On Etruscan Time

CHAPTER FOUR Hector reached toward the light, which was making his closed eyelids glow deep red, and his fingers curved around something smooth, and cold, and round. As he gripped it, he was struck with how quiet everything was. Somebody evidently had turned off the radio, and the archaeologists must be too busy to talk. Still, out in the country like this, it was odd not to hear birds singing. And the leaves weren't rustling, even though a light breeze brushed against his skin. The only sound-and it was one he had not heard before-was the faint strumming of some stringed instrument, like a guitar, only muted. It seemed to come from all around him, and the notes excited him, although he couldn't have said why. When he cautiously opened his eyes again, the bright light from the stone had gone out. It must have dazzled his eyes, though, because the colors around him were muted, gray and white. The olive trees seemed almost transparent-he could practically see the hills through them. He turned to look back at the dig and rubbed his eyes. The toolshed looked like a shadow and he could swear that he saw the faint outline of another, larger building near it. And who were those people walking around? They didn't look like the archaeologists. Were there people there? Or was it some trick of the light? He couldn't tell for sure. He stood up, feeling like he was moving in slow motion. What was this? Was he having some new problem with the time change that made him groggy and slow? But he wasn't sleepy; he felt more wide awake and alert than he'd ever been before. It was just that the world looked faded around him. His fingers loosened, and the rock dropped out of his hand. From down at the dig he heard a sudden burst of laughter, followed by quick chatter in a foreign language. The sound of the radio, playing an American rap song, was clear and loud. A motor scooter sped down the path from the town and buzzed out of sight around the hill. And now the day was bright again, with a warm yellow light that made everything look solid and comfortable. The toolshed stood squat and real, and there was no other building near it, not even an outline. The shadowy people were gone-of course, he told himself, they had never been there to begin with-and the only person walking around was Susanna, bending over trenches and talking to the people digging in them. The exhilaration disappeared, and suddenly Hector felt as exhausted as at the end of field day at school. What just happened here? he thought, and shook his head to try to straighten out his mind. Did I go to sleep and have a strange dream about a glowing rock? But no, the stone lay on the ground in front of him. It was no longer dazzling-if it ever had been-and he picked it up and looked at it. It was just a chunk of white rock. Nothing out of the ordinary. And there was a hole near the tree root, about the same the size and shape. So he hadn't dreamed about digging it up. He rolled the rock around in his palm and saw that on the other side was a blue circle of stone surrounding a smaller black one. It looked like an eye. Weird, he thought. He glanced toward the dig and started to call Ettore, but then reconsidered How can I tell him about the light? he wondered. And about the way that it felt like I just had to pick up that stone? He told me to call him as soon as I found anything interesting, and this sure is interesting. He might get angry that I didn't say anything. The exhaustion moved over him again, dragging his eyelids down, pulling his chin toward his chest. He sat down, leaning against the tree, the rock loose in his palm. I'll just shut my eyes for a few minutes, he thought. And then I'll think of what to do. Once again the world grew dim and sound faded away, but this time it was the familiar vagueness of normal sleep that was overtaking him. He was standing at the edge ofBarrett, Tracy is the author of 'On Etruscan Time', published 2005 under ISBN 9780805075694 and ISBN 0805075690.