made sharp-edged double shadows on the tables, and attracted moths and flying insects. Carlos, Maggie, John, and Robin moved to another table to play cards. 1 declined Carlos's invitation to join them. Carlos brought a cassette player from his hut and put on a tape of top ten pop music. I stayed at the dinner table with my mother, Barbara, Liz, and Tony. Tony poured us each a gin and tonic.
"So what will you be doing on Monday?" Barbara asked me softly. With the coming of sunset, she had taken off her sunglasses. Her dark brown eyes were surrounded with circles of pale skin where the sunglasses had blocked the sunlight. Without the glasses, she seemed younger, more vulnerable. "Has Tony assigned you a job?"
I shook my head.
"Want to come on survey with me? We tramp through the monte and look for mounds. Fight with the bugs and try to avoid heatstroke. Lots of fun."
"The monte?"
"Second-growth rain forest," Barbara said. "All this." She waved her hand at the scrub beyond the huts.
"The Maya divided the world into the col—the cultivated fields— and the monte—the wild lands. In a week on survey, you'll learn more about the monte than you ever wanted to know. I'll teach you how to read a compass and follow a transect."
"Sure. That sounds all right to me."
"Great." She looked at Tony. "What do you think? She's on survey, all right?"
Tony grinned at me over his drink. "She didn't tell you that you'll have to get up at six A.M."
"That's okay."
Tony lifted his glass as if making a toast. "Barbara wins again. You're on survey."
At the other table, Carlos turned up the volume on the cassette player, and a Mexican version of a Beatles tune filled the plaza. Maggie made an inaudible comment, and Carlos reached over to touch her hand. My mother was drinking a gin and tonic and staring off into the darkness beyond the lantern light.
"You're in the same hut I'm in," Barbara was saying to me. "Want help setting up your hammock?"
"Sure."
We said good-night to my mother and Tony, and headed toward the hut.
"I get tired of watching the courtship rituals," Barbara said as we left the plaza.
The sound of Carlos's cassette player was fading in the distance. Barbara snapped on her flashlight and shone it on the path before us. "The first summer, it was an interesting sociological phenomenon. But you watch it four years running, and it gets tedious. The players change, but the moves never do. I steer clear of it."
"You've come here for the past four years?" I asked.
"Not this site. Last year I was at a site up by Mexico City; year before, I was at an Anasazi site in Arizona. Every site is a little different, but some things don't change. You always feel filthy; there's always a graduate student like Carlos who wants to play late-night games, and there's always someone like Maggie who's willing to play. I got a chance to watch Carlos in action last year. He's smooth, but callous as hell.
When he makes a play for you, watch out."
I glanced at her face, but could not read her expression in the dim light. "Who says he will?"
"You've got to be kidding. You're pretty and you're the new kid in town. It isn't a question of whether he will; it's only a question of when."
She stopped by a large black rubber barrel equipped with a faucet attachment. On top of the barrel was a battered metal dishpan. A grimy bar of soap sat in a makeshift soap dish: an old temple stone with an oval indentation. Barbara set her flashlight beside the soap. "Welcome to the washroom," she said. "All the comforts of home. The outhouse is at the end of that path. It's the best outhouse in this part of the country, though that doesn't say a hell of a lot." She rinsed the dishpan, then filled it with water and washed her face.
"You can hang your towel in the tree right here," she said, tugging her towel from a branch. "Like I said, all the comforts of home. The showers are down that path, past the outhouse and upwind of it. They remove very little of the
"So what will you be doing on Monday?" Barbara asked me softly. With the coming of sunset, she had taken off her sunglasses. Her dark brown eyes were surrounded with circles of pale skin where the sunglasses had blocked the sunlight. Without the glasses, she seemed younger, more vulnerable. "Has Tony assigned you a job?"
I shook my head.
"Want to come on survey with me? We tramp through the monte and look for mounds. Fight with the bugs and try to avoid heatstroke. Lots of fun."
"The monte?"
"Second-growth rain forest," Barbara said. "All this." She waved her hand at the scrub beyond the huts.
"The Maya divided the world into the col—the cultivated fields— and the monte—the wild lands. In a week on survey, you'll learn more about the monte than you ever wanted to know. I'll teach you how to read a compass and follow a transect."
"Sure. That sounds all right to me."
"Great." She looked at Tony. "What do you think? She's on survey, all right?"
Tony grinned at me over his drink. "She didn't tell you that you'll have to get up at six A.M."
"That's okay."
Tony lifted his glass as if making a toast. "Barbara wins again. You're on survey."
At the other table, Carlos turned up the volume on the cassette player, and a Mexican version of a Beatles tune filled the plaza. Maggie made an inaudible comment, and Carlos reached over to touch her hand. My mother was drinking a gin and tonic and staring off into the darkness beyond the lantern light.
"You're in the same hut I'm in," Barbara was saying to me. "Want help setting up your hammock?"
"Sure."
We said good-night to my mother and Tony, and headed toward the hut.
"I get tired of watching the courtship rituals," Barbara said as we left the plaza.
The sound of Carlos's cassette player was fading in the distance. Barbara snapped on her flashlight and shone it on the path before us. "The first summer, it was an interesting sociological phenomenon. But you watch it four years running, and it gets tedious. The players change, but the moves never do. I steer clear of it."
"You've come here for the past four years?" I asked.
"Not this site. Last year I was at a site up by Mexico City; year before, I was at an Anasazi site in Arizona. Every site is a little different, but some things don't change. You always feel filthy; there's always a graduate student like Carlos who wants to play late-night games, and there's always someone like Maggie who's willing to play. I got a chance to watch Carlos in action last year. He's smooth, but callous as hell.
When he makes a play for you, watch out."
I glanced at her face, but could not read her expression in the dim light. "Who says he will?"
"You've got to be kidding. You're pretty and you're the new kid in town. It isn't a question of whether he will; it's only a question of when."
She stopped by a large black rubber barrel equipped with a faucet attachment. On top of the barrel was a battered metal dishpan. A grimy bar of soap sat in a makeshift soap dish: an old temple stone with an oval indentation. Barbara set her flashlight beside the soap. "Welcome to the washroom," she said. "All the comforts of home. The outhouse is at the end of that path. It's the best outhouse in this part of the country, though that doesn't say a hell of a lot." She rinsed the dishpan, then filled it with water and washed her face.
"You can hang your towel in the tree right here," she said, tugging her towel from a branch. "Like I said, all the comforts of home. The showers are down that path, past the outhouse and upwind of it. They remove very little of the
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