by Susan Slater
“Will she be all right?” Larry and Marilyn held hands and searched the doctor’s face for the truth.
“There are a couple things on her side. Age is a plus, and I think we’ve caught whatever it is in the early stages. I’ve called ahead to the University Medical Center; they’re expecting her. We’ll know more tonight.”
Guarded, Larry thought. They never want to go out on a limb. “Could her mother go with her?” Marilyn jumped up at the doctor’s nod. This wasn’t exactly the vacation they had anticipated, but anything that would bring back their little girl had to be done.
+ + +
Six a.m. Sandy circled the parking lot at the hospital three times.
There were no parking spaces, not even any reserved for hospital personnel. Finally, the chief of security opened the gates that kept the maintenance area, including the lab in back of the hospital, off limits. Good idea. Sandy would put a guard there and let hospital personnel park by the back door.
Sandy watched a man in the yard doing something to the end of a sheet metal tunnel. Additional duct work. Just a precaution. The man had snapped on a visor and was welding two long pieces together. The blue flame of the torch wavered over the seam.
Sandy pulled open the heavy basement door. All the trapped smells that meant hospital pushed past him, antiseptic, Lysol, the cafeteria’s Thursday special, liver and onions. He walked down the ramp to the elevator and noticed that it was stopped on the second floor. The thing was unpredictable. Out of order half the time. He’d take the stairs. He wondered why he didn’t think of taking the stairs first. Great role model for those he counseled to lose weight by increasing exercise.
The reception and waiting area was already full. There had to be thirty people seated against the wall and another half dozen waiting to sign in. The receptionist waved at him with a handful of pink phone slips.
“The one on top. A Dr. Randolph from Carlsbad has called three times.”
“Randolph? Doesn’t ring a bell. I’ll get back to him.”
Sandy looked down at the reception area as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. He had never seen a crisis like this one. Not in his twelve years with Public Health Service. He scanned the phone messages. Mostly from outlying IHS facilities, Gallup, Crownpoint, Santa Fe. It was conceivable that he’d have to use other hospitals in the system if this thing got bigger. From a lifetime of habit, he opened the blinds on his office’s east window and stood a moment enjoying the reddish pink tint to the morning sky. He had probably enjoyed more sunrises in his life than sunsets. This might be the only quiet moment he’d have all day. There was a phone slip Scotch-taped to his computer screen, this Dr. Randolph, again. Sandy reached for the phone. Ted Randolph answered on the third ring.
“Dr. Randolph? Sandy Black, here. I was expecting to get voice mail at this hour. I have a message to give you a call?”
“Thanks for getting back. This may be nothing, or it may be helpful. I’m sure you’re following every lead to the cause of the UARDS outbreak.”
“Have there been cases in Carlsbad?”
“Maybe. I didn’t think there was a connection at the time but in hindsight, I may have treated the second non-Indian case.” Sandy could hear the shuffle of papers. “A three year old girl was brought to emergency at 5:30 a.m. Sunday morning, comatose and suffering from inflammation of the lungs. Her lungs were beginning to fill with fluid. We administered antibiotics and put her on a ventilator. We were able to stabilize her, but I chose to have her airlifted to UNM’s Medical Center to make sure everything was under control. Her improvement was rapid. In fact, she’s being released tomorrow.”
“Does she live in Carlsbad?”
“No, she’s from Illinois. The family’s vacationing in New Mexico. I don’t think they had been to the pueblo, but you might want to interview them. Sometimes survivors can be the key to finding answers. Her name is Amy Bernowich.”
“I’ll talk to them. Thanks.”
Sandy sat a minute and stared at the phone. A survivor. Something they didn’t think existed or might even be possible. But what would it mean if a tourist contracted the disease and had never been to the pueblo? That would seem to blow the theory that it was localized and not very contagious. He’d wait until seven a.m. and give the Bernowiches a call before walking next door to the hospital.
+ + +
Larry and Marilyn Bernowich met him at the door to Amy’s room. Behind them the three-year-old was playing a board game with her brother when she wasn’t shrieking in protest or jumping up and down on the bed in glee.
“Her energy level seems high,” Sandy said.
“She’s back to normal, but I still can’t make myself correct her. She was so sick. I truly believe we almost lost her,” Marilyn said.
“We really had a scare,” Larry chimed in. “This UARDS thing is deadly—nothing to be messed with. I hate to say this, but I’ll be real glad to leave New Mexico.”
“I can’t blame you. I’d like to ask a few questions—where you visited in New Mexico, what you did, what you had to eat. Could we sit in the hall? It might be quieter.” Sandy smiled as he watched the ringlets of blond hair bounce furiously as Amy shook her head ‘no’ before she grabbed the game board and scattered bright colored playing pieces on the floor.
“Dr. Randolph said that Amy was brought to emergency the morning of August 10. That was Sunday. Let’s go back to Friday. Can you give me an idea of what you did?”
“Friday we were in Taos. They were having a special dance thing in the plaza downtown. We were staying in Angel Fire and had gone into Taos for the day. In fact, we didn’t eat out at all in Taos, since we had a condominium. The kids went swimming that afternoon and then we loaded up for Santa Fe. Is that about it, honey?” Larry asked.
“Yes. We spent more time in Santa Fe. We had breakfast and lunch at the McDonald’s on the way out of town, I forget the name of the street.”
“Did you do any sightseeing? Shopping? Was there anything special that the kids did?” Sandy asked.
“They both went shopping with me. We parked downtown off the plaza and we shopped under the portal, you know, where the Indians display their crafts on blankets?” Marilyn said.
“Did you buy anything?”
“This bracelet.” Marilyn held out her arm.
“And the kids, did they get anything?” Sandy asked.
“Ryan got a rubber-tipped spear, which I’m afraid got left behind in Carlsbad in all the confusion,” Larry said.
“And the only time you ate anything—any of you—was at the McDonald’s?”
“Yes. No, wait.” Larry looked perplexed. “Marilyn, what were those seeds that the Indian lady gave Amy?”
“Pumpkin seeds. Amy took a handful from a basket that the woman offered. I don’t think she ate any; it was right before lunch.”
“Do you remember the vendor’s name? Or where she was from?” Sandy asked.
“No, but I asked her to write her name on the receipt. I thought I might want to get something else from her. I have the receipt in my purse.”
Marilyn pulled a half dozen sales slips from her billfold and handed one to Sandy.
“Here it is. The woman was from Tewa. Isn’t that the pueblo where all the people are dying?”
“The illness seems to be limited to people who live in Tewa or have visited recently,” Sandy said.
“Let’s see, her signature is hard to read, it looks like Mary Toya. Do you know her?” Marilyn handed the slip to Sandy.
“There are a number of Mary Toyas in the pueblo. But the governor’s secretary is a Mary Toya. It seems like someone told me she sold in Santa Fe on the weekends. I don’t suppose you have any of the seeds left?”
“Actually, I made Amy put them in a plastic bag and save them. I have no idea where the bag went. I could go through the laundry at the motel, but I feel certain that we’ve thrown the seeds away.”
“If you do find them, give me a call. You could put them in an
envelope with my name on it and leave them at the receptionist’s desk. Now, let’s move on to Albuquerque. What did you do here?”
Sandy changed tapes in his recorder and listened to a report of calling Marilyn’s aunt when they got to town, visiting with her for an hour then continuing to Carlsbad. Larry and Marilyn were still shaken by their ordeal in Carlsbad, and Sandy cut the interview short.
He wasn’t sure that they had been much help. It did, however, establish a link with the pueblo and keep it localized. Pumpkin seeds. Was there some kind of contamination? Or had this Mary Toya been a carrier? He also needed a full report from the doctors who treated Amy. She was, perhaps, most important to them as the first survivor.
+ + +
Lorenzo’s pockets jingled with the clinking of metal bottle caps.
Once a week he would go to the one-room grocery store by the highway and collect the tops that had been thrown along the side of the store. The summer months always meant a bigger haul. Then, some of the men would gather in the shade and swap stories or pull an ailing pickup alongside the building and change its oil. An oil change could mean ten to twenty caps and several squashed aluminum cans.
Sometimes the shopkeeper would exchange a handful of bottle caps for a fresh bottle of soda or a package of Twinkies. Today, Lorenzo only found five caps, and three of those had been mashed shut. He thought of throwing them away, but then he thought of how hungry he was. He’d trade them in for a Tootsie-Pop.
He needed the help of the railing to climb the three uneven steps to the store’s porch. He paused a moment at the top until his breath returned. Sometimes when his breath left him, he could see the spirit pulling it from his mouth. Pulling and making his lungs burn. He patted his chest. His breath returned, and his soul had not gotten out.
He waved his cane in greeting to the store owner and stepped over the threshold. The store was dark and cool. The tall shelves cast a long shadow down the aisles of food. Lorenzo liked to look at the pictures on the cans and boxes. Sometimes he would poke a sack of flour and watch a white puff escape through the cotton covering. But mostly he liked to open the sliding top of the freezer unit and hold the little frozen sacks of ice cream and popsicles until his hand was numb.
Today, after he traded his bottle caps, he unwrapped his Tootsie Pop outside. The store owner had given him a pocket comb with a bright metal clip on the side. He held the blue plastic comb up to the sun. Then he held the comb in front of his eyes and saw the world turn color. The house across the road was blue, the highway sign, the gas pump. He clutched the comb tightly and slowly lowered his body one step at a time from the store’s porch. This was a treasure that he would put in his hidey hole. His granddaughter had gone to town today. He would be alone.
He pushed open the solid wooden door to his room, squinted and stood still until he could see clearly, then closed the door against the sun’s glare. He liked his room. In one corner was his mother’s rocking chair that didn’t rock. The curved pieces connected to the four legs were worn flat. The walls were natural adobe and had not been plastered and painted white. Lorenzo liked the rough blocks of terrones that his granddaughter’s husband had cut from the river bank. The weeds and grasses made the blocks sturdy and kept them from crumbling. And they had been easy to carve. He had hollowed out a hiding place for his treasures some years ago using a spoon and carrying the dirt outside away from the house so no one would know.
Carefully, using his cane for support, he got to the floor and, reaching under the edge of the bed, began to empty his safe. First, he pulled out the ragged Bible, torn and shredded by mice, its cover and spine discolored and moldy; next, three multi-hued marbles that he had found by the playground, then a tattered bundle of feathers, a small wooden cross, a mother-of-pearl rosary, an old coin, a wooden button, and finally a shiny foil packet with a metal zipper-like seal.
He stood and carried the packet to the one small window in his room. The foil was bright and crinkled when he pressed it and smoothed it flat. He thought it glowed in the light. He knew someone who wanted his treasure—someone who had hunted and hunted for it. But Lorenzo had been too quick for him. The little Indian man with tall heels hadn’t seen him take it from the governor’s desk. Lorenzo chuckled and hugged his treasure.
+ + +
The playing field at Comanche and Pennsylvania in Albuquerque was sparsely covered with grass but had three six-tiered bleachers for fans, which in the case of soccer usually meant parents. The first American Youth Soccer Organization games of the season were always rowdy free-for-alls and judging from the number of sandy spots on the field, this game would leave some skinned arms and legs. Ben Pecos kicked himself for agreeing to take a bus load of twelve year old girls to an out of town meet, and act as chaperon and coach. He wasn’t sure this qualified, but IHS workers were encouraged to put in some ‘community service’ time; and he needed a break from collecting data.
He heard enough giggling on the ride in to last until the next century. What could be so funny? He was forever reminding them to stay out of the aisle and keep their seats. Three mothers had come on the bus with them and they hadn’t done much better with getting the girls to mind. Too much adrenalin, Ben guessed.
After the game, they would stop at Furr’s Cafeteria before heading back. He should probably call ahead so they’d have enough fried chicken. He smiled. One time the track and field team had cleaned out a Furr’s. No fried chicken and no hamburgers. Those were always the favorites. At least the ride back might be quieter and cooler. The wide yellow and black school bus didn’t have air conditioning.
The bus turned into a parking area behind the bleachers and no one listened to his muffled admonishment to exit single file. He finally hopped out after the last mother and opened the doors to the luggage compartments. He handed out uniforms and equipment and watched as the group headed for the rest rooms to change.
The summer was gone already. The first week in September and he wasn’t any closer to resolving his dilemma. Should he go back to school in January after the internship ran out, or not? It had been easy to get sucked up by the frenzy of the mystery illness. Tomorrow he would start working with Fish and Wildlife. There was going to be a trapping blitz on rodents in and around the pueblo. And that would further postpone the drug and alcohol support groups that he’d hoped to start. He jumped as plump arms were thrown around his waist from behind. He pulled free and turned to face a pretty pre-teen with long dark hair pulled to one side on top of her head and the beginnings of a great figure. Jennifer.
“I wish I were older,” she said and looked at him expectantly. Ben thought he knew the answer but asked anyway.
“Why?”
“So you would fall in love with me.” She had tossed her head to one side and was nibbling on the ends of the ponytail that cascaded to her shoulders.
He smiled at her. This was either some sort of crush or the other members of the team had put her up to it. He looked around but didn’t see anybody.
“Why don’t I just wait on you? There’s probably no need to rush. I have a lot of school ahead if I decide go back. Let’s say we talk about it in five years.”
“You’re just kidding.” The pout made her look older as she caught her lower lip between her teeth and her heavily lashed eyes looked luminous with tears.
“You never know. You’ll have to find out. Now, go tell the others we’re meeting to discuss strategy in five minutes.”
He watched her run back toward the rest rooms, shook his head and then laughed out loud. Well, the summer hadn’t dulled his touch. He could still attract the opposite sex. He thought of Julie. The feast day had turned out to be a bummer. He’d called a couple times since then, but she’d been busy. And he’d believed her. She was intent on making the most of her “career opportunity” as she called it.
He should have called her this morning and asked her to join them for dinner after the game. He wondered why he hadn’t. Was he afraid he might be tempted to get involv
ed? Maybe. One decision at a time. Less complicated that way.
His thoughts were interrupted by his team clamoring for attention. Their opponents, girls in orange tops and white shorts, were lined up across the field. After a short pep talk, he walked over to meet their coach. His team came forward for the coin toss.
The kick-off went without incident and Tewa was the first to score. The three mothers who had come with him yelled loud enough to make up for their lack of fans. Ben made sure everyone got to play and used the three alternates who had made the trip. A half hour of running up and down the sidelines yelling “look behind you” or “get the ball” and Ben was tired. When the referee charged his team with an “off-sides,” Ben protested but watched the other team get the ball. At half time, Tewa was ahead two zip.
Play had just resumed when Jennifer fell and didn’t get up. Ben ran onto the field and made everyone stand back. At first, he thought she had fainted, maybe she had struck her head. But when she didn’t respond, he yelled for an ambulance.
Her mother, one of the woman who had come with them, kept screaming, “Not my baby, not my baby.” Ben had to physically restrain her from trying to drag Jennifer to her feet. A parent from the other team started shouting to get back or they could die of the Indian illness, too. Then it was bedlam. Everyone pushed to get away. Cars spun out, sending a cloud of dust over the field. Anglo parents yelled that their lives had been endangered and that the AYSO would hear of this.
Ben cradled Jennifer in his arms and could feel the heat of her body. She was talking incoherently, her arms and head spasmodically jerking. And then she was silent. Her breathing was labored and her chest seemed to collapse with each breath.
