hanging on the wall opposite the caving photographs.
There were three prints in a row: a self-filling waterfall, a castle with endless ascending and descending
staircases, and a tessellation of angels and devils. Kendel sat down when Diane hung up the phone. ‘‘I suppose you will get lots of calls like that,’’
said Kendel.
‘‘Andie will field most of them,’’ said Diane, looking
at her watch. ‘‘In just a few minutes I have to face
the board. Do you still stand by your assessment of
the provenance?’’
‘‘Yes . . . well, I don’t know.’’ Kendel slumped in
her chair. ‘‘In the beginning I was completely sure.
This is something I’m good at. But now—I just don’t
know. I don’t understand where any of this is coming from.’’
‘‘This isn’t like you,’’ said Diane. ‘‘You are always
self-assured. Is there anything you need to tell me?’’ ‘‘Nothing that would help.’’ Kendel ran her hands
through her hair. ‘‘Since this article came out, I’ve
been getting calls and e-mails accusing me of grave
robbing, stealing, ethnocentrism, and other things too
vile to mention.’’
‘‘That’s awfully quick,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It was just
out today.’’
‘‘It started with that first article a few days ago,’’
said Kendel. ‘‘And my name wasn’t even mentioned
in that one.’’
‘‘The article was very vague,’’ said Diane, wrinkling
her brow.
‘‘It was precise enough for some people,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘I imagine that now there is going to be a flood
of hate mail.’’
‘‘Save all your mail and anything on the answering
machine. Keep notes on any harassing phone calls you
take in person. Is there anything else?’’ Diane sensed
that there was.
‘‘I got an e-mail rescinding my invitation to speak
at the University of Pennsylvania seminars,’’ said Kendel. Her gaze searched the room as though there
might be something in Diane’s office that would explain all of it. ‘‘I’ve worked hard building my reputation,’’ she said, staring again at the photo of Diane at
the end of the rope. She blinked and the tears spilled
down onto her cheeks. ‘‘And this—it’s like being
struck by lightning—just suddenly out of the blue, all
of this . . .’’ Diane handed her a tissue and she wiped
her eyes. ‘‘And I don’t understand even how the university found out so quickly.’’
Diane stared at Kendel for a moment, then glanced
at her computer. ‘‘The University of Pennsylvania had
you listed on their Web site as an upcoming speaker,’’
she said. ‘‘I’m sure the reporter did an Internet search
for your name and found it there. She must have contacted them.’’
‘‘If that’s true, it was cruel. What did the reporter
think would happen? Don’t they care if they ruin
someone’s life?’’ She wiped her eyes again. ‘‘I don’t
know what to do about this.’’
