Life Blood---XXV---Page No 91

"He said it was for special tests." Her voice was gentle

through the gloom. "You were very . . . sleepy. You must have
been very, very tired. But he told me something in your blood
work was unusual, so he had me bring you down for a pelvic
exam. I gave you a sedative"—she was pointing at the Band-Aid
still on my arm—"the way we always do. But then he said you were
fine."

"Do you realize he did things to my body I didn't agree to?" I
studied her trusting Mayan face and tried to get a sense of how
much she knew about what was going on. That was when I first
became sure of an increasing disquiet in her eyes, as she kept
glancing away. Why was she so uncomfortable talking about Alex
Goddard? "And I think he did some of those same things to

Sarah."

"Dr. Goddard tried to help her in many ways when she was

here before." Marcelina's tone had become odd and distant. "Now he wants to help you too."

Yes, there was definitely something uneasy in her eyes.
        "Before he came here," she went on, trying to look at me,
 "Baalum was just a poor, simple village. Many children died of diseases. So I left and went to Guatemala City to study. To
become a public-health nurse. Then after he came here, I moved back to help him with his clinic, the children."

She was trying to make a case for him, and I noticed she'd avoided the actual question.

"Now Baalum has become a special place," she said finally.

"A place of miracles. And if a woman from outside comes, she can be part of that. When Sara was here before, I started teaching her to speak our language, and the others did too. She truly wanted to be part of his miracles. Sometimes we don't understand how they happen, but he has great medical powers."

One thing's for sure, I thought. He's got plenty of power over
the people here, including you. The whole place has been
brainwashed. I looked her over and realized she'd just gone on
mental autopilot. She wants to be loyal to him, and she can't let
herself believe there's something rotten in the "special" paradise
of Baalum.

"Listen," I said, getting up, "I need to go see Sarah right now.
Her father's been in the hospital, and he's not well. I spoke with
him yesterday, and he's very worried about her. I know Dr.
Goddard is treating her, but it's better if I just take her home
immediately."

More and more I was beginning to suspect this detour for the two women had been a diversion, an attempt to stall. Marcelina had set it up. Maybe she wanted to tell me something, and she didn't have the nerve to do it point-blank.

"Families are very important," she said, sounding sincere.

"We'll go now." She spoke to the women briefly, an animated

benediction that seemed to leave her even more disturbed. As we headed out and on down the path, I again wondered what was
really happening.

When we reached the end of the long "street," the arched

arbors still above us, she stopped in front of an odd stone building unlike any of the others and pointed.

"This is where she likes to be," she said quietly. "Except for the pyramid, it's the most sacred place in Baalum."
        The doorway was a stone arch about five feet high and
pointed at the top like a tiny Gothic cathedral.
        "What . . . is this?" I felt as though I was about to enter
something from the Temple of Doom.

"It was once the royal bath," she explained. "In ancient times
heated rocks were brought in, with spring water from a sacred
cenote."

We walked through the portal and entered a room whose roof was a stone latticework that let the gray daylight just filter through. The space was vast, with carved and colored glyphs all around the walls, while the air was filled with clouds of incense from pots along the floor. It felt like a smoky pagan church.

At the far end was a large stone platform, and in the dappled, hazy light I could see it was embossed along its sides with carved and painted classical scenes and glyphs, glistening little red and green and blue pictures of faces and figures.

My eyes finally started adjusting to the shadows, and I

realized the platform had been fitted with a covering across the

top, a jaguar skin over bundled straw, and a tiny form was lying on it, wearing a white shift. . .

Dear God.

"Morgy, I've been so hoping you'd come," Sarah said, rising
up and holding out her hands. Then she slid her feet around onto
the rough stone floor and managed to steady herself. Her shift
was wrinkled now, but she still was wearing the brown slippers
and the braided leather waist-cinch. She appeared sleepy, though
her eyes were sparkling and she seemed to have more strength
than she'd had when I first saw her out in the square. I looked at