Left at Greenland

Having to ask her dad to wire her money, again, was not at the top of her list of things she wanted to do. Last time they had talked face to face, maybe five months ago, he was definitely not impressed with her chosen profession.

He complained, "I paid for six and a half years of university, where you majored in more than five fields of study, and you are now qualified to hold a nonpaying internship with some Doctor Cuckoo from Upper Under Somewhere." The argument that ensued was too unpleasant to recite.

She would admit that she did take a lot of detours on her way to finding philology as her life's passion. At first she was sure that computers were everything she could ever want. That led to her discovery of abstract mathematics. Somewhere around lost languages her dad started asking, " Is there any money in it?"

On a glacier in Greenland, translating some "Old Norse" manuscripts, she discovered mention of a tiny island south of Edge, Spitsbergen. Naturally she had to hire a plane out of Thule ASAP. As usual she was without means and was forced to contact dad.

She guessed a sketchy, maybe even cryptic, message would be most effective.

The telegram read, "Dad, stop I need to get to LA, stop I can get home OK from there, stop Please send money, stop"

Once in LA she could report to Dr. Tischer and he would get her to the Berents Sea. While the university set things up, she could slip off to Sand Point for a quick visit.

Knowing that most of her time in Idaho would be tense because her dad had really had about as much of her lifestyle as he could take. Forget about explaining to him that she was really onto something, Langolango was Greek to dad. No pun intended, if it were as easy as Greek it wouldn’t be at all fascinating.

Fascinating, what an understatement. The Vikings knew the waters of the North Atlantic better than we do now. They mentioned a cave on a tiny island they named the bottom of the edge. In this cave they mentioned stones with lines of pictures that were strangely oriented, every other line being upside down. If she could find any such stones, you know, really find some stones like that, then the research grants would be fat and full. No, she wouldn’t bother trying to explain it to dad, he’d only call it fantasy.

"You can’t buy bread with fairy tales." He would say.

While she waited for funds to arrive, she couldn’t get her relationship with her dad out of her head. Dah! She was counting on him to bail her out. Knowing full well that Doctor Tischer, who usually couldn’t remember her name, wouldn’t respond to her call for help, she had to go to dear old dad. She couldn’t wait to lay what she had discovered on the doctor’s desk, then he’d have to acknowledge her. So come on dad, send the money.

The man behind the counter cleared his throat. "Miss, we have a response."

Getting up to take the sheet of paper the man offered she tripped over her backpack and nearly ended up on the floor. The paper was a telegram. "Sarah stop, Come directly home stop, I’ll pick you up in Spokane stop, Itinerary and reservation info to follow stop."

Ouch, I guess he doesn’t know that the only way out of Thule is by charter.

The man behind the counter gestured for her attention. "You should go catch the sea plane at the dock now." he said handing her a carefully detailed itinerary. Dad had done his home work.
Sarah figured on catching a nice nap on the plane but, the best laid plans and all, her co-passengers were; two goats, one ram, and a cage full of hens. When she jumped off of the sea taxi to rush to the airport, fresh air was all she had on her mind. Finally, on a real airliner, she drifted off to dream of being published in "Modern Philology".

Twenty one hours and four planes later, she was greeted by her dad in Spokane. They hugged and separated just a bit too swiftly, then walked silently to the parking lot. In the car she cracked the ice. "Thanks for bringing me back dad." she offered.

"Don’t be so sure you’re home free." was his emotionless reply.

"I’m Twenty seven years old." she parried.

"And in debt to your old man for a bundle." came back without a glance in her direction.
More silence for twenty miles, than at last she dared again. "I need to bring this stuff I brought back, to USC."

Without a moments eye contact he replied coolly. "Pay me back what I spent now, or work it off at home, makes no difference to me."

They were passing "Silver wood", an amusement park, she hated that place. She had worked there before, and knew her dad wanted her back there sooner that yesterday.

Months went by, a blur of screaming kids and blazing sun. On her way out the door one morning, heading back to the park, her dad said. "If you wanna give notice today, I guess your paid up. I’ll miss having you around, but your head is already somewhere else."

Her dad was the master of understatement. She had been working on her presentation to the doctor, every spare minute she could scrape together. Funny how things work out. Thinking back, if she would have gone straight to LA, she wouldn’t have been ready. She would have blown the whole thing by exaggerating the potential of her find. Now, Sarah Smith was ready.

The two weeks before she could leave flew by and she was confident that she was on her way. A couple of planes, a two hour lay over, and she was at LAX. She made an appointment to meet with one of Dr. Tischers’ aids. then went to the library for some last minute research.

At the meeting Sarah was perfect, and Dr. Tischer was contacted in Santiago. He tore her interpretation to pieces during the teleconference, then looked up and exclaimed. "Well, Miss Smith is it? You got one thing right, this description in the ninth passage sounds remarkably like Langolango." His eyes lit up like gemstones. "Let’s get up there and have a look around in the spring."

Sarah was dancing in her pants, a phrase her mother coined to describe her tendency to fidget when she was excited. She was going on a dig with Dr. Evan Tischer himself.

Back to Sand Point to tell her dad that she had made the big time. Not that he would get it, he always called Dr. Tischer Doctor Cuckoo. Amazingly he actually seemed pleased to hear about her success in LA. She could tell he was kidding when he said, "Don’t call me from a life raft in the North Atlantic and expect me to show up to help you bail."

That night was like a childhood Christmas eve, she didn't sleep a wink.