Marjorie Thelen: The Hieroglyphic Staircase

Dominic eased toward her. “Elena,” he said in a loud whisper.

Her head jerked in his direction, her eyes wide and troubled.

He stepped to her side. “I’m glad you’re all right. I was concerned that you were involved.”

“I was involved,” she said, barely audible. “I found him.”

She was trembling. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. He could feel her shivering against his side even though his shirt was sticking to him with the heat and humidity. He had never been at the scene of a murder and struggled for words of comfort. The horror of having come upon a dead body early in the morning at one’s work site would be enough to send anyone into shock. They stood for a few silent minutes, watching the little group of workers mill around the guard.

“Why don’t you get in the Jeep,” Dominic said, “and I’ll take you back to town. You’ve had a terrible shock.”

She shook her head and pulled away. “I need to give a statement to the police and talk to the Museum director. Someone went to fetch him. He should have been here by now. Could you give me a lift to the Museum? Maybe I can find him.”

“Sure, I’ll be glad to help.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell the guard we’re leaving and where we’re going.”

After she spoke with the guard, Dominic guided the still trembling Elena to the Jeep. She slumped into the passenger seat, removed her hat and used it as a fan against the still air.

“What a nightmare,” she said, hardly above a whisper. “I can’t believe I found that man.”

Dominic didn’t start the engine. He leaned back in the seat. “Tell me what happened.”

She bit down hard on her lip. Her eyes grew bright with tears which intensified the green of her eyes. In a halting voice she said, “I was walking alone across the courtyard toward the Staircase. It was around 6:00 A.M. and just getting light. I wanted to arrive early to check the Staircase while the workmen weren’t here. The morning was lovely so I decided to go up to the top of the Temple of the Inscriptions by the back path. It’s easier than trying to climb the narrow front steps. The view over the Park is spectacular.

“I found the body on the path, lying where it is now. I thought at first it was one of the workmen, sleeping, and was going to walk around, when I noticed the clothes and stopped. They weren’t the type the workers wear, they were much neater. His face was turned away from me, so I leaned over to say something. I caught a glimpse of the back of his head, and then I saw his eyes.”

She covered her face and pressed her fingers into her eyes like she was trying to erase the picture in her mind.

Dominic waited, watching her, wanting to hold her and smooth her hair, sooth away the ugliness of the scene she was reliving. But he held back. Such a gesture would be too familiar, more for people who knew each other well, who were good friends, even lovers. The retelling would be difficult but cathartic. Tears would wash away some of the horror of the scene.

“The worst was the eyes,” she said at last. “They were bulging, sightless.” She looked at Dominic. “He was dead.”

The pathos in her voice moved him to place his hand on hers. “Do you have any idea who he was?”

“I’ve never seen him before,” she said, staring into the distance.

“Do you think a gang is involved, drugs?”

“I don’t really know.” She looked at him with a sad smile. “I’m an epigrapher. I spend my life looking into the past. I’m horribly deficient in current events, including the latest addictions of humankind.”

The sound of an approaching vehicle made them look around. Another Jeep, old Army issue, jerked to a stop beside them.

Elena brushed away tears with her fingers and repositioned her field hat, as if in those gestures she made the world right again.

Two policemen in dark blue uniforms alighted. The taller one nodded.

“ Buenos días ,” he said. “I am inspector Oliveros. What happened here?”

“There’s been a horrible accident,” said Elena. “A man lies dead over there behind the Temple.” She pointed in the direction of the huddle of people gathered around the body and gave a brief sketch of the morning’s tragedy.

“You say you found the body?” asked the inspector.

Elena nodded.

“Please will you accompany us to the site?” He indicated with a gesture of his hand that Elena should lead the way.

The group of onlookers parted to allow the police to examine the body. Dominic stayed close to Elena. More people arrived — the curious, those drawn to stare at the abnormal and macabre. The police took the list of names and asked the guard, Elena, the doctor, Corazón and the onlookers more questions.

On orders from the inspector, the park guard started taping off the site and ordering people to leave if they were not directly involved. Elena took a seat on a large hewn stone by the path. Dominic sat beside her. In silence they watched the proceedings. He was having trouble coming up with words of comfort, which was unusual for a man with experience in comforting others. But he no longer felt like a priest. That was in the past and far away from the site of this murder. He could not call on his faith. He had none.

Elena sat up straighter and peered off toward the entrance to the Park. Dominic followed her gaze and saw an odd-gaited figure coming at what, for him, might be a run. A limp in his left leg gave his effort a rolling appearance. His jacket flapped in the breeze he created, because none existed that day in the Archaeological Park.

“It’s the director,” said Elena. “He has a crippled leg. That’s odd. Why is he on foot? Why wouldn’t he come in the Museum van?”

They stood to get a better view. The heat was taking a toll on the man. Dominic could see he was laboring for breath. He looked like he might be the second victim of the morning.

Elena walked toward him and Dominic followed, curious to meet the man who didn’t like this bright, beautiful woman. It was evident by the director’s contorted face that he was either in a great deal of pain or he was very angry about something, maybe both.

“Director, have you heard what happened?” said Elena.

“Of course, I have heard, but not from you. Why have you not informed me?” His brown complexion had taken on the rosy hue of exertion and indignation.

“I found the body. The police would not allow me to leave.” Elena’s jaw set in a line as hard as the lines in the stone pyramid.

“What body?” asked the director, who had stopped before Elena.

“Someone was murdered. I found him on the way to work this morning.”

“Who?”

“We don’t know. Someone outside of the area, judging by his clothes. The police are collecting evidence now.”

“How did it happen? Did you use any of your analytical skills to assess what might have happened?”

“My skill is deciphering ancient text, not in reading the evidence in a crime scene.”

Dominic could hear the irrational argument building between them and interjected. “We should see if the police need Elena anymore, and then perhaps I could drive her to town. She has been through hell this morning, sir, and needs to rest.”

The director turned slowly, stiffly, taking hobbling steps with one leg and using the other as a pivot. “Who are you?” he asked without the slightest hint of social amenity.

His rudeness surprised Dominic, who was used to sunny, Honduran graciousness and hospitality. With a friendly voice he introduced himself, explaining about the clinic and his work there.

“I see, señor Harte,” the director said, his tone more conciliatory. “Then I need to thank you for helping doctora Palomares. This event has us all upset.” He turned to Elena. “ Doctora , you should rest. I will see what is to be done. I am sorry you had to be involved in this terrible event.”