Post by Tony on May 26, 2009 7:27:34 GMT -5
Tick. Tick. Tick. Sweep. Tick. Tick. Tick. Sweep. That is what I hear all day, every day. An occasional break gives you rest from the monotony, but that is rare. The low hum of cars and people talking are a constant background noise that I no longer pay attention to it. But that ticking, it is right in front of me and never fades away. Sometimes, I wonder what I’m honestly doing.
“Dude, don’t you just wonder why the hell you bothered to get into archaeology?” Franks says off to my left in his distinct New York City accent, echoing my thoughts.
“Sometimes,” I reply, “But it isn’t all bad. There are lots of perks.”
Frank lets out this shocked guffaw and questions my sanity. “Like what? Exotic places? That’s a bunch of bull and you know it. Whoever told you that should’ve been smacked.”
I did know it, unfortunately. We were on the outskirts of Mexico City, one of the most populated cities in the world. It was small, dirty, and housed way too many people. Crime was sometimes rampant and the poor rambled in the back streets looking for food or something to hawk. But it wasn’t things on the surface that interested me, it was below the surface. Buried under tens of feet of dirt lay the ruins of one of the greatest pre-Columbian metropolitan areas in the hemisphere, Tenochtitlan.
“Yeah, it may not be so exotic, Frank, but you do get to find interesting things.” I reply chipping away at some more stone wall. Beneath the dirt and bits of rock I’m starting to see carvings on the outside.
“Pssh! All we find is garbage and rubble. Finding sherds and midden heaps got old back in graduate school, buddy. I want to find a burial or something. I want it to be big, huge, front page news.”
“Newspapers aren’t around anymore. Not since the last recession.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand in my general direction. “But the New York Times will live on in my heart, though,” Frank mimes being wooed and places his hands over his heart. Chuckling, I go back to this wall. More of the dirt is coming off and I can start to see glyphs and the foot of a figure. And something else I can’t quite make out.
“We get to find more than sherds and garbage. What about that statue last week? It was in great condition and I’d never seen anything like that before.”
“That piece of shit? Half its face was gone and it was missing a foot. And it was tiny.” Frank had this look of scorn on his face twisting his lips.
“Well, then why are you doing this? It obviously isn’t for the money and women.” Archaeologists, while doing much to help reconstruct the past, do not get paid much. Working at a university gets you a decent middle class salary, but nothing to wow people with. If you want more money you eventually have to write a book or two and get it out there. Especially if you are falling behind paying back your student loans.
“For the possibility of fame, Giacomo. To find that one object that helps to fill in a big piece of history and give us a better understanding. I’m not that shallow, you ass.”
I just shake my head and go back toward my excavating. Tick. Tick. And with the last tick a sheet of hardened clay fell and crumbled on the ground kicking up dust. “Speak of the devil, you crazy Irish bastard,” I half whisper.
“You did not just find something big!” Frank scrambles over support beams and discarded rubble to come and see. He slides down next to me to stare at what I had found. Embedded in the stone wall was a niche. In that niche was filled with a stone box with carvings all along the outside. Written, plain as day, read “In the year of our Lord, 1528” in Spanish next to the Aztec date for
the same year. This was big, something really big.
“Dude, don’t you just wonder why the hell you bothered to get into archaeology?” Franks says off to my left in his distinct New York City accent, echoing my thoughts.
“Sometimes,” I reply, “But it isn’t all bad. There are lots of perks.”
Frank lets out this shocked guffaw and questions my sanity. “Like what? Exotic places? That’s a bunch of bull and you know it. Whoever told you that should’ve been smacked.”
I did know it, unfortunately. We were on the outskirts of Mexico City, one of the most populated cities in the world. It was small, dirty, and housed way too many people. Crime was sometimes rampant and the poor rambled in the back streets looking for food or something to hawk. But it wasn’t things on the surface that interested me, it was below the surface. Buried under tens of feet of dirt lay the ruins of one of the greatest pre-Columbian metropolitan areas in the hemisphere, Tenochtitlan.
“Yeah, it may not be so exotic, Frank, but you do get to find interesting things.” I reply chipping away at some more stone wall. Beneath the dirt and bits of rock I’m starting to see carvings on the outside.
“Pssh! All we find is garbage and rubble. Finding sherds and midden heaps got old back in graduate school, buddy. I want to find a burial or something. I want it to be big, huge, front page news.”
“Newspapers aren’t around anymore. Not since the last recession.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand in my general direction. “But the New York Times will live on in my heart, though,” Frank mimes being wooed and places his hands over his heart. Chuckling, I go back to this wall. More of the dirt is coming off and I can start to see glyphs and the foot of a figure. And something else I can’t quite make out.
“We get to find more than sherds and garbage. What about that statue last week? It was in great condition and I’d never seen anything like that before.”
“That piece of shit? Half its face was gone and it was missing a foot. And it was tiny.” Frank had this look of scorn on his face twisting his lips.
“Well, then why are you doing this? It obviously isn’t for the money and women.” Archaeologists, while doing much to help reconstruct the past, do not get paid much. Working at a university gets you a decent middle class salary, but nothing to wow people with. If you want more money you eventually have to write a book or two and get it out there. Especially if you are falling behind paying back your student loans.
“For the possibility of fame, Giacomo. To find that one object that helps to fill in a big piece of history and give us a better understanding. I’m not that shallow, you ass.”
I just shake my head and go back toward my excavating. Tick. Tick. And with the last tick a sheet of hardened clay fell and crumbled on the ground kicking up dust. “Speak of the devil, you crazy Irish bastard,” I half whisper.
“You did not just find something big!” Frank scrambles over support beams and discarded rubble to come and see. He slides down next to me to stare at what I had found. Embedded in the stone wall was a niche. In that niche was filled with a stone box with carvings all along the outside. Written, plain as day, read “In the year of our Lord, 1528” in Spanish next to the Aztec date for
the same year. This was big, something really big.