Path of the Jaguar

by Vickie Britton

  Maybe Wesley himself! Lennea wound through immobile bystanders to peer over the edge. She could see the faint movement below in that eerie stillness, the bubbles like an eruption escaping to the top.

  The entire group appeared to be holding their breath, waiting for the return of the diver. Two Maya men worked on the floating dock with the diving line.

  "Am I late?"

  Sid flashed her a smile as she came up beside him. "No, my Dear. Everyone else is early."

  She peered once more into the green water so far below. "Who is that? Wesley?"

  "Wait and see!"

  Lennea frowned. "Why is he diving alone? Where's the Mexican boy?"

  "Rico didn't show," Sid said, eyes still locked on the water. "But wait, he's surfacing!"

  The black rubber outfit covered everything but his hands—strong, muscular hands, one gripping a rubber bag, the other reaching up to adjust the hose which led to the volume tank. Lennea recognized those hands. She knew the diver was Joseph, not Wesley, even before he pulled himself up on the makeshift dock and removed the shallow-water face mask.

  Dark eyes singled her out from the watchers above him. "Want to join me?" he called merrily. "We've got more equipment than we've got divers."

  Exuberance rushed forth and overran all else. "Yes, I do!" Momentarily, Lennea forgot Delores, Wesley, the dreadful Mayan who tracked her so incessantly forewarning of danger. "What have you found?"

  Joseph dumped the contents of the rubber bag on the wooden platform. "Nothing much yet. Just scraps of broken jade, bone, parts of a clay incense burner. But I've just begun! I know there must be something down there!"

  "Where's Wesley?"

  "He left to search for Rico. He doesn't think I'm up to the task alone!" Joseph laughed.

  What would Wesley think about Lennea's diving? She knew he would probably object, assume that she, too, was inept. For once, she had reason to be thankful to Delores, who had taught her to dive.

  Lennea put on the diving equipment and Sid helped her to strap the bulky oxygen cylinder to her back. He assisted her descent down the rope ladder tossed perilously across the slope to the floating dock below. Joseph held up steadying hands until her feet were securely planted on the wooden deck.

  "How's the visibility?" she asked him.

  "Practically nil. Artificial light makes it worse. There's so much silt and moss the rays just scatter until you can't make anything out but dark shadows."

  "Great working conditions."

  Water made Joseph's black hair glisten. Beads of moisture clung to his face and to the tight, black suit. He smiled as if he were greatly pleased, as if she had accepted from him some special and meaningful invitation. "You might get scared down there in all that muck," he teased.

  "If I do, you'll be the first to know."

  "You'll be able to see me," Joseph said. "Just stay close."

  Lennea, who had grown used to feeling anxious and uneasy, experienced no great increase of that emotion as she herself, several minutes after Joseph's descent, moved down the dangling ladder into the pool. She thought only of those people who had struggled here in the water, fighting to live. The one thing she did not want to find was a skeleton, a grisly reminder of the sacrificial victims and senseless death.

  During the descent, she felt great pressure. An endless period of drifting downward ensued. When Lennea reached the bottom, she was still adjusting the regular escape valve and controlling valve until her breathing became normal. She could not see Joseph. She could barely see her own feet, now partially immersed in the pool's muddy bottom. She hadn't expected the visibility to be this poor. They were going to have to work mostly by touch.

  Lennea located Joseph at last. His large form was a dark shadow which bent and rose. He moved close to her once, holding some gleaming object up to the glass of her helmet. She felt a rush of excitement. What if they were to find something precious? How pleased Wesley would be!

  Lennea herself overlooked nothing, indiscriminately placing everything she lifted into her sack. She could only half-see the objects, but by the feel of them knew they were merely fragments. They worked their way back and forth across the bottom of the pool, then surfaced to examine their finds.

  Joseph expressed great enthusiasm over each item he inspected. "What do you think this is?"

  "It looks like an earring. Part of a jade loop, anyway."

  Again and again, losing all track of priority and sense of time, Joseph and Lennea dived in to explore the pool. Even though they had long ago stopped finding artifacts to pick up, Lennea's enchantment continued in full force. She couldn't remember ever having had such an exciting time.

  Happiness was curtailed when Lennea surfaced and saw Wesley standing above her so sternly straight. He didn't offer her his hand, but stood by, waiting impatiently as she struggled up to sit on the wooden float and to remove her helmet. She tried to determine his mood from his expression, decided that it was both wrathful and weary.

  Soon Joseph scampered up on the floating dock to join them.

  "Is that all there is?" Wesley asked. "Surely you're finding more than this."

  "We're not likely to find anything of value until we sift through layers and layers of dirt," Joseph told him.

  "We've pretty well brought up everything that's exposed," Lennea said, unable to fully comprehend the almost petulant way Wesley scorned their findings. His sharp frown seemed to label the whole project a colossal failure.

  "I can't believe it! This—" Wesley waved a hand at the pile of clay pottery and bits of jade, "is worse than nothing at all. It's trash!"

  Joseph and Lennea exchanged surprised glances, then looked back at him, amazed by Wesley's agonized anger.

  "We're not through," said Joseph. "We've just barely touched the surface."

  "We could bring up something any time," Lennea added hopefully, then turned to Joseph. "Let's try again."

  "I'm ready."

  Irritably, Wesley tossed aside a broken bit of jade. "No use continuing now. It's almost time for the rain." His increased frustration passed into his voice. "You clean things up," he said to the two waiting Mayans. "I'm going back to my hotel."

  "He sure hasn't given this project much of a chance," Lennea said after Wesley had climbed the rope ladder and was beyond their vision. "It's not as if we didn't find anything at all. I wonder what's wrong with him—"

  "Simple," Joseph replied. "We didn't produce the magic artifact that would make Hern's name known around the world."

  "He's been working too hard," said Lennea.

  "Sweetheart," Joseph answered, sarcasm strong in his voice. "In case you haven't noticed, It's you and I who are doing all the work." Joseph looked up at the darkening sky. "Hern's right about one thing, though. It's sure going to rain."

  "Let's try just one more time."

  At the bottom of the pool, Lennea searched harder than ever. So much time had passed that Joseph was tugging at her line, a signal that they should give it up. Still Lennea persisted. She was digging with both hands through the dirt, when she uncovered a stone-like object much bigger than anything else she had found. Her heart pounded as she gripped it in both hands and brought it up to her eyes. In the muddy green of the water, what she saw seemed to float. At first, she thought she had discovered a human skull. Then, with relief, she realized that it was much too heavy.

  She ran a searching finger over the solid object, identifying hollows of eyes, the ridge of a nose, the outline of a feathered plume. Excitement burst within her. This was not a fragment of anything. She had found a valuable statue, a Mayan head! And this artifact was whole, complete.

  Joseph and she returned to the dock. Together in the stormy light they scrutinized the treasure Lennea had uncovered. Lennea had hoped that it would be perfect. She stared in disappointment at the large part of the Mayan head that was missing, broken off across the wide forehead, leaving a gash across the once finely-chiseled nose.

  "Could be pure jade." Joseph
turned the greenish statue around in his hand, curiously, watchful. His meditative pose made Lennea feel close to him, to his dreams and thoughts. "I may have found the part we're missing. Let's take a look!"

  Joseph sorted through heaps of fragments, scattering them carelessly about on the dock. Out of the pile, he selected one. He snapped it into place against the head, saying triumphantly, "That's it! Magic! One complete Maya priest!"

  Lennea couldn't contain her excitement. She held the statue of the ancient ruler and both of them marveled at the skillful lines, the crude but apparent perfection. "You've made the find of the day!" Joseph said proudly.

  "I'm going to take this home and glue it," Lennea told him. "Then we'll see if Wesley still labels our morning's work as a failure!"

  She could feel Joseph's gaze upon her, his eyes as stormy as the restless sky. "You really believe that, don't you?" "Believe what?"

  With a finger he traced the hairline crack upon the stone head that Lennea still held together with the pressure of her hands. "That Hern will see something besides the flaw."

  A tight feeling began in Lennea's chest. Surely, Joseph wasn't going to start that old argument up again. They had been getting along so well today, almost as if they had come to a compromise. She straightened and faced him "I have faith in Wesley. Something that you certainly wouldn't understand."

  She detected a strange sadness in his eyes, a sadness that dissolved in a quick flash of anger. "You're right. Whatever grudging admiration I might have had for the man died the day—"

  He stopped suddenly, unwilling to go on.

  Lennea wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily. "Died when?" she demanded.

  "The day Goldie was attacked," he finished softly.

  "You're not going to tell me Wesley had anything to do with that! I won't believe it."

  Joseph watched her with that same grave look.

  "Then just what did you mean?"

  Her gaze rested upon his face, the dark eyes, sensitive mouth, the jaws tightened with a tension that revealed an underlying anger. "Wesley knew Goldie was hurt. And yet he never even bothered to see how she was."

  "He must not have received the message. How can you hold him to blame for something he couldn't help?"

  There was a grimness in his tone that made Lennea shiver in the cool air. "I delivered the message myself, Lennea. In person."

  "What—what did Wesley say?"

  Joseph shrugged. "Nothing at all. Perhaps that's the worst of it! Hern didn't show up at the hospital that night because he's not like the rest of us—he didn't care."

  "You're wrong. You're lying!"

  Strong arms caught her shoulders, forcing her to face him. "How long are you going to idolize him? Don't you see? What you're doing is wrong! It's like worshipping a stone god, one that is dead!"

  Angrily, she pulled away from him. "Leave me alone!"

  "Just for once, I wish you'd see him as he really is, not as you want to see him."

  Lennea turned back toward him. Chin lifted, she replied, "I love him, Joseph."

  He took a deep breath as if her words had injured him. Eyebrows lifted in question or defiance, Joseph gazed at her a long time before he spoke, "Someday, Lennea, you're going to admit that you love me!"

  •

  Lennea felt a flutter of excitement stir in the pit of her stomach as she knocked upon the door. This was the first time she had ever been to the drab, slightly rundown hotel in the village where Wesley was staying, the first time she had found the courage to go to his room.

  "Who is it?" a voice called from inside.

  "Lennea."

  A moment's hesitation. "What do you want?"

  "To talk to you."

  "Come in, then. The door isn't locked."

  Lennea stepped into Wesley's hotel room, which the dark, drawn drapes confined to semi-darkness. Wesley, seated in the recliner, seemed to lack the strength to rise. Not even a movement of his head indicated any interest in her arrival.

  Lennea stepped reluctantly toward him. "Look," she said, extending the jade statue she had so carefully glued together. "I found this after you left."

  The pupils of Wesley's eyes grew smaller, until they were only black pinpoints surrounded by great expanses of blue. Still not moving his head, he frowned, just as he had when Frank had offered him the carving of the jaguar, and this time he spoke the words he hadn't actually said to Frank. "It's valueless. Worthless."

  "But it's—complete."

  "I need to be alone, Lennea."

  His eyes closed. A strange, sweet smell drifted up to her. It hung like a mist over the room. It seemed to encircle him.

  "That well has made me an object of laughter," he said quietly. "Soon they'll be calling it 'Hern's Folly'!"

  She could feel his great disappointment, his pain. "Oh, Wesley.."

  "This wretched venture has made a fool of me. A failure!"

  "Your success has never depended on anything outside of yourself," she reminded him gently. Lennea had never envisioned Wesley as a man who would isolate himself over some sense of fallen pride, or that he could ever allow himself to wallow so completely in self-pity. Neither did she understand his being possessed by this great languor, almost a stupor.

  When realization did suddenly strike her, she felt stunned, as if she had received an unexpected blow to her stomach. Wesley's eyes, narrowed because of his tilted head, regarded her as if he had just connected with her thoughts.

  "Don't look at me like that, Lennea. You know I'm no drug addict." He gave a great, heavy sigh. "I just need a little something—to get me through life's disillusionment. Everybody does."

  Lennea laid her rejected offering beside him on the table, stepped back, and scanned the room. The small plastic bag lying on the couch immediately caught her eye. A flash of Joseph lifting this very cosmetic bag from Delores' suitcase at the Mexican airport came to her mind. Her gaze lifted to skirt the room, as if she half-expected Delores to materialize from some dim corner.

  So Delores herself had stolen the suitcase from Lennea's room at the Hotel Guerrero. No doubt Delores had recently been in this very room—certainly she was still in the Yucatan and not back home as she had promised Lennea she would be.

  That was it. That's what this whole thing was all about! Lennea felt a dizziness, almost a sickness, pass over her. Delores must be carrying drugs to the United States and bringing back money to divide with her Mexican contact, the Mayan who was seeking her. Had Delores double-crossed him? Beads of sweat broke out across Lennea's forehead as she remembered the coldness of the Mayan's eyes, quietly menacing like the eyes of the stone jaguar.

  Fearfully, she glanced over at Wesley. How much did he know about this? She wondered to what extent he was involved in Delores' illegal escapade. "Where do you get your supply? From Delores?" she demanded.

  He gave a scornful laugh. "Don't be ridiculous! So Delores and I unwind together once in a while. Why, it's no worse than smoking cigarettes! There's no need for you to make us sound so corrupt."

  His answer convinced her that he had no knowledge of how heavily Delores was involved in the drug scene. "Wesley, this is much more serious than you think!" Lennea told him about the thousands of dollars she had found in Delores' suitcase. "Now say that it's just nothing! She's dealing in drugs. That's how she supports her fancy lifestyle." Lennea's voice raised in accusation. "Delores is dealing in hard drugs!"

  "Impossible!" Wesley said the word without proper emphasis, weakly, apathetically.

  Long and tragic silence hung over the room. Then Wesley spoke again, "If anyone's involved in traffic back and forth across the border, it's not drugs they're pushing. They are stealing artifacts. My artifacts!"

  A twist of bitterness robbed his finely-cut features of their attractiveness. "Surely you can see what's happened! Somebody got to my well before I did. Someone had already robbed it of its riches. And now those treasures, my treasures, are lost forever!" He shook his head slowly, slowly. "But n
ot Delores. No, if I'm right, then somebody else is the mastermind behind this. If she's involved at all, then somebody must have set her up."

  Joseph's image arose. Lennea remembered his proficiency at diving. His going through the motions today was merely a ruse—he had already robbed the pool of its treasures. And Delores would take them back to the United States and sell them at top money to art lovers who swarmed around Wesley. But Lennea couldn't prove any of this. To find answers she would have to find Delores.

  "When did you see Delores last?"

  "Yesterday evening," Wesley said. His voice was without force or energy.

  "Where was she going when she left here? Do you have any idea?"

  Wesley's eyes, narrowed like a cat's, still gazed at her, but his voice seemed to come from far away. " She'll show up. Eventually, she returns. She always...comes back to me."

  Lennea took a step backward toward the doorway.

  "Wrought in Stone" , Wesley said, and then repeated it. His words had a hollow, haunted sound to them. For the first time in their long relationship Lennea saw him as something besides the man she had placed so far above every other person, so far above all the sullied activities of the world.

  "Delores and I, we're two of a kind. Delores and I," he repeated, "we belong together, Lennea. No matter what she is, or what she does. We simply can't let go of each other. Delores will be mine forever. What we feel for each other is Wrought in Stone."

  Lennea groped for the doorknob. She wanted desperately to get away from him, to get outside. She didn't want Wesley Hern to see that she was crying.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dazed and uprooted by Wesley's words, Lennea drove back to LaTilla's house. She slipped quickly into her room, planning to collapse across the bed and give in to the utter heartbreak of her ruined world.