A Dangerous Game (43 page)
healing ceremonies.
That would be a contradiction, wouldn't it?
You
can't buy life with a death."
"You seem to know a lot about this," Jacey said.
Paloma shrugged.
"I became friendly with some Indian women and one of them invited me to
a healing ceremony.
It was very interesting."
She paused.
"And I saw many cures."
"Just from spells?"
Jacey asked.
"Or from medicines?"
"Both," Paloma said.
"I'd like to attend a ceremony," Jacey said.
"Is that possible?"
"Oh, I'm sure it is."
Paloma nodded.
"After all, you're a healer too.
If you like, I'll arrange it for you."
The room was small, crowded and dark, with a heady aroma of herbs.
Paloma urged Jacey forward, towards the tiny woman sitting cross-legged
in a circle marked out by bunches of dried grass and flowers.
The
woman looked up at Jacey with small, bright eyes and said something in
the indian language.
"The mochto welcomes you," Paloma translated.
"She wants to know if you need healing?"
Jacey gazed into the healer's wise, kindly eyes.
She felt tempted to
say.
Yes.
Cure me of my memories, of my bad dreams.
Cure me of
remembering what Faisel did to me.
The mochto rocked slightly, and nodded encouragement.
"No," Jacey said to Paloma.
"Thank her, but tell her I'm fine."
The mochto nodded again, and Jacey had the uncanny feeling that the old
woman was aware of her problems anyway.
Don't be stupid, she chided herself.
No one can read minds.
The
darkness and the herbs are getting to you.
She followed Paloma to the
back of the room.
When the ceremony started Paloma translated, for her
into Spanish.
First the mochto chanted and waved burning bunches of herbs in the
air.
"To placate the spirits," Paloma explained.
Then various people came out of the crowd and sat in front of the old
woman.
They conversed in low whispers.
Sometimes the mochto simply
laid her hands on the petitioner's head, or drew a pattern on their
forehead with a small stick dipped in a pot of dark liquid.
"The spirits will heal that one," Paloma murmured.
At other times assistants brought out small bags or jars, and handed
them to the healer, who always opened them to check them before handing
them over.
This was the kind of cure Jacey could understand.
"What's in the jars?"
she asked.
"Would the mochto tell me?"
Paloma shook her head.
"It's secret.
Indian magic.
They won't tell."
It's more likely to be Indian herbalism, Jacey thought.
She wondered
how many cures western science would find if they learned the Indian's
secrets from the rain forest.
Rather than destroy the area, they
should learn from it, she thought.
After everyone who wanted to speak to the mochto had done so, the old
woman was helped to her feet by her assistant, and the circle was
cleared.
Oil lamps were lit, and Jacey realised that the room was
bigger than she thought.
The mochto had been helped to a chair and
people gathered round her, laughing and joking, without the reverential
attitude they had displayed when she sat in the circle.
"Now they exchange gossip," Paloma said.
"And drink tea.
I don't recommend the tea.
It's very bitter."
Jacey had not seen any money change hands.
"Does anyone pay for their cures?"
she asked.
"Only if they work," Paloma said.
"Then you pay what you can afford.
It doesn't have to be money.
If you're cured, you come back here and
bring a gift for the mochto."
"She trusts people?"
Paloma smiled.
"If you try to cheat her, you risk angering the spirits.
No one wants
to do that."
"Spirits like the loha?"
Jacey remembered.
"The one that's supposed to be waiting for Nicolas?"
Paloma looked uncomfortable.
"That's what they say.
The loha is a very bad spirit.
But I'm a
Catholic.
I don't believe in such things."
Jacey smiled.
"Nicolas doesn't believe it either."
She looked idly round at the
chattering crowd and saw that the attendees were not all Indians. There
were far more Spaniards present than she had first imagined.
"Mind you," she added, 'a lot of Spanish people seem to trust the
mochto's spirits."
"These people can't afford to pay a doctor," Paloma said.
It was then that Jacey saw a face that was definitely not Spanish, a
man talking to one of the Indians.
He was a tall man in a white shirt
and faded Levis.
Jacey nudged Paloma, and pointed at him.
"Who's that?"
"Felix Connaught," Paloma said.
"He's an American."
She paused.
"Do you want to meet him?"
"Of course I do," Jacey said.
"Is he a doctor?"
"No," Paloma said.
"He's just strange."
She waved her hand and caught the American's
attention.
Rather too easily, Jacey thought.
He waved back and then
pushed through the crowd towards them.
As he came closer Jacey realised that he was older than she thought.
Nearer forty than thirty, she estimated, although it was difficult to
guess precisely.
He had the kind, of quirky good looks that did not
depend on regular features.
His thick brown hair was roughly but
attractively cut.
He was not wearing a watch, but had a narrow
bracelet made of beaten metal on one wrist and, round his neck, an
Indian amulet on a beaded leather thong.
He smiled at her, the kind of open, friendly smile that it was
difficult to resist.
"Hi," he said.
"I'm Felix."
He held out his hand.
"And you're Dr.
Jacey Muldaire, from La Primavera and El Inviemo."
"Hi," Jacey said.
"All I know about you is that you're American, and you're strange."
"I meant nicely strange," Paloma said hurriedly.
Felix laughed.
"You're right, Paloma.
I'm strange.
And to prove it I'm going to ask
you to get me a cup of Indian tea."
He turned to Jacey.
"You don't want a cup too, do you?"
"Paloma warned me against drinking it," she said.
"Quite right."
He nodded.
"It takes about twenty years to get used to it."
"You've been here twenty years?"
she asked, after Paloma had gone.
"Longer," he said.
"I came here when I was three.
I've been away a few times, but I
always come back."
"How come I haven't seen you before?"
she asked.
"At the Marquez parties, or at polo?"
He shrugged.
"I'm never invited.
The elite of Techtatuan don't like me.
Not that it bothers me."
"What did you do to offend them?"
Jacey asked.
He laughed.
"I'm that pitiful creature, the man who has gone native.
I actually
prefer the rain forest, and the Indians, to Techtatuan and men like
Carlos Marquez.
And particularly to men like Nicolas Schlemann."
He
paused.
"Is it all right to say that to you?"
"Well, you seem to know a lot about me she said.
"So it's hardly surprising that you know about my relationship with
Nicolas."
"Almost every beautiful woman who's ever come to Techtatuan has been in
the same situation with Nicolas," Felix said.
"If he could market whatever it is that attracts them, he'd be a
multi-millionaire."
He looked at her quizzically.
"Or maybe not.
I understand that the allure can wear off quite
quickly?"
She looked back at him, all innocence.
"Whatever makes you think that?"
she parried.
"When the beautiful woman starts to look elsewhere," he shrugged, 'one
assumes it's because she's bored?
Or even afraid, maybe?"
"It could be she just likes multiple lovers," Jacey said flippantly.
"It could be," he agreed.
"But in this case, I don't think so."
Paloma was pushing through the crowd, a small cup in her hand.
"I need to talk to you, Dr.
Muldaire," Felix said.
"We have a lot in common."
"Have we really?"
she asked.
"I socialise with people you dislike.
I sleep with a man you detest.
We don't seem to have anything in common at all."
"I think we can help each other," he said.
"What makes you think I need help, Mr.
Connaught?"
she asked
coolly.
"Felix," he corrected.
"You want to help the people of Guachtal.
And so do I. I know a lot
about you, Dr.
Muldaire.
We have mutual friends.
But we can't talk here.
Will you visit me at home?"
"I don't know where you live."
She was filled with curiosity.
"Paulo does," he said.
"Paulo will call for you tomorrow evening.
If you're not busy, come
and see me.
If you are busy, we'll make new arrangements.
But please
come.
We need each other."
Jacey sat on the bed next to Leonardo.
She had just ordered him to
strip, and now he lay naked, waiting for more instructions.
Simply
taking orders from her gave him an erection.
He had removed his