Relic

“Listen,” Moriarty interrupted, “when we began researching this exhibition, you wouldn’t believe the things we found. There are close to a hundred anthropology vaults in this section alone, and I swear some of them haven’t been opened in forty years.”

Moriarty was suddenly more confident and animated. Margo decided that if he dumped the tweed jacket, shed a few pounds, and swapped the horn-rims for contacts, he could almost be cute.

But Moriarty was still talking. “Just last week, we found one of only a couple of existing examples of Yukaghir pictograph writing—right next door! As soon as I get time, I’ll be writing a note for the JAA.”

[53] Margo smiled. He was so excited, he could have been talking about discovering an unknown Shakespeare play. She was sure that only a dozen readers of the Journal of American Anthropology would be interested. But Moriarty’s enthusiasm was refreshing.

“Anyway,” Moriarty said, pushing his glasses up his nose, “I just need someone to help me make sense of this Cameroon stuff for the display case write-up.”

“What do you want me to do?” Margo asked, temporarily forgetting the next chapter of her dissertation. His enthusiasm was infectious.

“That’s easy,” said Moriarty. “I’ve got the rough script for the case right here.”

He extracted a document from his briefcase. “See,” he said, running a finger down the covering sheet, “this sets out what, ideally, we want the case to say. We call it the story line. All you have to do is flesh this out, plugging in a few of the artifacts and some of the plants.”

Margo scanned the document. It was starting to sound a little more time-consuming than she’d anticipated. “How long do you think this will take, by the way?”

“Oh, ten to fifteen hours, max. I’ve got the accession listings and some descriptive notes right here. But we’ve got to hurry. The opening is just a few days away.”

Back came the memory of her next chapter. “Now wait a minute,” she said. “This is a big job, and I’ve got a dissertation to write.”

The dismay on Moriarty’s face was almost comical. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she might have other things to do. “You mean you can’t help?”

“Maybe I can squeeze it in,” she murmured.

His face brightened. “Great! Listen, while we’re on the sixth floor, let me show you some of the other stuff up here.”

He led her to another vault and inserted a key. The door rasped open to a dazzling display of painted buffalo [54] skulls, rattles, feather bundles, and even a row of what she recognized as raven skeletons tied up with rawhide.

“Jesus,” Margo breathed.

“There’s a whole religion in here,” Moriarty said. “Wait till you see what we’re putting on display. This is just the stuff left behind. We’ve got one of the best Sun Dance shirts anywhere. And look at this!” He pulled open a drawer. “Original wax cylinder recordings of the Sun Dance cycle songs, every one. Recorded in 1901. We’ve put them on tape, and we’re going to play them in the Sioux room. What do you think? Great exhibition, huh?”

“It’s certainly caused a fuss in the Museum,” Margo replied cautiously.

“Actually, there isn’t as much controversy as people seem to make out,” Moriarty said. “There’s no reason why science and entertainment can’t meet as friends.”

Margo couldn’t resist. “I’ll bet your boss Cuthbert put you up to that line.”

“He’s always felt that exhibitions should be more accessible to the general public. People may attend this because they expect ghosts and goblins and a spooky show—and they’ll get them. But they’ll go away with more than you might expect. Besides, the show’s going to generate a lot of cash for the Museum. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Margo smiled. She’d leave the baiting to Smithback.

But Moriarty wasn’t finished. “I know the word superstition has a bad connotation in some people’s minds,” he said. “It smacks of exploitation. And it’s true that some of the effects we’re putting together for the show are ... well ... a bit sensational. But an exhibit called Aboriginal Religion just wouldn’t sell, would it?” He looked at her with mute appeal.

“I don’t think anyone objects to the title,” Margo said. “I guess there are a few people who don’t feel your ends are truly scientific.”

He shook his head. “Just the crusty old curators and the crackpots. Like Frock, for example. They chose the Superstition exhibition over his proposal for one on evolution. So of course he doesn’t have a good word to say about it.”

Margo’s smile faded. “Dr. Frock is a pretty brilliant anthropologist,” she said.

“Frock? Dr. Cuthbert says he’s gone off the deep end. ‘The man’s bloody daft,’ he says.” Moriarty imitated Cuthbert’s Scottish accent. The sound echoed unpleasantly down the dim corridors.

“I don’t think Cuthbert is half the genius you feel he is,” Margo said.

“Now please, Margo. He’s top rate.”

“Not compared to Dr. Frock, he isn’t. What about the Callisto Effect?” Margo asked. “That’s some of the most cutting-edge work being done today.”

“Does he have a single speck of proof to back up his speculations? Have you seen evidence of any unknown, monstrous species roaming the earth?” Moriarty shook his head again, sending his glasses plunging dangerously down his nose. “Theoretical hype. I mean, theory has its place, but it has to be backed up with fieldwork. And that sidekick of his, Greg Kawakita, just encourages Frock with that extrapolation program he’s developing. I suppose