The Palaeontologist

Nacho was not the first to notice the strange vehicle that entered the village that morning as he was in his workshop carving a delicate design into a headboard for a wealthy lady from the city. It was Pablito, son of Pablo the gardener, who had first seen the mud-encrusted truck with the placas from ‘Meecheegan.’ Pablito was not sure where that was, but he had a feeling it was far away from the village. He watched as it turned down a dusty side street and stopped in front of the casa where Rosa Marquez lived.

A young, bearded gringo stepped from the car and stretched his arms, then he stood for a moment before walking to the heavy vine-covered gate into the courtyard. A large tree inside the courtyard provided some welcome shade as he stood for another moment studying the heavy gate, almost as if he was afraid to touch it. Then he inhaled deeply, reached up to grab the bell cord, and gave it two short tugs. The loud crisp sound of the old brass bell broke the morning quiet and seemed to announce his arrival to the entire village. He swallowed nervously and glanced at Pablito and a few of the other kids standing together under a tree on the other side of the road. They all stared back at him.

This scene, of dark brown children in ragged clothes against old adobe walls, was one he had imagined many times, and now he was actually here, in the heart of it. He couldn’t help feeling there was something so, well, ‘authentic’ about it, but he knew that would sound terribly naive to his professors. He smiled self-consciously and nodded before turning back to face the gate. On the other side, he could hear Señora Marquez set down a heavy skillet and make her way slowly from the kitchen. The gate swung open and a tiny woman gave him a quizzical look.

“Perdoname Señora, yo soy Matt Cohen.” he said in his best college Spanish.

Señora Marquez said nothing and studied him as he nervously continued. He explained that he was sent by Professor Jackson of the University of Michigan Department of Anthropology. Do you remember Professor Jackson? He was here last year and spoke to you about me coming to interview you?
Señora Marquez pursed her lips as she tried to remember. There was a gringo here last year, but she didn’t recall his name, and she wasn’t clear about what this new gringo wanted, but he seemed to indicate he’d like to come into the courtyard and talk. She beckoned him toward a chair under the tree and closed the gate behind him.

The casa of Señora Marquez was well-known to Pablito and his friends, but they had never been inside it and they stared past the open gate, which was rarely ever opened, into the secret courtyard. It was said, some of their aunts had said it, that she was a bruja who mixed strange potions in her kitchen, and they should stay away from there. Pablito suspected they just said those things to keep kids from going far from home after dark. But he couldn’t be sure, and so he always stayed a safe distance from the casa de Señora Marquez. And he never went down that street after dark.

After the gate closed, Pablito walked on down the street and turned at the corner, to his job cleaning Nacho’s workshop and helping to build interesting pieces of furniture. He worked there every morning and attended school in the afternoons. There was always lots of sawdust on the floor, mingled with those small and delicate curls of wood that fall from the work of carving. He swept and dusted everything to start each day, and he mixed it with dirt and kitchen waste to put on the garden later in the year. Nacho was a wise man who believed in using everything.

This morning as he worked, Pablito told Nacho about the strange gringo in the dirty truck from Meecheegan. Nacho continued to carve and asked him to describe the gringo and he proceeded to tell about the very light skin, the reddish beard, the clean bluejeans, the heavy lace-up boots. Pablito was used to Nacho’s endless questions and he tried to be thorough. Sometimes, when Pablito was describing a scene or event, it seemed as if Nacho had been there instead of Pablito.

“Was he left-handed?” Nacho asked.

Pablito paused searching for an answer until Nacho smiled and winked and prompted him with another question.

“Which hand did he ring the bell with?” he asked quietly.

“The right one!” grinned Pablito.

“Was he wearing a belt? Tell me about the buckle.”

“I didn’t see the belt.” Pablito admitted defeat. He’d been beaten at this morning’s game.

“Ah well. It’s probably not an important detail, anyway.” said Nacho, “Except that, if it had a big shiny buckle, he’s probably a boisterous person.”

Pablito thought for a moment that this gringo was probably too quiet to be boisterous, and so his buckle was probably not big and shiny.

Pablito returned to work, thinking quietly to himself. The morning passed quickly, Nacho handed Pablito his usual 20 pesos, and he went off to school. He knew that Nacho didn’t really need him to work there, but Nacho believed in education and told Pablito that as long as he stayed in school, he could keep the job. It was a good job, too, that gave him enough money to buy a new book now and then, and an ice cream cone sometimes after school. On the way to school he noticed that the gringo’s truck was still parked in front of the case de Señora Marquez.

In the morning, Pablito was surprised to see the gringo’s truck parked in front of Nacho’s workshop. He entered quietly so as not to disturb the discussion, but Nacho saw him and said, “Ah, this is Pablito, my helper. Pablito, this is Matt Cohen from Meecheegan.”

Matt Cohen put out his hand and said, “Mucho gusto en conocerla.” in a very strange accent.

Pablito smiled shyly and shook his hand before beginning his duties for the day. Nacho spoke his Spanish slowly and clearly so the gringo could understand and he seemed to be speaking just loud enough for Pablito to hear every word. Pablito felt he was meant to listen closely to the conversation, so he did.

It was late morning when the gringo thanked Nacho for his time and left in his truck, and this time Pablito was filled with questions. Nacho began slowly carving the headboard again as Pablito gave him a puzzled look. “I can see you have many questions.” Nacho told his young helper. “That is a good thing.”

Pablito asked why he told the gringo those things when he had told Pablito something very different. Nacho continued carving while he spoke.

“Señor Matt Cohen has come a very long ways to study our indigenous culture,” he began, “and he should not go away disappointed.”

Nacho carefully explained the term ‘indigenous culture’ to his young friend and Pablito replied, “But you’re not from this area originally. You’re from Mexico City, aren’t you?”

“Yes I am.” Nacho replied. “Did you hear me ask what Señora Marquez had told him?”

“Yes, she said that she has seen you often gather shells and seaweed by the full moon,” said Pablito, “and that it’s an ancient custom of the people because the good energy is concentrated then. She said you return to the house to make magical potions while everyone is asleep. That you have some of the strongest magic in the village and that she knows she’s safe as long as you continue to collect the shells and seaweed in the moonlight, just as the old ones did.”

“And what did I say to him?” Asked Nacho.

“You told him it was true. That it was indeed the way of the ancients.” said Pablito.

“That is all true. And what did I tell you, my friend?”

“You said you go out under the full moon because of the incredible beauty you see there when the light is reflected from the waves. You take a bucket and gather shells and seaweed in the quiet time. You call it ‘a gift from the sea.’ Then you rinse it well and dig it into the garden for added calcium.”

“That is also true.” said Nacho.

Pablito was puzzled.

“My young friend, each of us is our own indigenous culture.” Nacho continued, “When I studied anthroplogy at the National University in Mexico City, I collected much data about ‘indigenous peoples’ and I put it all down on paper. When the stack of paper was thick enough, they filed it away in a large library where it will never be seen again, and told me I was an expert with the right to place important titles after my name. But later in life, I found that much of the information was untrue. Although it was not purposefully wrong, it was slanted by individual viewpoints, and did not apply to the entire culture I had spent all that time studying. Suddenly I felt that I had only earned the right to study life perpetually. The more I learned, the less I became an expert on anything. Each question I answer leads to a dozen more. It’s all simply part of the beauty of life.”

“Shouldn’t you have told the gringo that Señora Marquez is wrong?” asked Pablito.

“But Señora Marquez is not really wrong, although that’s not the way you or I might see it. She is old and needs to believe those things in order to feel safe. Who am I to say she’s wrong?”

“But what about the gringo? He’ll go away with strange ideas about us!”

“Yes, and he’ll put it all down on paper, they’ll file it in a large library, and they’ll call him an expert, too.” replied Nacho, “But he needs that title to continue in his carreer and why should I deny him that?”

Pablito sighed and looked away, deep in thought. Then he returned to sweeping the shop.

©2005, Perry Robert Wilkes

Comments

[alana]

great story, Perry! :-)

[pedro]

Finally found it. I am excited to explore your life site. Thank you for sharing so much.