and me? We loved her. I felt my guilt go out to her all over again.
"She next declared she wanted to come here to _Baalum_, to the place of
miracles. I told her that, yes, miracles can sometimes transpire here,
but only at a great price. We would need to have an agreement and she
would have to keep it no matter what."
"What do you mean, an agree--?"
"Truthfully, though," he went on, ignoring me, "I immediately regretted
the offer, since I realized she was far too unstable for this . . .
environment. Finally I forbade her to come, but just before my next
scheduled trip she found out and booked herself on the same flight.
There was literally nothing I could do to stop her."
"She put Ninos del Mundo on her landing card." I was growing sick to my
stomach at the rehearsed way he was recounting her story. "That's this
place, right? _Baalum_."
"My clinic here is known by that name. The village itself is called
Baalum." He was easily meeting my eye, holding his own in our battle of
wills. "Sarah was, I have to say, a very impressionable young person.
Once here, she forgot all about her purpose for coming. She should have
stayed up the hill there"--he was pointing off to the south--"where I
could care for her, but instead she moved down here, into the
compounds. Then she discovered a hallucinogenic substance they have
here, began using it heavily, and I think it tipped her into a form of
dementia."
So, she was doing drugs, something I'd always secretly feared. Well,
maybe she was still having flashbacks of some kind; maybe that
explained why she was off in another world when she came out of her
coma.
"What . . . kind of 'hallucinogenic substance'?"
He sighed then shrugged and answered. "Here in the rain forest there's
an ugly three-pound toad the _Bufo marinus_--you'll see them around,
near sunset--that has glands down its back that excrete a milky white
poison."
I knew about them. They were migrating north now, even into Florida.
They were huge and looked like Jabba the Hutt in Star Wars. I hate
toads of all varieties, but the thought of those monsters made me
shudder.
"My God, isn't their toxin lethal?" Was Sarah trying to destroy
herself? Was that why her mind was so blitzed? "I've heard--"
"Yes, it can kill you, but it can also--if processed correctly, with
fermented honey--give you truly supernatural visions. The classical
Maya used it for ceremonial purposes. I'd managed to reconstruct how
they prepared it, and--something I now deeply regret--I showed the
shamans here how to replicate the procedure. At the time it was just a
minor part of my research into traditional pharmacology, but she heard
about it and persuaded them to give her a vial. Then more and more."
That did sound like Sarah. Always out on the edge, testing new
realities. But then I thought a moment about what he'd actually said.
Some of the people here in his "place of miracles" were doing heavy
drugs, and she'd got caught up in it.
"But why didn't you stop her?" You unfeeling bastard.
"I tried, believe me. But I'm afraid she was far past listening to me.
By then she was learning the Kekchi Maya dialect, becoming totally
immersed in their world. She began having episodes of complete
non-rationality, and then one day she told the women in her compound
she was going over to Palenque, the Maya ruins in Mexico. It's where
the classical Maya held their last kingship ceremony. Before anyone
realized she was serious, she stole one of their _cayucos_, their
mahogany dugout canoes, and headed down the Rio Tigre." His eyes had
turned completely dark, the way he used to blank them out. "She just
went missing. Everyone here was devastated. We all loved her."
I stood there weighing his story. It didn't ring true. I supposed she
was capable of something that crazy, but would she have actually done
it? I didn't think so.
Then I remembered something else he'd said.
"You said you proposed an 'agreement.' What was that about?"
He stared at me. "It's nothing that need concern us. Suffice to say I
kept my part. Anyway, it's over and past now."
Why wouldn't he tell me? Did she make some bargain with the Devil?
"But regarding Sarah," he went on, "I only just learned she'd been
found and brought to New York in a coma. Wanting to do what I could, I
immediately called the hospital and, out of professional courtesy, they
told me she'd shown early stages of coming out of it, but she appeared
to be hallucinating. It was exactly what I'd feared. . . ." His voice
trailed off. "I hope I did the right thing, but when I learned she'd
been released, I arranged for her to be brought back here, where
perhaps I can do something for her."
"What?"
"In rare cases, the hallucinogen she took permanently alters critical
synapses in the brain. I'm fearful she may have abused it to the extent
something like that could have occurred. No one in the U.S. would have
the slightest idea what to do, but I think I may know of an herbal
antidote they turned to in ancient times that can repair at least part
of the damage. I also knew that getting her back here through normal
channels would be impossible."
"So you had Colonel Ramos and a bunch of his Guatemalan thugs just
break in and take her?" I didn't know which part of the story
horrified, and angered, me the most.
"I have the misfortune to know him reasonably well, and
I explained it was very important to me, and he agreed to assist. I
honestly didn't know where else to turn. I understand there may have
been some violence, for which I apologize, but these people have their
own way of doing things." He rose and came over and put his hand on my
shoulder. "I hope you'll understand."
The son of a bitch was coming on oily and contrite, when he'd just
subcontracted an outright kidnapping. I wanted to kill him.
Finally I walked away, trying to get a grip on my anger.
"You know, that bastard also broke into my apartment and stole a reel
of a picture I'm shooting." I turned back. "I've also got a strong
feeling he's the one who just threatened one of the women I filmed."
"Well, if that happened, then let me say welcome to the paranoid
harassment of the Guatemalan high command." He sighed against the
morning sound of birds chirping all around us. "Unfortunately, I gather
they've assumed you're documenting the operations of Children of Light
in some way, doing a movie." His eyes drifted off into space, as though
seeking a refuge. "You see, my project up here in the Peten is to carry
out pharmaceutical research with as few distractions as possible. But
in Guatemala City, I have what is, in effect, a hospice for girls in
trouble--which is also called Niiios del Mundo, by the way--that's
connected with my U.S. adoption service, Children of Light. However,
any time Niiios del Mundo takes in an orphaned or abandoned infant and
tries to provide it with a loving home through adoption in the States,
the government here always threatens to hold up the paperwork if I
don't give a bribe, what they call an 'expediting fee.' So if you were
to probe too deeply . . . Let me just say it's not something they'd
care to see lead off 60 Minutes."
It sounded like more BS, but I couldn't prove that. Yet.
"Well, why don't you just clear that up, and then I'll take Sarah and--"
"But I've only now initiated her treatment. Surely you want to give it
a chance."
I looked out at the rain forest. This was the place she'd come to once,
and--though I'd never admit it to Alex Goddard--it was the place she'd
announced she wanted to return to. But something devastating had
happened to her mind here. What should I do?
The fact was, I didn't trust Alex Goddard any farther than I could
throw him. I had to get Sarah and get us both out of here as soon as
possible, though that meant I'd have to neutralize him and the Army,
and then use my limited American dollars to try to buy our way back to
Guatemala City.
"But come." He turned his gaze toward the south. "Let me show you the
thing I'm proudest of here. It's just up there." He was pointing toward
a dense section of the rain forest, in the opposite direction from the
river and up a steep incline.
I couldn't see anything but trees, but then I still had the feeling I'd
stepped through the looking glass and found Sarah trapped there. The
next thing I knew, we were on an uphill forest trail, headed due south.
"I think it's time you told me what's going on back there in the
village," I said. What was it about this place that had seized such a
claim on Sarah's mind?
"_Baalum_ is difficult to explain to someone encountering it for the
first time." He paused. "Much of it is so--"
"I think I can handle it."
"You have every right to know, but I don't really know where to start."
"How about the beginning?" Why was he being so ambiguous?
"Very well." He was taking out a pair of gray sunglasses,
as though to gain time. "It actually goes back about ten years ago,
when I was prospecting for rainforest plants up here in the Peten and
accidentally stumbled across this isolated village, which clearly had
been here since classical times. I immediately noticed a huge mound of
dirt everybody said was haunted by 'the Old Ones,' and I knew right
away it had to be a buried pyramid. They're more common down here than
you'd think. So I struck a bargain with the village elders and acquired
the site. But after I unearthed it and began the restoration, I became
inspired with a vision. One day I found myself offering to restore
anything else they could find--which eventually included, by the way, a
magnificent old steam bath--in exchange for which they would help me by
undertaking a grand experiment, a return to their traditional way of
life."
"So you deliberately closed them off to the modern world?" It told me
Alex Goddard could control a Mayan village just as he controlled
everything else he touched. It also confirmed he had a weakness for the
grandiose gesture. Would a time come when I could exploit that?
"I told them that together we would try to recreate the time of their
glory, and perhaps in so doing we could also rediscover its long-lost
spirit, and wisdom. On the practical side, they would help me by
bringing me the rare plants I needed to try and rediscover the lost
Native American pharmacologies, and in return I would build them a
clinic where families can come for modern pediatric and public-health
services. So _Baalum _became a project we share together. I call it a
miracle."
That still didn't begin to explain why it felt so eerie. Something else
was going on just under the surface. What was he really doing here?
Then the path uphill abruptly opened onto a clearing in which sat a
large two-story building, its color a dazzling white, most likely
plaster over cinder block, with a thatch roof and a wide, ornate
mahogany door at the front. The building was nestled in a grove of
trees whose vines and tendrils had embraced it so thoroughly, there was
no telling how far it extended back into the forest. There also was a
parking lot, paved and fed by a well-maintained gravel road leading
south.
Seeing it, I felt an immediate wave of relief. Even better, the lot
itself contained half-a-dozen well-worn pickup trucks, while sunburned
Maya men were lounging in the shade of a nearby tree and smoking
cigarettes. They were not from Baalum. They wore machine-made clothes
and they were speaking Spanish, unlike the men in loincloths down in
the village.
Yes! That's how I can get us out of here. A few dollars . . .
Parked there also was a tan Humvee, the ultimate all-road vehicle,
which I assumed belonged to Alex Goddard. Maybe I should just try to
steal it.
As we passed through the door and into the vestibule of the building, I
glimpsed a cluster of Maya women and children crowded into a
brilliantly lit reception area. Goddard smiled and waved at them, and
several nodded back, timorously and with enormous reverence. They were
being attended by a dark-eyed, attractive Maya woman in a blue
uniform--the name lettered on her blouse was Marcelina--who was holding
a tray of vials and hypodermic needles. She was pure _indigena_, all of
five feet tall, with broad cheekbones and deep-set penetrating eyes.
Unlike the other women in the room, however, there was no air of
resignation about her. She was full of authority, a palpable inner fire.
"One of my most successful programs here"--he nodded a greeting to
her--"is to provide free vaccinations and general health resources for
the villages in this part of the Peten Department."
"I thought USAID already had public-health projects in Guatemala." The
sight deeply depressed me. They all looked so poignant, the women with
their shabby _huipils_ and lined faces, the children even more
disheartening, sad waifs with runny noses and watery eyes.
Which confirmed again that they'd come in the pickups parked outside,
driven here by the men.
I had six hundred cash in dollars. I could just buy one of those
worn-out junkers for that.
Alex Goddard glanced around, as though reluctant to respond in the
presence of all the Maya.
"You saw those 'security guards' down there just now. They're nothing
but boys with guns, 'recruits' kidnapped by the government on market
day and pressed into the Army. They're all around here. The powers that
be in Guatemala City are very threatened by what I'm achieving, so
they've got these Army kids hanging around, keeping an eye on me. They
also hate the fact I can provide health services better than they can.
But to answer your question, most of the AID money gets soaked up by
the bureaucracy in Guatemala City, so the people up here have learned
to rely on me. The Army, however, despises me and everything I'm doing."
What a load of BS. You just admitted you had an inside track with
Colonel Alvino Ramos. Anybody can see Children of Light or Ninos del
Mundo, or whatever the hell other aliases you use, is thick as thieves
with the Guatemalan Armed Forces. Don't insult my intelligence. It just
makes me furious.
I turned to Marcelina. She'd begun passing out hard-sugar candies to
the mesmerized children, showing them how to remove the cellophane
before putting them into their mouths. Though she was pure Maya, she
looked educated. I instinctively liked her. Maybe she could tell me
what was really going on here.
"Do you speak English?"
"Yes." She was gazing at me with a blend of curiosity and concern.
"If--"
"I've got a procedure scheduled shortly," Goddard interjected, urging
me on down the tiled hallway. "But I need to take a moment and
recharge. Come with me and we can talk some more."
Near the end of the hall, we entered a spacious, country-style kitchen.
He walked over and opened the refrigerator.
"Care for a little something to eat?" He looked back, speckled white
hair swinging across his shoulders as his ponytail came loose. "I had
Marcelina whip up some gazpacho last night and I see there's some left.
It's my own secret recipe, special herbs from around here. It's good
and good for you."
"I'm not hungry." It wasn't true. I was growing ravenous. But I was
repressing the feeling because of everything else that was going on.
His "village" was holding back its secrets, and now his clinic of
"miracles" also felt suspiciously wrong. I'd seen plenty of rural
public-health operations in developing countries, and this setup was
far too big and fancy. The whole thing didn't begin to compute.
"As you like." He gave an absent shrug.
I looked around and noticed that just off the kitchen was another
space, which was, I realized, his private dining room. There was a
rustic table in the center that looked like it had been carved from the
trunk of a large Cebia tree. I walked in, and moments later he followed
carrying a tray with two calabash bowls of gazpacho and some crusty
bread.
"In case you change your mind and decide to join me." He placed a bowl
opposite where he was planning to sit. "Like I said, there're unusual
herbs around here with flavors you've never dreamed of."
He began eating, while behind him I glimpsed Marcelina moving down the
hall, carrying more trays of vaccine and headed out toward the
vestibule again. I had to find a way to talk to her.
As I settled into the rickety chair that faced my plate, I glanced down
and saw a red lumpy mixture with a spray of indefinable green specks
across the top like a scattering of jungle stars. No way.
When I looked up again, he was swabbing his lips with a white napkin,
his penetrating eyes boring in.
"Now," he said, "it's time we started concentrating on you. Got you
going with your program."