A Short Story
by Carys E Rees
Windswept berms rolled into intricate wave patterns etched on the sand-blasted landscape.
Working on an excavation site in a desert and only finding fossils of aquatic plants seemed a contradiction to his family, but not to Tristin.
“Hey, Tristin, the world wants to know when you are going to discover the Atlantis scrolls. Aren’t they hidden in an Egyptian tomb?” some of his relatives asked last winter, knowing his affection for the unexplainable. “When you find it, can you take us there? We promise not to disturb your important work.”
Sarcasm and belittling were the weapons of choice for some of his relatives.
If he thought their inquiry was serious, he would have provided extra information like, “These supposed scrolls are in a coded location within the exterior of the pyramid, not inside a burial chamber. The identical scrolls are placed in the Yucatan Peninsula area.”
Tristin’s relatives didn’t, however, care about the sense of meaning and purpose he gained through archeology.
Not only did they not believe that Atlantis was an advanced civilization, but they also didn’t believe Atlantis ever existed.
His family only cared that he was gainfully employed.
They felt that getting an education was what you had to do to get a good job.
They would have a hard time understanding that getting an education might mean instead gaining a deeper understanding of the world.
When he furthered his education instead of getting a job like ‘other normal people,’ they were shocked.
Tristin took off his sunshield hat and used his forearm to wipe away sweat.
Taking a long drink of water, he then carefully excavated within an assigned grid.
Responsibilities for Tristin included photographing and drawing his discoveries.
He also took care of the cleaning, labeling, and storing fossils or artifacts.
Wearing a linen wrap skirt and a loose-fitting button-down shirt tied in a knot at her waist, a young woman led a group of elementary aged students over to Tristin.
She gave him a camp brochure.
These budding botanists were promised and primed for a summer science camp experience held at an archeological dig site.
“Earth Camp: From fossils to hydroponic plants, students excavate the ancient using modern methods,” said the brochure.
“Care for a break?” said Miss Cami.
“I could use a bite to eat,” Tristin said. “Sure.”
“I’m Cami,” she said. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve read so much about the famous archeologist Dr. Tristin Flagstadt.”
Most of the students moved to different tents and reviewed fossils from the Miocene-era rainforests.
Their teacher, Miss Cami, brought four students over to sit directly in front of Tristin.
“Friends,” Miss Cami said to the future scientists, “this is Dr. Flagstadt. I know you’re excited to interview him, so if you’re ready with your questions, please raise your hand.”
Tristin felt bamboozled. Like being pecked to death by chickens, the sizzling questions kept coming at him in short order.
It wasn’t a break, but an hour-long ambush.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and discretely looked for ways to excuse himself.
Miss Cami caught his meaning.
She turned away from her students and whispered to Tristin, “Do you need a break from your break?”
Tristin stroked his chin and whispered back.
“I’m trying to think of a clever response, so that you’ll think I’m funny and intelligent,” said Tristin. “Did it work?”
“Oh,” said Miss Cami as she mirrored his gesture and stroked her own chin as if in deep thought, “I’ll need to dig deeper before I can answer that.”
Facing the students again she said, “That’s enough for now. Let’s thank Dr. Flagstadt and check out the interpretive center.”
One boy, Erik, didn’t follow the rest of the group.
Tristin could tell that Erik wanted to talk more.
He also noticed that almost all the other archaeologists were quitting for the day and leaving.
But because Tristin felt there was something special about giving back to others, and because the boy seemed nervous, he decided to initiate a conversation with the boy.
“You remind me of myself when I was your age. Was science always your favorite subject?” Tristin asked.
Striking up a conversation with Erik was like poking a hole in a tire that refused to go flat.
A constant flow of words came out of Erik, who had a hard time sitting still.
He grabbed pencils, played with the tent straps, and fiddled with his wristwatch.
He talked about where he lived and wanted to know where Tristin lived.
Erik asked to wear Tristin’s hat and when he discovered he couldn’t, he reached out and felt the buttons on the shirt Tristin wore and talked about how buttons were made.
“Why did you pick this site?” asked Erik. “Do you get to keep what you find? Do you have to tell people everything that you find? Tell me again about the data you use? Is that called ‘data input?’ Are you able to read ancient languages, or don’t archeologists do that? Are you afraid of what you’ll find if you find the Atlantis scrolls? Will you use the information in the Atlantis scrolls?”
The only time Tristin could answer a question was when the boy inhaled, because even born auctioneers need oxygen.
Tristin admitted to himself that the boy’s curiosity stood fixed and unmatched.
Erik impressed Tristin.
“Erik,” said Tristin, “You remind me of a young prince I knew who had an interest in archeology. The prince pretended to be working on a good will project so that a place in his country could become a National Heritage site, but what he really wanted was to find the secret location for the oldest tree on the planet.”
Erik seemed not to have heard anything Tristin said because he was too busy rolling down his socks, counting the change in his pocket, and flicking back and forth the bristles on a paintbrush.
It wasn’t until Tristin asked him if he was who he claimed to be, that Erik changed his behavior.
He brought his hands to his sides and stood motionless.
Seeing Erik’s response, Tristin thought he would check again to see how Erik reacted if he pursued this subject.
“Friend,” said Tristin, “I didn’t hear your answer. Are you pretending like the prince did in the story I told you about?
You remind me of the prince.”
Using a robotic voice, Erik said, “I am not a prince.”
“Are you who you say that you are?”
“I don’t want to answer that question,” said Erik.
“Ah,” said Tristin, “so you aren’t who you say you are.”
Erik shook his head.
“Why won’t you tell me?” said Tristin. “Erik, I want to know if you’re really a regular student attending science camp, or if you’re here for another reason. Can you tell me at least that?”
“I can’t answer you,” said Erik. “I don’t have to answer you.”
These answers from Erik became data for Tristin’s scientific mind.
He continued asking similar questions, but only received similar answers.
More data.
Dr. Tristin Flagstadt crossed his arms, leaned back, and looked carefully at Erik.
He noticed the boy wasn’t fidgety anymore or bringing up questions.
The longer Tristin examined him, the more Erik’s eyebrows raised.
“What if I let you hold this fossil?” asked Tristin, as he held up a lovely example of an argopecten gibbus. “Would you tell me then?”
Erik’s lips pursed tightly before answering.
“I’m not authorized to say,” said Erik.
“Ah, because you haven’t said anything to me, I actually know more about your mystery,” said Tristin. “You asked me questions about Atlantis, right?”
Erik licked his lips.
“What if I told you that here, on this same ground that we’re standing on, we’re finding clues that seem to prove Atlantis was really a place?
The scrolls might be here.”
Erik’s gaze shifted to focus on something in the distance, but his body remained frozen.
“That’s right, Erik. You could be here, maybe even help in the discovery of the famed Atlantis scrolls. Wouldn’t that be exciting?” said Tristin.
“Just tell me what you’re really doing here. That’s it.”
Erik didn’t move.
Miss Cami came over.
“Is everything okay here?” Miss Cami said.
“Miss Cami,” said Tristin, “did you know that Erik isn’t who he appears to be?”
Miss Cami looked alarmed and motioned for her assistant to bring the rest of the campers onto the bus.
“I don’t understand. Erik is one of our campers,” said Miss Cami, “but if he’s not feeling well, we need to get him medical care right away.”
“He wanted to know about the Atlantis scrolls and what I would do if I found them,” said Tristin.
Miss Cami took both of Erik’s hands into her own and searched his blank eyes.
“Shentak Erik,” said Miss Cami, “you’ve done well here at Earth Camp, but now it’s time for us to leave. Would you like to say something before we go?”
“Please follow me,” said Erik.
Three silhouettes pushed against the wind as the boy led them to a different location nearby.
He pointed to a specific spot, which Tristin marked.
Miss Cami and Erik boarded the camp bus and drove away.
Tristin hoped he would see Miss Cami bring new campers to the site in the following week.
When Tristin and the crew arrived the next day, he didn’t excavate the marked site until other work was systematically completed.
As an afterthought, Tristin probed the site which turned out to be more promising than he’d ever dreamed possible.
He later described finding the Atlantis scrolls as the most thrilling moment of his professional life.
Tristin wanted to find Miss Cami and Erik so that he could thank them for the positive impact they had on his life.
He tried contacting Earth Camp by using the information on file, but learned there was no business or camp by that name.
After thoroughly searching for Earth Camp information based in other countries, he still did not find any contact information.
The address on the brochure Miss Cami gave him didn’t exist.
He mentally replayed the limited conversations he had with Miss Cami for clues about where Earth Camp might be located.
There was another memory that stood out.
She said she’d read so much about the famous Dr. Tristin Flagstadt.
At the time, he thought she was making a joke and being friendly, but now he wasn’t so sure.
Wasn’t that his first archeological dig?
Tristin could only look up into the night sky and wonder if there was a Mars Camp or Neptune Camp.
Carys
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