The Crystal Child (22 page)

The meal that was laid before them that night in DeLeon’s private quarters was hardly Spartan fare, nothing like the brown-rice and tofu regimen Julia had been served in the dining commons — and which she preferred.  Before her Julia discovered a banquet of meats, duckling, salmon, or pork loin, and a selection of heavily sauced and creamed vegetables.  Noticing her inquisitive look, DeLeon was quick to explain.

“Things have been liberalized since you were last here.  And why not?  As we master the sources of aging, we have less need of asceticism.  ‘Radical rejuvenation’ we now call it.  And when rejuvenation is indeed radical, it permits occasional liberties.  The healthy body is an indulgent master. Of course, for newcomers, the dining hall remains true to the classic DeLeon diet.  But at least twice a week, we allow our guests to indulge themselves in private parties.  We’ve laid on the best chef and staff you can find in Baja.  Daniel Ormand.  Have you heard of him?  No?  Straight from Louis Carton.  Needless to say, if you prefer something simpler, I can have a plate prepared.”

Julia waved off his offer.  “I’m not watching my diet much these days.  A year in prison breaks you of the habit of healthy eating.”

DeLeon rolled his eyes in exaggerated fury.  “Outrageous, what they put you through.  My heart goes out to you. I welcome you as an enemy of the state.  We are fellow scapegoats, you know, for the worst kinds of persecution.”

“Who do you mean by ‘we’?”  Julia asked.

“Scientists, of course.  Ever since Galileo.  We have been the favorite targets of small minds.  Bruno was burned at the stake for preaching the infinity of the cosmos.  What would you expect for proclaiming the infinity of life?”

“That’s not why I was convicted, Peter.  Let’s be clear about that.  I make no effort to hide what I did — which wasn’t proclaiming the infinity of life or any nonsense like that.”

“Perhaps not in so many words.  But your achievement speaks for you.  You restored youth to a patient who was dying of senility.”

“And that also isn’t why I was prosecuted.”

DeLeon shook his head gravely.  “I insist.  It was the subtext of your conviction.  There is no heresy like eternal youth.  What could be more offensive to all those who feel themselves condemned to age and die?  You defied their fatalism.  Death, I’ve learned, has won over an enormous constituency. Those who are resigned to it refuse to believe there are better possibilities.  We are the champions of life and joy.  How the life-deniers hate us!”

“I wish I could claim that much heroism.  I believe Aaron has let you know that I was guilty as charged.”

“But so was Galileo, so was Pasteur. Galileo really did see mountains on the Moon; Pasteur really did see germs under the microscope.”

“And Dr. Julia Stein really did sleep with an eleven-year-old boy.  Not quite the same, is it?”

“On the contrary.  You know what Freud said about infantile sexuality?  To say the child is sexless is a ‘slanderous fallacy.’ Isn’t that what he called it?”

“ ‘Untenable fallacy,’” she corrected him.  “Words that must be dear to the heart of every child molester in the world.  If Freud were alive today, I’m sure he’d wish he never mentioned the subject.”

“Let’s say it’s a moot point. You committed a crime only if Aaron is in fact a child.  Ah, but is he? Isn’t that what we both wonder?”

“He’s a child in the eyes of the law.”

“But not in the eyes of science, correct?  And not in his own eyes.  He knows he’s a being of another order.”

“It’s not good for him to think of himself that way.  He’s a boy who’s undergone some physiological changes we don’t yet understand.”

“Really?  You think of him as a boy?”  He paused as if he expected an answer.

“Of course I do,” she answered, showing no conviction in what she said.

DeLeon stared at her with frank amazement, a smile of bewilderment on his lips.  “Come now, Julia.  A
boy?
 Whatever his physical appearance, you should be the last to disregard a wholistic view.  He may seem to be a boy, but what of his mind, his emotions, his psyche?  His IQ goes through the ceiling.  His maturity puts us all to shame.  And as for his sexual development … ”

Julia rose from the table, her head spinning with confusion.  “I won’t continue talking about this.  Excuse me.  I’m not feeling well.”

DeLeon, suddenly the solicitous host, went to her at once, ready to wrap his arms around her, then drawing off.  “A thousand pardons.  I’ve been insensitive.  I promise to tread carefully. You’ve been through a fearful ordeal.  I only wished to let you know how honored we feel to have you here.  Consider yourself a permanent appointment to our staff.  Accommodations, salary, staff privileges — all yours.  As for all you’ve left behind — the persecution, the prejudice, the sneers — you’ll find none of that here.  Let me assure you, if you had chosen to flee the country a year ago rather than go to prison, you would have been welcome here.”

She slumped back into her chair. “You can’t be serious. Wouldn’t that have placed you in an awkward political situation?”

DeLeon gave a proudly knowing smile.  “You might be surprised to learn how much legal clout we exercise these days at San Lazaro.  Our clientele include a number of highly influential figures — not all of whom care to sign the register.  Discretion is one of our main attractions. It’s why our guests are willing to do us the occasional favor.”

“Yes?  In return for what?”

“Medical expertise, of course.” DeLeon had poured out drinks for the two of them — an expensive cognac, the first liquor Julia had tasted in a year.  Automatically, he reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew a silver case.  From it he took out a cigar which he dipped into the liqueur.  When he saw a frown come over Julia’s face, he quickly apologized.  “I’m sorry.  You disapprove.  Or would you care to join me?  Many of the ladies here enjoy a good after-dinner smoke.”  Julia waved him off.  “Very well.  Just the cognac, then.”  He left the cigar in a small tray on the table.  “We deal in therapies here that can’t be found in the mainstream,” he said, resuming.. “You know from your own experience how narrowly conventional medicine can be.  We have guests who have special needs, and above all confidentiality.  They come to San Lazaro exhausted, depleted, sadly battered by the demands of their responsibilities.  Why should they suffer for their prominence?  They need special handling.  Rest, relaxation, diversion, the chance to kick up their heels.  I’ve learned over the years that medicine of a certain kind is in the nature of a worldwide barter system.  People will trade handsomely for it.  I needn’t tell you how inane the drug laws are when it comes to medical treatment.  You’d think everyone who provided a few soothing substances to his patients was a mafia king pin.”

“And you manage to keep all this secret?”

“My dear, my dear, that’s the least of it. You’d be surprised how many of our regulars are journalists and drug officials who quite enjoy sharing our facilities, free of charge of course.  The last thing they’d want to do is close us down. As for the skills you possess, I wonder if you know how valuable someone of your reputation could be here. Within the first few months, I’d have the rich and famous flocking here to meet the doctor who defeated old age.”

“My reputation is that of a criminal.  I’ve lost my license, you realize.”

He smiled indulgently.  “A minor point at San Lazaro.  In fact, our guests might find a conventional license something of a drawback.  We’re a bit more adventurous here, as I think you know.”

“Forgive me.  You may mean well, but I no longer consider myself a doctor.”

“The woman who cured Aaron Lacey!  You can never be anything but a healer.”

“It isn’t at all clear that I did heal him.  He recovered under my care.  I still couldn’t  tell you what I did that made any difference.”

“Patience, tenderness, loving care … don’t you believe those have healing power?”

“Not where accelerated aging is concerned.”

“But you also tried a number of medications.  Aaron told me so.  He can’t remember what they all were.  But isn’t it possible that one of them stopped his senescence?”

“I tried everything.  A shotgun approach. That’s the trouble.  There’s no way to tell what worked.  I wasn’t doing research. I was out to save a boy’s life.”

“But surely you have some idea …”

“Peter, curing Aaron, if that’s what I did, may have nothing to do with reversing the aging process.  We have no reason to believe any form of progeria is real aging.  Progeria is a disease.  Aging is our genetic fate.”

He allowed a long, thoughtful pause to enter the conversation. “But is it?  That’s exactly what San Lazaro was created to find out.  We try long-shots here, the possibilities that others scoff at.  And the results are clear.  All you need to do is look around at my clients.  Try to guess their ages.  Look at how youthful they remain.”

Julia bit her tongue to keep from making the reply she wanted to make. She reminded herself: she was here to be with Aaron.  With no place else to turn, she dare not let DeLeon know how repugnant his pretensions were.  This was a man who craved more flattery and submission than she felt prepared to offer.  Best to beg off the rest of her dinner and return to her room.  “This is too much for me,” she explained with not much effort to convince.  “Being free like this makes my head spin.”

DeLeon made no objection.  “I understand completely,” he said.

“When do I see Aaron?” she asked as she reached the door.

“We can set out tomorrow if you feel up to it.  It’s a four-hour drive.”

“Tomorrow then,” she said.

As she turned to leave, DeLeon called her back.  “Only a token,” he said, handing her an unmarked envelope.  “A small stipend for your services.”

“My services?”

“Your services to come.  Let me know if it’s not sufficient.  Did we get the alias right?” Julia opened the envelope.  Inside was a check for $4,000 drawn on a Panama City bank and made out to Clara Shapiro.  She glanced up to see him offering her an unctuous smile.  “If you need help opening a discreet bank account, we can provide that.”  She looked back at the check.  Did she want this?  If she accepted it, was she on this man’s payroll?  Without deciding and without saying thank you, she took the envelope away with her.

***

Back in her room she fell across the bed, fending off a spasm of nausea. Not from the food she had eaten, though it was rich enough to turn her stomach after a year-long prison diet.  She was feeling pangs of moral revulsion.  In DeLeon’s company she felt herself being sucked deeper into the muck that the tabloid press had heaped upon her.  His easy acceptance of her transgression was worse than the whip of disapproval she had felt from others.  It might have been a diabolical strategy intended to steal her soul.  Even Stockton had not been the den of iniquity that San Lazaro had become. 
Look around at my clients
, DeLeon had said.
Look at how youthful they remain.

But she had looked around.  The DeLeon Institute had become more prosperous, but Julia found it even less palatable than the spa she had visited nearly ten years before.  She had heard the pleading undertone in DeLeon’s voice.  He did so want her to admire what she saw.  But she was experiencing the same contempt she had felt the last time she had been DeLeon’s guest.  An inch beneath its scientistic veneer, San Lazaro was a playground no different from hundreds of others created for the spoiled elite of the world.  And now even the veneer was wearing thin.  Beyond offering its gullible customers this season’s elixir of immortality, the place was awash in recreational drugs and casual sex. Julia wondered what visitors paid for the joys of pretentious corruption.  It must be a pretty penny.  Even in Mexico an establishment of this opulence would cost a fortune to maintain.  Conversations she overheard suggested that the Institute had a connection with some of the plush resorts to the north.  A few days at San Lazaro came as part of a package deal with one of the pricier hotels.  Every day she saw private planes arriving and departing from the air strip where she had landed, clients rushing in and out for a quick dose of rejuvenation.  Weren’t there whorehouses that worked like that.  Park, have a quicky, take off.

To her surprise, she realized that her year inside, living among the dregs of society, had nuanced her sensibility.  She recalled the prostitutes and junkies she had lived among, women who had done nothing worse than the well-groomed ladies she saw each day sunning themselves on DeLeon’s beach or frolicking in his hot tubs.  Except for the way the money changed hands, what was the difference between the prepaid promiscuity of the rich and the desperate fee-for-service sex of the downs-and-outs with whom she had shared prison space at Stockton?  She wondered if DeLeon’s clients had any better chance of passing an HIV check.  His assistants — the masseurs and physical therapists and locker room attendants — might very well be the international venereal express.  She had seen no signs of caution on the premises.  Perhaps the rich enjoyed some special sexual dispensation — or believed they did.

Yet, in a sense, was it not sex that had brought her to San Lazaro too?  Not sex as any of DeLeon’s guests understood it, but an intoxication she had known for a few moments in Aaron’s embrace.  She had not come to find that experience again; that was too much to expect.  But she needed to know what had happened in that encounter. Something had been revealed to her as if in a flash of lightning.  Something Aaron called “the brightness.”  If anyone could tell her why she had thrown away everything she ever valued to grasp that instant, it was Aaron.

On the table beside her bed lay the envelope DeLeon had given her.  Her stipend.  What was she to do with it?  If she kept it, would that commit her to accepting Peter DeLeon’s arrangements, whatever they might be?  The air of suave amorality that surrounded San Lazaro touched everything with suspicion.  Then a thought came to her.  She found her copy of Bullfinch’s Mythology and placed the envelope between its pages.

***

The next morning, DeLeon was in the front lobby of the Institute waiting for Julia. She met him with a question. Holding out the check he had given her the night before, she asked.  “May I have cash for this?”