Faye Longchamp 01 - Artifacts

Mr. Ponytail and his young friend at Wally’s. It was highly likely that the distinguished clientele would have information on every shady character in a thirty-mile radius. Oddly, the man had told him to scrupulously avoid Wally himself, describing him as both crooked and dull-witted. This was a combination that Stuart found useful in errand boys, but dangerous when the stakes were high.
    It was nearly ten. Since fishermen like to have their bait in the water before dawn, perhaps to surprise sleepy fish, the marina parking lot was almost deserted. Left behind was a handful of cars belonging to people asleep on their boats or to the die-hard drinkers lingering at the bar and grill.
    Stuart parked and went inside, ostensibly to take a piss but actually to see if anybody at the grill looked like a big Indian or a scrawny boy. Nobody did, and nobody would admit to ever seeing them, either, so he crawled back into his car and headed for the Panacea Palace. On his way out, he passed a parked car with a middle-aged, cranky-looking woman at the wheel. A younger woman, slightly built and dark, maybe foreign, leaned in the driver’s window to speak to the driver. Stuart drove right past them.

    Magda watched Faye use her last French fry to sop special sauce off the hamburger wrapper. Refilling their glasses out of a jug of cheap but decent wine, she blurted out a question that had bugged her for years.
    “You were my best student. Why did you leave school?”
    Faye looked thunderstruck. Magda saw that she had hit a nerve and, as usual, had done so with the delicacy of a butcher wielding a meat cleaver.
    “What do you mean, I was your best student?”
    This was not the nerve Magda thought she had struck.
    “You were good in the lab. You came to class prepared and, judging from your essays, you read lots more material than I assigned. Speaking of your essays, they were grammatical—something that grows more unusual every day—and they were thoughtful. Occasionally, they were almost poetic. You loved the subject. My subject.”
    “But I struggled constantly to keep an A.”
    “Faye. Part of your grade came from class participation and you never made a peep. It made me mad. You had a lot to offer the class, but you kept it to yourself.”
    Faye wore the face of a snake digesting a mouse swallowed whole. “I’m glad to know I was a good student.”
    “So.” The meat cleaver descended again. “Why did you leave school?”
    “My mother was sick. My grandmother was sick. I took care of them until they died.”
    “I’m sorry, Faye. Don’t you know they would have wanted you to finish your education?”
    “Oh, yes. Yes. From the day I was born, Mama saved for my college. But it took me five years to pay all the medical bills. I think I’ll always be behind on the bills I neglected so I could pay the hospital. School just isn’t possible now. It may never be.”
    Magda respected the finality in Faye’s voice enough to resist touting the possibility of grants and student loans. She said, “I understand, but I have always respected your drive to learn on your own.”
    Magda’s office door opened directly across from the departmental library, giving her the poignant opportunity to watch Faye doggedly pursue the education she couldn’t afford. She couldn’t count the times she’d seen Faye in there, poring over the books. Not every day and not every week, but steadily, Faye was there, making better use of the school’s resources than the students whose activity fees actually entitled them to the privilege.
    After a time, Faye began requesting inter-library loans, apparently unaware that she didn’t have official library access. Magda diverted the requests, approved them under her own account, and routed the books to Faye, who seemed oblivious to her machinations. One day, while cleaning her own bookshelves to make room for more stuff, Magda had a revelation. The armloads of journals she was casting aside were a few years old, but most of the material was still solid. She asked Faye if she would like to have them and was amused by how quickly the journals disappeared into the young woman’s ancient Pontiac.
    Years passed before Magda got her next opportunity to help Faye, but it came. The labor budget for the survey of Seagreen Island was generous. It would support fifteen field techs and she didn’t have that many students. Faye had three years’ credit toward an archaeology degree and her subsequent reading