Part 10 (1/2)

”She's a friend of the Borrero family. She doesn't get involved with the day-to-day of this clinic. We report the results to the trials committee in San Salvador via phone conference and e-mail because Negrarena is such a remote location. But most of the emphasis is on the chronic-pain trials. The brain-trauma application is brand-new.”

”You might have a better chance of winning Mr. Lucero's confidence if we can meet the wizard,” Monica said. ”We want to make sure we're not dealing with a tiny man and a dog behind a curtain.”

The woman laughed politely, making it clear that once again she didn't understand the expression, but grasped the underlying meaning. ”Fair enough, I'll see what I can do. I have no idea if Dr. Mendez and Ms. Ramos are even in the country, but I can call when we get back to the office.”

”I want to see my wife,” Will said. ”Is that the door to the infirmary?”

”One last thing, Senor Lucero.” Soledad held up a finger. ”There's the presentation.”

Will's face grew white and he pointed a finger at Soledad, then at himself. ”I don't like the way you're imposing your priorities above mine. My right to see my wife stands above your right to show me your propaganda.”

Soledad pursed her lips and glared at him. ”I'm just following procedure, senor.”

”Is it procedure for your clinic to prey on desperate people? Is it procedure to encourage them to cash in their life's savings? Is it procedure to facilitate kidnapping?”

Soledad didn't say anything, but her eyes roamed over Monica's and Will's faces in search of validation once more. Finding none, she turned and said, ”Follow me.”

WHEN SYLVIA SAW the Winterses walking behind her son-in-law, her face brightened as she stood to hug them. She was dressed in a short-sleeved, crisp apricot linen suit with matching sandals and smelled of Jean Nate. Claudia clutched Sylvia's hands like an old friend's and said, ”I'm Claudia, a friend of Bruce and Monica. At your service.” the Winterses walking behind her son-in-law, her face brightened as she stood to hug them. She was dressed in a short-sleeved, crisp apricot linen suit with matching sandals and smelled of Jean Nate. Claudia clutched Sylvia's hands like an old friend's and said, ”I'm Claudia, a friend of Bruce and Monica. At your service.”

Monica watched from behind Bruce's shoulder as Will bent down over Yvette's bed. He scrutinized her for damage, resting the palm of his hand on her forehead for a few seconds, then pulled back her eyelids to inspect the whites of her eyes. She was hooked up to some kind of monitor, and he leaned forward to examine the various digital displays, apparently familiar with each one. When he was satisfied, he kissed his wife on the lips and whispered something into her ear.

Monica experienced a perverse sense of jealousy followed by an immediate sense of relief that her growing attraction to him was just her silly little secret. This served as a firm and much-needed reminder that Will Lucero still belonged to this motionless, silent woman. When Monica had ma.s.saged Will, his stress and loneliness were as unmistakable to her touch as rocks hidden in a bowl of thick, corded dough. And yet, still he remained a devoted and faithful husband. Monica instantly recognized the paradox of her admiration. There was no impending ethical dilemma. She was completely safe because Will would step into an unflattering light if he ever abandoned his heroic post. His devotion to Yvette was the battery power of his beauty, and her attraction to him would always remain a blessedly secret, entirely temporary, full-moon crush. Nothing more.

DURING THE VISIT, Monica detected a false, tense cheeriness in Sylvia's voice that was unsettling. ”Monica,” she said, stroking her arm in a way that reminded Monica of a school nurse, ”the physical therapist quit, and they don't have anyone to ma.s.sage the patients.” She clasped her hands together. ”Do you think you could ma.s.sage my Yvette, just once, dear, could you?” Monica detected a false, tense cheeriness in Sylvia's voice that was unsettling. ”Monica,” she said, stroking her arm in a way that reminded Monica of a school nurse, ”the physical therapist quit, and they don't have anyone to ma.s.sage the patients.” She clasped her hands together. ”Do you think you could ma.s.sage my Yvette, just once, dear, could you?”

”She didn't come here to work, Sylvia,” Will said, his voice flat and cold. ”It's totally inappropriate for you to ask.”

Monica surprised herself by deciding then and there that she would have to ignore her previous discomfort with the idea. This was an entirely new landscape, and encouraging peace between Will and Sylvia had suddenly become top priority. ”It would be my pleasure, Sylvia.”

Soledad stepped forward, still trying to give her presentattion. ”At Clinica Caracol, we consider ma.s.sage and sensory stimulation to be the sacred partner to the drug therapy. We will have a physical therapist available in a few days. I apologize.”

Claudia stood over Yvette's bed and put one limp hand in hers. ”I'm going to call you La Bella Durmiente, because you look like you belong in a Bavarian fairy tale.” She looked up at the five other people in the room cl.u.s.tered around the bed. ”Did anyone check this princess for a poisoned apple lodged in her throat?”

Sylvia chuckled appreciatively, then shook her head sadly. ”My Yvettte. She was so pretty.”

Monica cringed inside, believing in her heart that Yvette had somehow heard and understood that comment from her mother, spoken in the past tense. ”You're still very beautiful, Yvette,” Monica said, a strange mix of guilt and protectiveness braiding themselves inside her stomach as she placed one hand on Yvette's. She looked up at Claudia. ”The poison apple was Blanca Nieves. Snow White.”

”We're going to go to the beach now,” Bruce said, pulling Claudia and Monica toward the door. He made a face, a not-so-subtle hint that it was time to leave Will and his mother-in-law alone to face each other in their battle for control over Yvette's fate.

MONICA, BRUCE, and Claudia Credo walked around the back of the clinic to Negrarena beach. On the way, they noticed that the Moroccan-tile swimming pool had been restored to its former glory. A light breeze ruffled its surface, and it sparkled, empty and inviting in the afternoon heat. They pa.s.sed through the old gates that separated the property from the beach, and Monica had a flash vision of Alma's slender arms pus.h.i.+ng the gates open, then slowly turning to look behind her, as if expecting someone to call her back from the doorstep of her paradise. and Claudia Credo walked around the back of the clinic to Negrarena beach. On the way, they noticed that the Moroccan-tile swimming pool had been restored to its former glory. A light breeze ruffled its surface, and it sparkled, empty and inviting in the afternoon heat. They pa.s.sed through the old gates that separated the property from the beach, and Monica had a flash vision of Alma's slender arms pus.h.i.+ng the gates open, then slowly turning to look behind her, as if expecting someone to call her back from the doorstep of her paradise.

The image of Alma was marred by the presence of a newly added cement platform, apparently a sunning area, with a special ramp for wheelchair access. Monica put her hands on her hips and mumbled, ”What's the point of a sunning deck if the patients here are all in a coma? I don't get it.”

”I guess they figure that no one here has an excuse for pale legs,” Bruce said, pointing to one of his pasty s.h.i.+ns.

After a few moments on Negrarena, Monica could no longer restrain her joy. When the first monster wave rose up and crashed over the sh.o.r.e, Monica felt a surge of electricity, her inner fluids rising to mimic the motion of the water, diving, tumbling, and spraying her insides with a salty thrill that made her kick off her shoes and sprint across the beach. The infernally hot black sand made her hop and she had to turn around and run back to get her sandals. She opened her arms wide as she ran to meet the ocean, and she had the delirious sensation that the waves remembered remembered her. They leaped up onto her, licking her legs and drawing her in until she dropped to her knees and let the cool, bubbly water run over her thighs, soaking her sundress. A larger wave rumbled toward her and she decided to go ahead and get good and soaked. The undertow of the wave wrapped itself around the back of her waist and pulled her toward itself like a determined lover. her. They leaped up onto her, licking her legs and drawing her in until she dropped to her knees and let the cool, bubbly water run over her thighs, soaking her sundress. A larger wave rumbled toward her and she decided to go ahead and get good and soaked. The undertow of the wave wrapped itself around the back of her waist and pulled her toward itself like a determined lover.

She pushed her fingers through black, viscous sand that felt like facial mud. She smeared it on her face, imagining that it looked like war paint, and when the next wave came, she leaned over it and washed it off. When she pa.s.sed the tips of her fingers over her face, her skin felt smooth as a river rock.

Farther down along the stretch of beach Monica could see the distant figure of a woman, strolling in the company of a dog. She was walking away from them, poking at the tide pools with a stick. She reminded her of Alma. Monica looked up, beyond the woman's path, and saw a crop of houses that had sprung up where there was once only trees and scrub.

When Monica turned around, Bruce and Claudia were enveloped in the coc.o.o.n of their own conversation, chatting happily. Monica suddenly wished she and Bruce were alone. She wanted to share with him a small gift of memory she had found in the sand.

Alma had taught Monica to press her arms deep into the wet, black sand in the minutes after a volcanic temblor in order to feel the life pulse of the earth, to hear the secret and distant undulations of its great beating heart. She wanted to tell Bruce, because she had not done so back then, and she had a feeling that he still didn't understand what magic it was to let Alma lead the way, how the natural world became powerful and amazing through her eyes.

AFTER ANOTHER HOUR with Sylvia, Soledad, and the doctor on duty, Will agreed to give them exactly one week to show some kind of evidence of improvement. with Sylvia, Soledad, and the doctor on duty, Will agreed to give them exactly one week to show some kind of evidence of improvement.

”... Which of course is impossible,” Bruce said to Monica and Claudia. ”He figures he's appeasing Sylvia, but Sylvia's strategy is to use the week to work on him to give it more time.”

After the three came out of the room, Will looked drained. He glanced at Monica, shook his head, and said, ”She won't hand over the air ambulance information to transport Yvette back home. I could take legal measures, but that would just take more time, so I'm caving in and giving it a week.” He rubbed his eyes, and Monica noticed they were rimmed with red from a lack of sleep. He ran his hands through his hair and it made his hair stick straight up on top, making him look strikingly younger, like a disheveled teenager. ”I just hope I'm wrong about this place,” he said in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

Outside, Claudia's driver was waiting to take her back to San Salvador; he'd been waiting for four hours now. Claudia had taken the day off from work and had to get back to the city. ”Who's coming with me and who's staying?”

Sylvia already had accommodations at the clinic, and the rest of the party decided to stay at a rustic guesthouse a half mile down the road. Soledad agreed to send a driver to get them in the morning. She'd tracked down the mysterious Leticia Ramos, who would meet with them in the afternoon. Monica was growing more and more excited.

Bruce, Will, and Claudia were wrapping up their affairs in the front office, and Bruce was jotting down some notes for his article, when Monica wandered out to the lobby to get another look at the sh.e.l.ls.

She always marveled at the individuality and artistry manifested by the sh.e.l.ls' architects. One could understand why they would go to such great lengths to construct such beautiful dwellings: naked, they were wretchedly unattractive. They were also helpless. The creature inside a Chilean murex, for example, constructed tall, elaborate spires with the intention of making his fortress look impenetrable to his predators. In the process, his craftsmans.h.i.+p achieved the grace and excellence of a tiny Renaissance cathedral, completely contradicting the measure of his intelligence. In the background of the display was a backlit silk screen printed with script text, a section of French poet Paul Valery's essay about nature and seash.e.l.ls: Nature has preserved her cautious methods, the inflection in which she envelops her changes of pace, direction, or physiological function. She knows how to finish a plant, how to open nostrils, a mouth, a v.u.l.v.a, how to create a setting for an eyeball; she thinks suddenly of the seash.e.l.l when she has to unfold the pavilion of an ear, which she seems to fas.h.i.+on the more intricately as the species is more alert.

On the way to the door, Monica saw the specimen catalogs, obviously dumped on top of the coffee table by the receptionist. She sat down on a wood-and-rattan sofa and leafed through a catalog from a showcase-specimen dealers.h.i.+p in Brussels peddling everything from bizarre and prehistoric insects trapped in petrified beds of primordial mud, to a Neanderthal tibia, and of course sh.e.l.ls, recent and fossilized.

The receptionist came into the room and said, ”You can take them with you if you like, I only need the current issue to place an order. I've never seen anyone even glance at them, never mind get as excited as you. They just gather dust. I have a few more in the back if you want them. We get new sh.e.l.l price lists every few months.”

Monica smiled and thanked her. ”I forgot to bring reading material for the slow moments of this trip”

”What could possibly be more boring than reading specimen catalogs?” the young woman said. ”Maybe your posada posada will have a television. There's a really good will have a television. There's a really good novela novela on at eight. on at eight. Amor Salvaje Amor Salvaje.” She opened her eyes wide. ”Tonight we find out if the heroine is pregnant by the hacienda foreman or the effeminate husband she can't stand.”

Monica raised one eyebrow. ”I can tell you who the father is without watching a single episode.”

”You don't know what you're missing,” the woman said, stepping into a room behind the reception area. She emerged minutes later with eight more specimen catalogs.

THAT NIGHT, Bruce went to bed at nine thirty and Will and Monica sat on two dirty chairs inside a tiny general store named Tienda La Lunita. The innkeeper at the Bruce went to bed at nine thirty and Will and Monica sat on two dirty chairs inside a tiny general store named Tienda La Lunita. The innkeeper at the posada posada had warned that it was not prudent for ”elegant-looking people,” as she had called them, to wander around the village alone and at night. The store was only two blocks away. ”Get what you need and come right back,” she said, wagging a finger. had warned that it was not prudent for ”elegant-looking people,” as she had called them, to wander around the village alone and at night. The store was only two blocks away. ”Get what you need and come right back,” she said, wagging a finger. ”Peligroso ”Peligroso.”

”Elegante?” Will repeated in a delayed echo, looking down at his khaki cargo pants and sale-bin T-s.h.i.+rt. Will repeated in a delayed echo, looking down at his khaki cargo pants and sale-bin T-s.h.i.+rt.

Monica shrugged. She hooked her thumbs on the shoulder straps of her short overalls, suddenly feeling as if she had to speak in a Southern drawl. ”What she meant was, y'all don't look like you're from these parts.”

”Oh ...” Will said, and looked down again, this time at his rubber and Velcro sandals. He wiggled his toes. ”Thank G.o.d we're not.”

”My dad would kill us both if he knew we went wandering around this Podunk village at night in a quest for beer.” She held up the brown bottle of the local brew, Pilsener. ”Cheers.”

Will held up his bottle and they clinked the bottoms. ”I'm glad your dad went to bed. This is kind of cool, just hanging out with you,” he said, catching her eye.

Monica held up her bottle to his again, tilted her head to the side, and smiled widely. ”To a new friends.h.i.+p, then.” She tipped the bottle back and took two long gulps of beer so that she wouldn't have to look at him right away.

”I feel like I'm in the third world, but in a good way,” Will said. ”That's a new concept to me, mind you. Sure it's rustic, and we saw a lot of shanties and poor people on the way, but there's something special about Negrarena. I can't put my finger on it, it's like there's something in the air.”