darting to me, then quickly away, as if he feared contact with other eyes would commit him to something he’d later come to regret. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and hunched and unhunched his shoulders.
His partner was a much larger man with a long, lank ponytail and a weathered face. He smiled as I drew near, displaying gaps that once held teeth. I suspected he’d be the more loquacious of the two.
“Bonjour. Comment ça va?” The French equivalent of “Hi. How are you?”
“Bien. Bien.” Simultaneous head nods. Fine. Fine.
I identified myself, asked if they’d reported finding the bones. More nods.
“Tell me about it.” As I spoke I withdrew a small spiral notebook from my backpack, flipped back the cover, and clicked a ballpoint into readiness. I smiled encouragingly.
Ponytail spoke eagerly, his words racing out like children released for recess. He was enjoying the adventure. His French was heavily accented, the words running together and the endings swallowed in the fashion of the upriver Québecois. I had to listen carefully.
“We were clearing brush, it’s part of our job.” He pointed at overhead power lines, then did a sweep of the ground. “We must keep the lines clear.”
I nodded.
“When I got down into that trench over there”—he turned and pointed in the direction of a wooded area running the length of the property—“I smelled something funny.” He stopped, his eyes locked in the direction of the trees, arm extended, index finger piercing the air.
“Funny?”
He turned back. “Well, not exactly funny.” He paused, sucking in his lower lip as he searched his personal lexicon for the right word. “Dead,” he said. “You know, dead?”
I waited for him to go on.
“You know, like an animal that crawls in somewhere and dies?” He gave a slight shrug of the shoulders as he said it, then looked at me for confirmation. I did know. I’m on a first-name basis with the odor of death. I nodded again.
“That’s what I thought. That a dog, or maybe a raccoon, died. So I started poking around in the brush with my rake, right where the smell was real strong. Sure enough, I found a bunch of bones.” Another shrug.
“Uh-huh.” I was beginning to get an uneasy feeling. Ancient burials don’t smell.
“So I called Gil over . . .” He looked to the older man for affirmation. Gil was staring at the ground. “. . . and we both started digging around in the leaves and stuff. What we found don’t look like no dog or raccoon to me.” As he said it he folded his arms across his chest, lowered his chin, and rocked back on his heels.
“Why is that?”
“Too big.” He rolled his tongue and used it to probe one of the gaps in his dental work. The tip appeared and disappeared between the teeth like a worm testing for daylight.
“Anything else?”
“What do you mean?” The worm withdrew.
“Did you find anything besides bones?”
“Yeah. That’s what don’t seem right.” He spread his arms wide, indicating a dimension with his hands. “There’s a big plastic sack around all this stuff, and . . .” He shrugged, turning his palms up and leaving the sentence unfinished.
“And?” My uneasiness was escalating.
“Une ventouse.” He said it quickly, embarrassed and excited at the same time. Gil was traveling with me, his apprehension matching mine. His eyes had left the ground and were roving in double time.
“A what?” I asked, thinking perhaps I’d misunderstood the word.
“Une ventouse. A plunger. For the bathroom.” He imitated its use, his body thrust forward, hands wrapped around an invisible handle, arms driving upward and downward. The macabre little pantomime was so out of context it was jarring.
Gil let out a “Sacré . . .” and locked his eyes back on to the earth. I just stared at him. This wasn’t right. I finished my notes and closed the spiral.
“Is it wet down there?” I didn’t really want to wear the boots and coveralls unless it was necessary.
“Nah,” he said, again looking to Gil for confirmation. Gil shook his head, eyes never leaving the dirt at his feet.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.” I hoped that I appeared calmer than I felt.
Ponytail led the way across the grass and into the woods. We descended gradually into a small ravine, the trees and brush growing thicker as we approached the bottom. I followed into the thicket, taking the larger branches in my right hand as he bent them back for me, then handing them off to Gil. Still small