Over dinner he did just that
“You want to make history, you have to beat history,” he said. “It’s full of tricks. Keep reading the rocks; the slope of the strata. Feel the winds and the directions they blow. Look for signs of streams and where they could have made twists and turns through the ages. Follow the leads. And work harder.”
These were important lessons. Wind and water erosion constantly changed the landscape, reshaping the cap rocks, sandstone knobs and freshwater shale. Scrubs, grasses and more than one hundred forty species of wildflowers conspired with the land to mask clues. Pine and juniper roots dug into the earth and spread in all directions creating more barriers to exploration.
“Finally,” McCauley proclaimed when he reconnected with his teaching assistant.
“Hi, boss. How’s it going?”
“Pretty well. They’re all engaged. How are your travels?”
“Good. Taking trains some of the time. Renting motorcycles occasionally. Meeting cool people.”
“Cool or hot?”
He laughed. “So far they’re cool and, well, some of them cold. But I’m having a great time anyway,” DeMeo said honestly. “Think you’ll come up with anything?”
McCauley turned his back on his students. “I can only hope. But I’m already thinking about moving to a new area. We could use some bigger challenges.”
“Like what?”
“Still looking around. There are some formations down the valley that might be interesting. Remember last year in South Dakota?”
“Oh yeah,” Pete DeMeo recalled. Careful excavation of sandstone revealed some interesting finds for the students. They weren’t worthy of a scholastic journal account, but it led to a rewarding summer program.
“Well, that’s what I’m hoping for.”
“Good luck, boss.”
“Thanks.”
“You still have my itinerary?”
“Yup, somewhere.”
“Well if you find it, don’t call. Oh, and did you get a text about your visitor?”
“No, who?” McCauley asked.
“Someone from Cambridge. The department wrote me maybe thinking I was with you.”
“Cambridge, Massachusetts — Harvard?” McCauley asked.
“The other Cambridge. The original one. Cambridge University. University of Cambridge. However they say it.”
“Fuck.” McCauley knew what that meant.
“The department invited someone on your behalf…”
“To spy.”
“They call it an evaluation,” DeMeo offered.
“Same difference. Bureaucratic shit.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could have…”
“It’s not you, Pete. I wish they’d just leave me alone.” McCauley swore to himself. “Well, who do I have the pleasure of babysitting and for how long?”
“Just have a last name. Alpert. Some Brit. And at least five days.”
“Five days too many. Starting when?”
“What’s today?” DeMeo asked.
“Tuesday.”
“Tomorrow. Maybe sooner.”
“Oh shit! I’m going to call the chair and make his vacation miserable!”
“Wouldn’t do that. I think they held off sending word until the last minute.”
“Intentionally.”
“You think?” It was a sarcastic comment for certain. “Suck it up. Before you know it, it’ll be over. You’ll be fine.”
“I won’t be fine. I’m taking off for golf this afternoon at Cottonwood with the park director. After that I promised myself a nice hot bath in town, not a soaking from the department.” McCauley was truly frustrated.
“Like I said, suck it up and play nice.”
“Easy for you to say. While you’re exposing yourself to every beauty in Europe, I’ll be under some bloody academic’s microscope.”
“Be a good boy. And like I said, do me a favor, don’t call. I might get lucky yet with some French or Italian babe who wants to try on an American for size. Consider me out of cellphone range for the next month.”
“Okay, have a good time and for God’s sake, be careful tooling around.”
“I will. Take care, boss.”
McCauley hung up, cursed his department and wondered whether he’d even be able to keep his mind on his golf game now.
Martin Gruber’s thoughts were focused on taking it slow as he walked with Colin Kavanaugh to Kensington Gardens, one of the seven Royal Parks of London.
“Beautiful isn’t it, young man? It makes you pause and want to take in your surroundings.”
Kavanaugh didn’t see it. Nor did he really care.
Two different men; two different approaches to life. The old man wanting to hold onto the moment; his successor ready to race through it.
“I know you’re wondering where we’re going,” Gruber said. “It’s up ahead.”
He transferred a folded newspaper from his right hand to under his left arm making it easier to point to a specific park bench with his umbrella. The umbrella was a needless accessory in the cloudless sky. Nevertheless, it completed Gruber’s presentation.
Of course, everything Gruber said or did had purpose. Kavanaugh was about to find out what today’s walk was about.
They ended up at a park bench under a maple shade tree. Another bench backed up to theirs. Gruber rested his umbrella against the seat and marveled at the park. They had a clear view of the greenery and the Long Water that separated Kensington from Hyde Park
“I’ve always enjoyed coming here. Do you know why?”
“No, sir.”
Gruber tapped Kavanaugh’s thigh in a fatherly manner. “Why this is the park where J.M. Barrie conceived Peter Pan. It was the setting of his first novel, a prelude to his Neverland stories. There’s a statue of Peter Pan over near the water. Erected in 1912. You’ve never noticed it?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“A shame. We did a story about it a few years ago. Remember?”
“I think it was before my time, Mr. Gruber.”
“Oh, perhaps memories are failing me,” Gruber sighed. “Do have archives pull it for you. It’s a truly wonderful article. After all, Peter Pan holds such charm. I suppose if I had had children, I would have read it to them.”
“I’m sure you would have.”
Gruber drifted into what seemed like another reflection. “So much to see. So very much.”
Suddenly, as if a switch had been thrown, his voice changed. It became deeper, stronger, and direct. No longer living in the past, he commanded Kavanaugh’s attention.
“There is so much to see, and yet you must learn how to see, but not be seen yourself. How to hide in plain sight.”
“Sir?”
“How many people took notice of an old man walking at half speed accompanied by a younger business associate? Who noticed us?”
“Well, nobody I think.”
“Not completely accurate. People saw us, but took little notice. They were watching the children with the balloons. They turned to the bobby’s whistle as we crossed the street. The car horn that followed. The birds in flight. That’s what caught everyone’s attention. Not us. Not today. In fact, I’ve hardly ever been seen, though this is part of my regular routine, as it will be yours.”
Gruber continued, “Who cares about you if you show no interest in return? You insert yourself into a habitual schedule and blend in. You become the person no one really sees. You become invisible.”