That still didn't begin to explain why it felt so eerie. Something else was going on just under the surface. What was he really doing here?
Then the path uphill abruptly opened onto a clearing in which sat a large two-story building, its color a dazzling white, most likely plaster over cinder block, with a thatch roof and a wide, ornate mahogany door at the front. The building was nestled in a grove of trees whose vines and tendrils had embraced it so thoroughly, there was no telling how far it extended back into the forest. There also was a parking lot, paved and fed by a well-maintained gravel road leading south.
Seeing it, I felt an immediate wave of relief. Even better, the lot itself contained half-a-dozen well-worn pickup trucks, while sunburned Maya men were lounging in the shade of a nearby tree and smoking cigarettes. They were not from Baalum. They wore machine-made clothes and they were speaking Spanish, unlike the men in loincloths down in the village.
Yes! That's how I can get us out of here. A few dollars . . .
Parked there also was a tan Humvee, the ultimate all-road vehicle, which I assumed belonged to Alex Goddard. Maybe I should just try to steal it.
As we passed through the door and into the vestibule of the building, I glimpsed a cluster of Maya women and children crowded into a brilliantly lit reception area. Goddard smiled and waved at them, and several nodded back, timorously and with enormous reverence. They were being attended by a dark-eyed, attractive Maya woman in a blue uniform—the name lettered on her blouse was Marcelina— who was holding a tray of vials and hypodermic needles. She was pure indigena, all of five feet tall, with broad cheekbones and deep-set penetrating eyes. Unlike the other women in the room, however, there was no air of resignation about her. She was full of authority, a palpable inner fire.
"One of my most successful programs here"—he nodded a greeting to her—"is to provide free vaccinations and general health resources for the villages in this part of the Peten Department."
"I thought USAID already had public-health projects in Guatemala." The sight deeply depressed me. They all looked so poignant, the women with their shabby huipils and lined faces, the children even more disheartening, sad waifs with runny noses and watery eyes.
Which confirmed again that they'd come in the pickups parked outside, driven here by the men.
I had six hundred cash in dollars. I could just buy one of those worn-out junkers for that.