Artem tried in vain to think of some plausible excuse or explanation, but words failed him… Dmitro Borisovich was right to censure him: only now did Artem realize that his stunt looked rather suspicious: he had done something wrong and had nothing to say in his own defense.
Dmitro Borisovich kept his gaze fastened on Artem, and noticed the young man blink in desperation. He even seemed on the verge of tears. This placated the archeologist somewhat.
“All right, tell me what you were up to, Artem. You realize I thought you were up to no good, but still, I must know what brought you here? What would you think if you were in my place?”
At last Artem worked up the courage to give a hurried account of what had happened.
“You know, Dmitro Borisovich… I wanted, you know, so very much… I was so upset yesterday, when I learned that you and Lida…. that you went together to the… when you know I’m so interested in all these things… and so I decided…”
“You decided what?”
“I decided to come here and pay you back…”
“To pay who back? Me or Lida? And how you were going to do it?”
“To pay back both you and Lida… I wanted to find something really great… and then prove that I can…”
“Can what?”
“Can find something valuable and important… But I would never keep it to myself, Dmitro Borisovich! It’d be for everyone!” Then, quite unexpectedly, even for himself, he blurted out:
“And that would stop Lida from putting on airs, that’s what!” Artem knew the moment he had finished that his confessions were not a reasonable explanation, but nevertheless his words were not lost on the archeologist.
Dmitro Borisovich burst out laughing as though he had heard something hilarious. He went on laughing for quite some time, stopping only to wipe his eyes and burst into further guffaws.
“Oh my, oh my! You’ve made me laugh, you really have! To hear such a thing coming from a college student!”
Artem’s embarrassment reached a new stage as he heard these words. He had really said something stupid… Why on earth should he have mentioned Lida?… What did that girl’s putting on airs have to do with the situation at hand?
Dmitro Borisovich removed his hat and began fanning himself with it as though he were hot. He was still laughing: it seemed only a glance at the young man’s dismayed face was enough to send him off into another fit of laughter.
At last his mirth subsided, and his face immediately grew stern. Now he would probably say something that would cut Artem to the quick.
The younger man lowered his eyes, expecting a merciless verdict. What were his chances of being acquitted when he had been found guilty of committing a horrible crime against.archeology and his friends? What would he say, this implacable archeologist?
.
Dmitro Borisovich gave Artem another searching gaze:
“Is that all you wanted to say?”
“Of course, Dmitro Borisovich!” Artem uttered in a whimpering voice. “My word of honor! I’ve told you everything there was to tell! I understand it was stupid of me, but, you know, something was sort of pushing me… and I, you know’… Dmitro Borisovich, please believe me!”
The archeologist smiled. There was really nothing more to ask about. The young man’s flushed and embarrassed face with its big black eyes blinking almost like a child’s, expressed more than any words could.
“All right, young man,” Dmitro Borisovich said at last with a dismissing wave of his hand, “let’s make our peace. But you’ll have to suffer a lecture from me all the same. And don’t pull such a wry face. First, you’ve earned it as punishment and second, it’ll be of some use to you. Which means that your gloomy expression’s out of place. Oh, it’s much better now. All right, tell me frankly: do you realize what incalculable harm your ill-advised prowling in the depths of this cave could have done to science? Yes, I do mean harm, and a very serious harm indeed!”
“I have moved around very carefully in the cave. I made sure I examined the walls and ceiling before I moved on. So, if you’re worried about unexpected rockfalls, I was on my…”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” the archeologist snapped, dismissing Artem’s words with an impatient gesture. “Of course that wasn’t what I meant when I spoke of harm to science. Your being buried in a rockslide would constitute no great loss to science. One overzealous young man less, that’s all. Oh, don’t take offense, it’s only a joke. Up to now, by the way, I’ve got my hope pinned on you, Artem, thinking that in the long run you’d make a decent scholar, provided, of course, you had the proper guidance. As a matter of fact, I have quite a different kind of harm in mind, a harm that could have been done not to you or me but to our common cause, to Science. Now, since you don’t seem to comprehend what I’m talking about, you must listen to what I have to say. And I ask you kindly to be most attentive so that my words get firmly in your rash young head.”
Dmitro Borisovich sat down on a piece of rock, produced a box of cigarettes and lit one from the little white flame of the lamp.
“Have a cigarette, young man. You don’t feel like it? Let’s then talk without the traditional peace pipe. Look at these things, will you?”
The archeologist drew the miner’s lamp closer to his feet. Near it he put the box of cigarettes, to the right of it — a pencil, and on the other side — his small-sized pickaxe. He was performing all these manipulations in such a concentrated, pensive and careful manner that Artem was indeed intrigued: it was so hard to guess what this complicated arrangement was designed for.
“So, young man, attention! Let’s imagine that all these things I’ve put down here are genuine archeological artifacts. And they are lying like this somewhere in a barrow or in a cave — somewhere where they have been spotted by an observant but hot-headed, grasping young man looking for archeological finds. Someone like you, for example. So, these archeological finds are resting just here. They are lying exactly the way they were put by our very remote forefathers in accordance with their traditions and rites. And we can learn about their traditions and rites only if we examine their arrangement carefully. All the more so in our case because we are probably dealing with traditions and rites of the ancient Scythians of whom we know next to nothing. We have neither descriptions nor authoritative statements about them. Now, here comes the enthusiastic young man. He sees, right in front of him, say, a vase of extraordinary beauty…”
Dmitro Borisovich swiftly snatched the box of cigarettes from the ground.
“The young man is, no doubt, excited. This is quite understandable as he has come across a genuine archeological treasure for the first time in his life. He examines the vase and the thought of how he will impress everyone with his unexpected find flashes through his rash mind. Yes, everyone, including one certain person who is of special interest to him… yes, yes, motives of this kind cannot be disregarded! But then, our young man sees other things lying around. He puts the vase down, grabs the sword, then a remarkable jug and so on…”
Dmitro Borisovich illustrated his story picking up the pencil, the lamp and the pickaxe from the ground with deft, swift movements. Artem watched him, not quite comprehending what the archeologist was driving at.
“So, he grabs one thing after the other, runs his fingers over it, makes many other hurried movements, quite in accordance with his effusiveness. He puts the sword back so that he can enjoy examining the jug, then he puts the jug aside when he thinks of the even greater beauty of the vase. At last, he chooses the most valuable thing of all… or even decides to take all of them to impress his friends even more. He returns and then it occurs to him that besides the things themselves, the very order in which these things were lying could be of a significant scientific interest. It is a well-known principle that the original arrangements of things in a find can tell the archeologist much more than the things themselves. It can reveal details of the ancient people’s everyday life, the meaning they attached to different things, plus much more. But in our case, unfortunately, the original arrangement of the things has been altered… It happened right at the moment when the young man began picking up the valuable vase… What’s more, in his excitement, he has trampled into the ground all sorts of shards and other tiny but important details. If they had been studied, they might have revealed a few more details about the ancients’ everyday life…”
Dmitro Borisovich gave Artem a sideways glance. The young man lowered his head abjectly, and was staring at his boots in dejection. Now he understood only too well what the archeologist was driving at!
“Dmitro Borisovich! I’ve found nothing! I’ve disarranged nothing! I’ve trampled nothing into the ground,” the young man made a feeble attempt at putting forward an excuse.
“Oh, I’m amazed, Artem, I’m amazed at how perceptive you are! I haven’t uttered a word that could suggest that it was you I had in mind describing a rash young man. And you’ve been so quick in making the right guess. Bang — and there you are. Oh, yes, you are right in saying that you’ve found nothing, that you’ve trampled nothing into the ground, that you’ve violated nothing… except discipline. Yes, I grant you that. But what if you had found something? Wouldn’t you have acted in the way I’ve just described? Can you, my dear friend, be absolutely sure you woudn’t? Be honest now!”
“No, I’m not sure,” Artem had to admit.
“That means?”
“That means that it could have happened just the way you described. Or rather, I’m almost sure it would have happened that way.”
“I appreciate your honesty.”
“But, Dmitro Borisovich, I haven’t found anything, really, except, maybe for…”
Artem stopped mischievously. The archeologist looked up.
“Except for what?”
’’Except for this stone wall.”
“What?”
The archeologist sprang to his feet.
“Where? Which kind of stones?”
Artem pointed silently to the rough masonry and shone the lamp on it. Jagged outline of roughly hewn stones with barely visible joints emerged from darkness.
“The wall? Yes, that’s a wall, no mistaking it. The masonry probably dates back to antiquity,” Dmitro Borisovich muttered to himself, his excitement mounting as he ran his fingers over the stones. A profound change had come over him: he was a different man. His lecturing stance disappeared, and the quiet composure of an accomplished scholar was gone now! He alternately stood on tiptoe, squatted, leaned this way and that, examining the joints, and then, as if remembering something, he would step back suddenly to get an overall look at the stones, shining his lamp on them.
Artem looked at the archeologist at first with respect, then with bewilderment, and finally, in amazement, even mixed with scorn. After a while, the young man chuckled slyly and screwed up his eyes: his turn had come at last! He began speaking, carefully weighing the rhythm of his words:
“And now this overzealous, but no longer… er… young man has found something… or maybe somebody else has pointed out this ‘something’ to him. It doesn’t really matter. The main thing is — he has seen something interesting,” Artem went on, mimicking the archeologist’s mocking voice of a short while ago. “He is excited, this not very young, or rather quite elderly man. He examines the find, a wall, for instance. He touches it here and there, almost dancing in his archeological rapture. And note, that in his mindless dancing this elderly but overactive man tramples the ground all around the find, quite oblivious of the fact that in the ground there can be some very important… Ouch! Dmitro Borisovich! Please! I won’t do it any more! Just a little joke! Please!”
Artem was writhing in an attempt to free the ear that had suddenly been caught in the vice-like grip of the archeologist’s strong fingers.
“Dmitro Borisovich, I’ve stopped, you hear? Let go!”
“All right, I’ll forgive you, but only because you’ve shown me this wall. All the same, Artem, you’re much too impudent! How dare you mimic your elders? It’s not at all appropriate! Obviously, Ivan Semenovich hasn’t taught you anything about discipline. But in the present circumstances there are more important matters to discuss. This wall is quite extraordinary! Why don’t you tell me about it straight away? Why not? Answer me!”
“Dmitro Borisovich, it was you who kept talking, all I could do was keep my mouth shut and listen,” Artem said, carefully massaging his sore ear.
“Now you’ve got the cheek to blame me for not letting you talk?”
“No, it’s not that… just didn’t get the chance…”
“It’s no good, I repeat, no good. But we’ll talk about it later. Now, take the lamp and shine it over here.”
For some time Dmitro Borisovich ran his agile fingers along the joints between the stones. One was reminded of the sure, deft movements of a surgeon during an operation. At last, the archeologist whistled triumphantly, stopped his search and gave the young man a meaningful glance.
“Artem, this wall promises a lot of discoveries. I’m quite sure of it. Now we’ll try to get to the other side, just you and I. You’ve earned it. We’ll start in a moment!”
Artem held his breath — was this really happening to him? But the archeologist added:
“Before we do anything else, we must photograph the wall the way it is now. You can’t touch it before it’s photographed.”
Then, his composure restored, the archeologist prepared his small camera, equipped with a flash. After taking pictures from various angles, he approached the wall again.
“Now,” he said with satisfaction, “we can try to dig through it.”
Artem looked at the archeologist apprehensively:
“Dmitro Borisovich, you won’t be charged with having committed archeological sacrilege, will you?”
“Why should I be?”
“Well, they’ll say you’ve started digging through the wall without special permission. It was you yourself who told me that once.”
“Yes-yes-yes, I did tell you!” Dmitro Borisovich interrupted the young man. “What kind of archeologist would I be if I didn’t have a valid archeological license with me for the duration of the vacations?”
“What kind of license?”
“An authorization granted by the state to carry out any archeological excavations I see fit. See? And I’ve got the permit right here in my pocket. So now, young man, get your pickaxe ready,” ordered the archeologist curtly.
“Yes, sir. I’m not sure though I’ll be able to remove any of these stones. This mortar or whatever it is must have hardened into stone…”
“All right, we’ll see. Shove the pointed end under this stone…”
“And why this stone and not some other?”
“Do it first and we can talk later. Have you done it?”
“Yes.”
“Now use the pick as a lever and push the stone upward. Careful! Good. And I’ll get it from my end. Good. Careful! Push harder!”
The stone in fact yielded to their effort rather easily. Dmitro Borisovich must have examined the joints very thoroughly indeed…
“Now, don’t push too hard. Let’s lower it softly to the ground.”
They did it. A black hole opened in the wall. Dmitro Borisovich brought the lamp closer and looked in.
“See, Artem, there’s a hollow place behind it. There must be something just waiting for us to investigate it. Aha, I see you’re impatient to crawl through. That’s exactly what I was trying to warn you against. Not yet, wait. Let’s get another stone out. This one here.”
The second stone proved much harder to budge. The mortar had gotten so hard it made the stone impossible to move. The archeologist had to begin chipping the mortar with frequent well-aimed blows of his pick. At last, the second stone was placed beside the first one on the soft ground. Now the opening was wide enough to allow a man to crawl through.
“It’s not a very convenient entrance. But we’ll have to use it anyway. Here we go.”
In a trice, Dmitro Borisovich disappeared through the opening, holding the lamp out in front of him. Artem who was watching the archeologist’s movements with some apprehension, was very envious: the older man would be the first to see what was behind the mysterious wall. But the young man did not have to wait too long, for in a few seconds, from behind the wall came somewhat muffled voice of the archeologist:
“Artem, climb in, quick.”
Artem found himself in a low, shallow cave. He could easily reach the ceiling with his hand. A wall of roughly hewn stones separated it from the blind alley leading from the main cave. In all likelihood, the wall had been built by ancient people hundreds of years ago! But why there?
The wall sealed off the little cave from which, by the looks of it, there was no way to get any further. No openings, obvious or potential, were discovered. Could it be a sort of a burial vault? But again, nothing to support this theory was found. Nothing, except for a layer of century-old fine dust on the floor and protruding parts of the wall…
Dmitro Borisovich and Artem then began thoroughly examining all the walls of the cave in hope of finding some clue. There were carvings on the walls in other passages, weren’t there? So there was probably a chance of finding something similar here. But no, even a very thorough search failed to produce any carvings, pictures or other signs of human activity.
“No doubt we have here a natural recess walled off from the rest of the passage,” said the archeologist in a low voice. “It is absolutely clear this has been done for some specific purpose. So far so good. But what was the purpose? A storage place? Most unlikely, with all that dust here and nothing else.”
“Maybe someone was here before us and took everything there was to take away with him?” Artem put forward another theory.
“No, that’s absolutely out of the question. I’ve examined the stone wall very carefully and found no traces of it’s ever having been tampered with. Absolutely no signs or traces to suggest an earlier visit. Besides, would the robber take such great pains to put the stones back and mortar them? I don’t think your theory holds in view of this implausibility. Anyway, it’s inconceivable… Why should this empty hollow have been sealed off by a wall?…”