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Booth had had it with mummies. He checked Anthropology Today, SAPIENS, and Cultural Anthropology. No new mummies Bones might read about. He even steeled himself to read American Entomologist, Medical and Veterinary Entomology, and Psyche. He now knows way too much about the egg to bug life cycle, but no mummy things Hodgins might read about. He checked to see if anyone working at the Jeffersonian had published something about mummies. Nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief. No mummies this week. He bought himself a coffee from the cart by the reflecting pool and allowed himself a relaxed Tuesday morning. No more meetings with Sweets trying to explain how creepy this is.
The Squint squad was on the platform, working on a body. Booth swiped his badge and jogged up the stairs. The victim was male, Indonesian by his ID. He opened his mouth to ask about cause of death when Mr. Fisher wistfully said, “I’ve always wanted to go see the ma’ nene’ ceremony.”
Booth didn’t know what that was, but he already hated it.
Bones said, “I went with Dmitri Tsintjilonis once for the ceremony. It was a fascinating trip. On the drive in we followed a motorcycle with a pig tied to the back. It was one of the sacrifices for the ceremony.”
Mr. Fisher exclaimed, “You know Tsintjilonis? His was the first published field research on the ma’ nene’! Please tell me all about your expedition.”
Booth knew he’d regret asking. “The nay nay?”
“Ma’ nene’, Booth,” Brennan corrected. “It’s a ceremony held every few years in August by the Toraja people in Indonesia. They gather their mummified relatives from tongkonan houses and refresh them.”
Why is it always mummies? Booth thought. Wait. She said they get the dead from their houses? He stared at Brennan. “THEY LIVE WITH THE DEAD???” Booth was hyperventilating.
Brennan didn’t look up from examining the corpse’s fingers. “They believe the dead are still alive as long as they take care of them, Booth. They bring the dead tea and food. The dead speak to them in dreams. It is how they love their family.”
“It’s unsanitary!” Booth’s voice was rising. “The germs! The smell!”
“Actually,” Hodgins replied, smiling, “the average dead body isn’t able to spread disease after a few days. Without a host, pathogens die quickly. Even ebola can’t spread after 10 days.”
Booth stared at him. That wasn’t the information he was looking for.
Angela walked closer to Brennan and piped in, “Tell me more about the ceremony. They bring their dead food and tea?”
Mr. Fisher explained, “They clean and refresh their dead. They strip them of old clothes and use paintbrushes to clean them off. They redress the dead in new clothes, offer cigarettes, and take pictures with them.” He looked ready to take up a paintbrush and help.
Angela cooed, “Aww family photos? How wonderful. Can you imagine the row of pictures with children growing and the dead in different outfits?”
Brennan nodded while examining the left wrist. “Yes, daughters take care of mothers, grandmothers. It is an honor, a sign of love to clean and dress their dead.”
Cam looked over from the x-rays, impressed. “How do they preserve the bodies? The heat and humidity should accelerate decomposition.”
Bones straightened and looked at Cam. “The traditional method is to pour oils down the throats and brush the skin with a mixture of tea and tree bark. Essentially, they tan the skin.”
Angela replied, smiling, “I think it’s sweet. They tend to their family; they keep them around for lifetimes.”
Brennan said, “Dmitri told me sometimes there are bodies they can no longer identify. They have pictures of the body with their parents, but their name has been forgotten.”
Angela’s smile slowly fell at that.
Booth quietly asked, “The dead don’t have names?”
Brennan noticed Booth’s discomfort. She gently replied, “They know the people are family. They still care for them. They’ve known the dead their whole life.”
Mr. Fisher tried to shift the mood. “In modern times people are starting to use embalming type fluids. Parts of the body are preserved in the old ways like the face while the chest is preserved with the new.”
Cam hummed. “Interesting. Is it only the more wealthy that embalm them? I can’t imagine there are many funeral parlors in Indonesia to get embalming fluid from.”
“Outsiders do come in to do the injections.” Mr. Fisher sighed heavily. “More ancient traditions brought low by capitalism.”
Hodgins piped in cheerfully, “I’d love to go see that. Imagine keeping the dead in the home and seeing the insect activity on a daily basis. The case study that could be done. Think I can get a grant to go study?”
Bones looked surprised. She offered, “Perhaps I can speak to Dmitri to see if he’s planning another trip?”
Hodgins gushed, “I’d love that.” He turned to Cam. “Would the Jeffersonian be interested in a new exhibit on the insects of Indonesia?”
Cam tilted her head side to side. “I can speak to the board. How are the insect exhibitions doing by the way?”
The scientists continued weaving around the platform, examining the dead body, discussing expeditions while Booth sat on his stool in the corner.
Booth was stunned. They all just kept going. It’s all normal to them. People living in the same room as their dead grandmother. I need new friends. Golf isn’t enough. I need people who understand what a slant right on a 3rd down is.