see. The browns and the red berries are iron oxides, undoubtedly.’
‘The grasses,’ she marvelled. ‘They’re completely compatible with the dry steppes we’d expect in the Aurignacian period during the warm seasons. And look at this fantastic beaked man standing in the grass like a giant scarecrow.’
‘He’s my new best friend,’ Luc said drily. ‘What about the other plants?’
‘Well, this is what’s so interesting. The manuscript illustrations are more realistic than the cave paintings but there appear to be two varieties,’ she said moving first to her right. ‘This panel is a bush with red berries. The leaf pattern is fairly impressionistic and imprecise, see here? And here? But the bushes in the manuscript clearly have five-lobed leaves in a spiral array on the stem. I’d have to say Ribes rubrum if pressed. The redcurrant bush. It’s indigenous to western Europe.’ She moved to her left. ‘And these vines. Again, the manuscript has a clearer rendering. The long stems and the elongated, arrow-head-shaped leaves, Convolvulus arvensis is my best guess, but it’s only a guess. The European bindweed. It’s an awful bugger as far as weeds go but it’s got pretty little pink and white flowers in the summer. But, no flowers here, as you can see.’
‘So, grass, weeds and redcurrants, is that the verdict?’
‘Hardly a verdict,’ she said. ‘A first impression. When can I get to work on the pollen?’
‘First thing in the morning. So, are you glad you came?’
‘On a professional level, yes.’
‘Only professionally?’
‘Jesus, Luc. Yes. Only professionally.’
He awkwardly turned away and pointed towards the Vault of Hands. ‘You first. I’ll get the light.’
Celebration hung heavy in the air like the smell of gunpowder after fireworks. The air was chilly but as there was no threat of rain people were taking their meals on folding chairs and wine crates out in the open. Luc spent a last few minutes with the journalist, Girot, before the man departed for Paris. Before he left, they warmly exchanged business cards and Luc sought one more assurance the piece would be embargoed until further notice.
‘Don’t worry,’ Girot said. ‘A deal’s a deal. You’ve been great, professor. You can trust me.’
Alon sought out Luc and pulled up a chair. He had passed on the cook’s main course of rosemary lamb chops and roasted potatoes and opted instead for bread and butter and some fruit. Luc looked at his plate. ‘I’m sorry, Zvi, are we not accommodating your dietary needs?’
‘I don’t keep kosher,’ he replied, ‘I don’t like French food.’
Luc smiled at his bluntness. ‘So? The cave?’
‘Well, I think you’ve found one of the most remarkable sites in prehistory. It’s going to require a lifetime of study. I only wish my life span were longer. You know, Luc, I’m not an emotional man, but this cave moves me. I’m in awe of it, whatever its age. Lascaux’s been called the Paleolithic Sistine Chapel. Ruac is better. The artists here were masters. The colours are more vivid, which speaks to excellent pigment technology. The animals are even more naturalistic than Lascaux or Altamira or Font de Gaume or Chauvet. The use of perspective is highly advanced. These were the da Vincis and Michaelangelos of their time.’
‘I feel the same way. Look, Zvi, we have a chance to study this right and maybe make a breakthrough on the subject that you’ve written about so eloquently: why did they paint?’
‘You know I’ve had strong opinions.’
‘That’s why I chose you.’
Without a trace of self-consciousness, Alon said, ‘You made the right choice. I’ve been hard on Lewis-Williams and Clottes for their shamanistic theories, as you know.’
‘They’ve both commiserated with me,’ Luc replied. ‘But they respect you.’
‘I’ve always felt that they place far too much emphasis on observations of modern shamanism in Africa and the New World. This whole
‘The grasses,’ she marvelled. ‘They’re completely compatible with the dry steppes we’d expect in the Aurignacian period during the warm seasons. And look at this fantastic beaked man standing in the grass like a giant scarecrow.’
‘He’s my new best friend,’ Luc said drily. ‘What about the other plants?’
‘Well, this is what’s so interesting. The manuscript illustrations are more realistic than the cave paintings but there appear to be two varieties,’ she said moving first to her right. ‘This panel is a bush with red berries. The leaf pattern is fairly impressionistic and imprecise, see here? And here? But the bushes in the manuscript clearly have five-lobed leaves in a spiral array on the stem. I’d have to say Ribes rubrum if pressed. The redcurrant bush. It’s indigenous to western Europe.’ She moved to her left. ‘And these vines. Again, the manuscript has a clearer rendering. The long stems and the elongated, arrow-head-shaped leaves, Convolvulus arvensis is my best guess, but it’s only a guess. The European bindweed. It’s an awful bugger as far as weeds go but it’s got pretty little pink and white flowers in the summer. But, no flowers here, as you can see.’
‘So, grass, weeds and redcurrants, is that the verdict?’
‘Hardly a verdict,’ she said. ‘A first impression. When can I get to work on the pollen?’
‘First thing in the morning. So, are you glad you came?’
‘On a professional level, yes.’
‘Only professionally?’
‘Jesus, Luc. Yes. Only professionally.’
He awkwardly turned away and pointed towards the Vault of Hands. ‘You first. I’ll get the light.’
Celebration hung heavy in the air like the smell of gunpowder after fireworks. The air was chilly but as there was no threat of rain people were taking their meals on folding chairs and wine crates out in the open. Luc spent a last few minutes with the journalist, Girot, before the man departed for Paris. Before he left, they warmly exchanged business cards and Luc sought one more assurance the piece would be embargoed until further notice.
‘Don’t worry,’ Girot said. ‘A deal’s a deal. You’ve been great, professor. You can trust me.’
Alon sought out Luc and pulled up a chair. He had passed on the cook’s main course of rosemary lamb chops and roasted potatoes and opted instead for bread and butter and some fruit. Luc looked at his plate. ‘I’m sorry, Zvi, are we not accommodating your dietary needs?’
‘I don’t keep kosher,’ he replied, ‘I don’t like French food.’
Luc smiled at his bluntness. ‘So? The cave?’
‘Well, I think you’ve found one of the most remarkable sites in prehistory. It’s going to require a lifetime of study. I only wish my life span were longer. You know, Luc, I’m not an emotional man, but this cave moves me. I’m in awe of it, whatever its age. Lascaux’s been called the Paleolithic Sistine Chapel. Ruac is better. The artists here were masters. The colours are more vivid, which speaks to excellent pigment technology. The animals are even more naturalistic than Lascaux or Altamira or Font de Gaume or Chauvet. The use of perspective is highly advanced. These were the da Vincis and Michaelangelos of their time.’
‘I feel the same way. Look, Zvi, we have a chance to study this right and maybe make a breakthrough on the subject that you’ve written about so eloquently: why did they paint?’
‘You know I’ve had strong opinions.’
‘That’s why I chose you.’
Without a trace of self-consciousness, Alon said, ‘You made the right choice. I’ve been hard on Lewis-Williams and Clottes for their shamanistic theories, as you know.’
‘They’ve both commiserated with me,’ Luc replied. ‘But they respect you.’
‘I’ve always felt that they place far too much emphasis on observations of modern shamanism in Africa and the New World. This whole
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