or disprove some … theory, something that could be settled in a few weeks anyway without … without doing that sort of damage?”
“I know, I know. It was wrong.” He rubbed his neck again. “But Richard was so … so persuasive. He’s terrified someone else will beat us to the punch. He convinced me it was no big deal—”
“Don’t hide behind him, Russell. You played your part. If you didn’t feel as strongly, you should have stopped him.”
“I know … I know. I keep saying that. I’m not hiding. I’m doubly in the wrong, yes. I should have stopped Richard and I didn’t. I shouldn’t have gone, but I did.”
They sat for a long time without speaking. Natalie finished her cigarette. The whiskey—that night’s ration, anyway—was gone. The noises of the bush carried on around them.
After a while, Russell said, “All you hear is animals. You never hear the people of the bush, do you?”
“That doesn’t mean they’re not there,” replied Natalie.
Another long silence.
Russell stood up. Natalie remained seated. He stood behind her chair, leaned down, and kissed the top of her head. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I first saw you.”
She didn’t move or respond. He put his hands on her shoulders but at this she squirmed free and stood up.
They faced each other.
He moved forward. In the darkness, the freckles on his face all ran into one another.
“Good night, Russell,” she said firmly.
• • •
“Water?”
Natalie straightened up, pressed her hands into her back, then wiped her forehead with her sleeve. It was four mornings later and every able-bodied member of the dig was in the korongo, trying to fulfill Eleanor Deacon’s aim of finishing this part of the excavation by the end of the week. This morning, at least, there was a wind getting up. Warm, but it helped ease things a little.
Natalie took the bottle from Christopher Deacon. “Thank you.”
In front of them, the wall of the gorge, all around where the tibia and femur had been found, was being attacked. The soil-sand, newly exposed, was darker than the surrounding surface, which had long been bleached by the sun. Everyone who was able to was picking away at the soil. Arnold Pryce was sifting soil through a sieve. A little further along, Kees and Jonas were stooped over another stretch of gorge. Today there were a few clouds beneath the sun, which occasionally provided shade. So far, however, there had been no new discoveries.
“How are you settling in?” Christopher had hitherto kept his distance from Natalie. He was normally polite but … not formal exactly, but reserved. He had a slightly clipped accent, almost but not quite South African.
“I’m loving it,” replied Natalie. “I didn’t enjoy all the excitement about the burial ground, of course. I hadn’t anticipated such … high drama. At Cambridge, when you study archaeology you also study anthropology. No one who’s studied anthropology could have done what Richard and Russell did.” She sighed. “But the discovery’s exciting, isn’t it?”
“Very. What a pity it had to be marred by that silly prank. Though prank is hardly the word.”
Natalie handed back the water bottle. “We’ll all get over it, I suppose. Especially if there’s another major discovery.”
“It’s not us I’m worried about,” said Christopher. “As you say, we’ll get over it. Meals will be a bit sticky for a few more days but as we unearth other bones, if we do, we’ll gradually put this behind us.” He looked down the gorge, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.
“What are you worried about, then?”
He breathed out. “The Maasai. They are very proud, very fierce when they want to be. Richard and Russell may think they covered their tracks, but it was dark when they raided the burial ground, so how they can be one hundred percent certain of that I don’t know. We can’t go back and inspect, that would just draw attention to the matter. My mother’s spent so long making friends with the Maasai—arranging medical help, educational scholarships, employing some of them, like Mutevu Ndekei … she’s very sensitive on their behalf.”
“Maybe that will help, if the tribe is upset.”
“Maybe. But they can be tricky, the Maasai. They’re supposed to be converts to Christianity but many of the men still worship their traditional gods, the fig trees, and the women give sacrifices at those local sand dunes that I showed you.” He turned towards her. “See what I mean? The Maasai are the Maasai. I wouldn’t like