“There he is,” the lady from the shop said, waving wildly as a man approached their table. “The historian I told you about. I was hoping he would come.”
He was a small, deeply tanned man in a short-sleeve shirt with roached hair bleached white by the sun.
“So,” he said, taking a seat after being introduced. “You’re asking around about Martha King, and the sleeping giants.”
“I am.” Amanda smiled.
“Is there a connection?”
“I guess they both come from here,” she said.
The bartender came over, taking the historian’s order for a beer. The lady from the shop was inside by the jukebox, dancing with a friend.
“What do you do?” the historian asked Amanda, curious.
“I’m a zookeeper,” she said.
“Really? Which animal?”
“Polar bears.”
“We have animal figures, too, in the desert. We’ve identified ancient species of mountain lions, insects, and what might be a prehistoric bear.”
“Are all the figures empty inside?”
“That’s interesting. Martha asked about that too. She came to me wanting to know more about the sleeping giants. I’ve been studying them a long time. The only one that does. It’s funny, what people stop seeing in their own backyard.”
He took a long drink.
“Want one?” he asked.
“I have a hard enough time thinking straight when I’m sober,” Amanda said.
“At least you’re honest about it,” he said, putting down the beer.
“How come they’re called sleeping giants?”
“Well, they are giant.”
“But the one I saw didn’t look like it was sleeping.”
“Exactly. They all have their eyes open and are waving at the sky.”
“Why are they calledsleepinggiants, then?”
“Funny. You keep asking the same questions Martha did. The myth is that if the sleeping giants are awakened, they will take revenge on all of us.”
“What for?”
“Those crimes, my friend, are no longer remembered.”
He shook his head, drinking his beer.
“Beer thoughts,” he said, smiling.
Amanda didn’t think so.
“What was Martha like?” she asked.
