Chapter 36 Section thirty-fifth

Smithback was dismayed to find that the office was the same as it had been before, not a single gadget had strayed from its place.He slumped into the chair, a strong sense of déjà vu came to his heart. Rickman came back from the secretary's office with a thin folder and a steady smirk. "It's a big event tonight!" she said cheerfully. "Are you going to attend?" "Oh, of course," said Smithback. Rickman handed him the folder: "Bill, read this." Her voice was less cheerful. Smithback read it twice, then looked up. "How?" She turned her head sideways and asked, "What do you think?"

"Is that what you mean?" said Smithback, "I can't even talk to people over dinner without your permission?" "Can't talk about museum affairs. That's right." Rickman said, patting the paisley scarf around his neck. "Why? Aren't the shackles that yesterday's memorandum put on me heavy enough?" "Bill, you know why. It turns out you can't be trusted." "How do you say that?" Smithback said in a strangled voice. "I know you're running around the museum, talking to people you have nothing to do with, asking ridiculous questions that have nothing to do with the new exhibit. If you think you can gather information on the... well... recent developments, then I must remind you that Article 17 of the contract prohibits you from using any information that I have not authorized. I will not authorize you to use any information related to this recent unfortunate situation, I repeat, any information."

Smithback sat up. "Unfortunate circumstances!" he burst out. "Can't you call it by its real name? Murder!" "Please don't yell in my office," Rickman said. "You hired me to write a book, not a three-hundred-page promotional piece. You want to tell me it can't be in a book after a string of brutal murders in the week leading up to the grandest opening in museum history?" "What can and cannot be written in the book is up to me, and only I have the final say. Do you understand?" "No." Rickman stood up. "It's so tiresome. Either sign me now or you're done."

"The end? Are you going to shoot me or send me out?" "Your frivolity has no place in my office. Either this agreement is signed, or I accept your resignation immediately." "Very well," said Smithback, "I'll take the manuscript and find any commercial publisher. You need it as much as I do. You know as much as I do that I can make my way to the top with the inside story of the museum murder. Also, please Believe me, I know the inside story. All of it." Rickman's face was pale, but his smile did not change at all, and his knuckles were white against the desk. "It would be a breach of your contract," she said slowly. "The museum employs the Wall Street law firm of Daniels, Soler, and McCabe. You have no doubt heard their names. If you dare to do that, immediately would be the defendant in a contract lawsuit, as would your agent and any publisher stupid enough to sign you. We'll put all the pressure we can on it, and if you lose the case, you'll probably never be able to compete in this space Got a job."

"This is a complete violation of my rights granted by the First Amendment." Smithback choked out such a sentence. "Nothing. You're the one who broke the contract. We're just looking for compensation. You're not going to be a hero, and this isn't even going to be in the Times. If you're going to go down that route, Bill, I advise you to find a good one." Consult with a lawyer and let him see the contract you signed with us. I believe he will say that this contract is watertight. If you have no objection, I am willing to accept your resignation immediately." She opened the drawer and took out another paper, but did not close the drawer.

The intercom rang loudly: "Mrs. Rickman? Dr. Wright looking for you, line one." Rickman picked up the phone. "Yes, Winston. What? The Post again? Well, I'll talk to them. You've sent for Ippolito? Very good." She hung up the phone and walked to the door. "Check to see if Ippolito has gone to the curator's office," she told the secretary. "As for you, Bill, I don't have time to be polite to you. If you don't want to sign the agreement, pack up and leave." Smithback became very quiet.He suddenly smiled: "Mrs. Rickman, I understand what you mean."

Rickman's eyes lit up, and he approached Smithback triumphantly, prompting: "So—?" "I agree to those restrictions," he replied. Rickman returned to his desk, smiling broadly. "Bill, I'm glad this didn't come in handy." She put the second sheet back and closed the drawer. "Looks like you've got enough brains to see that you have no choice." Smithback met her gaze and reached for the folder: "Do you mind if I read it again before signing?" Rickman hesitated for a moment. "Okay. But you will find out what you read last time, and this time you will still read the same meaning. There is no room for misinterpretation, so don't bother looking for gray areas." She looked around, picked up the notebook, and walked to the room "Bill, I warn you, don't forget to sign. Please come out with me and hand over the signed document to the secretary. I'll give you a copy later." Smithback pursed his lips in disgust, watching her twist Leave with the buttocks under the pleated skirt.He furtively glanced at the outer office one last time, then quickly opened the drawer that Rickman had just closed, took out a small item, and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He closed the drawer, looked around again, and walked towards the door.

After walking two steps, he returned to the desk, grabbed the memo, scribbled his name on the bottom, and handed it to the secretary when he went out. "Keep your signature, it will be worth a lot of money someday," he said without looking back, and the door slammed shut. Margot had just put down the receiver when Smithback came in.She still has the exclusive use of the laboratory today, and the colleague who made the specimen suddenly applied for an extension of leave. "I just spoke to Flock," she said, "and he was rather disappointed not only that we didn't find any more evidence in the crate, but that I didn't get a chance to find the rest of the pods. He probably hoped I could." Find evidence of the monster. I tried to tell him about the letter and Jorgensen, but he said he couldn't talk. Guess Cuthbert is in his office."

"Probably asking what happened to the admission form he sent up," Smithback said, "imitating Torquemada's trick." He gestured to the door, "Why is the door unlocked? " Margo looked surprised, "Oh, I probably forgot." "Permit me to lock it—just in case." He fiddled with the lock for a moment, then grinningly pulled out from his coat pocket a battered volume with a leather bound stamped with crossed double arrows.He held up the book like a trophy and accepted Margo's inspection. Margot's curious expression quickly turned into shock: "My God! Is that the diary?"

Smithback nodded proudly. "How did you get it? Where did you get it?" "Rickman's office," he replied, "for which I had to make a major sacrifice and sign an agreement that forbids me to talk to you." "Just kidding." "Not exactly. Anyway, halfway through my torture, she opened the drawer of her desk, and I saw this battered little book at a glance. It looked like a diary. It wasn't like Rickman would keep it in Things in the desk. Then I recalled what you said, she should be the one who borrowed the diary." He nodded pretendingly, "I suspected it was her for a long time. Therefore, I took it when I left her office."

He flipped through the diary: "Now, little lotus, please be quiet. Daddy reads a story to lull you to sleep." Margo listened quietly, and Smithback began to read aloud, very slowly at first, until he became familiar with the sloppy handwriting and the occasional abbreviations , he read faster and faster.Most of the preceding chapters are short, a few hurried sentences describing the day's weather and the expedition's position in general. August 31.Rained all night - canned bacon for breakfast - helicopter crashed this morning, wasting a whole day doing nothing.Can't stand Maxwell.Carlos and Hosta Gilbao were at odds again—for extra wages because . "Keep reading," urged Margot. "It really doesn't matter," said Smithback, turning back. "Whitsey looks like a man who loves his words. Oh, my God, I hope I didn't sign and give away a good life for nothing." The journal describes how the expedition gradually penetrated into the rainforest.They drove the first leg in a jeep, then flew two hundred miles up the Xingu River in a helicopter, then hired local guides to lead the group up the muddy river to the Cerro Gordo plateau.Smithback read on. September 6.Leave the canoe at the disembarkation location.Now it's all on foot.First glimpse of Cerro Gordo this afternoon - the rainforest towering above the sky.Tutit bird calls, caught a few specimens.The guards quietly bit their ears. September 12.We ate the last of the corned beef variegated for breakfast.Not as wet as yesterday.Going on to the mesa--clouds cleared at noon-the elevation of the mesa is about 8,000 feet-temperate rainforest-saw five rare Candelaria ibex-found blowpipe and blowgun, extremely well preserved- - Mosquitoes infested - Xingu Xitui jerky for lunch - not bad, like bacon.Maxwell packed a few crates of useless junk. "Why did Rickman withhold this?" Smithback lamented. "There's nothing shameful about it. Why be so nervous?" September 15.Southwest wind.Eat oatmeal for breakfast.The river is choked with branches, so three crates of cargo are being shipped overland today - flooded to the chest - and the leeches are strong.Around lunch time, Maxwell happened to collect a sample of some kind of flower, and he was extremely excited.The native plants are indeed very unique - special symbiosis, morphologically very ancient.But I'm sure there are more important discoveries ahead. September 16.Stayed at camp this morning to regroup.Maxwell insisted on returning with his "discovery".Stupid guy, it's annoying that almost everyone wants to return.After lunch, the group left, leaving us with only two guides.Korok, Carlos and I moved on.We stopped almost immediately to repack the crates, the specimen vials inside were shattered.While I was packing, Kroc was out for a walk and stumbled across the abandoned hut... "There's something to it," Smithback said. ...going out to investigate with gear, reopening crates and taking out tool bags - before we started exploring the huts old native woman staggered out of the bushes - not sure if sick or drunk - pointing at the slats box, howling loudly.Breasts down to the waist—toothless, almost bald—and a large sore on the back that looked like a burn.Carlos refuses to translate, but I insist on knowing: Carlos: She said, devil, devil. Me: Ask her, what demon? Translated by Carlos.The old woman was hysterical, howled, and pressed her heart. Me: Carlos, ask her if she knows Kosogar. Carlos: She said you came to take away the demon. Me: Where's Kosoga? Carlos: She said Corsoga went to the mountains. Me: On the mountain?where? The old woman continued to wail.Pointing to the crate we opened. Carlos: She said you took the demon. Me: what demon? Carlos: Mbawang.She said you put Mbawang in the case. Me: Ask her what she knows about Mbawang.What is Mbawan? Carlos talked to the old woman, who calmed down a little and talked for a long time. Carlos: She said Mbawang was a child of the devil.The stupid Kosoga wizards asked the demon Tirashkai to send his son to help them defeat the enemy.The demon told them to kill and eat all their children and then gave them Mbawang as a gift.Mbawan helped the Kosoga defeat their rivals, then rebelled and started killing them all.The Kosoga fled to the mesa, with Mbawang in hot pursuit.Mbawan lived forever.The Kosoga are eager to get rid of Mbawan.Now the white men are coming to take Mbawang away.Beware, Mbawang's curse will destroy you!You bring death upon your fellow man! I was flabbergasted, then rejoiced—a story that fits perfectly with mythology passed on secondhand.I told Carlos to ask for more details about Mbawang—the old woman fled suddenly and disappeared into the bushes—he was very energetic at his age.Carlos gave chase and returned empty-handed—he seemed terrified, and I didn't press.Survey the hut.When we returned to the original road, the guide had already run away. "She knows they're taking the idol back!" said Smithback. "That's the curse she's talking about!" He read on. September 17.Kroc disappeared last night.I am very scared.Carlos was worried.I am going to send him back to Maxwell, who is probably halfway to the river - this artifact must not be lost, I believe it is priceless.I'll keep looking for Korok.There are trails everywhere in the forest, no doubt the Kosokan people - I don't know how civilization can overcome this terrain - maybe the Kosokan people will be saved in the end. The log ends here. Smithback closed the notebook and cursed: "Unbelievable! It's all known. I sold my soul to Rickman...for this damn thing!"

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