p&c.thunderhead-第82部分

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graze　the　rich　carpet　of　grass　along　the　stream。　Teddy　Bear　leaped　onto　a　large　rock　and　stretched　out；　looking　for　all　the　world　like　a　lion；　keeping　guard　over　his　pride。　Skip　walked　over　to　Nora　and　placed　his　arm　around　her　shoulders。　
　〃How　are　you　doing？〃　he　asked；　giving　her　a　squeeze。　
　〃I'm　okay；〃　she　said。　〃You？〃　
　Skip　looked　around；　took　a　deep　breath。　〃A　little　nervous。　But　actually；　pretty　good。　To　be　honest；　I　don't　remember　feeling　better。〃　
　〃I'll　thank　you　to　take　your　paws　off　my　date；〃　said　Smithback；　ambling　over　and　joining　them。　Together；　they　watched　as　Beiyoodzin　untied　his　medicine　kit　from　the　saddle　strings；　examined　it　briefly；　then　nodded　toward　a　gentle　path　that　led　up　the　side　of　the　hill　to　a　small　rounded　shoulder　of　rock。　Above；　Nora　could　see　the　rockshelter　where　their　father's　skeleton　lay。　
　〃What　a　beautiful　place；〃　Skip　murmured。　
　Beiyoodzin　led　the　way　up　the　path　and　over　the　last　little　hump　of　slickrock。　Nora　paused　at　the　top；　suddenly　reluctant　to　look　inside。　Instead；　she　turned　and　let　her　gaze　fall　over　the　canyon。　The　rains　had　brought　up　a　carpet　of　flowers…Indian　paintbrush；　sego　lilies；　datura；　scarlet　gilia；　desert　lupines。　After　much　discussion；　the　two　children　of　Padraic　Kelly　had　decided　to　leave　the　body　where　it　lay。　It　was　in　the　redrock　country　he　loved　so　well；　overlooking　one　of　the　most　beautiful　and　isolated　canyons　of　the　Escalante。　No　other　gravesite　could　provide　more　dignity；　or　more　peace。　
　She　felt　Skip's　arm　around　her　shoulder　again；　and　she　turned　at　last　to　face　the　shelter。　
　In　the　dim　light　of　the　interior；　she　could　make　out　her　father's　saddle　and　saddlebags　carefully　lined　up　along　the　back　wall　of　the　rockshelter；　the　leather　cracked　and　faded　with　age。　Beside　them　was　the　turquoise　skull；　beautiful　yet　vaguely　sinister；　even　here；　far　from　the　evil　pall　of　the　Rain　Kiva。　Beneath　a　thin　layer　of　sand　lay　her　father's　bones。　In　places　the　wind　had　blown　the　sand　away；　revealing　bits　of　rotten　cloth；　the　dull　ivory　of　bone；　the　curve　of　the　cranium；　she　could　see　that　he　had　died　looking　down　into　the　valley　below。　
　Nora　stared　for　a　long　time。　Nobody　spoke。　Then；　slowly；　she　reached　into　her　pocket。　Her　fingers　closed　over　a　small　notebook：　her　father's　journal；　taken　from　the　body　by　the　witch　she　had　shot　and　restored　to　her　by　Beiyoodzin。　She　opened　it　and　removed　a　faded　envelope　she　had　placed　between　the　pages：　the　letter　that　had　started　it　all。　
　The　letter　had　been　addressed　to　her　mother；　written　just　before　he　had　entered　the　city。　But　the　last　entry　in　Padraic　Kelly's　journal　had　been　addressed　to　his　children；　written　after　his　discovery　of　the　city；　in　this　very　rockshelter　while　he　lay　dying。　And　now；　in　the　presence　of　both　her　father　and　Skip；　Nora　began　to　read　his　last　words。　
　She　stepped　forward；　stopping　at　the　foot　of　the　grave。　The　cross　was　still　there；　two　twisted　pieces　of　cedar　lashed　with　a　rawhide　thong。　She　felt　Smithback's　hand　e　forward　to　grasp　her　own；　and　she　returned　the　pressure　gratefully。　After　the　horror　of　the　last　days　at　Quivira；　and　even　in　his　own　sickness　and　pain；　the　writer　had　been　a　kind；　quiet；　and　steady　presence。　He　had　acpanied　her　to　Peter　Holroyd's　memorial　in　Los　Angeles；　where　she　had　left　his　own　battered　copy　of　Endurance　beside　the　stone　marker　that　stood　in　the　stead　of　a　grave：　his　body　had　never　been　found。　Smithback　had　returned　with　her　for　a　memorial　service　for　Enrique　Aragon　on　Lake　Powell；　when　they　boated　out　to　the　site　where；　beneath　a　thousand　feet　of　water；　Aragon's　beloved　Music　Temple　lay。　
　In　time；　she　knew；　they　would　return　to　Quivira。　A　handpicked　team　from　the　Institute；　armed　with　respirators　and　environmental　suits；　would　make　careful　video　documentaries　of　the　site。　Sloane's　discovery…the　micaceous　pottery　of　transcendent　beauty　and　value…would　be　carefully　studied　and　documented　back　at　the　Institute；　under　the　direction　of　Goddard　himself。　And　perhaps；　in　time；　Smithback　would　even　write　an　account　of　the　expedition…or；　at　least；　the　part　of　the　expedition　that　would　not　bring　unendurable　pain　to　Goddard。　
　She　sighed　deeply。　Quivira　would　wait　for　her。　There　was　no　chance　of　its　location　ever　being　divulged；　or　being　public　knowledge…the　poisonous　dust　would　make　sure　of　that。　Almost　all　those　who　knew　of　its　location…with　the　exception　of　the　Nankoweap…were　now　dead。　Those　who　lived；　she　knew；　would　keep　its　secret。　
　Nora　watched　as　Beiyoodzin　leaned　over　the　skeleton；　untied　the　little　buckskin　bag；　and　bowed　his　head。　Pinching　out　some　yellow　cornmeal　and　pollen；　he　sprinkled　it　on　the　body　and　began　a　soft；　rhythmical　chant；　beautiful　in　its　simple　monotony。　The　others　bowed　their　heads。　
　When　the　chant　was　done；　Beiyoodzin　looked　at　Nora。　His　eyes　were　shining；　his　creased　face　smiling。　〃I　thank　you；〃　he　said；　〃for　letting　me　put　this　to　rest。　I　thank　you　for　myself；　and　for　my　people。〃　
　It　was　Skip's　turn。　He　took　the　letter　from　Nora；　turning　it　over　and　over　in　his　hands。　Then　he　knelt　down；　gently　smoothed　the　sand　away；　and　placed　it　into　the　pocket　of　his　father's　shirt。　He　remained　kneeling　for　a　moment。　Then　he　slowly　stood　up　and　returned　to　Nora's　side。　
　Nora　took　a　deep　breath；　steadied　her　hands。　Then　she　turned　to　the　final　entry　in　her　father's　journal　and　began　to　read。　
　To　my　dearest　and　most　wonderful　children；　Nora　and　Skip；　
　　
　By　the　time　you　read　this；　I　will　be　gone。　I　have　been　stricken　with　a　disease；　which　I　fear　I　contracted　in　the　city　I　discovered：　the　city　of　Quivira。　Although　I　cannot　be　sure　this　will　ever　reach　you；　I　must　believe　in　my　heart　that　it　will。　Because　I　want　to　speak　to　you　through　this　journal　one　last　time。　
　If　it　is　within　your　power；　let　the　great　ruins　of　Quivira　lie　undisturbed　and　unknown。　It　is　a　place　of　evil；　I　know　that　now；　even　from　my　own　brief　exploration。　It　may　well　be　the　cause　of　my　death；　though　I　do　not　understand　why。　Perhaps　some　knowledge　is　better　left　alone；　to　die　and　return　to　the　earth；　just　as　we　do。　
　I　have　just　one　request　to　make　each　of　you。　Skip；　please　don't　drink。　It　runs　in　the　family；　and；　I　promise　you；　you　won't　be　able　to　handle　it。　I　could　not。　And；　Nora；　please　forgive　your　mother。　I　know　that　in　my　absence；　she　may　blame　me　for　what　has　happened。　When　you　are　grown；　forgiveness　will　be　difficult　for　you。　But　remember　that；　in　a　way；　she　was　right　to　blame　me。　And…in　her　own　way…she　has　always　loved　you　deeply。　
　This　is　a　beautiful　place　to　die；　children。　The　night　sky　is　filled　with　stars；　the　stream　splashes　below；　a　coyote　is　sounding　in　a　distant　canyon。　I　came　here　for　riches；　but　the　sight　of　Quivira　changed　my　mind。　In　fact；　I　left　no　mark　of　my　passage　there。　And　I　have　taken　one　thing　only　from　it；　and　that　was　meant　for　you；　Nora；　as　proof　your　father　really　found　the　fabled　city。　For　it　was　there　that　I　learned；　for　the　first　time；　that　I　had　left　my　real；　my　true　successes…the　two　of　you…far　behind　in　Santa　Fe。　
　I　know　I　have　not　been　a　great　father；　or　even　a　good　father；　and　for　that　I　am　truly　sorry。　There　is　so　much　I　could　have　done　as　a　father　that　I　didn't。　So　let　my　last　act　as　a　father　be　to　tell　you　this：　I　love　you　both。　And　I　will　love　you　always；　forever　and　ever；　from　eternity　to　eternity。　My　love　for　you　burns　brighter　than　all　the　thousands　of　stars　that　carpet　the　sky　above　my　head。　I　may　die；　but　my　love　for　you　never　will。　
　　
　Dad　
　Nora　fell　silent　and　closed　her　eyes。　For　a　moment；　the　entire　canyon　seemed　to　drop　into　reverential　silence。　Then　she　looked　up；　shut　the　notebook；　and　carefully　placed　it　on　the　ground　beside　her　father。　She　turned　and　gave　Smithback　a　tearful　smile。　
　Then　the　four　of　them　made　their　way　down　the　faint　path；　to　the　waiting　horses　and　home。　
　
　Authors'　Note　
　The　archaeology　of　this　story　is　speculative　in　places。　However；　it　is　grounded　in　fact。　The　history　of　the　Anasazi；　the　mystery　of　the　Chaco　collapse　and　the　abandonment　of　the　Colorado　Plateau；　the　long…sought　evidence　of　a　Mesoamerican　connection；　the　use　of　radar　to　locate　prehistoric　roads…as　well　as　the　cannibalistic　and　witchcraft　practices　described　herein…are　based　on　actual　research　findings。　In　addition；　one　of　the　authors；　Douglas　Preston；　has　traveled　and　lived　among　southwestern　Indian　peoples；　as　recounted　in　his　nonfiction　work　Talking　to　the　Ground。　
　The　authors　made　use　of　information　from　a　number　of　other　publications；　the　most　important　of　which　include：　Clyde　Kluckhohn；　Navaho　Witchcraft；　Blackburn　and　Williamson；　Cowboys　and　Cave　Dwellers；　Basketmaker　Archaeology　in　Utah's　Grand　Gulch；　Crown　and　Judge；　eds。；　Chaco　and　Hohokam：　Prehistoric　Regional　Sytems　in　the　American　Southwest；　Kathryn　Gabriel；　Roads　to　Center　Place：　A　Cultural　Atlas　of　Chaco　Canyon　and　the　Anasazi；　James　McNeley；　Holy　Wind　in　Navajo　Philosophy；　David　Roberts；　In　Search　of　the　Old　Ones；　George　Pepper；　Pueblo　Bonito；　Hester；　Shafer；　and　Feder；　Field　Methods　in　Archaeology；　Lynne　Sebastian；　The　Chaco　Anasazi；　Levy；　Neutra；　and　Parker；　Hand　Trembling；　Frenzy　Witchcraft；　and　Moth　Madness；　Mauch　Messenger；　ed。；　The　Ethics　of　Collecting　Cultural　Property；　Chris　Kincaid；　ed。；　Chaco　Roads　Project；　Phase　I：　A　Reappraisal　of　Prehistoric　Roads　in　the　San　Juan　Basin；　Tim　D。　White；　Prehistoric　Cannibalism　at　Mancos；　Christy　Turner；　Man　Corn：　Cannibalism　and　Violence　in　the　Prehistoric　American　Southwest；　and　Farouk　El…Baz；　〃Space　Age　Archaeology；〃　Scientific　American；　August　1997。　
　It　should　be　noted　that　the　Nankoweap　tribe　is　wholly　fictitious；　as　is　the　Santa　Fe　Archaeological　Institute。　The　witchcraft　practices　and　beliefs　described　herein　are　not　intended　to　negatively　depict　or　portray　the　beliefs　of　any　existing　culture。　All　the　characters；　events；　and　most　of　the　places　portrayed　in　this　novel　are　also　entirely　fictitious　products　of　the　authors'　imaginations。　
　
　



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