examination, this time reciting soft observations.
‘Hominid. Long arm-to-leg ratio, broad chest, short lower back, flat face, large domed cranium with bony ridge above forward-facing eye sockets providing stereoscopic vision.’ He drew back a bit from the print and squinted. ‘Hmm, prominent pectoral girdle and dorsal scapula, powerful ribcage that looks flatter front to back.’ He lowered the print, but held onto it. ‘And a Medical Examiner’s report that indicates a genetic match to some type of unknown primate. Okaaay , what is this?’
Matt brought his fist down on the table. ‘That’s exactly the right question – what the hell is it? But I think you know.’
‘Maybe.’ Charles frowned at the print again.
Matt leaned across the table. ‘C’mon, buddy, say it.’
‘No.’ Charles dropped the print and put his head in his hands. ‘No, I won’t, I can’t, they’ll burn me.’
Matt grabbed his friend’s arms and chanted, ‘Say it, say it . . . c’mon, you can do it.’
The woman at the next table clicked her tongue at them again.
Matt turned to her. ‘It’s for his therapy – the doctor says it’s good for him.’
Charles groaned and said something too softly to hear. Matt stopped shaking his arms but held on. ‘Louder, Charlie Brown; say it out loud.’
‘Momo, Nuk-luk, Mogollon, Skunk Ape, Fouke Creature, Old Great One . . .’ He looked up as his speech slowed. ‘Sasquatch . . . Bigfoot.’
Matt let his arms go. ‘And . . . bingo!’
Charles sighed and sat back. ‘Matt, I think you need someone a little more like my uncle, someone who likes to dabble in the exotic.’
‘Oh right, your uncle who went missing in Southern China around 1935? That’s a big help. Listen, Charles, I think there’s something weird going on up in those mountains. I’ve been doing some research on the history of the area. There’s a Native American legend about a place called the Jocassee Gorge – dates back to 1539, when the Spanish explorer Hernando de Soto documented some Southern Cherokee picture-script. Jocassee was supposed to be the daughter of a great chief. On hearing that the young warrior she was in love with had been killed in battle, she paddled out into the centre of the Whitewater River. The legend goes that she didn’t drown, just disappeared, and the gorge became known as the Place of the Lost Ones.’
An old man sitting at a nearby table moved his head slightly. His face was turned away, but one large rubbery ear was pointed at Matt and Charles.
Matt pulled a pen from his pocket and grabbed a napkin. He drew two sets of symbols on it and turned the napkin around for Charles to see. ‘But . . . look at this.’
Charles stared at them for a moment, then looked up and shrugged. ‘Same.’
‘ Almost the same, Charlie Brown, except for these small wavy lines and some extra shading. The first is the Cherokee symbol for lost , but the other symbol’s much older – it translates as great , in the sense of size. I’ve seen the de Soto transcripts, and I think he got it wrong. I believe the legend was referring to something a lot older than the missing chief’s daughter. I don’t think the script referred to the “Lost Ones” but the “Great Ones” – as in a race that was great in size .’ Matt threw the pen onto the table and sat back folding his arms. ‘Charles, we have got to check this out.’
Charles mimicked Matt’s actions, an I’m-not-convinced-yet half-smile on his face. ‘Matt, I’m delighted to see that something has finally fired you up again, but what I see here is a partially obscured simian or protosimian shape. It could be a dozen things, and all you’ve got to support your theory is a carving and a photograph – and a bad one at that – of a man-shaped thing that could have come straight from the file of Sasquatch sightings that gets a run once a year on the Discovery Channel. If we’re not careful, we’ll end up driving into a wall
‘Hominid. Long arm-to-leg ratio, broad chest, short lower back, flat face, large domed cranium with bony ridge above forward-facing eye sockets providing stereoscopic vision.’ He drew back a bit from the print and squinted. ‘Hmm, prominent pectoral girdle and dorsal scapula, powerful ribcage that looks flatter front to back.’ He lowered the print, but held onto it. ‘And a Medical Examiner’s report that indicates a genetic match to some type of unknown primate. Okaaay , what is this?’
Matt brought his fist down on the table. ‘That’s exactly the right question – what the hell is it? But I think you know.’
‘Maybe.’ Charles frowned at the print again.
Matt leaned across the table. ‘C’mon, buddy, say it.’
‘No.’ Charles dropped the print and put his head in his hands. ‘No, I won’t, I can’t, they’ll burn me.’
Matt grabbed his friend’s arms and chanted, ‘Say it, say it . . . c’mon, you can do it.’
The woman at the next table clicked her tongue at them again.
Matt turned to her. ‘It’s for his therapy – the doctor says it’s good for him.’
Charles groaned and said something too softly to hear. Matt stopped shaking his arms but held on. ‘Louder, Charlie Brown; say it out loud.’
‘Momo, Nuk-luk, Mogollon, Skunk Ape, Fouke Creature, Old Great One . . .’ He looked up as his speech slowed. ‘Sasquatch . . . Bigfoot.’
Matt let his arms go. ‘And . . . bingo!’
Charles sighed and sat back. ‘Matt, I think you need someone a little more like my uncle, someone who likes to dabble in the exotic.’
‘Oh right, your uncle who went missing in Southern China around 1935? That’s a big help. Listen, Charles, I think there’s something weird going on up in those mountains. I’ve been doing some research on the history of the area. There’s a Native American legend about a place called the Jocassee Gorge – dates back to 1539, when the Spanish explorer Hernando de Soto documented some Southern Cherokee picture-script. Jocassee was supposed to be the daughter of a great chief. On hearing that the young warrior she was in love with had been killed in battle, she paddled out into the centre of the Whitewater River. The legend goes that she didn’t drown, just disappeared, and the gorge became known as the Place of the Lost Ones.’
An old man sitting at a nearby table moved his head slightly. His face was turned away, but one large rubbery ear was pointed at Matt and Charles.
Matt pulled a pen from his pocket and grabbed a napkin. He drew two sets of symbols on it and turned the napkin around for Charles to see. ‘But . . . look at this.’
Charles stared at them for a moment, then looked up and shrugged. ‘Same.’
‘ Almost the same, Charlie Brown, except for these small wavy lines and some extra shading. The first is the Cherokee symbol for lost , but the other symbol’s much older – it translates as great , in the sense of size. I’ve seen the de Soto transcripts, and I think he got it wrong. I believe the legend was referring to something a lot older than the missing chief’s daughter. I don’t think the script referred to the “Lost Ones” but the “Great Ones” – as in a race that was great in size .’ Matt threw the pen onto the table and sat back folding his arms. ‘Charles, we have got to check this out.’
Charles mimicked Matt’s actions, an I’m-not-convinced-yet half-smile on his face. ‘Matt, I’m delighted to see that something has finally fired you up again, but what I see here is a partially obscured simian or protosimian shape. It could be a dozen things, and all you’ve got to support your theory is a carving and a photograph – and a bad one at that – of a man-shaped thing that could have come straight from the file of Sasquatch sightings that gets a run once a year on the Discovery Channel. If we’re not careful, we’ll end up driving into a wall
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