A confidentiality clause had been built into Sophia’s grant project. She would have to redact sensitive information about cultural sites when she wrote her dissertation. The complexity of the laws and regulations pertaining to federal land made her head spin. It was a whirlwind of acronyms. It was all meant to protect park resources from looters and vandals and the negligence of tourists, but these directives often looked backward, overlooking contemporary Native peoples, the way their lives and concerns were unfolding. An exhibit in a visitor’s center might present traditional agriculture methods, but it won’t say a thing about a tribe’s struggle with diabetes.
Her mind jumped to a lecture where she remembered the professor saying that our laws were simply a catalog of our injustices to one another. Legislation is always written in hindsight, by the victors, who revere the vanquished but turn a blind eye to the survivors.
She nodded to herself and wrote that down, too.
“Okay,” Dalinda said. “Sophia Shepard, it is good to see you. What’s up?”
“I’m freaking out a little about this presentation,” Sophia said, a little nervous about skipping the small talk. She tucked her notebook back in the bag and zipped it up. “I mean, I teach undergrad classes at Princeton, but doing this is just—I don’t know—it feels like some armchair archeologist is going to pounce on me and wreck everything.”
“That is one-hundred-percent guaranteed to happen. An hour on the internet beats an advanced degree.” Dalinda stretched in her chair. “I took a look at the slides you sent. You’re going to do fine.”
“I’m not just worried about the visitors. It’s having you and the superintendent there.”
Dalinda’s face dropped. “About that. The superintendent can’t come. He has a funeral down in Kanab today. It’s a sad story.”
“Is it for the guy who—”
“Bruce Cluff,” Dalinda said. “He was an amateur collector who knew everybody. Apparently, he took his own life Sunday.”
“I heard. That’s terrible,” Sophia said.
Dalinda motioned for Sophia to close her door. When it was shut, Dalinda leaned forward and said, “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but Cluff has been a problem for us for a very long time.”
“Oh,” Sophia said. “I didn’t know.”
“Cluff was tight with his senators, so he got special consideration he didn’t deserve. He did whatever he wanted and never checked with us. And he never got busted for it. If the Paiutes had Cluff’s access and influence, we’d be doing very different jobs right now.”
“That drives me out of my mind,” Sophia said.
“It is what it is,” Dalinda said, leaning back in her chair. “You’ve seen what it’s like around here, white guys calling the shots, sweeping Native people under the rug. When the tribes push back, they’re told to sit down, shut up, and mind their own business. Status quo is as status quo does.”
Sophia froze, her jaw set and her mouth a straight line.
“You know the Native population of the county you’re working in is less than two percent,” Dalinda continued.
“What?”
“Yes, one point five five percent, actually. It’s not a mistake that you don’t see them. It’s a hundred and fifty years of concerted effort. For a while in the eighties, tribes had a seat at the table, but they’ve been shut out again.”
“But it’s their table,” Sophia said.
Dalinda nodded. “You are correct. Congress is ready to sell off the parks to energy companies for pennies on the dollar, but if anyone starts talking about giving it back . . .”
“How do you keep going?” Sophia asked.
“I’m an optimist. That’s why I sit all day, sending emails into the void,” Dalinda said, gesturing around her. She made an exasperated face that softened into a crooked kind of half smile. “We’re doing good work, Sophia. It’s hard, but it’s worth it. We make progress despite everything. It’s not a straight line, but it’s something.”
Sophia sat up and thought about the coils of bureaucracy that were looping silently around her. It was a strange world, equal parts hope and cynicism. How could you ever survive it? Sophia realized time was getting away from her, and she had much to do, so she queued up her other question. “Dalinda, have you ever been threatened when you’re working? Sorry to just change direction on you.” Sophia was nervous about putting the question out there. She didn’t want to seem naïve, but she also realized maybe this wasn’t something to fool around with.
“That’s okay. You mean, like, out in the field?”
“Yeah. Yesterday a couple of guys near Antelope Flats made some threats.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s pretty common, I’m afraid. What did they look like?”
“One was tall. The other short. They were weird, like cartoons. Drove a turquoise pickup. I forgot to get the plate.”
“Don’t worry about that. It sounds like you came across the Ashdowns. They’re poachers and pot hunters—goons. A month ago, somebody reported them trying to yank a petroglyph panel off a cliff wall with that truck and a tow chain.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. How come they’re not in jail?”
“We’ve got bigger fish to fry and not enough evidence to build a case. All it takes is money, which is in short supply these days. Did those knuckle draggers shoot at you?”
“No. Just verbal threats. Intimidation. They suggested that I could get hurt out there. It was so stupid. I filed a report at the BLM offices in Kanab.”
“Okay, that’s good, but they are so shorthanded down there, who knows if anything will come out of it. If you see those two again, call dispatch, okay?”
“I don’t have a radio.”
“What? They didn’t . . .” Dalinda was beside herself. She pulled a notepad close and wrote something down.
“They had this hand-drawn map, which they were obviously using to dig stuff up.”
“The thing is, everybody’s got a map,” Dalinda sighed. “And they all think they’re going to strike it rich. I’ve only seen a couple maps that are even in the ballpark. Leave those guys to law enforcement.”
“All right,” Sophia said.
“But I am going to get you a radio. We’ve got policies about that. And I’m pissed that they sent you off without one.”
“I am, too, now that I know they were supposed to give me one but didn’t. Thank you.”
There was a ping from Dalinda’s computer, and she cursed under her breath. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ve got to respond to this. Another fire. Some ranger broke into a meeting in Denver—never mind. Good luck, Sophia. You’ll do us proud. I’ll try to make it over, but if this Denver thing comes off the rails, it’ll wreck my whole afternoon.”
“It sounds awful,” Sophia said, gathering her stuff. She took another look around Dalinda’s office and tried to imagine herself in the archeologist’s place, juggling fieldwork and bureaucracy. It didn’t feel like a good fit for her.