his Yankees cap, Bear put him down. The cap, snatched by the wind, skittered away. The giant chased it as nimbly as a kid, recovered it, and screwed it back on Henry’s head.
Henry introduced us. We stared at each other, neither of us offering a hand or a smile or uttering a sound. I wouldn’t have touched this creature or spoken to it if someone had put a gun to my head. The giant’s name, as I already knew, was Bear Mulligan. As a young man he had been an All-American left tackle who got his nickname in college from the ferocious way he tackled opponents. It was written in the newspapers that he didn’t just bear-hug running backs, he ate ‘em alive. Stadiums boomed with his name, shouted in unison by fifty thousand Texans in a state of bloodlust. Bear had a knack for fame. He grew up to be a paleontologist who was invariably described by the many reporters who traveled far to interview him as “legendary.”
Henry, glancing first at Bear and then at me, immediately picked up on the revulsion between us.
“Come on, Henry,” Bear cried. “I want to show you what your money has bought.”
The two of them rushed away, Bear’s tree-trunk arm around Henry’s shoulders. I followed, uninvited and ignored. Pretty soon we reached the mesa and with Bear in the lead, clambered up a network of aluminum ladders that had been bolted to its face. In minutes we reached the top, which was perfectly flat, and there, in an enormous ditch, lay an enormous skeleton.
“Biggest dad-gum land animal ever seen by human eyes!” Bear shouted. “We’re gonna name it for you, Henry.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” Henry said.
“It’s a girl,” Bear said. “Looks like a Sauroposeidon, but she ain’t. She’s bigger—about forty meters long. She stood about twenty meters high. Humongous long neck, like a giraffe, but a lot bigger. Weighed maybe forty-five tons. Older than Sauroposeidon, too.”
“What era?”
“Late Jurassic, prob’ly, but don’t hold me to that till we’ve worked on her a little more.”
“Did you find her intact, as we see her here?” Henry asked.
“Intact, more or less,” Bear replied. “We did a little retrofitting, mostly small bones that got scattered by the earthquake that done her in, but the big parts you see lie pretty much the same as they laid for all them millions of years. Found us some eggs, too. Huge— bigger ‘n medicine balls. She must’ve been settin’ on the nest when the world turned upside down on her.”
The way Bear talked like an old cowhand grated. Whatever else he might have been—and we’ll get to that presently—he was one of the most famous scholars in his field. He was also well-off. In the 1920s, his grandfather, an authentic redneck, had struck oil in Wink, Texas, and later on, all over the world. The family owned a private bank in New York, among other things. Bear had gone to a well-known New England school, the same one his father had attended, and after his football days, earned a doctorate at Harvard. I knew a lot about Bear. He didn’t grow up talking like he had a mouthful of barbecue.
He showed us some fragments of fossilized dinosaur eggs.
“Imagine being the size of this here lady and all of a sudden finding yourself flyin’ through the air doin’ somersaults,” he said. “Must have been pretty disorienting.”
“I don’t see any broken bones,” Henry said. “The ground must have opened where she was standing. She probably was buried instantaneously, to have stayed together, like she’s done for a hundred and fifty million years.”
“Could be, old buddy. But we’re talkin’ about one hell of an earthquake.”
Henry and I exchanged glances. Yes, he was talking about one hell of an earthquake.
Henry had brought treats for the workers—vacuum chests of hot Chinese and American food, coolers filled with beer, ice cream and apple pie for the Americans, Chinese
Henry introduced us. We stared at each other, neither of us offering a hand or a smile or uttering a sound. I wouldn’t have touched this creature or spoken to it if someone had put a gun to my head. The giant’s name, as I already knew, was Bear Mulligan. As a young man he had been an All-American left tackle who got his nickname in college from the ferocious way he tackled opponents. It was written in the newspapers that he didn’t just bear-hug running backs, he ate ‘em alive. Stadiums boomed with his name, shouted in unison by fifty thousand Texans in a state of bloodlust. Bear had a knack for fame. He grew up to be a paleontologist who was invariably described by the many reporters who traveled far to interview him as “legendary.”
Henry, glancing first at Bear and then at me, immediately picked up on the revulsion between us.
“Come on, Henry,” Bear cried. “I want to show you what your money has bought.”
The two of them rushed away, Bear’s tree-trunk arm around Henry’s shoulders. I followed, uninvited and ignored. Pretty soon we reached the mesa and with Bear in the lead, clambered up a network of aluminum ladders that had been bolted to its face. In minutes we reached the top, which was perfectly flat, and there, in an enormous ditch, lay an enormous skeleton.
“Biggest dad-gum land animal ever seen by human eyes!” Bear shouted. “We’re gonna name it for you, Henry.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” Henry said.
“It’s a girl,” Bear said. “Looks like a Sauroposeidon, but she ain’t. She’s bigger—about forty meters long. She stood about twenty meters high. Humongous long neck, like a giraffe, but a lot bigger. Weighed maybe forty-five tons. Older than Sauroposeidon, too.”
“What era?”
“Late Jurassic, prob’ly, but don’t hold me to that till we’ve worked on her a little more.”
“Did you find her intact, as we see her here?” Henry asked.
“Intact, more or less,” Bear replied. “We did a little retrofitting, mostly small bones that got scattered by the earthquake that done her in, but the big parts you see lie pretty much the same as they laid for all them millions of years. Found us some eggs, too. Huge— bigger ‘n medicine balls. She must’ve been settin’ on the nest when the world turned upside down on her.”
The way Bear talked like an old cowhand grated. Whatever else he might have been—and we’ll get to that presently—he was one of the most famous scholars in his field. He was also well-off. In the 1920s, his grandfather, an authentic redneck, had struck oil in Wink, Texas, and later on, all over the world. The family owned a private bank in New York, among other things. Bear had gone to a well-known New England school, the same one his father had attended, and after his football days, earned a doctorate at Harvard. I knew a lot about Bear. He didn’t grow up talking like he had a mouthful of barbecue.
He showed us some fragments of fossilized dinosaur eggs.
“Imagine being the size of this here lady and all of a sudden finding yourself flyin’ through the air doin’ somersaults,” he said. “Must have been pretty disorienting.”
“I don’t see any broken bones,” Henry said. “The ground must have opened where she was standing. She probably was buried instantaneously, to have stayed together, like she’s done for a hundred and fifty million years.”
“Could be, old buddy. But we’re talkin’ about one hell of an earthquake.”
Henry and I exchanged glances. Yes, he was talking about one hell of an earthquake.
Henry had brought treats for the workers—vacuum chests of hot Chinese and American food, coolers filled with beer, ice cream and apple pie for the Americans, Chinese
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