Untimely Luck

I’m not a professional archeologist, but I have always wanted to be one.  So after years of begging I finally talked my wife Jill into an archeological volunteer vacation.  This is where you pay to help out on a real archeological dig.  You go prepared with hiking boots, insect repellant, and a good attitude, because unless you’re into it, it’s not the least bit fun.  Picture snakes, latrines, dust, heat, no showers, body odor, etc.  So maybe bringing the wife wasn’t such a good idea.

The group we hooked up with was excavating a site in the four-corners area of the U.S., near the converging corners of Utah, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico.  The Anasazi were an ancient pueblo people that disappeared in the 13th century.  Their cliff dwellings are amazingly well preserved, and more sites are continually being found.  The archeological group we were joining was excavating one of those newly found sites.  All this we learned during our orientation on the first day, along with long lectures on proper archeological procedures.  Volunteers were broken up into groups of two or three, and were teamed up with a real archeologist or archeological student.  The idea appeared to be to keep us from doing too much damage.

Jill and I got separated into different groups, for which I was relieved.  She was already complaining about the heat, sanitation, food, etc., and I knew I’d enjoy it more if I didn’t have to listen to complaints all day.  I love Jill, but even at that early point I knew I should never have suggested this vacation.

Days and days of drudgery ensued.  Sometimes I just wanted to grab a shovel and really start digging.  But no, that’s not how it’s done.  That might cause damage to buried artifacts.  No, we dug with hand spades and brushes, screening everything for the minutest fragments.  We worked in grid sections eight feet square, and not a millimeter beyond.  Anything we found had to be immediately reported to our group leader, if possible before it was removed from the ground.  And, of course, that’s where it all started to go wrong for me.

Seven days out and my enthusiasm was worn thin. I’d found plenty of pottery shards, but nothing the least bit interesting.  No ancient sculls with holes drilled in them, no carved tablets, no Indiana Jones fist sized jewels, no nothin.  Just endless pottery shards.  Until a few strokes with my brush uncovered … a small green jewel about the size of quarter.  It might have been an emerald, but I wasn’t sure.  Much of it was encrusted in sandstone rock, but it looked like it might be in some kind of metal setting.  I was, how do I put this… entranced.  There’s no other word for it.  Without conscious thought I slipped it into my sock where it bunched up above my hiking shoe.  I worked the rest of the day mechanically, my thoughts only on the jewel.

That night my luck began to change.  Literally.  I had been hoping for some excuse for Jill to go home, since that might salvage our marriage after this debacle of a vacation.  And that night my wife’s sister called to say that our niece was in the hospital after a fall from a bicycle had left her unconscious. Oh, it didn’t seem like good luck at the time, but she turned out to be fine, and Jill had left the dig for good.  I was all alone with the jewel, with one week left in my stint as an amateur archeologist.

That last week was amazing.  In the evenings I hid away in my tent feigning fatigue, and worked on cleaning the jewel of the encrustations.  I’d snitched small dental tools from the dig site, and using the light from my lantern I made slow progress on exposing the metal setting.  The back appeared to have a series of runes or symbols, possibly a message in some long dead symbolic language.  I borrowed books on the Anasazi culture from the Dr. Armstrong, the lead archeologist, but nothing matched up with what I was finding on the setting.

During the days I kept the jewel taped to my left leg under my sock, and my digging became astoundingly productive.  Someone might even have called it lucky.  Two days after unearthing the jewel, all the other groups were gathered around my dig watching as our group unearthed a whole series of astonishing artifacts.  Everyone pitched in with screening the dirt, but I was the one with the magic touch.  Every third prod of my hand trowel unearthed another artifact.  Cataloging cameras flashed so often I started seeing spots.  There were still the pervasive pottery shards, but now there were also bone fragments, finger bones, teeth, rings, pendants, even a nearly perfectly preserved miniature vase with intricate symbols on its side.  I noted with rising excitement that the vase’s symbols were similar to the some of the ones on my jewel.

Over the next three days the lead archeologist and several students abandoned the dig to study the markings on the vase.  Finally they gathered all the groups together to describe what they had discovered.  A partial translation of the symbols began to emerge, which read something like this:

(Unknown)…(Unknown)…Prosperous-One...(Unknown)…Flame-of-Life…(Unknown)…Forever…(Unknown)…Cursed.

Dr. Armstrong explained “This appears to be a description of some sort of ... talisman … of power.  The Anasazi were a primitive people.  I guess today we would call them superstitious for their belief in such things.  They were known to have fertility, virility, and other such talismans, but this is the first reference we’ve seen to a talisman that might be translated as the flame of life.  At this point we have no idea as to its presumed powers.”

I was beginning to have an inkling, even at that early point.  One clue was all the artifacts.  Another was our lunchtime poker games.  I won so many poker hands in a row that nobody was willing to play with me anymore.  It certainly had nothing to do with my skill at cards.  I was cold-dealt everything from full-houses to flushes.  Never in my life had I had such a run of luck.

Finally my vacation time with the dig came to an end.  Dr. Armstrong gave a dinner presentation to all the volunteers, and made special note of my contributions to the dig.  I was elated, but also felt extremely guilty for hiding the jewel.  I had now come to the conclusion that the jewel was in fact the literal “flame of life” talisman.  It had a powerful effect on me.  One day I had tried to leave it in my tent, but had only managed a few paces away before I could go no further without it.  Now it was permanently taped to my ankle.

*******

A short four hour drive later in my rental car, I found myself in Las Vegas.  If my luck was to be believed, then Las Vegas was the place to be.  And who knew if the luck would last.  I might as well use it while I could.  I’d never been to Vegas before, and the city was dazzling.  But time was of the essence since Jill expected me home in a few days.  I stopped at the first casino I came to, the Sanora Hotel and Casino.  I knew very little about gambling, but what I did know was that some of the worst odds in the house were the one-arm bandits and the Roulette tables.  I tried both, starting with the one-arm bandits.

They had this enormous slot machine in the motif of baseball player, with a lever in the shape of a baseball bat.  Each bet cost five bucks, but the payoff was over a million!  I tossed the five dollar slug into the slot and pull the lever.  I felt a faint static charge in the air, and then my ankle where the talisman was taped got very hot.  I hobbled around in a circle for a moment yelping in pain before it subsided.  As a result I almost missed the avalanche of slugs coming out of the machine.  Two security guards in uniform approached and pushed back the crowd as I tried in vain to scoop up the deluge.  A man in a tailored suit approached and informed me that he was the casino floor manager, and asked if he could be of any assistance.  I gestured at the now huge pile on the floor and asked “What do I do with all this?”  His amused reply was “Anything you like, it would seem.  However, the casino would prefer that we handle the transaction in private.  The staff will collect and tally your winnings.  You may observe if you prefer, however rest assured you will be paid in full.  Would you follow me please?”

Two hours later I was put up in the hotel’s penthouse suite on the hotel’s dime.  Of course the hotel did that to keep me around, knowing that if I stayed and played they were likely to get my winnings back.  I wanted badly to go back down to the casino, but I decided that I had to know a bit more about gambling before I went back down.  The suite came fully equipped with an internet connection, so I went on-line and did a quick bit of research about roulette.  What I learned was that playing a single number had some of the worst odds in the house, and also one of the biggest paybacks at 35 to one.  With my luck, how could I lose?

I started off with small bets, getting the feel for the game.  After an hour or so my pile of chips had grown considerably, and some lovely young ladies had mysteriously appeared at my side.  My bets got larger and I continued to bet on single numbers, reaping huge profits as a result. My ankle hair was probably getting singed, but by that time I didn’t care. After about an hour and a half, the casino’s floor manager appeared at my side along with two security guards.  He did not look happy.  “Mr. Marshall”, he said, “may I speak to you in private?”  I had to remind myself that this was not the Vegas of moviedom, where thugs beat up players considered too lucky for their own good.

He took me to a small room set up with computer and video equipment.  A video of me playing roulette was showing on a large screen, which was being carefully scrutinized by two men.  He said “Up to this point we estimate you have taken the casino for approximately 1.6 million dollars in just this one evening.  You have been uncommonly lucky, Mr. Marshall.  You have been playing games with long odds stacked against players, and yet you continue to win. Up to this point we have not been able to identify any cheating, but statistically it’s not possible to have such a long run of luck.  How are you doing it, Mr. Marshall?”

Now all the men in the room were looking at me.  I improvised “To be completely honest, sir, I have no idea.  I’ve never been in a casino before, but after my wife left our vacation trip in disgust, I was depressed.  So I came here.  This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you.”

The manager looked at one of his men who nodded, then he turned back to me.  “Mr. Marshall, we have noticed some rather odd behavior on our monitors we would like to check it out. At times, especially when you win, you seem to be in some pain, apparently in your left leg.  Why is that?”

I thought for a moment.  Who would believe that a lucky charm was the culprit?  Figuring I had nothing to lose, I pulled up my trouser leg, and pulled down my sock.  I pulled the tape off my leg, and handed him the talisman.  I said “It’s an ancient family treasure, reputed to give the bearer good luck as long as it’s in contact with the skin.  It doesn’t have a chain or anything, so I taped it to my ankle.  It chafes a bit, which is why my skin is so red there.  I guess I’d better find a different spot to put it.”

He looked skeptically at me, then handed the talisman back. “Take a break from gaming tonight, Mr. Marshall.  We need to review the tapes more carefully.  In the meantime, your hotel winnings are frozen.  Please stay in your suite tonight.  Security will make sure you are not disturbed.” With that, I was ushered back upstairs to the penthouse.

**********

Right now it’s 2:00 AM, and I can’t sleep.  I quietly sneak up to the door and peek out of the peep hole, and can only see the back of a security guard’s head.  Why the hell is this happening to me?  Was I so unhappy before, without this supernatural luck?  OK, it was fun at first.  But when everything comes your way and you win every single time, where’s the thrill of risk?  There is no risk!  I could probably have slept with one of the lovely table ladies tonight; hell I could probably have had them all.  But then again, they wouldn’t do it because they like me.  They would do it either because of my winnings or maybe because of the talisman.  How shallow is that?  What kind of life is that?  Not one that I want.  I have the life I want, and that’s my life with Jill.

The talisman seems to throb on my ankle as I consider these ideas.  I pull up my pajama leg, and carefully peel the tape off once again.  The skin is quite red, almost blistered. Maybe that’s why it was called the flame of life.  The talisman feels very hot in my hand.  I put it down on the table and walk across the room toward the bathroom, but I only make it part of the way there before I begin to feel….odd….distorted somehow.  The world goes grey on me, and I feel myself dropping bonelessly to the floor.

When I come to, I find myself sitting at the suite’s writing desk, my head down on the blotter.  A puddle of drool has gathered around my mouth.  I slap my face hard a few times to get the woolly feeling out of it, then feel heat on my ankle once again.  Lifting my pajama leg, I see that the talisman is once again taped to my leg, and damn if it doesn’t burn.  In an angry motion, I rip the talisman off my leg and put in on the desk.  I start to feel faint again now that it’s not in contact with me anymore, so I pick it up again.  My head clears, and I look around the room for something heavy.  As though the talisman is reading my mind, it changes from emerald green to a glowing cherry red.  I grab the base of a heavy lamp, drop the talisman on the desk, and before I pass out I slam the lamp base down on the talisman with all my strength.  It explodes in a brilliant light show of reds and greens, blasting my retinas so that I doubt I will ever see clearly again. All at once the light show ends, and there’s a fierce pounding on the suite door.  Apparently the security guards heard something.  I stagger to my feet and take only two steps toward the door before I begin to feel disoriented again.  A high pitch whine begins and quickly drowns out the pounding on the door.  It escalates until everything in the suite appears to be vibrating, shifting colors, and then the entire fabric of reality explodes into shards that whirl tightly about me.  The whirling maelstrom expands in a flash of light before I lose consciousness.

*********

For the umpteenth time I think that this digging with small hand tools is going to drive me insane.  Just endless pottery shards.  Until a few strokes with my brush uncovers … a small green jewel about the size of quarter.  I pause for a long moment, an odd sensation coming over me.  Then in a rush my memory pours back into me.  The talisman, my wife’s departure, Las Vegas,… all of it.  And yet, here I am, back at the dig.  Back at my moment of discovery.  How the hell is this possible.  I look at the talisman.  It’s perfect, just as I remember it being before I cleaned it.  Or will clean it.  What the????

My dig supervisor looks over and says “Hey, you stopped digging.  Did you find something interesting?”  My back to him, I look down at the talisman and say “Nope, just more shards, more endless shards.”  He chuckles and turns away.  I stare at the talisman in my hand for a moment.  I swear I can feel it getting warm.  With the hand spade I quickly dig a small slot in the side of the excavation pit, slip the jewel in, and cover it over with more dirt.

The rest of the week goes by, but not as I remembered it the first time.  I find nothing more interesting than an arrowhead, but I consider myself lucky.  Jill sticks it out with me until the end of our vacation, and we both agree that this was probably not the best choice for a vacation.  In my heart I think ‘You have no idea.’