to dig up the past and figure out what's under all the rubble. That's all."
The diviner waved his hand to the east, the direction governed by Ah Puch, the god of death. Beneath the tattoos, the merchant's face looked mournful.
"You may just find broken pots," I said to Diane. "Nothing interesting at all."
"I'll take my chances on that."
I glanced at her, but I could not read her expression. Her sunglasses hid her eyes. Her back was straight; her arms were still wrapped around her knees, her right hand gripping her left wrist, perhaps just a little too tightly. But she spoke calmly enough. "Right now, all I know is what I remember, and that's just bits and pieces."
The sun was low, and the Temple of the Seven Dolls cast a shadow that stretched away from the camp.
The lines of tumbled stones that marked the position of ancient walls stood out in sharp relief. I felt comfortable in the ruins, in the company of dead people and broken buildings. The light of the setting sun shone on my face, warm and soothing. I belonged here among the fallen temples and long-abandoned homes. I watched the merchant pay the diviner in cacao beans, hoist his bag to his back, and trudge down the steps. The diviner faded as the merchant strode into the distance.
I heard the rustle of Diane's clothing when she moved, and I glanced at her again. She was gazing into the distance, looking away from me. I did not know what to say to her. "What do you remember?" I asked at last.
A pause. I took a drag on my cigarette, waiting.
"I remember waiting and waiting after nursery school. Everyone left and the teacher was all ready to go home, but I was still waiting." Her voice was rough, as if she were holding back old tears. Her expression did not change; she did not move. "You were supposed to pick me up. The teacher went and called you, but you weren't home. She called Dad and he came to get me, but he was really mad. We went home and you weren't there. He asked me where you were, but I didn't know." She stopped for a moment, and when she began again, her voice was smooth, her feelings were back under control. "You were gone for a long time.
Maybe a month. Then you came back."
"I ran away to New Mexico and enrolled in college," I said. "Supported myself by typing, just as I had supported Robert through medical school by typing. Robert hired a private detective to track me down.
When the detective found me, Robert convinced me to come back." I stubbed my cigarette against the step, tapped another out of the pack, and lit it. "What else do you remember?"
"You brought me a Navaho blanket when you came back from New Mexico. You were home for a while—I remember that. I had to be really quiet; Dad told me to be really quiet. Then you left again." Her voice trailed off, but she did not sound like she had finished.
"What else?"
She hesitated. "One night, when I was in bed, I heard you and Dad talking in the kitchen. It was hot and I couldn't sleep. You kept talking louder and louder. I got out of bed and I went down the hall, but I didn't want to go in the kitchen. I stayed just outside the door, where I could see you and Dad. You were holding a breadboard, an old breadboard with a handle on it, and your hand was wrapped around the handle. I couldn't hear what Dad was saying, but all of a sudden you started saying, 'I can't stand it. I can't stand it.'
And you started slamming the breadboard against the counter, harder and harder and harder. And you were yelling, I can't stand it.' The breadboard broke on the counter and I ran back to bed, I put a pillow over my head and I stayed there, even when I heard shouting. But in the morning, you were gone, and Aunt Alicia was there, and Dad was really upset."
In the long pause, I could hear the pigeons on the roof of the temple.
"You didn't come home for a long time, and then you came home and you left again. Dad said you had gone away because you were crazy. That's all he would say about it. Later on, he told me about the divorce and all that, but that was later."