His face breaks into a toothless grin, his pink gums lit by firelight. “No, it is you who is foolish, my dear wife. How can I chew your cattail or roots when I have no teeth left? And my hands are more knotted than your string.”

That night Talusip wraps her full, warm body around her husband's. She is afraid an evil spirit is waiting nearby to take him away. If she wills it, she can keep him safe for another night. But soon Shuksi'em's low, heavy breathing and the exhaustion of her own sadness lulls her to sleep.

Embraced in his wife's arms, Shuksi'em feels content and warm. Her large body eases the pain from his own.
Closing his eyes, he thinks of his life. Yes, he has had his share of trouble, but it has been a good life. Then he whispers, “Come, Great Spirit, I am ready to go.”

Life's curveballs — that was what I was thinking about when this whole thing began. How sometimes they beaned you on the head ... and sometimes they ended up okay. But that day in the Real Treasures and Gifts store I'd gotten one right between the eyes. Maybe I'd discovered something about reading bones, but I still had a lot to learn about reading people. I wanted to fix everything, but instead I had a lifetime to relive my biggest mistake over and over.

After Mr. Grimbal pushed me out the door, I didn't have the courage to go back and face Eddy again. Instead I walked to the beach. When I got there, I took off my shoes, waded up to my knees in the cool, clear water, and squished the sand between my toes. All around me was a swirl of activity — a black lab galloping into the water after a tennis ball, kids decorating their sandcastle with bits of white clamshells, and sailboats making their way back and forth across the bay. It all reminded me of Mrs. Hobbs, and even though I tried really hard to stop it, my chest heaved and my eyes filled with tears. I remembered what Mrs. Hobbs had said about having a good cry, so I let it all out until I was as empty as the little boy's sand pail.

When I finally headed for home, it was nearly suppertime. I wondered if there would be a police car waiting
out front, but there was only Eddy's truck. I scowled to myself but knew there was no point trying to avoid her. When I came into the yard, I noticed a wooden box a little bigger than a briefcase. Inside were all the bones from the burial, carefully wrapped in foam and tucked neatly side by side. Chief Lloyd was gone, but Eddy was still working in the pit that now appeared strangely bare. She must have been deep in thought, because she didn't notice me. I cleared my throat to get her attention.

“Um, you were right, Eddy. Nothing I said got through to him.”

“Who? Oh, you mean Walter?”

“Of course, I mean Walter. Who else would I be talking about? He wouldn't listen to anything I said.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

Was this her way of rubbing it in? “I know it won't help or anything, but I am really sorry.”

“Okay.”

Okay? Was that all she was going to say. I deserved more. She should get mad, even lecture me the way Aunt Margaret always did. “Eddy, don't you get it? You were right and I was wrong.”

“Oh, were you?” Her voice almost sounded playful, though she didn't even look up at me. “I want to dig down another ten centimetres or so just to make sure we got everything. Want to screen a few buckets for me?”

I sighed heavily. I still felt terrible, but it was obvious Eddy wasn't going to talk about it. “Yeah, I guess so.” I picked up the pail sitting next to the burial pit and took it over to the screening station. Hoisting it easily, I emptied the contents. I was just about to begin shaking the screen back and forth when I noticed a lump in the
dirt. After I picked it up and brushed away the black matrix, I realized it was a small leather pouch.

I had no idea what was inside, but I was pretty sure Eddy had stuck it in the pail for me to discover. When I glanced over at her, she had her nose deep in the pit again and was pretending not to notice me. I untied the string so I could pour out the contents, then gasped when I saw the tiny face tumble into my hand.

“How did you get it?” I barely whispered. When Eddy didn't answer, I felt inside the pouch and pulled out a small piece of paper. It was one of Mr. Grimbal's business cards. Beside the store's name he had handwritten a few words: “Real Treasures and Gifts don't come in boxes.” On the back was a note:

My Lily would have liked you, kid. She had lots of spunk, too. When you're done helping Dr. Know-It-All, maybe there's a thing or two I can teach you. And just because I've gone a little soft in the head, don't think I've forgotten about my three thousand bucks!

— Mr. G

As the tiny black face gleamed up at me, I heard Eddy laugh. Then
bam!
I knew I'd hit that curveball right out of the park.

The men now cover Shuksi'em with a blanket of broken shells, sand, and seaweed. Here his body will stay a short distance from his village ... the shores where he netted fish ... and the forest where he once hunted.

Q'am takes his mother's arm and leads her back toward the clan house. Talusip is weak with sorrow and finds the walk difficult. Her legs feel as if she has a large stone tied to each ankle. They lead the way as the villagers follow.

Back inside the clan house there is a sombre silence as the clan members go about their business. Q'am's wife brings Talusip a cup of hot spruce tea and gently places her arms around the whimpering old woman.