| atlas, continued... She reached out, turned one over, and smiled at the image of a young man in a heroic stance holding a bloody knife in one hand. He was bareheaded and his hat had fallen to the ground at his feet. "El Valiente" she whispered. The hero. She reached out to turn over the card on the opposite corner. She smiled again, wider, at the picture of a brightly dressed peasant girl paddling downstream in a canoe heavily laden with flowers and food, apparently headed for the local market.
"La Chalupa". The beautiful one. She continued turning cards over,commenting to herself, and then stopped to stare at one in particular. It wasa picture of a smartly dressed man with a monocle, holding a glove in one handand a cigarette in the other. "El Catrin" She hissed. The gentleman.She hurriedly flipped the last card. The images of the turned over cards hadformed an inverted triangle, and this was the final one, the apex upon whichall the others would rest, a picture of a shining crown of gold rimmed with pearls,capped with red brocade. She cried with delight, and sat satisfied for a momentbefore putting her cards away, humming, and then singing softly. The words weren'tin Spanish or English, or Akwa'ala, the local dialect. She was singing in a languagewhich had disappeared along with the Hatai Indians over five hundred years ago.Or almost disappeared.
"Ramona!" A woman's voice called from inside the small ranch house. "Comeand help me pack!".
Her eyes narrowed. "I'm coming, Paloma." She stood up and turned towardsthe mountains before going inside, her expression cold. "I'm coming" 2 Gibson Hill wondered again how Emilio Benitez had obtained his wealth as he listened to the dark, tailored gentleman describe his on-going project, an expansive gallery being built to house his collection. The wing they were standing in was to be dedicated solely to the preservation of the indigenous art of northern Mexico, explained Benitez, as Gibson sipped from the salted rim of his drink. He had inquired through sources in Los Angeles about Benitez' background, as he routinely did with all of his customers. They told him he had appeared in Ensenada last year, had purchased a sizable ranch, and had proceeded to establish himself as a respected patrón of the area. Questions about his past had yielded nothing, and had even been met with frank hostility. Why investigate a man whose presence was so beneficial to the community? To Hill it seemed that a wall of secrecy had been erected around him so high and so impenetrable that even the most dependably corrupt local and national government sources came up empty handed. Curious, he thought, but the fact remained that Benitez was his best customer, paying well for artifacts Gibson acquired, even funding several digs recently in Baja. As long as he was generous, who cared where the money came from?
Benitez turned to him, speaking in lightly accented English.
"So, as you can see, this room remains empty. I am counting on you to helpme fill it". He clapped his hands lightly and a servant appeared and tookaway the tray of drinks. They were alone. He walked over to a table where a mapof the Baja peninsula had been spread.
"So far the digs have yielded little. A few pots, arrowheads, baskets, bones,and masks..." Benitez peered at Gibson with a strange expression. "Themasks have been the most interesting artifacts. Well preserved in this climate.The rock paintings are interesting too, and well documented in your report."
"Thanks", Gibson replied. Both of them knew the Indians of this regionhad been nomads, hunters and gatherers, and couldn't afford to produce and carrythe kinds of objects associated with more agrarian cultures, such as the Maya,or the Aztec. There would be no gold. He wondered what Benitez was really after.Both of them were aware that what they were doing was highly illegal in the eyesof the Mexican Government, and unethical as well. Along with lawsuits and threatsof jail (driving up the price of bribes) protests would be filedby numerous organizations,from universities to cultural preservation groups if they found out about theexcavations. Benitez claimed to have a personal interest in the region. Gibsonknew other wealthy men who dabbled in archeology, but this appeared to be morethan a hobby. "I would like you to keep looking in these locations" Benitezpointed at an area inland and south of Ensenada and at spot opposite on the otherside of the mountain range separating the Sea of Cortez from the Pacific Ocean. "Ihave a list of locals you may want to question and use as guides. Discretely,of course." He smiled, but Gibson had the uncomfortable feeling he had justbeen given an order, or worse yet, a warning. (from Atlas, character developmentand story/script for game in beta development © 2002 jp) |