The Crystal Child (23 page)

“Of course,” DeLeon said with an inquisitive frown.  He nodded toward the front desk.

“I haven’t decided about a bank account yet,” was all the explanation she offered him.  “Cash, please,” she said to the woman on duty at the desk.

“Surely,” the woman said, as if cashing thousand-dollar checks was routine.  “American or Mexican?”

“American, I think,” Julia answered.  “Doesn’t that hold its value better?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” said the woman.  She was gone for a few moments and returned with a stack of crisp American currency. When the money had been counted out, Julia placed the bills in a fresh envelope and turned it over.  She addressed the envelope to Achula Mendez at the address the girl had scribbled into the cover of her copy of Bullfinch.  She knew DeLeon was watching, but she told him nothing more.  She sealed the envelope and left it to be stamped and mailed.  Bread on the waters.  “I’m ready,” she said and headed for the door.

For the first few hours of the drive they had the benefit of a paved highway.  After that, the driver began switching back and forth on rough, sandy desert roads that climbed into the hill country behind San Lazaro.  The van, a rugged yet luxurious vehicle, took the uneven terrain well, but the ride was still bumpy.  As they reached the high canyons that cut the ridge of the Sierra Juarez, scrub and cactus gave way to shaggy pinion forests.  Below to the west spread an astonishing sweep of ocean, as if half the world were tipping toward them.  At points along the way DeLeon offered to have the driver stop to let Julia take in the view, but she showed no interest.  “Let’s keep driving,” she said.

She had only one thought in mind: to find her way to Aaron as soon as possible.  Until that happened she was like a swimmer holding her breath, stifling her need to breathe until she came up on the far side of an underwater tunnel.   An intense anticipation to see him had begun to grow in her since last night, an almost physical craving that increased as she drew closer to the moment they would meet.  During her imprisonment, when there was no hope of seeing him, she had been able to fight back the gnawing loneliness that came of being parted from him. Only now did the full strength of her longing make itself felt, the need she had been holding tightly under control for the past year.  As if it were a mantra, she kept repeating his name silently. 
Aaron, Aaron, Aaron …

There was one thing more that made her eager to reach their destination.  Once she laid eyes on him, spoke to him, took his hand, she would at last have made herself a fugitive with no hope of turning back.  Her future would have been decided.  She wanted that as much as she wanted to see Aaron.

Vaguely, she realized she was traveling through an unusually lovely landscape.  She was in a rugged forest of pines and junipers watched over by high, jagged peaks.  From time to time they passed fences or postings for a ranchero that was well off the road; otherwise the mountainous terrain was austerely clear of any human presence.  She had never been in such pristine wilderness before, but she was too preoccupied to take notice.  The passing scenery was making her feel queasy; it was too much space to take in after so many months of confinement.  She put her head back and closed her eyes.  DeLeon was content to prattle on, not expecting her to reply.  At the edge of her mind she was dimly aware that he was trying to impress her with his success.  He was talking about people, wealthy people, people with powerful connections, clients who had become generous patrons.  He apparently took their approval — or was it their gullibility? — as validation of his absurd practices.  Only gradually did it dawn on her how eager DeLeon was to show her off as further evidence of his medical authenticity.  Why did that matter to him, she wondered.  What was her opinion worth?

“I’ve taken the liberty of telling Sylvana your whole story.  You will find her totally sympathetic..”

Julia realized she had heard this name two or three times now, but she had not taken the trouble to remember.  “And Sylvia is … who again?” she asked.

“Sylvana,”
DeLeon corrected.  Non-plussed by her obvious lack of attention, he explained as if for the tenth time. “The film star.  Sylvana Pagoli?  You may remember her.  No?  Well, she wasn’t quite of international stature — except in the gossip columns.  In her time she had a small legion of amorous notables.”  He lowered his voice into a confidential tone.  “The royal family.”  Julia returned a blank look; she honestly had no idea what this meant.  What “royal family”?  And why did he assume she cared?  “If she wished,” DeLeon went on, “she could call herself a Contessa.  Her mother held the title, and her mother before her.  Sylvana doesn’t use it.  The family suffered a good deal after the war, how justly I have no idea.  There were rumors of fascist connections.  But who knows?  These aristocrats, they regard themselves as above petty politics.  Not to boast, but Sylvana, as you will see, is one of the best advertisements for my method.”

His words became a droning sound.  Along with the steady purr of the engine, they lulled her into a light sleep.  Then, feeling DeLeon’s hand on hers, she shook herself awake.  The van had stopped.  She opened her eyes to see a metal gate in front of them.  A sign at the side of the car said “Private Property.”  A wire fence higher than a tall man ran off to both sides of the gate reaching to the horizon.  The driver had left the car.  Julia saw him punching a code into a small black box mounted on the gate post.  As he did so, Julia noticed a rising plume of dust: another car tearing toward them from their left across open land.

“My humble abode,” DeLeon said with mock humility as he gestured away to the south. “From here for about twelve kilometers thataway.  Actually, it’s property of the Institute, but I rent it out to myself.”

The approaching vehicle might have been designed for combat.  Olive-drab and armored, it roared to a halt on oversized tires.  Floodlights and sirens were studded across the roof of the cab, a shot gun clearly visible on the dashboard.  Two uniformed men in dark glasses climbed out of the front seat and exchanged words with the chauffeur.  Then they strolled over to the van.  They wore large-brimmed hats and had guns holstered at the belt. DeLeon pushed a button to roll down the window.

“Hello, Doctor,” one of the men said as he leaned in.

“Hello, Frank,” DeLeon replied.  “I’m bringing a guest.  Dr. Stein.”

“Howdy,” the man said, touching the brim of his hat and showing his teeth in a broad smile.  Julia nodded back.  “Stayin’ long?” he asked DeLeon.

“I’ll be driving back Monday.  Dr. Stein will be staying indefinitely.”

“Enjoy yourself,” the guard said to Julia.  Satisfied, he and his companion waved the van through.

“Of course there’s no way to patrol this much open land,”  DeLeon explained to Julia as the van moved on.  “It’s really just a gesture.”

Watching the guards close the gate behind them, Julia felt a small chill.  The last time uniformed people with guns had closed a gate on her, it was to punish her.  “Am I locked in here?” she asked.

“Hardly,” DeLeon said, showing hurt surprise at the suggestion.  “The fence is electrified by night, but you can leave any time.  You need only punch in the code.”

“And when am I to be entrusted with the code?” she asked.

DeLeon chuckled.  Taking her hand, he ran his finger up and down across her palm.  He was writing something.  The second time he spelled out the words, she picked them up. 
KongRules. 
“Aaron’s choice,” DeLeon said.  “I assume you know its significance. I invited him to choose the word when he arrived here, simply to let him know he is free to leave any time.  As you are.”

DeLeon had described the house that was their destination as Mayan Moderne, but he used the phrase tongue-in-cheek.  “The architect is Isobe. Have you heard of him?  The Japanese who built that
outré
hotel in Lisbon?  A man of genius.  He’s been working on the place for over seven years; it’s still nowhere near finished.  Sylvana and I keep coming up with new ideas.  People say it’s destined to be a modern masterpiece.  Well, why not?  I’ve certainly paid enough.”

Julia, who knew little about architecture, had no idea what to expect.  As the house gradually emerged into view ahead of them, various angles and facades appearing and vanishing as the road crept around the bends of a steep ravine, she decided the style was wholly beyond her untutored appreciation.  Either that or it was the ugliest building she had ever seen.  Designed to resemble a vine-covered pre-Columbian ruin, it appeared to slither up the mountain side like a fat, greenish snake making its way from one forested terrace to the next.  Most of the structure disappeared into the hillside, hinting at great spaces within.  About one thing it left no doubt: it was a crushingly expensive palatial residence, the sort of showcase home one sees in architectural magazines, wealth wasted on fabulous extravagance.  Once they were on the grounds, the gardens — or simply as much of them as Julia could see on either side of the van — vied in size and magnificence with any number of public parks she knew.  She had traveled a thousand miles by plane and car, but now she realized she had crossed an even more distant line, a social border.  This was where the land of money began.  The building had a pet name, something Mexican that DeLeon had to spell out for her.  “Tlaloc,” after a Mayan mountain god.  “Not a very nice god either,” DeLeon added.  “Like most Mexican deities, a bit on the brutal side.  Sylvana chose the name.  Isobe calls it his snake house.”

“You and Sylvana live here alone?” Julia asked as they headed for the entrance along a colonnade embossed with fantastic floral and serpent forms.

“Hardly.  We regard the house as an extension of the Institute.  We have people coming through all the time.  Seminars, workshops, private consultations.  Above all, private retreats for selected guests.  We try to combine seclusion with conviviality.  And then there’s the staff, which includes Sylvana’s live-in trainer and yoga master and nutritionist — and, of course, her personal physician.  I look forward to introducing you to Dr. Horvath.  I regard him as my collaborator in perfecting the Immortalist Method.  He has a great many theories you’ll want to discuss, I’m sure.  So you see, we’re quite a well-developed little community.  Sylvana used to travel incessantly, but I suspect she will be here now the year around now — to be with Aaron. If Aaron let her, she’d be at his side night and day.  He could not ask for more devotion.  San Lazaro used to be our milieu.  But we found the need for something more secluded.  You couldn’t have dreamed of a more ideal refuge for Aaron.  Nobody in the world — besides Sylvana and her physician, you and I — knows he’s here.  And, well, Isobe, who has the free run of the house.  Can’t hide anything from him. Sylvana passes Aaron off to the servants as a young relative. As you’ll see, the house itself is as much of a jungle as you could find in Yucatan.  Acres of space.  Aaron could stow away there for years.  And yet he’s just next door to the Institute.  Within consulting range.  In these parts, a four-hour drive qualifies as ‘next door.’  You can expect quite as much anonymity for yourself once you settle in.  Not that you need to worry.  I think I can safely say, given the connections Sylvana and I have cultivated over the years, that I am the law of the land here.”

That was the first hint she had heard of DeLeon’s plans for her.  “Is that what I’m doing — settling in with you and Sylvana?”

“Given your predicament, I can’t imagine your not wanting to, but of course that’s up to you.  Wait until you see the arrangements before you decide.  I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.   And as for Sylvana, she is the soul of generosity.  I promise you, where Aaron is concerned, there’s not an ounce of possessiveness in her.”

“Possessiveness?”  The word came at her like a warning.

“You know what I mean.”

Now that they were about to meet, Julia realized that Sylvana had taken on an intimidating reality for her.  For the first time she clearly focussed on the fact that Aaron was living with this woman.  He had been with her for months, not as a patient near death, but as the beautiful boy she had left behind, Eros reborn.

“How old did you say she was?” she asked suddenly.

“Sylvana?” DeLeon asked, stopping in the middle of whatever he had been saying.  “Oh, that’s a professional secret.  When we meet, I defy you to guess her age.”

It was only as the van pulled up at the front entrance that Julia felt a twinge of embarrassment.  Here she was, still wearing the things she had hastily brought with her from home: some slacks, a few wrinkled blouses, an extra pair of down-at-the-heels shoes.  Clothing she used to wear at her clinic, functional but fashionless  She was carrying nothing better in her suitcase.  A year in prison had all but eradicated whatever meager concern for fashion she ever had.  In preparing her escape, she never spent a moment thinking about clothes.  She certainly did not care what DeLeon might think. But to meet titled nobility dressed like an ex-convict …

For all the good it might do, she asked DeLeon to wait until she ran a comb through her hair. Studying her face in the rear view mirror she decided she still looked like a wreck.  Prison had streaked her hair with gray and left her pallid.  Every line in her face had been etched deeper.   She fished a dried-out lipstick from her purse and rubbed it across her lips to offset the pallor.  Would Aaron care about that, she wondered.  Of course not.

A sleepy-eyed man-servant met them at the door.  He was dark and tall, with a kind face and a soft Hispanic accent.  DeLeon called him Eduardo.   Eduardo asked about luggage.  “Only this,” DeLeon answered, handing the man Julia’s one small case.  Eduardo offered Julia a genial smile that seemed to say he understood why she came with such humble belongings and that it was permissible for her to enter the house of the mountain god.

Following Eduardo deeper into the house, they passed through a cave-like foyer where the raw rock face of the mountain had been artfully allowed to show through, damp and mossy.  The moisture from the walls trickled into a small stream that ran under the paving of the hall. DeLeon identified the art work that lined the hallways, mainly pre-Columbian antiquities.  Further along, there were paintings by European artists that Julia recognized — a Renoir, a Matisse, three or four Modiglianis — names she associated with high prices.  Most of the names DeLeon threw out as they walked along were Italian, modern works she found unattractive, even ugly.  “The collection is mainly Sylvana’s,” DeLeon told her, and in a whisper.  “Family treasures.  The Pagolis were great patrons.  My own tastes, I blush to say, are less refined.  A life in science leaves one something of a bumpkin, I fear.”  Bumpkin that he was, he made a point of observing the cash value of the works they passed as if she might be coming to bid at an auction.  Julia made no effort to remember anything he said, but she could not fail to be impressed by the house.  Inside as well as out, the mountain sanctuary was becoming marvelously eligible for a role in Julia’s mythic imagination, an enchanted castle perhaps.  But was this the home of a good or evil wizard?  The insistently serpentine atmosphere of the interior — wherever she looked the decor featured scales and fangs and sinuous shapes — spoke for a darker kind of sorcery.  Or perhaps she needed another category: rich and foolish.  That more than anything else was what she was observing as Eduardo led her down corridors and up staircases.  She was walking through a private museum where no expense had been spared to produce a suffocatingly garish effect.   At last she and DeLeon entered a large tropical conservatory.  Palms and cactus grew here, some tall enough to reach through open louvers in the glass canopy.  Brightly-colored birds twittered and whistled as they flitted freely in and out of the open windows high overhead.  Outside the air had been thin and chill; here it was comfortably warm though too humid.