Chapter 31

A week from the wrap-up, David and Wendy were in the middle of post traumatic stress. Let him tell it.

"We left the site knowing that the archaeology would continue every season from the end of spring to the start of school, very likely for as long as there were graves and Native American warriors wearing Brooks Brothers suits, carrying Armani briefcases and wearing Rolex watches with court orders and lawsuits in hand.

"The stress, especially on Wendy Too was enormous. Wendy had such plans for the property; a home of her own, a flying field for her aircraft ... hers! Or as she had said, "Mine!" and said with possessiveness and pride.

"This is mine!"

The view from the cliff top was spectacular. Except for the huge hole in the middle, the landing field stretched out for three miles, flat, level grassy. The view behind was a rise of stepped rocky features with piñon pines and sage. It was a place away from the humidity of home. She would have been happy here.

"Then there was the stress of excavation. Digging is exacting, hard on the knees, and it can be dangerous. Pit walls have been known to collapse and the Rockies are young mountains and still growing. Earthquakes are not numerous but they do happen. A hand dug pit three meters deep is not a good place to be in the event of one.

"The scrape of the trowel over an artifact has been likened to the Zing of the bullet that signals the beginning of a firefight on the battlefront. For combat is sheer boredom 90 percent of the time ... but it's tense boredom because one never knows. Then there's the 8 percent spent doing busywork and the final 2 percent is terror. The bastards are shooting at ME!

"With the excavator in the pit, 90 percent is on your knees doing not so mindless work with the trowel, 8 percent busywork: measuring, leveling, checking walls, writing boring field survey sheets of finding nothing, and 2 percent "chink" Oh shit! get out the brush and the chopsticks ... what is it? ... what is it? ... is it 'something?' or is it nothing but another fucking rock.

"Your heart rate goes up with the first 'chink' and it stays that way until the object is over the shoulder or in the collections bag. Even if it's JAR (Just Another Rock) the excavator must be careful. It could be a runestone; a rock with scratches used in gambling games, or a lost medicine talisman. It's not JAR until the professor says it is.

"Wendy took her turn in the pits, behind a shaker screen, working the water screens, even though her disappointment and anger showed. Stress ... traumatic stress ... and it was over. We were both Masters of Arts because Archaeology is not a hard science. It's a step up from Field Technician. Jobs for Masters holders are rare because Archaeology is a declining resource. There are limited numbers of places to dig and every year they are fewer. Resource lands are sold, bartered, declared off limits or otherwise removed from possibility.

"And she was pregnant. Divorced and pregnant and I didn't know until she puked on my shoe. And I'm male ... we don't have a clue ... women are mystical creatures and I'm sure if we didn't need them to breed we'd have hunted the species to extinction ... exasperating, infuriating, annoying, irritating, maddening, provoking, irksome, vexatious, trying, displeasing, aggravating creatures that they are. Impossible to live with and impossible to live without. (Thank you Wiki I couldn't have said it better.)

"The worst part was that she KNEW and didn't tell me."

"'I did Not know," she said. "I'm barren... '"

"Evidently not." I must have said it with exasperation because she tried to get away.

"I got down on one knee, took out the ring I had bought in Michigan in hope that someday she might like me enough, and asked ... and she said NO! and ran away ... and I don't know what I'll do with the rest of my life. I'll never find anyone as perfect ... AAARRRGGGHHH!!"