by R. R. Irvine
Traveler stood up. “I think it’s time I met this man Thurgood for myself.”
Liz smiled as if she’d been waiting for him to say that. “I’ll show you the way, then. I never miss one of his curing sessions if I can help it.”
29
LIZ SMOOT, her son in hand, led Traveler and Martin across an old trestle bridge spanning Fire Creek and up the trail toward Coffee Pot Springs. The boy, who’d left his playmates willingly when he heard he was to visit Jason Thurgood, skipped along showing energy to spare despite the 100-degree heat of early afternoon. Though following a well-beaten track, red dust billowed at their every step.
“We’re not allowed to bring vehicles up here,” Liz said. “Jason says the fumes won’t do his patients any good.”
“It’s the desert air,” the boy said, sounding as if he’d memorized the comment.
Liz nodded. “He’s heard Jason say that, that the desert air’s practically a cure in itself.”
Suddenly, she and the boy began to sing, swinging their arms to the rhythm.
“Altho’ in woods and tents we dwell,
Shout, shout, O Camp of Israel!
No Gentile mobs on earth can bind
Our thoughts, or steal our peace of mind.”
Traveler knew the words. They dated from the 1847 Mormon exodus from Nauvoo, Illinois, after the murder of Joseph Smith. Martin joined in.
“We’d better live in tents and smoke
Than wear the cursed Gentile yoke.”
The path rose steadily until it passed between two massive sentinel-like boulders. Once beyond them, the land sloped downhill into a shallow valley a quarter of a mile away. In the middle of that valley stood Coffee Pot Springs, half a dozen weather-beaten buildings on the verge of collapse. The nearest structure, two stories of sun-blackened clapboard, still showed a faded sign: MINER’S HOTEL.
One match, Traveler thought, and the entire ghost town would be nothing but ashes.
On the hillside above the town, mine shafts, now abandoned and partially collapsed, had been sunk into the blood-red slope.
Jason Thurgood’s tent, army khaki and smelling of Cosmoline, stood in the middle of what had once been Main Street. The tent’s side flaps were rolled up and tied against the eave poles, probably for cross ventilation, though the desert seemed perfectly still. Two canvasback camp chairs flanked the open door flap. A hand-held bell, an old school model by the looks of it, stood beside one of the chairs.
Jason Thurgood emerged from inside to greet them in the fiery sunlight. The intensity of his smile and dark eyes took Traveler totally by surprise. His presence, his magnetism hadn’t shown on the videotape. There, if anything, he’d looked ill at ease.
Thurgood grabbed Traveler’s hand and shook it as if intent on creating a bond. “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you, Mr. Traveler. How’s the head?”
“As hard as ever,” Martin answered.
“And the rib?” Thurgood asked.
Traveler stretched. “As good as new, I guess, because I’d completely forgotten about it.”
“Praise God,” Liz said.
Grinning shyly, Thurgood scooped young Josiah into his arms and whirled in a tight circle until the boy squealed with delight. When Thurgood ran out of steam, the boy shouted, “More, more, Uncle Jason.”
“Whew,” Thurgood said, sucking air. “You’re going to wear me out.”
When the boy hugged him, Thurgood started spinning again.
“That’s enough for now,” Liz said as soon as Thurgood made a face pleading for help.
Martin made a face too, at Traveler, then mouthed silently, “I told you so.” He glanced at Thurgood before adding, “A good man.”
Traveler was nodding his agreement as Thurgood handed the boy to his mother and led them all inside the tent, where he insisted on checking Traveler’s rib cage for himself. Traveler had been expecting a crowd, but the tent was deserted.
Thurgood washed his hands in a waiting basin before the examination. The basin sat on one end of a long wooden table; the other end was stacked with medical supplies. The only other furnishings were a row of wooden folding cots, army surplus judging by their drab khaki color.
“It must have been a sprain all along,” Thurgood said finally, “not a break.”
Traveler blinked, remembering the sound of cracking bone when Liz hit him.
“God heals in mysterious ways,” Liz said.
“We are blessed,” a man answered behind Traveler’s back.
Traveler swung around to find himself facing Horace Snelgrove and Orrin Porter.
Snelgrove spread his hands. “You are blessed to be witnesses to a daily miracle.”
“Is it that late already?” Thurgood said.
Snelgrove nodded.
“Afternoon sick call,” Liz explained.
At a nod of assent from Thurgood, Porter left the tent and began ringing the bell.
“Thank God for volunteers,” Thurgood said, looking at Traveler. “You’re welcome to stay if you’d like. Maybe we’ll have time to talk later.”
Within a few minutes, people appeared, lining up outside the tent. The majority were women; most had children with them, either in their arms or at their side. When their numbers grew to more than twenty, Thurgood’s volunteers—Snelgrove and Porter—performed triage by sorting them into groups, which were then moved inside the tent to form shorter lines facing the treatment table.
Traveler drew Martin aside. “There are too many people here for a community this size. They must be putting on a show for us.”
“Look at Thurgood. If they are, he doesn’t know about it.”
Traveler had to agree. The man examined each patient carefully, scrubbing his hands meticulously in disinfectant after every encounter.
Liz joined them. “Jason never asks for pay. Those who have extra money donate what they can to replenish his stock of medicine. All the money I had in my own name, I have now given to him. I’ve asked my husband for more, also, but so far he has refused.”
She pointed across the room to where her son stood close to Jason Thurgood. “You’ve seen the miracle for yourself. Tell my father, and my husband too. Tell them we must donate to the cause.”
“Has Thurgood asked you for money?”
“He refuses to touch it. At first, he wouldn’t let the Children collect it, but we finally persuaded him that we needed donations to keep the clinic stocked. As you can see, we haven’t been able to afford a proper examination table yet. We don’t have electricity here either, so at night we must use kerosene lamps.”
“Thurgood could move into town.”
Liz shook her head but didn’t elaborate.
“Did he use drugs on your son?”
“Drugs didn’t work on Josiah. Nothing worked until he saw Jason.”
Traveler watched those being treated, the way their faces changed when Thurgood touched them, the way their eyes shone. They had absolute trust in Jason Thurgood. That much was clear. Trust tempered by awe.
Two hours later, when everyone had been seen to, Thurgood waved Traveler and Martin over to the table where once again he was scrubbing fastidiously. “Mostly I see scratches and cuts, a few fevers, and an occasional broken bone.” He displayed his dripping hands. “Preventing unnecessary infection is half the battle. The rest, the body does for itself.”
“And in Josiah Smoot’s case?” Traveler said.
“Look around you. Look what I have to work with. At best, I’m an old-fashioned country doctor. I don’t do miracles. I don’t lay on hands like the Mormons, or anyone else. Not in the traditional sense. Sometimes I hug my patients to comfort them, to reassure them that they’re loved and respected.”
“Is the boy cured?”
“There’s always the possibility of spontaneous remission.” He shrugged. “Who’s to say what the mind can do?”
Traveler searched the man’s face for guile but saw nothing but sincerity.
Thurgood ch
uckled. “You look like a doubting Thomas if I’ve ever seen one. I ought to know. I used to see the same look every morning when I shaved. Just another quack. That was before I came here. Here people believe in me. Of course, I’ve been lucky so far. I haven’t lost anybody, except to the cancer that was here before me.”
He smiled crookedly. “You start having a few young patients drop dead on you and the honeymoon ends pretty damned quickly.”
Outside the tent, someone shouted, “Brother Thurgood, we have an emergency.”
A woman, escorted by Snelgrove and Porter, carried a young boy into the tent. To Traveler, the boy looked to be five or six. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face pallid.
“He fell into the creekbed,” the woman explained. “He can’t move his head or walk.”
“Put him on the table.”
She looked terrified at the suggestion. “He’s in awful pain.”
“What’s your name?” Thurgood asked the boy.
The boy whimpered.
“Tommy,” his mother answered.
“Tommy,” Thurgood said, “I can’t make you better unless you help me. We’re going to have to examine you on the table here.”
Tommy opened his eyes.
“That’s better,” Thurgood said. “We’ll be as gentle as we can.”
The boy shrieked when they laid him out. His eyes went wide and unfocused when Thurgood touched him. His legs jerked as if by involuntary reflex.
“It’s too pat,” Traveler whispered into his father’s ear.
Thurgood looked at the mother. “Hold Tommy’s shoulders.” The moment she complied, Thurgood nodded at Snelgrove and Porter, who combined to imprison the boy’s wrists and ankles.
“Turn him on his side,” Thurgood commanded.
The boy whimpered.
Thurgood ran his fingers along the boy’s spine, up and down the length until finally he nodded to himself, stepped back a pace from the table, and took a deep breath. “Place him on his back, please, and keep holding his shoulders and legs.”
When the boy was in position, Thurgood took another breath, stepped forward, and gently inserted his hand under the child’s back, ignoring his cries. The boy’s back arched slightly as if Thurgood were making a fist. Then, with a steady thrust, his free hand pushed down on the boy’s sternum. There was a loud snap. Light came into the child’s eyes. The pain was obviously gone.
Sighing with relief, Thurgood turned and smiled at Traveler. “With a spinal problem like this I would have preferred an X-ray, but I’m all there is around here.”
“It’s a miracle,” his mother said, her voice rising.
“A miracle,” Snelgrove repeated.
“Another miracle,” someone picked up outside the tent.
Thurgood shook his head as if to dismiss any such suggestion. “When he fell he dislocated a vertebra. It was pressing against the spinal column.”
He held a hand up to his face, saw that it was shaking, and thrust it into the back pocket of his jeans. Then, without a word, he pushed past Traveler and walked out of the tent.
By the time Traveler and Martin caught up with him—trailed by Orrin Porter—Thurgood was halfway up the hill behind town, sitting in front of an abandoned mine shaft. From there, Fire Creek was visible, and all of the valley beyond. Farther along the foothills, maybe two miles to the south, Traveler saw something glinting in the sun, possibly a vehicle.
Thurgood must have seen it too because he said, “The Children keep track of all strangers entering this area. They tell me that’s a sheep camp you’re looking at. A shepherd passing through, they say.”
“It must be Pete Biscari,” Martin said. “I never thought he’d make it this far.”
“You know the man?”
Martin nodded. “He’s an old friend.”
“There’s an old mining road leading to his camp, or so they tell me. You can pick it up just beyond Ed Peake’s gas station if you want to go visiting.”
“Maybe we’ll look in on him later.”
“If you do,” Thurgood said, “tell him he’s tougher than I am, surviving alone in this kind of country.”
“Oh, you’re a survivor all right,” Traveler said. “I saw the proof on a videotape, when Vonda Hillman put a gun against your chest and fired.”
Thurgood shook his head. “I told them taking pictures wasn’t a good idea. When I saw that camera, I knew that sooner or later it would bring someone like you.”
“We’d like to believe in miracles,” Martin said.
“I’m not a conjurer. I didn’t come here seeking followers. I came here to find myself. What I found was people who needed me. I don’t care what they believe in, or if they have one wife or twenty.”
“Did she try to kill you or not?” Traveler said.
Thurgood raised his shirt, revealing a nasty-looking bruise in the center of his chest. “Why do we take great delight in killing one another in the name of God?”
Traveler thrust a finger against Thurgood’s chest, at the same point where Vonda Hillman’s gun had fired.
“Sacrilege!” Porter blurted.
Thurgood waved him away. “You see how it is, Mr. Traveler. The Children worry about me. They came to me before that meeting and insisted I wear a protective vest. As a result, Vonda’s life is all but over. So from now on, this is all I wear.” He tugged at his shirt. “If someone wants me dead let them come and get it over with.”
Traveler, who’d suspected a flak jacket, was drawn to the man just the same—to his charm and apparent sincerity. “I don’t understand why a doctor would bury himself in a place like this.”
“Actually, my car broke down,” Thurgood said. “I either had to walk or die of thirst. Fire Creek was the first place I came to.”
“Where were you heading at the time?” Martin asked.
“I don’t know exactly, so that lets me out as the messiah, I guess.” He chuckled. “I don’t look like one either, do I? Of course, you two don’t look like father and son. Or even detectives.”
“The devil has many disguises,” Porter said.
Thurgood shook his head. “I think the devil would be more discreet than these two. From what I hear about detectives, they specialize in digging up dirt. Is that your real job, to confront me with my sins?”
“That depends on how many you’ve committed,” Traveler said.
“Your father and I talked about that the other night,” Thurgood said. “It’s easier in the dark, you know, confessing your past. You don’t have to look people in the eyes.”
“We can turn our backs if you’d like.”
One corner of Thurgood’s mouth twitched as if a smile had died prematurely. “That won’t be necessary.”
Traveler said, “My father told me that you worked for the Atomic Energy Commission.”
“It wasn’t as grand as you make it sound. I wasn’t much more than an errand boy. Maybe not even that, more like part of a quota that had to be filled. They have to meet certain safety precautions, even if it is a sham. I had enough medical training to meet their criteria.”
“Was this connected with the Echo Canyon Clinic?”
Thurgood looked startled. “What makes you ask about that place?”
Martin told him of their quest for Petey Biscari.
“My profession has a lot to answer for,” Thurgood said finally. “Like everyone else, I’ve heard talk about the clinic over in Pioche for years, but as to the real truth of it I couldn’t say.”
“I’ll settle for your best guess,” Traveler said.
“The SPCA tried to get in there once because of rumors about experimenting on animals. They got arrested on the spot.” He shook his head. “There’s no society for the prevention of cruelty to people, so God knows what goes on. As doctors, we like to think our mission is healing and easing pain, but how often do you read about abuses in the newspaper? Too many times, if you ask me.”
“Were you ever in the clinic yourself?” Martin asked.
> “We’re talking twenty years ago when I worked for the AEC. I don’t know if that clinic came under their jurisdiction or not back then. If it did, or even if it is under the NRC now, I have the feeling anyone working for them would have to keep quiet about it, because of security clearances and things like that.”
“Are you saying that you couldn’t answer even if you wanted to?”
Thurgood shrugged. “Everybody has their own ground rules. Let’s say I’ve done things I’m not proud of and leave it at that. My monitor job was the first of many things I’d like to forget.” He sighed deeply. “I’d just gotten my bachelor’s degree, and was about to go on to medical school when I saw the AEC advertising for what they called medical field researchers. It sounded like the perfect beginning to what I saw as my future career in pure research.”
He craned his neck and stared up at the hot blue sky. “I should have known better when they said I’d get all the on-the-job training I’d need in a week.”
He scooped up a handful of red soil and let it trickle between his fingers. “Do you know about the atomic bomb they called Dirty Harry?”
Traveler and Martin nodded.
“There was another one later on, even worse. So damned bad it not only didn’t get nicknamed, it was hushed up completely. Just another routine test, they said at the time. Hardly worth more than a few paragraphs on the wire services. Only right after they let her rip, the wind came up unexpectedly. Fallout was blowing all the way to Chicago before the AEC scientists knew what the hell they’d done.
“Me, I was in the Dixie Motel taking readings on my Geiger counter. ‘It’s just a formality,’ they told me. ‘You probably won’t get any reading at all. The last time we had a man on the spot the needle didn’t even budge. He got paid for doing nothing!’ ”
Thurgood snorted. “Thirty minutes after detonation they called me and asked for a reading. ‘It’s off the goddamned scale,’ I told them. ‘You’re doing something wrong,’ they said. ‘Recalibrate your equipment and we’ll call you back.’ I did what they told me, double-checking myself with the field manual. God knows what the roentgen count was that day, but that needle was all the way to the top.