Humpty's bones

13. Friday: Noon

Eden Page worked on arranging the bones. Heather had already laid out the rest of the skeleton on the table — collarbone, ribs, pelvis, thigh bones, shin, the tiny pebble shaped bones of the ankle. Most were charred, which left a black scale. The stink of burning still pricked her nostrils. What occupied Eden now were the shards of skull. She retrieved the canine remains from the bowl marked ‘Miscellaneous’, then carefully, painstakingly, with a furrowed brow, she assembled the skull fragments — the dog-like jaw complete with incisors, the thick brow ridge, the smoother, broader plates of the crown of the head.

As she worked, she murmured a nursery rhyme to herself: ‘Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king’s horses, And all the king’s men, Couldn’t put Humpty’s bones together again.’

Heather entered with the bright announcement, ‘Coffee.’ Then she saw Eden’s handiwork. ‘Damn you, Eden! I told you not to do that. Are you really intent on pulling some kind of stunt to scare Curtis away? This is our home. I won’t let you drive us out, you bloody monster!’ She slammed the cups down on the desk hard enough to splash half the contents out. Then she advanced on her niece as if ready to punch her. ‘Get away from that!’

‘No, hear me out.’

‘I’m warning you. Bloody werewolves? You think I’m stupid?’

‘You’ve had trouble before, haven’t you?’

‘I’m not discussing that with you. Put those skull fragments back in the bowl.’ Heather bunched her fist.

Eden stood her ground. ‘I won’t. And you are going to listen to me. I’ve been working it out. I’m starting to understand.’

‘Eden! Get the damn train back to wherever you came from.’

‘Heather.’ Eden spoke with utter conviction. ‘You didn’t read your mother’s notes properly. General Gallus described the First Man as the Theopolis. That the city of gods was inside of him. The General also stated that he was the living embodiment of the pantheon. Do you see what he was driving at?’

‘Take the skull bones away, then we’ll talk.’ Despite her anger Heather was intrigued. ‘You might have thought doing that was a joke. Let me tell you, it’s — ’

‘Heather, listen. You’ve had trouble here before, haven’t you?’

‘Yes… ’ It pained Heather to admit it. Even then she quickly dismissed its importance. ‘Just Hezzle’s farm dogs. They were running amok. Making a hell of a mess in the garden. Scratching. Gnawing the car, for heaven sakes.’

‘You saw Mr Hezzle’s dogs?’

‘We didn’t have to. It was obvious they were his. Savage things they are.’

‘So you never actually saw them attacking the garden?’

‘Does it matter? Please, Eden. Before Curtis gets home put the skull fragments back in the bowl, and whatever happens don’t mention the word “werewolf”.’

‘I won’t even breathe the word “werewolf”.’ Eden spoke with confidence. ‘Besides, this skull has nothing to do with dogs or werewolves.’

‘Amen to that.’ Heather’s relief was heartfelt. ‘Another mention of werewolves and I’d scream, God help me, I would.’

‘Look, just bear with me for moment.’ Eden picked up her grandmother’s file. ‘First, the sketch of the congregation. Back in 1968 they are genuinely angry. They have just been told that my grandma — your mother — is translating that odious religious zealot’s book. Mr Hezzle and the rest knew about the Hermit’s life-hating, woman-hating mission. They also know full well that this bigot petitioned the local Bishop to conduct rites of exorcism on the land in 1488. Some bones were dug up by the Bishop’s priests, burnt, then reburied. He also had the Bishop come to the parish church here in Dog Lands to tell the congregation that the First Man was evil, ungodly, the worst kind of pagan. In fact, he went through the First Man’s teachings point by point in order to rubbish them. But then the Bishop finished his speech to the locals with what he believed would be the clincher. The killer blow that would make everyone despise the First Man.’

‘And that was?’

‘See for yourself. It’s here before you.’ Eden nodded at the table.

Heather’s eyes widened. ‘You’re saying the skeleton really is complete?’

By way of reply Eden read from the file. ‘“The Bishop struck the lectern as he cried out in a fierce voice: How can any right thinking person of this Kingdom believe the words of a man that wears the head of an ape?”‘

‘This is the skeleton of the First Man?’

‘And it’s his skull. Only it’s not a dog’s skull. It’s superficially dog-like maybe. But then apparently baboons have heads that resemble a dog’s.’

‘Poor devil. Then he was deformed?’

Eden leaned forward to gaze into the eye sockets of the broken skull. ‘A deformed man, who a Roman general identified as having the city of the gods inside of him? Something that excited the Emperor so much that nineteen hundred years ago he declared this “poor devil”, as you put it, be worshipped?’

‘That must be it.’

‘No, it’s not the whole story.’

‘You found this out from my mother’s notes? They were just random jottings. Nothing coherent.’

‘I found this at the back of the file.’ Eden unfolded a sheet of paper covered with fierce handwriting. There was so much ink it seemed to obliterate every square inch of white. ‘It’s a letter from Albert Hezzle, dated 4th October, 1968: two days after the same harvest festival where your mother sketched the congregation’s anger, when the vicar told them about the translation of the zealot’s book. The villagers hated the Hermit. They loved the First Man.’

Heather stared at the letter as if it smouldered in Eden’s fingers, just about to burst into flame and consume them all. ‘My mother received that letter, then stopped work on the translation?’

Eden nodded.

Heather turned back to the skeleton. ‘It seems as if Humpty, or more correctly the First Man, still wields influence.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘They’re a superstitious lot round here. A perceived bad omen can put the wind up them.’

‘No, as I told you, it’s not fear that the First Man inspires… it is Love.’

Her aunt shrugged. ‘So? He’s dead. Long, long dead.’

‘But something lives on.’

‘What? His wandering spirit?’

Eden shook her head. ‘His teachings.’

‘They’ll be of academic interest to historians. That’s all.’

‘According to Mr Hezzle’s letter the First Man’s knowledge is very much alive — albeit locally — and is something of a village secret. What’s more, the Hezzle family hoped that one day all of humanity will receive what they term “the Gift”.’

‘“And as soon as we receive this marvellous Gift, humanity will be saved”,’ concluded Heather with sigh. ‘If we had a golden nugget for every religion that’s promised salvation of our eternal souls… ’

‘It’s not about souls and the after-life. The First Man’s Gift would apparently improve the quality of life here on Earth.’

‘That’s very laudable. But undoubtedly delusional.’

‘According to grandma’s notes and Mr Hezzle’s letter, which is incredibly detailed, I’ve worked out the jist of… ’ Eden nodded at the bones on the table, ‘… the nature of his Gift.’

‘And?’

‘The First Man would father the children of local women. By the hundred, or even the thousand.’

They both looked up as thunder rumbled in the distance. A sound suggestive of prowling menace.

‘Ah, sex.’ Heather gave a knowing smile. ‘I should have known that the Gift of any self-proclaimed male hero would involve a stonking, great harem, so he could enjoy unfettered shagging rights.’

Thunder growled again. It grew darker inside the room as storm clouds loomed above the dreary expanse of fields. A car took the bend in the highway just a little too quickly. Its tyres squealed in protest. A moment later it accelerated safely away from the evil crook in the road.

Eden shook her head. ‘You might be a cynic, Heather, but local people, just like the Romans, believed in the First Man’s Gift.’

She turned back to the skeletal puzzle on the table and completed the brow ridge above one eye with a fingernail-sized fragment of bone that fitted perfectly. The face didn’t seem to resemble a dog so much now. Instead, something else emerged.

Eden spoke fluently, confidently: ‘The followers of the First Man realised this important fact: that the children he fathered with local women grew up to be superior to other children. They were stronger, more intelligent, more resistant to illness, and enjoyed a much longer life-span.’

‘So why did the Roman general describe the First Man as the Theopolis?’

‘Because General Gallus talked to him. Gallus possessed an enquiring mind. He knew that each Roman god and goddess had their own special talents: Mars, the god of war; Juno presided over marriage and children; Saturn, the god of agriculture. As you know, the Romans believed there was a whole bunch of deities in heaven. Gallus figured out that these godlike talents, or more accurately “fields of expertise”, had become fused into individuals known as the First Men. Hence, the title. The First Man would become the first in a long line of super-intelligent individuals with increased longevity. In turn, these would then sire more children.’

Heather gave a long, low whistle. ‘So a race of supermen would be born. And, in turn, the eventual extinction of Homo Sapiens.’

In the growing gloom, shards of ancient Roman pottery stood out as splinters of orange, as they caught the failing light. Eden noticed fragments of faces gazing from yet more remnants of bowls and jars that once contained spices, wine, and scented oils from Persia, and, perhaps, funerary unguents borne from mysterious realms along the Great Silk Road that linked the Orient with Imperial Rome. Once more thunder growled; this time with enough force to make a window pane shiver.

Heather shuddered. ‘We’re in for storm. Out here they can be a real nightmare. I hope Curtis comes home soon.’ Then she looked directly at Eden. ‘You know. I thought at first you were like your mother. I admit I was wrong. You are intelligent. You’ve examined all the facts you could find, then you worked out the truth. You’d have made a first class detective. I mean that sincerely, Eden. I’m impressed.’

‘I can also deduce that you don’t like my mother. That you think she’s silly.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘No, but I can piece your opinion together… just like these bones. Look at this,’ she moved to the table and gently touched the cheek of the skull. ‘The First Man didn’t have the head of a dog, or an ape. He was a man… but a man from a difference species.’