‘Dear, dear,’ I said, ‘it’s a pity they’re all so broken, isn’t it? Are they really worth keeping?’
Mrs Leidner smiled a little and she said: ‘You mustn’t let Eric hear you. Pots interest him more than anything else, and some of these are the oldest things we have—perhaps as much as seven thousand years old.’ And she explained how some of them came from a very deep cut on the mound down towards the bottom, and how, thousands of years ago, they had been broken and mended with bitumen, showing people prized their things just as much then as they do nowadays.
‘And now,’ she said, ‘we’ll show you something more exciting.’
And she took down a box from the shelf and showed me a beautiful gold dagger with dark-blue stones in the handle.
I exclaimed with pleasure.
Mrs Leidner laughed.
‘Yes, everybody likes gold! Except my husband.’
‘Why doesn’t Dr Leidner like it?’
‘Well, for one thing it comes expensive. You have to pay the workmen who find it the weight of the object in gold.’
‘Good gracious!’ I exclaimed. ‘But why?’
‘Oh, it’s a custom. For one thing it prevents them from stealing. You see, if they did steal, it wouldn’t be for the archaeological value but for the intrinsic value. They could melt it down. So we make it easy for them to be honest.’
She took down another tray and showed me a really beautiful gold drinking-cup with a design of rams’ heads on it.
Again I exclaimed.
‘Yes, it is beautiful, isn’t it? These came from a prince’s grave. We found other royal graves but most of them had been plundered. This cup is our best find. It is one of the most lovely ever found anywhere. Early Akkadian. Unique.’
Suddenly, with a frown, Mrs Leidner brought the cup up close to her eyes and scratched at it delicately with her nail.
‘How extraordinary! There’s actually wax on it. Someone must have been in here with a candle.’ She detached the little flake and replaced the cup in its place.
After that she showed me some queer little terra-cotta figurines—but most of them were just rude. Nasty minds those old people had, I say.
When we went back to the porch Mrs Mercado was sitting polishing her nails. She was holding them out in front of her admiring the effect. I thought myself that anything more hideous than that orange red could hardly have been imagined.
Mrs Leidner had brought with her from the antika-room a very delicate little saucer broken in several pieces, and this she now proceeded to join together. I watched her for a minute or two and then asked if I could help.
‘Oh, yes, there are plenty more.’ She fetched quite a supply of broken pottery and we set to work. I soon got into the hang of it and she praised my ability. I suppose most nurses are handy with their fingers.
‘How busy everybody is!’ said Mrs Mercado. ‘It makes me feel dreadfully idle. Of course I am idle.’
‘Why shouldn’t you be if you like?’ said Mrs Leidner.
Her voice was quite uninterested.
At twelve we had lunch. Afterwards Dr Leidner and Mr Mercado cleaned some pottery, pouring a solution of hydrochloric acid over it. One pot went a lovely plum colour and a pattern of bulls’ horns came out on another one. It was really quite magical. All the dried mud that no washing would remove sort of foamed and boiled away.
Mr Carey and Mr Coleman went out on the dig and Mr Reiter went off to the photographic-room.
‘What will you do, Louise?’ Dr Leidner asked his wife. ‘I suppose you’ll rest for a bit?’
I gathered that Mrs Leidner usually lay down every afternoon.
‘I’ll rest for about an hour. Then perhaps I’ll go out for a short stroll.’
‘Good. Nurse will go with you, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘No, no,’ said Mrs Leidner, ‘I like going alone. Nurse isn’t to feel so much on duty that I’m not allowed out of her sight.’
‘Oh, but I’d like to come,’ I said.
‘No, really, I’d rather you didn’t.’ She was quite firm—almost peremptory. ‘I must be by myself every now and then. It’s necessary to me.’