?That?s what I thought. That a dog, or maybe a raccoon, died. So I started poking around in the brush with my rake, right where the smell was real strong. Sure enough, I found a bunch of bones.? Another shrug.

?Uh-huh.? I was beginning to get an uneasy feeling. Ancient burials don?t smell.

?So I called Gil over . . .? He looked to the older man for affirmation. Gil was staring at the ground. ?. . . and we both started digging around in the leaves and stuff. What we found don?t look like no dog or raccoon to me.? As he said it he folded his arms across his chest, lowered his chin, and rocked back on his heels.

?Why is that??

?Too big.? He rolled his tongue and used it to probe one of the gaps in his dental work. The tip appeared and disappeared between the teeth like a worm testing for daylight.

?Anything else??

?What do you mean?? The worm withdrew.

?Did you find anything besides bones??

?Yeah. That?s what don?t seem right.? He spread his arms wide, indicating a dimension with his hands. ?There?s a big plastic sack around all this stuff, and . . .? He shrugged, turning his palms up and leaving the sentence unfinished.

?And?? My uneasiness was escalating.

?Une ventouse.? He said it quickly, embarrassed and excited at the same time. Gil was traveling with me, his apprehension matching mine. His eyes had left the ground and were roving in double time.

?A what?? I asked, thinking perhaps I?d misunderstood the word.

?Une ventouse. A plunger. For the bathroom.? He imitated its use, his body thrust forward, hands wrapped around an invisible handle, arms driving upward and downward. The macabre little pantomime was so out of context it was jarring.

Gil let out a ?Sacr #233; . . .? and locked his eyes back on to the earth. I just stared at him. This wasn?t right. I finished my notes and closed the spiral.