I began by feeling along the fake-stone walls to find where the
crevices were, the doors that enclosed the medical instruments.
Somewhere, I was sure, there was a cabinet that held a complete set of
surgical equipment.
When I found the first crevice, I gave the wall on either side a push
and, sure enough, the panel was spring-loaded. Good. The side on the
right of the crevice popped open to reveal the microscope Goddard had
used. But nothing else was there.
I moved on down the wall testing for cabinets, trying to remember what
Marcelina had done when Alex Goddard told her to prep the Mayan woman.
One after another the panels snapped open till . . . yes, this was the
one I wanted. Hallelujah.
The third drawer held the scalpels. I took out the largest I could
find, heavy and steel, then wedged it into the metal sliding mechanism
and snapped off the tip. Perfect.
I felt like I was holding the key to my escape as I carefully reclosed
all the panels. Since there were no windows in the OR room, I slipped
back through the lab--it had now become a haunted place of monstrous
obscenity to me--and checked out the office.
It was still deserted, but now the hazy light of early day was mingling
with the sounds of nature seeping through the slatted window. As I
walked over to it, the cool, moist morning air once again felt like
freedom. How long did I have before the clinic started stirring?
I'd originally planned to try to unscrew some of the slats, but that
turned out to be unnecessary. The strips of wood were held in with
crude, rusty clamps, and one by one I began prying them out with the
blunted scalpel. I figured five slats should give me enough space to
squeeze through, and I'd already removed three when I heard a
frustrated voice in Spanish just down the hail. Uh-oh.
"_Tengo que mear que mis dientes flotan!_" It was followed by the sound
of boots headed toward the office.
I ducked down behind a desk, holding my breath, but then the footsteps
marched past, headed for the front door of the clinic. That was when I
finally processed what he'd said: "I've got to piss so bad my teeth are
floating."
So where was he headed?
Moments later I knew. I heard the noise of someone kicking their way
through the underbrush till they were right next to the window,
followed by the sound of a zipper.
My God, I thought, he's right here. Will he spot the missing slats?
I bit my lip as I listened to a member of the Guatemalan Armed Forces
vigorously urinate upon the north wall of Alex Goddard's clinic. Well,
I told myself, that's probably what they think of him. I'd like to do
the same.
Then came a confirming re-zip, after which the sound of slashing boots
faded back into the distance. If he'd noticed the window I'd just
burgled, it hadn't alerted his curiosity. Moments later I heard his
heavy footsteps returning up the hall.
Jesus, two minutes more and I'd have been out there.
I was trembling, but I managed to finish prying out the last two slats.
I then pushed all five out onto the ground, hoping the clatter would be
lost in forest music, and climbed through after them, trying to be as
quiet as I could. I ended up going out headfirst and collapsing onto
the ground in an unceremonious crumple. Thirty seconds later, though,
the slats were wedged roughly back into place, and I'd discarded the
broken scalpel in the jungle underbrush. Yes!
Now the cool air of freedom was all around me. My first small step.
How long before Alex Goddard discovers I'm missing? Will I have time to
find Sarah, bring her to her senses, and hide her from him? A lot would
depend on what kind of physical and mental shape she was in.
As I passed around the parking lot, gray clouds were thickening
overhead and I noticed that half a dozen new olive-green Jeeps were
parked there. The Army was arriving in force, getting ready for God
knows what. I took one look at them and felt my breath start coming in
bursts. Steve, we're going to need our own kind of miracle. How are we
going to get out of here?
I skirted the edges of the lot and reached the trail leading down into
the village. And I was trying to quell my pulse. What was down there?
With the dense rain forest arching over me, I felt as though I was
entering a domain of Maya dreamtime where the past lived again, only
with a sinister twist.
The air in the dark groves was thick with the buzzing of insects,
harbingers of the coming rainstorm, but before long I caught a glimmer
of daylight ahead. Soon I emerged into a wide arbor that, after another
hundred feet, opened onto the central plaza and the pyramid. Now . . .
It was daylight, but it also was . . . The sight took my breath away.
What was going on?
A milling horde of men was gathered in the square, and resinous torches
were flaming on each of the pyramid's tiers of steps. A lot of drinking
from clay jugs was getting under way, and the men were in the process
of painting their faces, stripes of black and white, with dark circles
around their eyes. Some also were applying rows of
red-and-green-colored seeds to their cheeks with white glue. The
bizarreness of the scene rippled through me like the shards of a
dysfunctional dream. Jesus!
Alex Goddard had said the ceremony got "frenzied," and now I was
beginning to realize. . . . What were they getting ready to do? Had I
been wrong in thinking the classical Maya never got around to ripping
out hearts? Did that explain the half-dozen young Army privates
loitering there at the far side, rifles slung over their shoulders?
I melted back into the trees and studied the geometry of the plaza,
reconsidering my situation. I needed to find some way to get around it
and onto the cobblestone pathway at the far side, which led into the
village. Finally I decided I could skirt the periphery if I was careful
not to advertise my presence. Dawn had come and gone and the quick
light of tropical day was arriving, but everybody appeared to be
pre-occupied with their nightmarish preparations.
Thank God it worked. I weaved in and among the trees and in five
minutes I'd reached the central pathway, now deserted. Still barely
letting myself breathe, I turned back and gazed up at the pyramid. I
had no idea what was next, but I decided it would be my signpost, to
help me keep my bearings as I moved through the confusing,
tree-shrouded huts of _Baalum_. Except for the men in the square, the
village now seemed deserted, though a pack of brown dogs, curious and
annoying, had spotted me and now circled around to sniff. Don't bark,
damn it.
That was when I saw Marcelina, in her white shift, striding through the
crowd of drinking men like an alpha lioness parting a posturing pride.
My God. My heart stopped for a moment. Does Alex Goddard already know
I've fled and has he sent her to lure me back?
No way. I clenched my fists and kicked at the surly, long-tailed mutts,
still circling and nuzzling.
As she came closer, I saw she was smiling and carrying a brown wicker
basket. What. . .
"I've brought you something," she announced as she walked up, her dark
eyes oddly kind. "You must be starving by now."
"How did you know I was down here?" Looking at her earnest Mayan face,
I suddenly wondered if she could have any idea what Alex Goddard had
done to Sarah, and to me?
"You were gone from your room," she declared, settling the basket onto
the walkway and beginning to open it. "Where else would you be?" When I
looked, I saw it had a sealed container of yogurt, a banana, and two
eggs, presumably hard-boiled--traditional "safe" food for gringos in
Third World places. "I'd been planning to bring you down today," she
went on. "They all want to meet you."
Was she coming to look after me? The more I examined her, the more I
began to suspect something else was going on. Would she help me get
Sarah out and away from Alex Goddard?
"I want to find Sarah," I said. Why not start out with the truth? "Does
he . . . Dr. Goddard know I'm here?"
"He's not here now," she said, her eyes shifting down. "He left for
Guatemala City early this morning. I think to meet with the Army. On
business. . . ."
Yes. His big Humvee hadn't been in the clinic's parking lot when I went
by. Why hadn't I noticed that? For the first time I felt the odds were
tipping. Now was going to be the perfect time to get Sarah. Yes. Yes.
Yes.
"If you want to see her, I can take you," Marcelina offered, replacing
the lid on the basket.
Yes, perfect. I wanted to hug her.
"Then let's go right now" And while I was at it, I was determined to
get through to this woman somehow, to enlist her help.
As we headed down the central walkway of the village, we passed the
rows of compounds where I'd seen the women that first morning. None was
in evidence now, and the gardens were empty, as though the entire
settlement had been evacuated. It felt very strange.
And what about those bizarre proceedings now under way in the square?
Was that going to interfere with getting Sarah out?
"Marcelina." I pointed back toward the milling plaza. "What's that all
about? The drinking and the--?"
"It's begun," she answered, both simple and vague. "They're getting
ready."
I didn't like the way she said it. Her tone seemed to imply I was
involved somehow.
"Ready for--?"
"The ceremony. They like to drink a tree-bark liquor we call _balche_.
It's very strong and rancid." She smiled and touched me. "Take my
advice and avoid it."
"I plan to." Why did she think I'd even be offered it?
As we hurried along, two women abruptly appeared on a porch, bowed, and
greeted us. Marcelina waved back, then went over and spoke earnestly
with them for a moment. Finally she turned and motioned for me.
"They've invited you in."
Something about the easy way it all just "happened" felt as though
they'd been expecting me. Had Marcelina's trip down to the village been
part of a setup, wittingly or unwittingly?
"I told them we could only stay for a minute," she went on. I sensed
she was reluctant, but felt we had no choice.
The last thing I wanted to do was this.
"Marcelina, can't you tell them we'll come back later?"
"It's . . . it's important." She was beckoning for me. "Please."
Well, I thought, this could give me the time I need, the personal
moment, to get through to her. Even after I locate Sarah, spiriting her
out isn't going to be simple. I've got to make Marcelina understand
what's really going on, then get her to help us.
As we headed through the yard, the women smiled, then politely led us
under the thatch overhang and into the hut. They both were short and
Maya-sturdy, with white shifts and broad faces, and they exuded a
confident intensity in their bearing, a powerful sense of
self-knowledge. I tried a phrase in Spanish, but they just stared at me
as though they'd never heard the language. Then I remembered my first
attempt to ask about Sarah. The women hadn't understood me then either.
Or had they?
The room they ushered us into had no windows, but there was cool,
shadowy morning light filtering through the upright wooden slats of the
walls, laying dim stripes across the earthen floor. A cooking fire
smoldered in a central hearth, and from the smoke-blackened roof beams
dangled dried gourds, bundles of tobacco, netted bags of onions and
squash, and several leaf-wrapped blocks of salt. The room smelled of
ancient smoke, sweet and pungent.
They immediately produced a calabash bowl with a gray liquid inside,
pronouncing the word _atole _as they urged it on me, smiling
expectantly.
"It's our special drink," Marcelina explained. She seemed to be wary,
watching me closely as they handed it over. "It's how we welcome an
honored guest."