Part 37 (1/2)

”Cut the c.r.a.p.” I pulled away, still in shock from seeing Sarah so addled. I wanted more than anything else in the world just to slug him.

”Why did you bring her here? Think about your answer. Kidnapping is a serious crime in the States.”

”I've been very concerned about her.” He looked up at the groves of Cebia trees around the square, a quiet glance, as though to inhale the misty morning air. My legal threat had gone right past him--probably because here he was the only law. ”But now she's receiving the treatment she needs. I expect she'll be fine before long.”

”Treatment?” I was caught off guard. Okay, let's start getting things straight. ”When she was here before, somebody tried to beat her to death. How--?”

”What happened then was beyond my control.” He motioned me to join him as he settled onto the first step of the pyramid sadness in his eyes.

We were alone in the square now, and I felt like I'd become his personal prisoner, trapped. ”Sarah was . . . is very dear to me. I care for her deeply.”

”You cared so much for her she ended up in a coma, over on the Mexican border.” I didn't sit. Instead I just bored in, hoping to stare him down, but his eyes had grown distant, that little trick he had of alternating between intimacy and remoteness. Again it reminded me of that first morning we'd met, looking out over the bluffs of the Hudson.

”If you'll let me, I'd like to try and tell you something of the circ.u.mstances surrounding that tragedy.” He was gazing off in the direction the women had gone. ”You see, when Sarah first appeared at Quetzal Manor in New York, she was a very troubled young woman. She declared she was a person of pure spirit and she wanted to have a baby without so much as touching a man, some procedure that would produce a divine child created of cosmic energy.”

Cosmic energy. I had a flashback, hearing the words, to the time when she'd just turned six and we'd been sent by my mother to the hayloft to track down nests secreted there by rogue chicken hens. When we came across a cache of eggs, she asked if baby chicks came out of them. I a.s.sured her they did, and then she asked if human babies came from eggs too. My biology was pretty thin, but I told her I supposed they did, sort of, but then the eggs were probably hatched, or something, before babies were born. She thought about that a moment, scrunching up her face, then declared ”No!” and bitterly began smas.h.i.+ng the eggs. Babies and all living things came from another world, she declared, a special place we could not see. They came directly from G.o.d. . . .

That was why she would seek out someone like Alex G.o.ddard. For her, he must have seemed a messenger of the Unseen. Who better to create a child for her? The ironic part was, I'd found him for almost the same reason, seeking a miracle when all else had failed. Were Sarah and I even more alike than I'd realized?

”So I began trying to work with her.” He was turning back to me. ”But then I discovered she'd been born with an abnormality of the uterus. It has a medical name, but suffice to say it's very rare, and afflicts only about one woman in twenty thousand. Even after my diagnosis, though, she refused to give up. She was a person of enormous tenacity.”

G.o.d, I thought. Why didn't she come home to us, to Lou

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 rehea.r.s.ed 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 G.o.d, isn't their toxin lethal?” Was Sarah trying to destroy herself? Was that why her mind was so blitzed? ”I've heard--”