sandwiches and apple pie were perfect. And with a generous helping of stuffing, they were filling enough for Liv to stop grousing. Then they were back at it, at the moment of truth. Barbara discovered that she had decided on a strategy during pie. Over a quick cup of coffee, she showed him the grid map and told him her plans.
“Okay, partner, let me tell you how I see it. I figure this Beta area, a rectangle from E3 to G4, is our best bet at finding a grave.” She pointed at the area on the grid. “With the stuff we shaved off the surface this morning gone, we’re probably already below the 1850-era horizon—that is, the ground level for the time period we’re interested in. It’s purely the intrusive burial that we have to worry about anyway—there shouldn’t be much else down there of interest, so we don’t have to run every bit of dirt through a microscope just yet. I’m assuming that if our gorilla friends are down there at all, it’s in some pretty shallow graves—maybe only half a meter or so deep. I doubt a bunch of slaves who just wanted to get some rotting bodies underground and away from their ancestors would dig the regulation six feet down. So let’s go.” She was already halfway out the door, eager to get back to it. Livingston had to hurry to catch up with her, downing the last of his coffee so fast he burned his tongue.
<>
Barbara stepped nimbly over the strings marking the grid marks. “I want to see if I can hit the center of the grave first. We’re going to dig out the square formed by F3, F4, G3, G4 to thirty centimeters below current ground level, using spades, but going very slow and gentle, and saving all the overburden,” she announced. “We dump all the overburden into the wheelbarrow, then dump the barrow onto that tarp over there.”
“Why save the old dirt?”
“So we’ll be able to sift it later if we have to.”
Liv thought that was going a bit far in planning ahead, but he heard a bit of his old college coach in her authoritative, confident tones and knew there wasn’t much future in arguing.
Barbara went on. “Once we’re at thirty centimeters, we do another metal detector sweep and see if we’ve accounted for any of the hits. If we find out we’ve dug right past some ferrous rocks that fooled us, we can quit while we’re ahead. But assuming we’re still on track, we switch to trowels and go down as far as we can before nightfall. Hand me a shovel.”
“Finally, we’re digging,” Livingston said as he walked less gracefully across the string lines. “I thought pick-and-shovel was all you guys did, and we’ve taken all day to get started on it.” He picked his spot and pushed his spade into the earth, almost relieved to get to the hard part after dreading it for so long. “Y’know, somehow or another, this whole thing reminds me of the old triangle trade. The traders went from Africa with slaves for the West Indies, bought rum and sugar there, then went to Europe with those goods, and back down to Africa with guns and trinkets to trade for more slaves. Slaves, rum, and guns. All those vices going around and around in a circle. Aunt Jo would love the symbolism for her Sunday School class.”
Barbara looked at her cousin with an odd expression. “What’s all that got to do with digging a hole?”
Livingston pointed down at the hypothetical bones beneath their feet. “Slavers brought these gorillas to Mississippi from Africa. You’ll take ’em from here to Washington if you find ’em. Then somebody or other will get all stirred up and head back to Africa looking for sources, clues. Same damn old triangle, except the products are gorillas, bones, and curiosity. I bet Aunt Jo could teach the congregation some very apt lessons from that.”
“You are a very weird guy, Livingston,” Barbara said. “You get back to your digging before you think of something else strange.”
He grinned and stabbed the shovel back into the earth.
With Livingston’s
“Okay, partner, let me tell you how I see it. I figure this Beta area, a rectangle from E3 to G4, is our best bet at finding a grave.” She pointed at the area on the grid. “With the stuff we shaved off the surface this morning gone, we’re probably already below the 1850-era horizon—that is, the ground level for the time period we’re interested in. It’s purely the intrusive burial that we have to worry about anyway—there shouldn’t be much else down there of interest, so we don’t have to run every bit of dirt through a microscope just yet. I’m assuming that if our gorilla friends are down there at all, it’s in some pretty shallow graves—maybe only half a meter or so deep. I doubt a bunch of slaves who just wanted to get some rotting bodies underground and away from their ancestors would dig the regulation six feet down. So let’s go.” She was already halfway out the door, eager to get back to it. Livingston had to hurry to catch up with her, downing the last of his coffee so fast he burned his tongue.
<>
Barbara stepped nimbly over the strings marking the grid marks. “I want to see if I can hit the center of the grave first. We’re going to dig out the square formed by F3, F4, G3, G4 to thirty centimeters below current ground level, using spades, but going very slow and gentle, and saving all the overburden,” she announced. “We dump all the overburden into the wheelbarrow, then dump the barrow onto that tarp over there.”
“Why save the old dirt?”
“So we’ll be able to sift it later if we have to.”
Liv thought that was going a bit far in planning ahead, but he heard a bit of his old college coach in her authoritative, confident tones and knew there wasn’t much future in arguing.
Barbara went on. “Once we’re at thirty centimeters, we do another metal detector sweep and see if we’ve accounted for any of the hits. If we find out we’ve dug right past some ferrous rocks that fooled us, we can quit while we’re ahead. But assuming we’re still on track, we switch to trowels and go down as far as we can before nightfall. Hand me a shovel.”
“Finally, we’re digging,” Livingston said as he walked less gracefully across the string lines. “I thought pick-and-shovel was all you guys did, and we’ve taken all day to get started on it.” He picked his spot and pushed his spade into the earth, almost relieved to get to the hard part after dreading it for so long. “Y’know, somehow or another, this whole thing reminds me of the old triangle trade. The traders went from Africa with slaves for the West Indies, bought rum and sugar there, then went to Europe with those goods, and back down to Africa with guns and trinkets to trade for more slaves. Slaves, rum, and guns. All those vices going around and around in a circle. Aunt Jo would love the symbolism for her Sunday School class.”
Barbara looked at her cousin with an odd expression. “What’s all that got to do with digging a hole?”
Livingston pointed down at the hypothetical bones beneath their feet. “Slavers brought these gorillas to Mississippi from Africa. You’ll take ’em from here to Washington if you find ’em. Then somebody or other will get all stirred up and head back to Africa looking for sources, clues. Same damn old triangle, except the products are gorillas, bones, and curiosity. I bet Aunt Jo could teach the congregation some very apt lessons from that.”
“You are a very weird guy, Livingston,” Barbara said. “You get back to your digging before you think of something else strange.”
He grinned and stabbed the shovel back into the earth.
With Livingston’s
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