by Larry Baxter
His wife was asleep still—lazy thing—and he climbed into the bed without undressing to curl against her warm round backside and get a few minutes of sleep himself.
In seven day's time Ixtac would be dead, and his wife, and half of the village, and the disease would have a foothold in Mexico.
Chapter 37
* * *
Akumal, November 14, 2010
Robert prepared for the invasion. They needed a building, near the highway but away from the Cancún population. It would have to be an isolated place with no guests or staff to move out. He made a dozen phone calls and located a medium-sized hotel under construction north of Akumal with no neighbors, then spoke to the developer and general contractor, Pedro Lalos from the firm of Lalos and Talan.
"Sí, we have such a property; I am standing in it now. Eighty rooms, all nice. Completion in three months." Circular saws screamed in the background.
"Can we rent the entire hotel for a few weeks?"
"The hotel, she is not ready. She has no carpets. No lampshades. No plates on the electrical fixtures. No paint."
"Sounds perfect. How's the telephones, water, and electricity?"
"They are working, but there are no towel bars. Mattresses, in storage, but no beds. No fire alarms. Floors and walls unfinished. The occupancy would not be approved."
"Who signs the occupancy permits?"
"Colonel Muñoz from the local Federales. Tough. Even everything perfect, two thousand pesos to the Colonel."
Robert thought to himself: Two thousand dollars to Muñoz for bending the regulations. He was getting the hang of Mexican business. "We'll take care of the occupancy permits. If the property is acceptable, we'll pay your firm four thousand dollars a day. We don't need towels or continental breakfast buffet."
"What is continental breakfast buffet?"
"You don't want to know. Do we have a deal?"
"Enjoy your new hotel. Stay as long as you wish."
"Wait there for me; I need to make sure it is acceptable. Does it have a name?"
"Not yet; you can name it whatever you want."
"Hotel Austin, I think."
The hotel was big enough, five stories high in a long rectangle, parallel to the ocean view. The cleared land on the inland side would presumably turn into a parking lot. The lobby entrance, perhaps twenty feet high by thirty wide, was open to the unobtrusive elements. The atrium lobby showcased a huge semi-abstract sculpture in marble, maybe Neptune rising from the sea. Or maybe not. The lobby merged seamlessly into the bar/lounge area that opened to the ocean side, featuring a roughed-in bar and quarry tile floors mostly covered with heavy gray paper. The walls were blue plasterboard, and the light fixtures, for the moment, were bare hundred-fifty watt bulbs dangling from loose wires.
The place smelled like new construction: a mix of fresh concrete, plaster, and newly sawn lumber. Robert checked the other ground floor rooms. Restaurant on the southeast corner: immense crystal chandelier, rough plywood floors, big commercial kitchen, no gas pressure yet, coffee shop on the southwest corner. The two rooms on the north side looked like good lab space.
Towards the ocean the landscaping was finished. Hibiscus, oleander, casuarinas, and banana trees were scattered beneath graceful coconut palms.
"What do you think?" asked Lalos. "Perfect, no?"
"Turn on the gas in the kitchen, store your equipment in the basement, clean it up a little and we'll take it."
Robert signed a check for forty thousand dollars on their new Mérida bank account for ten days of occupancy. The newly wealthy contractor, in a spirit of generosity, offered the services of his wife and his partner's wife to help with the kitchen and the laundry and linens for an additional twenty-five dollars a day.
Robert heard a voice behind him. "Papa, I brought the books." He turned to see a young and pretty woman with dark hair and skin and a big white-toothed smile, carrying an armful of catalogs. He had met her before, where was it? Yes, Conchita, from Phil Schwartz' place.
"Hi, Conchita," he said.
"Oh, Mister Robert!" she squealed in delight. "From the hacienda! Buenos Dias!"
Pedro Lalos smiled. "I see you have met my stepdaughter. This is Doctor Robert Asher, Shirley, you should show great respect." He turned to Robert, "Shirley to me and to her mother, Schwartz has everyone else calling her Conchita." Looking back at his daughter, he asked, "And also Doctor Teresa Welles, you have met her?"
"Sí," said Conchita. She did not look at Teresa. "At the hacienda with Señor Schwartz." She smiled at Robert. "You see me now at my morning job."
"She's helping with the decor," said Lalos. "Paint chips. Art prints." He took the books from Conchita. "We will not be doing the prints for a few weeks, but I will go through these with you now."
Robert turned to Teresa. "I'll pick up our luggage from Bolero. And swing by Playa del Carmen for bed sheets and soap and stuff."
"I've reached translation burnout. My brain is all mush. I'll help with the supplies, I need the fresh air."
Conchita joined in from across the room, "Oh, Playa del Carmen, perfect, I came on the bus, I need a ride back, can I come? And I will show you the store where you can buy the best sheets. I will do the prints some other time with papa, sí, papa?" She ran with them to the battered rental van and jumped into the passenger seat as Robert took the wheel. "Here, I will show you the best way to drive to Playa del Carmen."
"There's a choice?" said Teresa from the back seat. "And what about Bolero?"
"What is this Bolero?" asked Conchita. "It is a dance, no?"
"It is a place where I keep my important things right now," said Teresa. "You will find it in Puerto Aventuras."
"We'll stop on the way back," said Robert.
* * *
The van was filled with sheets and pillows, further blocking visibility through the cracked rear window. Robert negotiated the bumpy dirt streets, avoiding the stray dogs and street vendors, and the pleasant aroma of grilled sausage reminded him that they had missed lunch.
"Anybody else interested in dinner? Conchita, you live here, where's a quick restaurant?"
"You want a tourist place or a good place?"
"The good place, please."
"Turn right here. Just at the end of the block, no sign."
"You will be our guest," said Robert. "With thanks for your help."
She led them through a small door in a building that looked more like a rambling home than a restaurant, into a dimly lit rustic space with dark wood walls hung with colorful serapes. They were greeted by the smell of tortillas and cerveza and a large friendly older woman who embraced Conchita and smiled over her shoulder at Robert and Teresa. "Sit, sit, there under the fan is the best place." She produced a match and lit the candle stuck into an empty tequila bottle, and the darkness receded somewhat.
Conchita sat down and turned to Teresa, arching her supple back like a big cat as she pushed her abundant black hair back from her face. "You like Mexican food, Dr. Welles? Spicy hot caliente, sí?"
"I can handle anything, with enough cerveza," said Teresa.
"And you, Robert Asher," she asked him, turning to him and placing a hand on his chest. "Oh, you are all muscles! Is amazing, no? Caramba. How do you like eet?"
Robert thought for a minute before he got her meaning. "I like it hot, too."
She slowly removed her hand, looking up at Robert through the corners of her large eyes. "You want me to do the order? Muy caliente, you will not catch a cold for two weeks?"
"Por favor," said Robert.
Conchita rattled off a string of rapid Spanish to the proprietor. Soon a variety of chicken and tomatoes and refried beans and tortillas and tacos was delivered to the table, accompanied by cool beer in large clear bottles with no labels and some green liquid that tasted to Robert like rocket fuel.
After dinner they drove to the small home where Conchita lived with her parents on the edge of town.
"Robert Asher," she said through the window. "Le
t me know next time you need to buy sheets." She giggled and blew him a kiss and ran to the house.
Robert headed back south to Akumal, with the van further burdened with their luggage, looking at the impressive sunset. The large dinner still pleasantly filled his stomach and the glow from the cerveza had not quite disappeared. Teresa, now sitting beside him, was unusually quiet, probably also enjoying the evening. As he turned from the bright sunset back to the road, he looked ahead in disbelief as an approaching car was being passed by a large truck, now the two were side by side and taking up the full width of the road and too close, moving too fast.
The car sounded his horn, the truck sounded his, but neither seemed to slow down. Robert's options dwindled quickly, and at the last millisecond he jerked the wheel to avoid a head-on collision. The van bumped violently off the road, throwing up a cloud of dust with the brakes locked, and slid down a steep slope before coming to a sudden stop against a small tree. Pillows cascaded into the front seat.
The sound of the collision and the fading blasts of the horns subsided into silence as Robert tossed the pillows back and looked over at Teresa. "Are you all right?" he asked. She glared at him. She was probably all right. He got the door open and checked for damage. The front bumper looked about the same, badly dented. The van had crossed a narrow drainage ditch that now made getting back on the road a little problematic. The ditch was right behind the van and deep enough to be impassable. They had no room to maneuver. Should he see if a tow truck was available? It would be a long walk, maybe there was another way.
He opened the rear hatch of the van and burrowed through the sheets to find the jack. Good, it was one of the old style bumper jacks with the ratchet handle, obsolete now because of plastic bumpers but useful for this sort of situation. He opened the passenger door and invited Teresa to watch from a safer spot, then set the jack up under the center of the rear bumper, racked it up to the top notch, and gave the van—teetering on a precarious balance point—a shove back to the road.
The van tilted sideways and fell off the jack, moving its rear end a foot up the slope, and after Robert repeated the exercise a few times the van's rear end was firmly back on the asphalt. Robert engaged reverse, backed the van up the slope, and opened the door for the still silent Teresa.
"Nice, hey?" he said, happily. "Another trick from my misspent youth."
"What else did you do with your misspent youth?" she snapped. "Seduce junior high school girls?"
"Hey, wait, what? What's this all about?"
"That slut practically had your clothes off in the restaurant. She could be your daughter."
"Conchita? I thought she was just, you know, outgoing. I liked her. I think she's probably like that with everybody."
"Sure you liked her. I think she's only like that with men. She didn't put her hands all over me. Stay away from her."
"So now you're my den mother? Why don't we keep our relationship professional, not social? How old is your boyfriend, what's his name, Armand? Twice your age, I bet."
"Armand is three," she said primly, hands clasped in her lap, looking ahead through the dirty windshield. "I am older."
Robert thought this over for a while. "Three? I don't understand," he admitted, finally.
"Of course you don't understand. You men have a piece of your brain missing. Armand is a French poodle. He is at the dog kennel now, probably faithfully pining away for me. Underline faithful. Watch the road. Close your mouth."
His eyes snapped back to the road. "But why did you tell me a dog was your boyfriend?"
"Warning sign. This territory posted no trespassing."
"Well, then, why did you tell me your boyfriend was a dog?"
"You tricked me. Watch the road. I'll watch the stupid sunset."
They finished the trip in silence, with Robert sneaking peeks at her attractive but stern face from time to time.
They checked two mattresses out of storage and took adjacent second-floor rooms on the ocean side. Robert walked out on the large balcony, surveying his new place. The rooms were arranged in a sawtooth pattern for privacy. The railing was an eight-inch log, complete with bark, and the floor was diagonal hardwood. The effect was like a deck on a private oceanside home, with a sweeping view past the nearly-completed pool area and the row of coconut palms to the sea. Plenty good enough, and a bargain at only four thousand a night. Now, if he could just figure out what was bothering Teresa.
The slider next door scraped open and he heard quiet footsteps on the far side of the partition. After a minute Robert felt a subtle pressure as if Teresa had now realized that he was also on the terrace, also looking out at the dark sea.
"Hey!" she spoke softly. "That you?"
"Who did you expect?" he answered.
"Don't try to deny it. That's you."
A half a minute passed. "Robert?"
"Yes, Teresa?"
"I'm sorry."
"It's been a little crazy. There's nothing to be sorry about."
"You still like me?"
"I still like you," he said.
"Do you have anything to drink over there?" she asked.
"Sure."
"OK, wait right there."
Robert answered the quiet knock on his door and she entered the room, wearing a long white beach dress with big sleeves, white bandages replacing the cast on her fingers, smelling of soap and flowers, hair undone, smiling up at him. She flowed into the room, her body moving invitingly under the thin cloth. Robert was spellbound by the vision.
"So?" she said.
"What?"
"You said you had something to drink."
"Oh, yeah, here." He dug into his luggage and found the bottled water and the plastic glasses. They moved onto the terrace, touched the glasses and sipped.
"See," she said, looking at him with the disturbing direct gaze from the compelling eyes, "I like you a whole lot. I'm a little confused. I haven't been handling it well."
"But why…"
"I thought you were pretty strange, before. I was coming off a destructive relationship. I told myself I couldn't invest in another emotional trap without screwing up my work again."
"What changed?"
"I don't think you're looney tunes any more. You're sort of serious, but you're nice."
"If we're doing confessions, I lied, too, when I told you that you weren't my type."
"I thought so," she said, comfortably, moving closer. She kissed him softly on his mouth and his emotions clanged between awe and disbelief. She stepped back and looked at him carefully, then held him tightly and kissed him again.
"Robert Asher," she murmured into his neck, pressing her body closely to him. "What would you like to do now?"
My God, do I want to do this? What has it been, two years? "Are you OK? Your hand isn't healed yet."
"Oh, relax and enjoy it," she said. "You scientist types, you intellectualize everything. You're all shot up. Move slow."
OK, he told himself, ride with it. She pulled the caftan over her head and draped it over her shoulder, revealing, concealing, right there on the terrace. Robert got a double hit of adrenaline, her body was hard to believe. What fascinating curved places she had. Her skin looked lit from within, a lamp shining through the blood vessels and the smooth skin, all sunset colors. Could anyone else see this? He didn't want to share. He grabbed her hand and led her back into the room.
Quickly naked on the bed with her, Robert was broken into two separate parts as he experienced the act of love. One part remained the scientist, analytical, observing his performance from afar, capturing the images of her beautiful body for later replay, trying to find and fill her needs, desperately trying to do a good job at making love so she would want to do it again. The other part of him was fuzzy and unthinking, still bathed in sunset glow, the glow growing in his abdomen, spreading to his whole lower body and carrying so much heat and sensation that he was unable to determine if he was handling the mechanics correctly. His analytical part was trying t
o tell his unthinking part not to have so much fun or he'd ejaculate prematurely when his unthinking part ejaculated prematurely anyway, in a swirl of pain and pleasure.
Teresa smiled up at him and turned him onto his back.
"Now look here, we're just going to have to keep doing it until you get it right."
She moved over him and kissed his lips, her soft hair brushing his cheek. She touched his body with soft hands until he reacted again, and she kept touching him softly until the hydraulic pressure seemed unbearable, then she softly lowered herself onto him and moved slowly, softly, and the analytical part of him went away and the unthinking part grew enormous, filling the room, filling the world, until her cries merged with his own.
* * *
Robert awoke to the sound of the surf outside the open window. He checked his watch: 9:00. Overslept. He remembered the extraordinary events of the previous evening and moved his hand behind him to see if he had been dreaming. The bed, except for him, was empty.
Teresa stepped out of the shower, naked, lovely, toweling her hair. Robert felt a surge of relief closely followed by a surge of lust.
"Oh, no, none of that," she said, looking at the bedclothes. "Work day today and you are late, late, late."
"Tonight for sure?"
"Wouldn't miss it." She laughed gaily at his sad face. "Or, gosh, I suppose it would be all right if you promise to work late." She threw the towel back into the bathroom and pulled the sheet down.
Chapter 38
* * *
Akumal, November 15, 2010
The bus unloaded twenty people and their luggage in the cleared area behind the hotel. Robert got everybody into the unfinished dining room and logged the skill set of the arrivals on a whiteboard. They had six medical researchers, four general-purpose Spanish-speaking management types, two undergraduates, a geneticist, three industrial process chemists, three Maya scholars, and an accountant.
Robert knew several from B.U. The others were revealed by their introductions as volunteers from industry or other Boston-area colleges. He was glad to see Dr. Margo Sanford, her familiar face reminding him of a bull terrier. Her bull terrier personality went with it; she would not give up on a project once she had her teeth set in it. She was followed closely by Leo Halpirin, the little bald process chemist, who always seemed to follow closely behind Margo.