Free On Etruscan Time by Tracy Barrett Page A

objects. In a museum is a famous bronze model of a liver that an Etruscan priest used when he looked at the liver of a sacrificed animal to see the future, so he could know what the different shapes on it meant. If I found something like that…” His voice trailed off.
    â€œYou’d be famous,” Hector said.
    â€œI would be famous,” Ettore agreed, and he laughed. “But more important is that the foundation that pays us would notice our dig and would give us more money. If we don’t find something big soon, our money will run out. We’re running out of time.”
    â€œAnd what would you and Susanna and everyone else do then?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Ettore said shortly, as though he didn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t like to think of it. So hold your eyes open and find me a liver of bronze or a book of linen or a tomb with beautiful paintings, and I won’t have to worry about it.”
    â€œI’ll do my best,” Hector said. It sounded like a big responsibility, and even though he hardly knew Ettore, he felt the urgency behind the man’s joking words. If the dig closed, there would be no reason for his mother to stay and they could go home and he would have the rest of the summer there. But somehow that didn’t seem so important anymore.
    Besides, he’d had a strange feeling when he was helping Ettore before. It wasn’t excitement and it wasn’t curiosity. It was a kind of satisfaction, as if he was doing something he was supposed to be doing. Like scratching an itch. He made up his mind that if there were something to find here, he would find it. So after lunch he set to work.
    He worked for what seemed like hours. It felt good to keep busy, because the heat was making him drowsy again, and the activity kept him focused. Also, this way he had something to think about other than that crazy kid.
    His fingers were getting cramped, so he decided to take a break. He laid down his tools and hoisted himself out of the trench. His mother hadn’t joined in the digging, but then she was there as a language expert, not as an archaeologist. She was sitting under a tree with the fat book open on her lap. He walked past a trench to get to her. Some of the diggers looked up at him as he passed, and they smiled. One said, “Ciao!” which he answered in Italian, earning him the usual grin.
    â€œIt’s going to take them all summer to get anywhere if they just use those tiny tools,” he told his mother.
    â€œIt would take a lot longer than one summer,” she said. “They started this dig almost five years ago. But some parts are more dug out than others.”
    Hector flopped down next to her. He rolled over onto his back, looking up at the dark-green leaves. He wondered where that strange boy had gotten to.
    â€œMom?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhat happened to the Etruscans?”
    â€œAt first it was kind of like what happened to the American Indians when the Europeans came,” she said, laying down her book. “The Romans killed most of the Etruscans and took their land. And then the ones who were left just blended in until after a while they weren’t a separate group anymore. Their religion and traditions mixed with the Roman ones until you couldn’t really tell which was which. Then their language got lost, mostly anyway.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, mostly?”
    â€œThere are some grave inscriptions in Etruscan, but all they say is that So-and-So, son of Such-and-Such, aged some number of years, lies here.”
    â€œNot too exciting,” Hector said.
    â€œNo,” his mother agreed. “That isn’t quite all that we can read, of course. Once in a while, some small written text is found, but still, a lot of the words are unclear. It’s very frustrating, like the Etruscans are trying to talk to us and we can’t understand them. That’s why a find like your