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“Easy with that,” Corrie said gently.
The woman drank some more, then spat out some water and tossed the canteen aside. The expression in her green eyes was dark.
“I’m Corrie. What’s your name?”
The woman didn’t respond.
“We’re from the FBI. What were those objects in your hand—lightning stones?”
No answer.
“Was that pinnacle over there your destination? You were walking toward it when we first saw you.”
Still no answer—just a sullen look.
“This is a dangerous place to be. You’ve got no water, and you clearly need medical attention. We’d like you to come with us.”
To Corrie’s surprise, the woman did not resist. Without a word, she rose, staggering once again. Corrie tried to support her, but she brushed off any effort to help and made her way unsteadily toward the helicopter.
Corrie buckled her in. As they dusted off, she asked: “What are you doing out here?”
The woman said nothing.
Corrie asked another gentle question, then one more—but the woman merely stared straight ahead, her face slack and apathetic as a zombie’s, uttering not a single word.
37
MARIA’S FAMILY HADrisen in the dark, and as a result Nora, along with the older of the two young boys, set off at first light. To her surprise, now that it was necessary for him to provide directions, the youth proved to speak decent English. He would guide her for the first ten miles or so himself, then explain the rest of the route—or, at least, to a point where she could find others who knew more. Nora protested at his having to walk back such a distance, but he said it was nothing; the road was good and he’d be home again before dark.
The road was not good. It was a one-lane track with no guardrails chiseled out of the sides of mountains and cliffs, winding up and down in a terrifying manner. It also crossed and recrossed other, identical-looking roads until she was not sure she’d ever find her way out again.
It took two hours to travel the ten miles. Then the boy got out; pointed out the road that, supposedly, would take her where she wanted with no further forkings; then turned and began scampering back to San Luis.
Nora watched him for a minute as he grew smaller and smallerin her rear-view mirror. Then, with a deep breath, she continued along the dreadful road. She wound her way around several more heart-stopping cliffs, but as she’d been told, there was only one road, and after another two hours and ten additional miles she finally emerged into a hanging valley high in the mountains. The climate here was much cooler, the slopes clad in pine trees, and a few farmhouses were scattered among the emerald patchwork fields that clung to the steep slopes.
She stopped at the first house she came to and asked directions. To her consternation, here too nobody professed any knowledge of Oskarbi or any other white man in residence nearby—but they knew Benicio, and she was directed to a little white hut clinging to a promontory above the valley so far up a distant hillside as to be barely visible.
The road—such as it was—ended on the far side of the farmhouses, and she was forced to get out of the Jeep, shoulder her pack, and climb the last few miles to the little white hut. After a few false turns, the steep, rutted trail came out onto a clearing. The simple house had a portal overlooking the yawning chasm of Copper Canyon and the mountains beyond.
An old man was on the porch, sitting in a rocking chair, wearing a straw cowboy hat, a clean white shirt, and dungarees. A large mongrel dog lay at his feet, and upon Nora’s appearance leapt up and began barking frantically.
She hesitated. But when the dog made no aggressive moves beyond the terrible racket, she approached slowly. The man’s eyes were closed, the chair still. Was he sleeping? It hardly seemed possible.
A few feet from the porch, she stopped, assumed the least threatening pose she could imagine, then said over the barking and baying: “Disculpe, es Usted el señor Don Benicio?”
The lids slowly opened to reveal two brilliantly black, large eyes. “Sí, soy yo.Yes, it is I.” He spoke sharply to the dog, who instantly went silent.
Nora stepped guardedly up onto the porch and extended her hand. “My name is Nora Kelly. Enchanted to meet you.”
“And I also.” He took her hand.
Given her recent discoveries, this was becoming more promising than Nora had hoped. If nothing else, the old man was still alive. She paused a moment. “Don Benicio, I am here to seek your counsel.”
“You are the first in many years to do so.”
Once again, she felt a vast surprise. She did her best to conceal it. “Maestro, I’ve come looking for Carlos Oskarbi.”
Now it was Benicio’s turn to pause. He gazed at her for a long time.