Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [36]
I smile, because she must have thought this through before we left Caracas. She could have asked me then—asked why I would waste so much of the limited time I have to pursue what seems like a fool’s errand. She wanted to come here as much as I did.
“There are two reasons. The first is that we have nothing else to go on. We have two representations of an obscure symbol; one of them is in a book, and the other is inside this temple. The second reason is that we didn’t finish our work here before your government drove us out. Who knows what we missed the first time?”
“So you’re telling me that you wanted to bring half a dozen people and what looks like the entire contents of an army surplus store to the middle of the jungle because you couldn’t think of anything else to do?”
Granted, the way she says it makes it sound absurd. But my question stands: What better course of action did we have?
“It makes all the sense in the world. It’s probable that this guild of yours has been here—and not just at the site, but down in the burial chamber. With that established, then they either did a bit of carving down there, or they lifted one of the symbols they saw. And either one of those choices brings up a slew of others. One of the interesting ones I’m considering is whether or not the Brotherhood of Dirt was around a lot earlier than that 1659 Spanish placement you gave me.”
She looks unconvinced.
“At this point I’m considering the involvement of another organization—some entity that has monitored the bones’ passage from one group or family to another. Think about it,” I add at her frown. “How does the handoff occur? Who chooses the next family or organization to guard the bones? There has to be some larger organization involved, someone or something bigger than any of these individual groups.”
“You’re really getting into this conspiracy thing. I thought you weren’t buying it.”
“I don’t. But I work for Reese, and he believes it. And since it’s his money, I have to follow his lead. If I do that—if I take a step down the road that says the bones exist, that they receive passage from one group to another—then I have to pursue it in a way that makes sense to me. Without some umbrella organization overhead, I think the theory falls apart.”
Behind us I can hear the men moving down the steps. I wave as they pass. They’re laughing and covered in dust from head to toe. They look like ghosts. I watch them as they navigate the narrow steps with their large work boots, then cross the plank trail. They head for the trucks where there’s a cooler filled with sandwiches.
“I think they have the right idea,” I say.
Esperanza doesn’t join them but stays at my side, letting the silence pass between us. The sounds of the men’s lunchtime camaraderie drifts up from the flatland below.
“I’m sorry about Will.”
It’s the first time she’s mentioned my brother. For obvious reasons she didn’t make it to the funeral. Even though she knew him well, my relationship with her had ended just before Will and I went to Egypt; the wound between us was still too raw for her to make the trip.
“Yeah, thanks.”
It appears she’s going to say something else but she doesn’t, as if she can’t find the right words to ask what she wants to know. It’s human nature to want details. Will didn’t die right away.
But she doesn’t go down that road. Instead, she offers a sad smile and says, “You’re angrier than you were when we were together.”
I give her a look meant to convey that I don’t understand.
“You hide it, but I know you better than just about anyone on the planet. You’re angry about Will, and I don’t blame you for it. But it’s five years later.”
“You’re right. It’s been five years. So how well do you think you know me anymore?” I sound like a petulant child.
The Espy I knew years ago would have been baited into anger. Instead, she fixes me with a pointed look. “Are you angry at God?” she asks.
“Since when do you talk about God?” I snap, feeling more vulnerable than I would have thought possible.
“Since about a year after you left