Aaron Elkins - Uneasy Relations

“And did you find one?” Julie asked.

“Alas, no,” said Rowley, turning apprehensive eyes on Gunderson again. “How does Ivan seem to you?”

The salad plates were cleared and the main dish, grenadine of pork glazed with port wine and served with prune confit, was quickly brought. (The staff had been asked to be “brisk.”) Over this aromatic dish, Corbin and Pru entertained the Olivers with the usual war stories about the personality conflicts and typical contretemps at the Europa Point dig. By then, Gideon had unbent and had a glass of white wine, and the conversation was animated and entertaining.

At the head table, however, things were considerably more stilted. Gunderson’s resources seemed to diminish by the minute. Audrey and Adrian, on either side of him, worked at trying to engage him in conversation, but Gunderson, eating with the single-minded avidity of the aged for their remaining pleasures, was in a ravenous world of his own, devouring his food as if he’d never have another opportunity. Gideon’s heart sank further every time he looked up at him.

The only comment he was heard to make came when he had finished using a roll to mop up every last scrap of his dinner (an action that would have been unthinkable in the Ivan Gunderson of a few years ago).

“I don’t remember my mother,” Gunderson said suddenly and quite loudly, “but as I may have told you before, when my father remarried, his new wife brought her three grown daughters to live with us: Sally, Veronica, and Annie-Maude. So there I was, one impressionable young boy of eleven who’d never been around women, suddenly surrounded by a household of four of them. Four of them! Now that’s enough to give anyone pause.”

Everyone waited for whatever was coming next – a joke, an apocryphal story – but that was it. He reached for his wine and gazed uneasily about him, obviously wondering why everybody was looking at him.

Audrey cleared her throat. “Perhaps this would be a good time to get on with the ceremonies?”

Yes! Gideon urged silently.

Gunderson looked up anxiously. “We haven’t had dessert yet.”

“Well, why don’t we begin our ceremonies while we await our dessert and coffee?” Adrian suggested mildly, and then, before Gunderson could reply, he said, “Rowley, why don’t you start the festivities? ”

Rowley hurriedly took his unlit pipe from his mouth, stood up, blushing, and made a warm, pleasant little speech about how much Gunderson had meant to the Territory of Gibraltar, recounting how the very first Neanderthal skeleton ever to be found anywhere, a female, had actually been discovered there in 1848, but no one had understood what it was until after a similar skeleton, a male, had turned up eight years later in the Neander Valley – das Neander Thal – near Dusseldorf.

“And so what might have been ‘Gibraltar Woman’ became instead ‘Neanderthal Man,’” Rowley said, “robbing Gibraltar of its rightful place in the history of archaeology. That is, until the, ah, eminent gentleman seated there to my left came along” – he smiled down at Gunderson, who smiled back – “and provided the impetus and insight that led to the wonderful discoveries at Europa Point. We now not only have Gibraltar Woman but Gibraltar Boy as well – the justly celebrated First Family – catapulting Gibraltar back into the mainstream, indeed, the forefront of prehistoric archaeology.”

He turned to face Gunderson directly. “Ivan, on behalf of the Historical Association, it is my great pleasure and honor to present you with this year’s Mons Calpe Medal in recognition of your many contributions, moral, financial, and advisory to the Gibraltar Museum of Archaeology and Geology.”

He raised the award high for all to see – a gleaming Roman coin (“Mons Calpe” was the Romans’ name for Gibraltar) – hung on a gold chain that was stitched down the center of a wide, red-and-white-striped ribbon. When Gunderson rose to accept it, head modestly bowed, Rowley placed it around his neck, draping the ribbon almost tenderly over his shoulders.

In a rattle of nervous applause, Gunderson shook hands with Rowley and faced the assembled guests. He looked genuinely touched. He also looked as if he might be back in reasonable form. All held their breath as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Thank you so much for this honor,” he said smoothly and sincerely, at which the collective, inheld breath was released, “which I must in all honesty say is completely undeserved. It is Dr. Vanderwater who did the work and brought forth the great achievement; Dr. Vanderwater and his extremely accomplished staff-”

An imperial, benevolent nod and wave from Adrian, simpers from Corbin and Pru.

“-some of whom I am extremely gratified to see here tonight. But whether I deserve it or not” – a humorous twinkle lit his eyes – “I’d just like to see anyone try and get it away from me.” He sat down smiling. “Thank you all for this wonderful, wonderful evening.” Then, as an afterthought: “You’ve made an old man very happy.”

The applause was heartfelt this time. People were moved by the occasion, and thankful and relieved that Gunderson had been able to handle it with his old flair. By now coffee and dessert had been brought, and at Audrey’s suggestion, the presentation of the V. Gordon Childe award was held off until the almond creme brulee had been disposed of. Gunderson reverted to the same intent, glitter-eyed greed he’d shown with the main course, and only when he’d scraped the sides of the fluted cup clean and finally lain down his spoon, did she arise.

Her speech was as short as Rowley’s, if not quite as warm. She brought the award, a gold-plated trowel on an onyx base, from the floor behind her and placed it on the table in front of Gunderson. “The directorial board of the Horizon Foundation has unanimously determined that this year’s V. Gordon Childe Lifetime Achievement Award in Archaeology be awarded to Ivan Samuel Gunderson in appreciation of his many contributions to the understanding of European prehistory, and his great success in sensitively interpreting it for readers and television viewers throughout the world. Congratulations, Ivan.”

Again Gunderson stood, accepted the trophy, and shook hands. Again he faced his audience.

“Thank you so much for this honor, which I must in all honesty say is completely undeserved. It is Dr. Vanderwater who did the work and brought forth the great achievement; Dr. Vanderwater-”

The smiles on the faces of his appalled audience turned wooden. Troubled glances shot around the table.

“-and his extremely accomplished staff, some of whom I am extremely gratified to see here tonight. But whether I deserve it or not, I’d just like to see anyone try and get it away from me. Thank you all for this wonderful, wonderful evening. You’ve made an old man very happy.”

What made it especially horrible was that he said it with all the same easy verve and informal good humor, even the very same stresses and pauses, the same twinkles and smiles at all the same places. Even the identical brief hiatus before the last, “spontaneous,” throwaway sentence. He had no idea that he made the same carefully rehearsed speech only a few minutes before.

The attendees smiled and clapped, doing their best to cover their dismay, but Gunderson sensed that he’d done something wrong, although he didn’t know what.

“And I… I just want to add,” he began uncertainly from his seat, “that, that… the proudest accomplishment of my life has been the privilege, the privilege of, of having been… been instrumental in the discovery of, of…” Sweat streamed down beside his eyes in runnels as he desperately rummaged, in a disordered and inaccessible mind, for the words he wanted. “… the discovery of. .. Guadalcanal Woman,” he finally spat out wretchedly, “and Guadalcanal…” but his darting, panicked eyes showed that, while he saw from the expressions around him that he’d missed his target, he had no idea of where or how to find it. He looked anxiously, pathetically, at Rowley. “Did I misspeak? I misspoke, didn’t I?”