Road to Ubar Pa - Nicholas Clapp [76]
At dinner we would compare notes, lay plans for the next day, and enjoy our various cuisines (U.S. college / Arabic / U.S. veggie / Baluchi vegetarian), and nod our heads in sympathy when Mr. Gomez let loose with a tirade, or at least what we thought was a tirade—only Kay could tell for sure.
One night the situation got pretty serious as, eyeing our Omani police guards, Mr. Gomez said that someone had been in his off-limits storeroom, and that someone had helped himself to the brandy he reserved for special dishes.
Unfailingly courteous, our policemen had often expressed their appreciation with a "Thank you too much!" (They didn't see any particular distinction between "too" and "very.") On this occasion, Jumma, their leader, responded to Mr. Gomez's allegations with a distinctly sarcastic "Thank you too much, Mr. Gomez."
"Thank you not very much, Mr. Policeman Jumma," Mr. Gomez replied, and stalked out into the night.
Juri confirmed that it is not the wonder of the past or the fate of ancient nations that eventually becomes the major concern of archaeological expeditions; it is the food. Its shortcomings, its satisfactions. Our American students were never happier than the day when, with Kay's guidance, Mr. Gomez served up tomato soup followed by a choice of grilled-cheese sandwiches or hamburgers (odd, egg-shaped hamburgers, but hamburgers nonetheless).
It fell to Kay to calm Mr. Gomez and, without the benefit of refrigeration, make sure we had enough food for up to forty people at a time (on the weekends we hosted a legion of volunteers). Every couple of nights, after dinner, she and Mr. Gomez would take stock of what we had and what we needed. Then Kay would slide into a Discovery and drive off across the desert alone, so that she could load it up with as much fresh food as possible. She loved the desert, especially at night. She had high-powered halogen driving lights, and high- and low-frequency radios to call us in case of a breakdown. She could also tune in to the international news, on either the BBC World Service, transmitted from the Persian Gulf, or on the Voice of America. In this part of the world the VOA news in English was de-li-ver-ed ve-ry, ve-ry s-l-o-w-ly. As she heard what was going on with Microsoft and the Moral Majority, she kept an eye on the odometer. She knew, better than anyone, at what mileages to expect camel wallows, and she slued through them with ease.
The round trip to our depot at the airbase at Thumrait took three to four hours. Around midnight I would climb to the flat rooftop of our Shisur house and, sooner or later, I would see, way out in the night and across the desert, two tiny bright dots. Thirty miles away, they moved slowly, disappearing from sight, then bumping over a rise, closer, a few minutes later. Within the hour, Kay would be home.
By flashlight we offloaded the contents of Kay's Discovery into Mr. Gomez's storeroom, and this was the only occasion when the two were at odds. It was predictable; it had to do with the cases of Wadi Tanuf spring water. Tucked in each was a souvenir glass, worth about three cents, decorated in blue with the legend "Wadi Tanuf" in English and Arabic. Both Kay and Mr. Gomez were intent on acquiring a set and, with claims and counterclaims, fought over the glasses as if there were no tomorrow.
In our third week at Shisur, we radioed the news of our discoveries to Thumrait, to be relayed on to our sponsors in Muscat. The next weekend the site was thronged with volunteers. Juri deployed them along the projected course of the site's wall, assigning a student supervisor to each half dozen.
Joan Fulford, a volunteer, had been digging for no more than twenty minutes before a blue-green glint caught her eye. To her great delight, she brushed clear an exquisite Roman