Dance Of Death

SEVENTEEN

Margo Green was the first to arrive at the museum's grand old Murchison Conference Room. As she settled into one of the old leather chairs flanking the massive nineteenth-century oak table, she took in the marvelous-but somewhat disconcerting-details: the trophy heads of now endangered species gracing the walls; the brace of elephant tusks flanking the door; the African masks, leopard, zebra, and lion skins. Murchison had done his fieldwork in Africa over a century before, and had enjoyed a career as a great white hunter alongside his more serious profession of anthropology. There was even a pair of elephant's-foot wastebaskets at opposite ends of the room. But this was a museum, and a museum must not throw anything away, no matter how politically incorrect it may have become.

Margo used the few moments of quiet before the rest of the department arrived to look through her notes and organize her thoughts. She felt a rising nervousness she seemed unable to quell. Was she doing the right thing? She'd been here all of six weeks, and now, with her very first issue of Museology, she was injecting herself into the midst of controversy. Why was it so important to her?

But she already knew the answer. Personally, she had to make a stand on something she believed in. And professionally, as editor of Museology, it was the right thing to do. People would expect the journal to comment on the issue. Silence, or a weak, waffling editorial, would be noted by all. It would set the tone of her editorship. No- it was important to show that Museology would continue to be relevant and topical while not fearing the controversial. This was her opportunity to show the profession that she meant business.

She went back to her notes. Because the item in question was owned by the Anthropology Department, it was the anthro curators who were most concerned. She would not get a second chance to make her case to the whole department, and she wanted to get it right.

Other curators were now drifting in, nodding to her, chatting among themselves, rattling the almost empty coffee urn, which was boiling into tar the remains of the coffee prepared that morning. Someone poured a cup, then replaced it with a clatter and a suppressed expression of disgust. Nora Kelly arrived, greeted Margo cordially, and took her seat on the opposite side of the table. Margo looked around the room.

All ten curators were now here.

The last to arrive was Hugo Menzies, chairman of the Anthropology Department since the untimely death of Dr. Frock six years before. Menzies gave Margo a special smile and nod, then took his seat at the head of the vast table. Because the bulk of Museology articles were on anthropological subjects, he had been appointed as her supervisor. And-she suspected-he had also been instrumental in her hiring. Unlike everybody else on staff-who favored lawyerly briefcases-Menzies carried around a classy canvas shoulder bag by John Chapman Company, a top manufacturer of English fishing and shooting gear. At the moment, he was taking some papers out of the bag, squaring and organizing them. Next, he put on his reading glasses, adjusted his tie, and smoothed down his untidy thatch of white hair. Finally, he checked his watch, raised his lively blue eyes to the waiting group, cleared his throat.

"Glad to see you all here," he said, his voice reedy and old-fashioned. "Shall we commence?"

There was a general shuffling of papers.

"Rather than go through the usual business," he said, glancing at Margo, "let's go straight to a subject I know is on all your minds: the problem of the Great Kiva masks."

More shuffling of papers, glances at Margo. She straightened her back, kept her face neutral and composed. Deep in her heart, she believed she was right, and that helped give her the strength and conviction she needed.

"Margo Green, the new editor of Museology, has asked to speak to you all. As you know, the Tano Indians are requesting the return of the Great Kiva masks, a centerpiece of our upcoming show. As chairman of the department, it's my job to make a recommendation to the director on this matter: whether we give up the masks, keep them, or seek some compromise. We are not a democracy, but I can promise you your opinions will carry great weight with me. I might add that the director himself will also be seeking the advice of the board and the museum's attorneys before he makes his final decision, so mine is not the last word." He smiled, turned to Margo. "And now, Margo, would you like to take the floor?"

Margo rose, looked around the room.

"Most of you probably know I'm planning to run an editorial in the next issue of Museology, calling for the return of the Great Kiva masks to the Tanos. A draft of the editorial has circulated, and it's caused some consternation in the administration." She swallowed, trying to conceal the nervous flutter she could hear in her voice.

She went on to speak about the history of the masks and how they were collected, gaining confidence and poise.

"For those of you who aren't familiar with the Tano Indians," she said, "they live on a remote reservation on the New Mexico-Arizona border. Because of their isolation, they still retain their original language, religion, and customs, while living with one foot in the modern world. Less than twenty percent of the tribe identify themselves as Christian. Anthropologists believe they settled in their present area along the Tano River almost a thousand years ago. They speak a unique language, apparently unrelated to any other. I'm telling you these things because it's important to emphasize that these are not Native Americans in genotype alone, trying belatedly to recapture long-lost traditions. The Tano are one of the few tribes who have never lost their traditions."

She paused. People were listening attentively, and while she knew not all agreed with her, at least they were giving her a respectful hearing.

"The tribe is divided into moieties-that is, two religious groups. The Great Kiva Society masks are used only when these moieties come together for religious ceremonies in the Great Kiva-the kiva being the circular underground chamber that serves as their place of worship. They hold these great ceremonies only once every four years. They believe these ceremonies maintain balance and harmony in the tribe, in all people of the earth, and in the natural world. They believe-and I'm not exaggerating here-that the terrible wars and natural disasters of the last hundred years are due to the fact that they don't have the Great Kiva masks and have been unable to perform properly the ceremony restoring balance and beauty to the world."

She went on for another five minutes and then wrapped it up, glad that she'd been able to keep it relatively short.

Menzies thanked her, glanced around the table. "And now, let the debate begin."

There was a shuffling. Then a thin voice piped up, carrying a slightly aggrieved tone. It was Dr. Prine. The slope-shouldered curator rose to his feet. "Being a specialist in Etruscan archaeology, I don't know much about the Tano Indians, but I think the whole business has a bad odor to it. Why are the Tano suddenly so interested in these masks? How do we know the Tano won't just turn around and sell them? They must be worth millions. I'm very suspicious about their motives."

Margo bit her lip. She remembered Prine from her graduate student days: a dim bulb that had only grown dimmer with the passage of years. His life's research, she recalled, was a study of Etruscan liver divination.

"For these reasons and many others," Prine went on, "I'm strongly in favor of keeping the masks. In fact, I can't believe we're seriously considering returning them. We bought them, we own them, and we should keep them." He sat down abruptly.

A short chubby man with a furze of red hair encircling a large bald spot rose next. Margo recognized him as George Ashton, chief curator of the Sacred Images exhibition. Ashton was a capable anthropologist, if temperamental and easily riled. And he looked riled now.

"I agree with Dr. Prine, and I take strong objection to this editorial." He turned to Margo, his eyes almost popping from his round red face, chin doubling and tripling in his excitement. "I consider it highly inappropriate that Dr. Green raised this question at this time. We're less than a week from the opening of the biggest show at the museum in years, costing almost five million dollars. The Great Kiva masks are the centerpiece of the show. If we pull those masks, there's no way the show will open on time. Really, Dr. Green, I find your timing on this matter to be truly unfortunate." He paused long enough to give Margo a fiery stare, then turned to Menzies. "Hugo, I propose we table this question until after the show has closed. Then we can debate it at leisure. Of course, giving back the masks is unthinkable, but for heaven's sake let's make that decision after the show."

Margo waited. She would respond at the end-if Menzies gave her the opportunity.

Menzies smiled placidly at the indignant curator. "For the record, George, I would note that the timing has nothing to do with Dr. Green-it's in response to the receipt of a letter from the Tano Indians, which was triggered by your own pre-publicity campaign for the show."

"Yes, but does she have to publish this editorial?" Ashton slashed the air with a piece of paper. "She could at least wait until after the show closes. This is going to create a public relations nightmare!"

"We are not in the business of public relations," said Menzies mildly.

Margo cast him a grateful look. She had expected his support, but this was more than just support.

"Public relations are a reality! We can't just sit in our ivory tower and ignore public opinion, can we? I'm trying to open a show under the most trying conditions, and I do not appreciate being undercut like this-not by Dr. Green and certainly not by you, Hugo!"

He sat down, breathing hard.

Menzies said quietly, "Thank you for your opinion, George."

Ashton nodded curtly.

Patricia Wong, a research associate in the Textile Department, stood up. "The issue, it seems to me, is simple. The museum acquired the masks unethically, perhaps even illegally. Margo demonstrates that clearly in her editorial. The Tano asked for them back. If we as a museum have any pretense to ethics, we should return them right away. I respectfully disagree with Dr. Ashton. To keep the masks for the show and display them to all the world and then return them admitting we were wrong to have them-that would look hypocritical, or at best opportunistic."

"Hear, hear," said another curator.

"Thank you, Dr. Wong," said Menzies as the woman sat back down.

And now Nora Kelly was standing up, sweeping cinnamon hair from her face, slender and tall. She looked around, poised and confident. Margo felt a swelling of irritation.

"There are two questions before us," she began, her voice low and reasonable. "The first is whether Margo has the right to publish the editorial. I think we all agree that the editorial independence of Museology must be preserved, even if some of us don't like the opinions expressed."

There was a general murmuring of agreement, except from Ashton, who crossed his arms and snorted audibly.

"And I am one of those who does not agree with this editorial."

Here it comes, thought Margo.

"It's more than a question of mere ownership. I mean, who owns Michelangelo's David? If the Italians wanted to break it up to make marble bathroom tiles, would that be acceptable? If the Egyptians decided to level the Great Pyramid for a parking lot, would that be okay? Do they own it? If the Greeks wanted to sell the Parthenon to a Las Vegas casino, would that be their right?"

She paused.

"The answer to these questions must be no. These things are owned by all of humanity. They are the highest expressions of the human spirit, and their value transcends all questions of ownership. So it is with the Great Kiva masks. Yes, the museum acquired them unethically. But they are so extraordinary, so important, and so magnificent that they cannot be returned to the Tano to disappear forever into a dark kiva. So I say: publish the editorial. Let's have the debate. But for God's sake, don't give back the masks." She paused again, thanked them for listening, and sat down.

Margo felt a redness creeping into her face. As much as she hated to admit it, Nora Kelly was formidable.

Menzies looked around, but it appeared that no one had any more comments. He turned to Margo. "Anything further to add? Now is the time to speak."

She sprang to her feet. "Yes. I'd like to rebut Dr. Kelly."

"Please."

"Dr. Kelly has conveniently overlooked one critical point: the masks are religious objects, unlike everything else she cited."

Nora was immediately on her feet. "The Parthenon isn't a temple? The David isn't a figure from the Bible? The Great Pyramid isn't a sacred tomb?"

"For heaven's sakes, they're not religious objects now. No one goes to the Parthenon to sacrifice rams anymore!"

"Exactly my point. Those objects have transcended their original limited religious function. Now they belong to all of us, regardless of religion. Just so with the Great Kiva masks. The Tano may have created them for religious purposes, but now they belong to the world."

Margo felt the flush spread through her body. "Dr. Kelly, may I suggest that your logic is better suited to an undergraduate classroom in philosophy than a meeting of anthropologists in the greatest natural history museum in the world?"

A silence followed. Menzies slowly turned toward Margo, fixed her with his blue eyes, over which his eyebrows were drawn down in displeasure. "Dr. Green, passion in science is a marvelous quality. But we must insist upon civility as well."

Margo swallowed. "Yes, Dr. Menzies." Her face flamed. How had she allowed herself to lose her temper? She didn't even dare glance over at Nora Kelly. Here she was, not only creating controversy but making enemies in her own department.

There was a general nervous clearing of throats, a few whispers.

"Very well," Menzies said, his voice back to its soothing note. "I've gotten the drift of opinion from both sides, and it appears we are more or less evenly divided. At least among those with opinions. I have made my decision."

He paused, casting his eye around the group.

"I will be bringing two recommendations to the director. The first is that the editorial be published. Margo is to be commended for initiating the debate with a well-reasoned editorial, which upholds the best traditions of Museology journal."

He took a breath. "My second recommendation is that the masks be returned to the Tano. Forthwith."

There was a stunned silence. Margo could hardly believe it- Menzies had come down one hundred percent on her side. She had won. She sneaked a glance at Nora, saw the woman's face now reddening as well.

"The ethics of our profession are clear," Menzies went on. "Those ethics state, and I quote: 'The first responsibility of an anthropologist is to the people under study.' It pains me more than I can say to see the museum lose those masks. But I have to agree with Drs. Green and Wong: if we are to set an ethical example, we must return them. Yes, the timing is certainly awkward, and it creates an enormous problem with the exhibition. I'm sorry, George. It can't be helped."

"But the loss to anthropology, to the world-" Nora began.

"I have said what I have to say," said Menzies, just a shade of tartness entering his voice. "This meeting is adjourned."