Skull of the Zipa PREVIEW CHAPTERS by Chuck Chitwood (best book club books for discussion .txt) 📕

you ever had one of those moments where you feel like everything… except for your brain…slows down to a snail’s pace? You see a dangerous situation and you have to make a decision that has the ability to save you or end you. Like driving down a dark, winding road and suddenly seeing a deer in the headlights of your car. The poor thing is terrified and doesn’t move. If you do nothing … you will hit the deer and you might die. If you swerve to miss the deer… you might wreck and die. But if you swerve just enough to miss the deer and don’t overcorrect the swerve… both you and Bambi live.

 

As soon as my eyes land on Pablo, I feel like I’m stuck in the time trapped between the car and the deer. A myriad of thoughts dart through my head. Run. Kick him in the crotch. Scream. Whatever I choose, I have to commit to it. But in the split second before I make a decision as to what to do, I think of my father.

 

He’s all I have left. And I’m all he has left. He’s just an archaeologist. I’m just an eighteen year old high school senior. He’s supposed to be investigating a lead that’ll take him to some artifact. And I’m supposed to be deciding what to do with my crazy hair so I can go to prom with Chance Baker and not look totally stupid. But my father was kidnapped while looking for the artifact. And I’ve been kidnapped while looking for him.

 

Dad wouldn’t be missing if he weren’t looking for that artifact. The artifact must be valuable. Very valuable if it’s led to two people being kidnapped and ... possibly even killed for. For the life of me, I can’t remember what it is he’s looking for. I’m pretty sure he told me. Think Haddie, think. What is it that he’s looking for?

 

It’s three days before prom. I’m standing in the kitchen…

***

 

I came home after a six mile run. I had just a little bit of time to get inside, shower and change before I was supposed to meet Stacey and Morgan downtown to get our hair ‘done’ at the salon so we can see if it’s how we want it for prom on Saturday. After my run I did what I typically do. I walked around outside cooling down while drying my tears. I wondered how long I would cry on these morning runs by myself. Two years had elapsed but it felt like my mom died just yesterday. I doubt that the hole in my heart made after she died can ever be filled. I think dad knows I sometimes cry on these runs, but he never says anything and he won’t unless I bring it up. That’s just how he is.

 

I opened the backdoor expecting to see Dad sitting at the breakfast table sipping on his coffee reading over his books and papers. But this morning was different. Dad’s little brown notebook lay open surrounded by other ancient books. Only he wasn’t around. I picked up his cup of coffee. Cold. That’s weird.

 

I heard a rustling sound come from dad’s study. When I found him he was surrounded by papers strewn about the floor and he was on his knees peering at yellowed maps. I saw him furiously scribbling notes on a legal pad while mumbling.

 

“Uh, Dad. Everything alright?”

 

He looked up at me. “What? Oh, this? Yes, everything is fine. I feel like I’m really on to something!”

 

“Great. Well, I have to go shower now. I’m supposed to go get my hair done. You know. It’s like a practice run for the prom.”

 

“I can’t believe it. How could I be so stupid?” He looked up at me. “That’s this Saturday, right? Wow! Where did the years go? It doesn’t seem that long ago that you standing on my toes in the living room and we were dancing. You remember dancing to Keb Mo?”

 

I sat down carefully, not sure which papers were vital. “Yeah. Mom videotaped us while you spun me around. I forgot about that. That seems like forever ago.”

 

“Maybe to you. It was just a blink to me. One day, we bring you home from the hospital and then you’re crawling. You go from riding a bike to a car and soon you’ll be gone.”

 

“Dad, why are you being so sappy?”

 

“Well, the prom is kind of a milestone. Soon you’ll be off on you own. And, well, I just wish I could be here to talk to this boy when he picks you up. I hate that I have fly out to Colombia tonight. But…” He pushed his glasses into place. “I have a few rules. You can stay out until 1 AM. You may not bring him back to this empty house. And remember, Haddie, it takes a lifetime to build a reputation and only minutes to lose it.”

 

“Dad, I’m eighteen. You have to stop worrying. But I promise, nothing will happen. You just have to trust me. And besides, I’ll be five hundred miles away at Harvard in a few months. What if I bring a boy back to my room while I’m there?

 

“Well, until you’re there, you’re under my roof and…”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, your house –your rules. I know.” I picked up one of the pictures scattered on the floor. It was a bunch of little gold men rowing a raft that was carrying a taller golden man, who looked like a king. “What is all this stuff? I thought you specialized in finding Middle Eastern treasures stolen by the Nazis during World War II?”

 

Dad’s latest book was called God’s Gold, and traced the Nazis’ hunt for temple treasures when the Romans destroyed Jerusalem in 70AD. His stories captivated me even if our dinners sometimes felt a little bit like a history lecture. “I don’t remember you ever talking about looking for a little gold king and his men in boats.”

 

Dad smiled. “True. This is not Middle Eastern. What it is, kid, is the Golden Man, or El Dorado.”

 

“El Dorado? I thought that was a legend about a city made of gold that nobody could ever find. At least that’s what they told us in World History. I remember watching an animated movie about it after the unit and everything.”

 

He bounced up and pulled a book from his shelf, “That’s the mistake most people make. It’s a good story. But the truth is El Dorado was a person not a place. The Tairona Indians in Colombia had a king or Zipa that they called El Dorado, the Golden Man. Once a year, the priests would take off the king’s clothes and then they covered his whole body with finely ground gold dust.”

 

“Ew, gross. TMI, Dad, TMI.”

 

“Come now, Haddie. This is their history. There’s nothing gross or TMI about it. They would sail out into the middle of a lake and he would jump in the water. While the water washed off all the gold, the tribe members would throw precious gold jewels and masks into the lake to gain the goodwill of their gods. When the king climbed back on the raft with all the gold washed off, it was believed that the gods had accepted their offerings and they would live in peace for another year.” He closed the book and smiled.

 

“Okay, that’s a neat story. But, seriously, aren’t you mainly a Nazi treasure hunter or something?”

 

He walked around his study. “I don’t actually hunt for treasure. I simply try to locate where the Nazis hid the treasures they stole. You know, Haddie, the biggest victims of Nazi thefts were the Jews who had thousands of precious works of art confiscated or flat out stolen when they were herded to the concentration camps. Gold, diamonds, emeralds, rubies, Renoirs, Van Goghs, You name it. If it was valuable, the Nazis took it. But just like today, anything that valuable leaves a paper trail like on a ship’s manifest, tax rolls, and personal letters or diaries.”

 

“Dad, I’m pretty sure the El Dorado story, no matter if it’s about a city or a naked, gold coated king, is a lot older than the Nazis.” I looked at the golden man on the raft in the picture again. “And El Dorado is a long way from Europe. Is El Dorado why we’re not going to Israel this summer?”

 

“Yes, Haddie, it is. But just like you and I know of El Dorado the city or the man, so did the Nazis. Wait here a second…”

 

Dad ran to the kitchen, grabbed his little brown notebook, and returned to his office. “I guess, in a way, I am doing some Nazi treasure hunting because I think the Nazis were also looking for El Dorado. They never found it but I think I might know where it is. However, in order to know for sure, I have to go look for myself. I hate that I’ll miss your prom but honestly, this should be a short little trip. Easy-peasy…” He snapped his fingers three times like he was trying to be cool and sassy.

 

“Dad, I hate to say it but you and ‘cool’ don’t go together so well.”

 

He gave me a little punch to my shoulder. “Anyway, all I’m going to do is fly down and meet with one of my old students, Dr. Javier Quesada. He’s a professor at Los Andes University now. And he’s the one who found the lead for me. I’m just going to check it out then come back home and we’ll get to spend most of the summer back in Israel.”

 

“Whatever. So what exactly are you looking for?”

 

He opened his little brown notebook. The well-worn leather cover was scratched and had coffee stains on it. He pointed at a sketch he drew. “Well, El Dorado and his tribe had so much gold, they used it for everything. One of the things they used it for was to coat the skulls of sacrificial victims.”

 

“Gross! Human sacrifice?”

 

“Yes, usually conquered enemies or rival chiefs. But during the time when the conquistadors invaded South America, three tribes formed an alliance to fight back against the conquistadors. They not only pushed them out, but they also captured three of their leaders. In their minds, the victory was a sign from the gods. And whenever they felt that the gods showed them mercy, the natives would offer tribute to them for their actions.”

 

“What sort of tribute are you talking about?”

 

His voice switched from excitement and storyteller in boring lecture mode. It didn’t take much to do it. “Every culture thinks that their gods have created them special, unique on the earth. It isn’t reasonable that all these tribes, all these cultures, and all of these myths are unique and true. They are all so similar that they must be describing the same god or the gods are just a construct people on earth make up to prove they are special. The way I see it, there’s too much death and sadness for it to be true. Look at what the Tairona gods made their own people do, if they were real.”

 

My dad is a man of science and tended to avoid anything this spiritual. “So the gods asked for human sacrifices? Didn’t all religions have sacrifices of some sort?”

 

“Yes, but some religions have painless, humane methods of sacrifice.

 

“Humane methods of sacrifice? Right. So, you’re saying killed the three guys humanely?”

 

“Yes and no. They didn’t just kill them. It was brutal. And when they were done, they chopped off their heads, cut off the tops, dug out their brains and then poured molten gold in them so they could use them as ceremonial drinking cups.”

 

“Gross! Gross! Gross!” I shook my head. “I think I’m going to barf.”

 

“I know. It’s disturbing to think that the human heart is capable of such unimaginable evil. I can’t understand how any god can look down on this and let it happen.” My dad