Life Blood --V---Page 19

The early spring wind was cutting into my face, causing my nostrils to feel on fire.

As we stood gazing down at the rippling waters of the Hudson below, where a lone sailboat was caught in the breeze, the
moment took on a timelessness, feeling as though it could have been any place, any century.

"Incidentally," he went on, turning slightly to me, "are you familiar with the name Asklepios?"

I had to shake my head no. It sounded vaguely familiar, but …
        "He was the ancient Greek god of medicine. The physicians
 who revered him held that sickness could be cured using drugs
and potions that came from outside the body, since they believed
that's where disease originated. Now, of course, billion-dollar
industries thrive by enhancing our arsenal of antibiotics."
        I listened to this, wondering where he was headed. Then he
told me.

"There was, however, another school of healing at that time,
those who honored the daughter of Asklepios. She was Hygeia,
their goddess of health. The Hygeians believed that wellness
originated from properly governing your own body. For them, the
greatest service of the physician was to learn how we can work
with our bodies. Their ideal was healing from within rather than
intervention from without."

Again he was studying me, as though trying to determine
whether I was going along with what he was saying.
        "Unfortunately," he continued, "the Hygeian school more or
less died out in the West. However, it lives on in other places. For
example, primitive peoples have no manufactured, synthetic
drugs, so they use natural herbs to enhance their own immune
system and stay healthy."

He turned to study the river, dropping into silence.

"Maybe I'm missing something," I declared finally. His

hypnotic voice had drawn me in, in spite of myself. "How does this relate to infertility?"

He turned back and caught me with his shining eyes. They

seemed to be giving off heat of their own. "Just as the body is

intended to heal itself, so is a woman's womb meant to create life. If she's childless, the reason more often than not is that her body is out of harmony with itself. What I do here is seek out each
woman's unique energy flows and attempt to restore them, using Eastern practices and Hygeian herbal therapies."

"Does it always succeed?" I abruptly wondered if his

techniques might work for me. Face it, Western medicine had

completely struck out. The problem was, the guy was just a little too smooth.

"Not always. Some women's bodies are naturally

unresponsive, just as all organisms are subject to random . . .
irregularities. In those cases, I try to provide her a child by other
means."

"You mean adoption," I suggested.

"By whatever means seems appropriate," he replied cryptically

"Well, there's something I'd like to understand. Last week I
met a woman who had adopted a baby boy through Children of
Light. She got him in three months. Such a thing is, according to
what I can find out, totally unheard of. So how did you manage
that?"

He stared down at the river. "I thought I'd explained that adoptions are not what we primarily do here. They're provided only as a last resort, in the few cases where my regimen of Hygeian therapies fails."

"But in those cases, where do you find—?"

"As I've said before we talk about adoption, first we need to
satisfy ourselves that no other options are possible." Then his
eyes clicked into me. "If you could come back next Saturday to
begin your tests and receive an orientation, I could give you an
opinion about your chances of bearing a child. It will require a
thorough examination, but I can usually tell with a good degree of
certainty whether my program can help someone or not. It's really
important, though, that you stay at least . . ." He was staring at
me. "Mind if I do something that might relieve some of the
symptoms of that cold?"

He reached out and touched my temples with his long, lean
fingers. Then he placed his thumbs just above my eyebrows and
pressed very hard. After a long moment, he slowly moved the
pressure down to the bridge of my nose, then across under my
eyes. Finally he put the heel of his hands just above my ears and
pressed again. After a couple of seconds he stepped away and
continued talking as though nothing had happened.
        "After I give you a full examination, we can discuss our next
step." With that he turned, ready to head back. "Now if you'll
excuse me, I've got a lot of research data to organize."

I guess he assumed his juggernaut of arcane medical theory
had rolled over me sufficiently that he could move on to other
matters. I sensed he really wanted me to come back, but he was
careful to wind down our mutual interview with a take-it-or-leave-it
air. All the same, I felt intrigued as we moved back through the
gardens and then into the courtyard. A baby. Maybe he could
make it happen for Steve and me. In spite of myself, I felt a
moment of hope.

"Thank you for coming," he said by way of farewell, just

brushing my hand, then turned and disappeared through one of
the ancient wooden doors along the veranda, leaving me alone.
        Well, I thought, the calm voice and casual outfit are probably
just part of his bedside manner, but you can't be near Alex
Goddard and not feel a definite sense of carefully controlled
power. But is his power being used for good?
        This was the man whose staff was trying to deny me in-
terviews with mothers who'd adopted through Children of Light.
And what about the Hispanic hood with the gun? Did Alex
Goddard send him? If not, his appearance at Paula's building was
one hell of a coincidence. So why should I trust . . .
        That was when I noticed it. My lingering cold had miraculously
vanished, inflamed sinuses and all. I was breathing normally, and
even my chest felt cleared.

My God, I thought, what did he do? Hypnotize me? It was as
though a week's healing had passed through my body.
        I had an epiphany, a moment that galvanizes your resolve. I
had to do a documentary about this man, to find out what he was
really up to. He'd mentioned he had a place in Central America.
Was that the source of his special techniques, some kind of
ancient Meso-American medical practices he'd discovered?
        He claimed he didn't want any publicity, but that's always just
an opening move. When somebody says that, what they really
mean is they don't want any bad publicity; they just want to have
final say about what you produce. There're ways to handle the
problem.

I liberated a brochure from the hall table on my way out, thinking I would study it soon. Very closely. I had a nose for a good story, and this one felt right.

When I got back to the car, Lou was nowhere to be seen.

He'd given me the impression he intended merely to sit there and doze while I went inside, but now he was gone.