Counterpointe (23 page)

Then gravity took hold and both boy and bag landed with solid thumps. Still feeling weightless herself, Clare pivoted toward the second boy, but he fled, cursing. She turned back to the one on the ground, leaning in to grab her bag, poised to run if he started to get up.

“Shit, lady. You a cop?”

The fear in his voice caused her to hesitate and take a good look at him. Not only small, but younger than she’d originally thought. A mere baby. And already lost?

She narrowed her eyes going for a Lisa-look. “What’s your name?”

He rubbed the back of his head, his gaze unfocused. “Uh. Ty. Tyrese Brown.”

“How old are you?”

“Tw—thirteen.” He brought a hand up to shade his eyes and squinted at Clare.

He couldn’t be thirteen, or even twelve. Ten, possibly. She wanted to walk away, but his fear held her more firmly than had his hand.

The decision of what to do next was so sudden and simple, she almost smiled, except she didn’t dare. “I’ve got a choice here, Tyrese Brown.” She made her tone icy and her expression forbidding. “I could take you to the station. Have them book you, throw you in a cell, and forget to call anybody for a while.”

His eyes widened and his head shook from side to side. His continuing fear reassured her. Not a hardened criminal, or he would have seen through her in two seconds. So maybe there was hope for him. Worth taking a chance, at least. “Or we can make a deal.”

It was only later, when she stripped for her shower and saw the black marks on her arm, that she began to shake.

Rob left Boston for Peru with a heavy heart but with a feeling of relief. After months of emotional wheel-spinning, he was finally off dead center, moving, although it was unclear in what direction.

In Cuzco, Norman Jolliffe met him at the airport and helped load Rob’s luggage into a taxi that took them to the hotel. “I’m sure you’re beat,” Jolley said, after helping him check in. “Rest if you like or take a look around. We’ll get together at dinner. Sam will be in by then.”

Rob took a nap then went for a walk around Cuzco. It was like stepping into a page from
National Geographic
. The narrow cobblestone streets were stuffed with buses, small trucks, and tiny cars. Sidewalks, no more than two feet wide, were filled with scurrying people do-si-do-ing around each other, the tourists with their jeans and backpacks, standing out amid the bright colors of the Indian women’s skirts.

The biggest surprise was the number of school-age children who plied him with postcards. A boy of about ten had the most compelling approach. “Hey, mister. You want to see the twelve-sided Inca stone?” He laughed at Rob’s puzzled look. “Come. I show you. Where you from?”

“The United States.”

“Thought so. Call me Ronald Reagan.” The boy trotted down the street with Rob following, puffing a bit from the high altitude.

Halfway down the block, “Ronald” stopped and pointed to a huge block in the middle of a stone wall. Rob’s eyes followed the boy’s finger as he counted off the twelve sides. “How you like Peru, huh?”

“I don’t know yet. I just arrived. Did you learn to speak English in school?”

“Naw.” The boy shook his head. “I learn from tourists. Like you. Come on, I show you the puma.”

The urchin led him around the corner and pointed out the image of a puma formed by more huge stones.

“You like?”

“Yes. It’s very interesting.”

“Then you buy postcards. Four for forty
soles
.”

Rob did a quick calculation. “Whoa there, Ronald. Ten dollars for four postcards? Bit much, isn’t it?” In spite of the hustle, he was drawn to the bright intelligence and cheeky smile.

“It’s for my school tuition.”

“So why aren’t you in school right now?”

“I go to school at night.”

Right, and Rob could fit a twelve-sided multi-ton stone into a wall. “Tell you what, Ronald. Here’s two dollars. You keep the postcards.”

He felt guilty later when he learned schools did have multiple sessions, and the boy might have been telling the truth.

“Rob, good. You’re here,” Jolley said, walking toward him in the hotel lobby that evening. “Like you to meet our translator, Alberto Rodriguez, and this is Sam Lewiston, our medical officer.”

Sam was a tall, spare woman with a short, practical haircut.

Rob shook the hand she held out to him. “So Sam is short for Samantha rather than Samuel.”

“Jolley playing fast and loose with the truth, is he?” Sam was assessing him every bit as thoroughly as he was assessing her.

“More a sin of omission.”

“Is that a problem?” The question was stated calmly, but her gaze was direct and unequivocal.

“Just a surprise.”

Still holding Rob’s gaze, she nodded, making silver earrings dance that appeared to be her only concession to femininity, And it was a good thing she didn’t seem concerned about her looks. A woman who was could be a major pain.

As they ate, Jolley briefed them. “We used to come into these areas expecting the native healers to share everything they know. They’re incredible naturalists and generally as friendly and willing to share as they are intelligent. But pharmaceutical companies came in and took advantage of that knowledge to develop products without compensating the natives who provided the information.”

Things were changing. Now repayment was common. “That’s why Sam’s along,” Jolley said. “To set up a clinic as our offering.”

“I’m also hoping I’ll have a chance to learn about treatment modalities from the native
payés
while I’m here,” Sam said.

“
Payé
s?” Rob said.

“Medicine men, shamans.
Payé
is the term they prefer.”

Jolley then summarized what he’d accomplished since arriving in Cuzco some ten days earlier. “Food, other supplies, and transportation are all set. The trickiest part was finding a small generator to run the satellite phone, but Alberto managed it. And you’ll be glad to know, Sam, the last of the medical supplies arrived yesterday. It means we’ll get away on schedule, a major miracle in this part of the world.”

“Is lucky we can leave tomorrow or we have to wait until Monday,” Alberto said.

“Why is that?” Rob asked.

“Road very narrow. Very bad we meet someone come the other way. We must start right day.”

“We’re looking at a total of twenty-four hours’ road time to Shintuyo,” Jolley said. “We’ll probably overnight in Pilcopata, depending on how it goes.”

“So, how many miles to Shintuyo?” Sam asked.

“Two hundred, two hundred fifty kilometers,” Alberto responded.

Rob translated to miles and frowned at the number he came up with—a hundred twenty to one hundred sixty. “You’re saying we’ll average only five miles an hour?”

“Oh, we’ll likely do better than that.” Jolley cut into his llama steak. “The twenty-four hour estimate includes stops for the usual things, as well as the unexpected. Although, it’s pretty much
de rigueur
that something unexpected happens on that road.”

Sam grimaced. “Sounds like fun.”

“Well, it can be a tough trip, but I think you’ll find it fascinating.”

“What’s the highest altitude we’ll be hitting?” Rob fought the urge to rub his head and finally gave in. He’d had a headache most of the afternoon.

“Oh, somewhere in the neighborhood of 14,000 feet.”

“We’ll buy coca leaves in the morning,” Alberto said.

Coca leaves? As in cocaine
? “Because?” Rob said.

“It help with the altitude sickness.”

Rob glanced at Sam. “What does our medical officer think about that?”

“If you haven’t taken Diamox ahead of time, coca is a good alternative to alleviate symptoms. You either chew the leaves or drink the tea. You won’t get high, but it might help that headache.”

The driver turned off the highway onto a narrow unpaved track lined with potholes and rocks and, as the van began to bump and grind, Rob took several of the coca leaves out of the recycled plastic bag they’d come in. After he’d chewed the leaves for a while, all he noticed was a slight numbness to his tongue, then he realized the headache had begun to abate and his fingers no longer had the shriveled look of something left too long under water. He didn’t care for the taste of the leaves, a distinctive green flavor with an underlying bitterness, but the bad taste was a reasonable trade for the headache.

As the day progressed, the novelty of being in Peru wore off and Rob regretted his decision to come on the expedition. Unfortunately, it was too late to back out now. He was stuck for the duration.

The only good thing? The foreignness of the surroundings and the physical discomforts of the journey distracted him, for the first time in months, from the soreness of his psyche.

Climbing above Cuzco’s 10,000 feet, they passed through a stark landscape of tans and browns. The driver shifted into low gear, and Rob turned away from the sight of the sheer drop on his side of the van. They would have to wait a long time for rescue if they got stuck or slid off the road, and given the way the vehicle shimmied through the ruts, that was a distinct possibility.

Since he could do nothing to avert the possibility, he tried not to think about it. Instead, he struggled to follow the example of Jolley and Sam who were chatting in a relaxed fashion.

When they stopped to stretch their legs, Rob glanced up and was struck by the deep clear color of the sky.

“It’s the high altitude and no pollution, of course,” Jolley said, when Rob remarked on it.

Shivering, Rob blinked to lubricate his eyes and licked his lips, beginning to peel in the thin, odorless air.

Over the next few hours, the road ascended further before beginning to descend. Vegetation reappeared, and Rob spat out the last of the coca leaves, glad to be done with them.

Plant life became progressively more lush and the air changed.. No longer crisp and clear, but thick and damp.

After Tyrese Brown mugged her the day Rob left for Peru, Clare told Beck about the incident and the deal she’d made with the boy to come to Hope House.

She knew by the way Beck pummeled his bread dough he was upset. “You’ve got to promise me, Clare. No more walking home by yourself.”

She rubbed her arm where Tyrese’s companion had gripped it and had no difficulty giving Beck her word.