Prologue
They are heathens.
The words drifted through the pastor's mind like the smoke coming off of the fire burning in a pit. He sat cross-legged on swidden bare soil that had been hard-packed by years of tribal life, ceremonies, and rituals of the Ytuwa people. Through the flames, he could see the muted outline of the raised hamlet in which he was staying with the men. The women were housed in thatched huts that were dispersed around the domain, also on stilts. Had the land been bathed in the sun's effects, one would have seen small gardens cultivated outside the homes.
The star-amassed heavens radiated a harsh brilliance in the moonless sky and provided a lesson for the pastor's ignorance. It was dark. The lack of light save the source which seared his skin and stung his eyes was appropriate for the ceremony in which he had been allowed to observe, and possibly partake. If he had moved back no more than 20 feet, the night's sharp teeth would have sunk in and swallowed him. An errant breeze rustled through the surrounding tropical canopies and provided brief relief to his roasting flesh.
His eyes stole a furtive glance at the altar upon which a body had been prepared with great care. Gifts had been laid in respect around the deceased as a final offering before they transferred her remains to the garden in front of her hut. Through the translator sitting beside him, the pastor had learned the woman had been a revered curer among the tribe before he had been invited to her burial. Now he sat witnessing the Ytuwa reminisce through an enactment as rough as the translator's English, yet the pastor marveled at the way the items told a more profound story.
There was a faint, metallic whisper of a cap being discreetly unscrewed below the activity. The minute sound scraped inside the pastor's head before he poured the flask's contents into the clay bowl from which he had been given water to drink. He brought it to his lips and swallowed, barely tasting the burn that scorched his throat. Another generous gulp helped ease the staccato of his thoughts which had harmonized with the playing flutes of the people. A string of ash floated up from the fire and danced to the melody. The pastor's eyes followed its descent as his body mirrored its rhythm and finished the vodka in his bowl.
His brain grew fuzzier as he refilled it. Alcohol bled down the clay sides in thin rivulets as the flask emptied its remains. Again it was brought to his lips. His soft breath created ripples over its still surface. He drank with a steady hand even though a fist clenched his racing thoughts. The fight in him over ethical turmoil loosened and by the time the plates were passed to the men, he had grown numb. He waited for his turn among the women where he would be served first, if at all. A cynical smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 'How fitting,' he thought in his stupor. 'Last among men. First among women.'
A dreamlike cloud had settled over the pastor when he was handed a plate. He nodded with a sharp jerk as if he was at the end of a puppeteer's strings. The food swam and then blended before his eyes. His head snapped up and he shook to clear it. Slowly the world fell into focus. A bray of laughter escaped from a depth in him of which he knew not, piercing the pregnant solemnity. His fingertips grasped a strange piece of grooved, pinkish matter on his plate and he took a bite.
Chapter 1
A squirrel was spending its day frolicking through the autumn leaves in a half-hearted effort to gather extra hickory nuts for its stores buried under a large root that had made its way above ground at the base of the tree where it lived. It lost track of time in its foraging play, enjoying the rustle of bright foliage decorating a floor that had frozen the night before. It almost felt as if it were swimming as it jumped and dove through the leafy mass, sometimes coming to the surface with something to add to the pile. Having lost track of time, it suddenly stopped short and poked its small nose out of the rustling pool of leaves to sniff the air.
Night was closing in fast and although it lived in a developed area, its instincts were not. The squirrel found itself running as fast as it could to escape predators with the moon's rising. Its little heart thumped out a furious rhythm. Its treasure and joyful romp of the day were all but forgotten. The home in which it had readied for the falling temperatures seemed to taunt the little creature as the expanse of lawn got excruciatingly shorter. In its panic, it could hear the hoot of an owl and knew it wouldn't be long before it would be sensed as prey. The squirrel put an extra spring in its step and bound its way onto the pavement, wherein a split second, its world went dark.
Amanda's hand shot out from under the thick blanket and slammed down on the windup clock perched near the corner of her nightstand. Under usual circumstances, the worn sentinel would fall over into a suicide dive to the depths of the carpet below and today was no different. Amanda mumbled something that resembled a curse and rolled over, unabsolved from picking it up. Unwilling to greet the morning, she burrowed deeper under the bedclothes and into her husband's warm chest.
Daniel's arms encircled her and he stroked her hair. In general, his wife wasn't the easiest person to come home to at the end of his shift, let alone live with. Not because she liked to argue or was sullen. She was indifferent, bordering cold on any given day, yet in the wee stages of waking up, she possessed a childlike quality in need of security. "Good morning," he said. Amanda's muffled response was obstinate as it hovered around the mouth of the cave she had managed to hole into. He nudged the blanket with his chin until his lips found her forehead. He kissed her softly while taking in the rich scent of her hair. "Time to get up."
She braced herself, ready for the inner struggle to ensue and knowing the battle would be lost before it started. Daniel rolled away from her and threw back the covers. Amanda groaned and turned onto her back. With eyes clamped shut she listened to the familiar routine of her husband rummaging through his drawers before going over to their closet. When he had what he wanted, Daniel left the room to take a shower. She sighed and slowly opened her eyes.
The sun's rays, lacking in warmth, were brighter than she had anticipated. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, sat up, and stretched. Her back cracked and gave way for the necessary limberness she needed to reach down for the clock. She put it back, stood up, caught sight of her reflection in the mirror attached to the bureau, and dismissed it. With errands on her mind, she ambled over to her dresser for something to wear while making a mental note to change before the meeting she was holding at Sanford.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and felt around the floor for her sneakers. At one time they had been blue and white but were now two indistinguishable shades of gray. After she tied her shoes, she sat for a moment listening to the cheerful sound of Daniel's whistling coming from the bathroom, and wondered, as she sometimes did, what it was that kept them together.
Amanda was practical and reserved while Daniel was more laid back; with friends who referred to him as Danny and his character led him to a successful family practice in the small town of Eton, Pa. For a short time, after they were married, she toyed with calling him Dan and found the use of pet names disrespectful if not abhorrent for someone of his prestige. She frowned on them for herself equally, yet tolerated it when he called her Mand. It seemed to make her feel softer in his eyes despite her chiseled features. She envied his gift of being able to charm others into supporting him, while she found it painful to build rapport, and it was with the gratefulness of a child that she would fold into his arms and embrace his strength.
Amanda and Daniel had met in a freshman college biology class and were assigned to each other as lab partners. He began to soften towards her aloof nature despite feeling inferior to her knowledge. In truth, Daniel didn't think Amanda knew how intelligent she was. Most often he would find her pouring over a book with her disheveled red hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail. And if she had an ink smear of blue or black on her chin or cheek from a leaky pen, he found her all the more endearing.
Amanda wasn't as oblivious as Daniel thought regarding his emboldening advances. She ignored them altogether in an effort to not let her guard down. She was there to learn and the last thing she needed was a distraction to come between her and her goal of becoming one of the top ten in her class. When she wasn't studying, she relaxed with more reading and it was in these moments Daniel seemed to be more bothersome, although it wasn't until their senior year before he became bolder in his approach.
"Come on, Amanda," he cajoled one sunny day in September. "Let's go to a movie."
A flip of a page and a small grunt was her answer.
Tired of her cold-shouldering, Daniel reached down, snatched the book, and held it behind his back.
"I was reading that."
Her hazel eyes turned green, a change to indicate her annoyance, but he didn't care. Daniel felt like he had won a small battle. "Your place will be here in a few hours. Let's go do something."
Amanda rolled her eyes and looked away. Another victory, since her usual treatment of him, was with the same indifference she gave to something on a slide under a microscope. "I don't like movies."
"It doesn't have to be a movie. What do you want to do?"
Her response was flat. "Read."
It was Daniel's turn to roll his eyes. "Besides that."
He was taken off guard as Amanda considered his question. When she looked at him from her spot under the American Beech in the back of her dorm, he felt a rare sense of being seen. When she met his eyes, she made a great effort to hide the interest that had been building for some time. "I don't get out much."
Daniel sat down in front of her. "Come on, Amanda. I'm not asking you to rob a bank. What do you like to do besides read?"
Amanda grinned. "Go to the library."
Daniel moaned and flopped back on the dry grass. In a couple of months, it would be November, and shortly after Thanksgiving would be the end of the semester. "I saw that coming."
To his surprise, she laughed. He sat up in time to catch a slight blush in her composure. The sound was almost as foreign to her as it was to him. "Probably nothing you would like," she said. "Museums, art galleries, orchestras…"
Her voice faded. Daniel studied her, bemused. "I never knew you had an interest in arts." He looked at the book. "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?"
Amanda shrugged. "I like fiction."
Daniel moved over until he found a comfortable spot next to her and handed it back. "I'm not much of a reader, so why don't you read to me?"
Her surprised look was priceless, almost making her attractive. "I'm over halfway through."
"Start over."
Amanda pulled out of her reverie, looked at her watch, and was surprised to see it was after seven. From the bathroom, she could still hear Daniel whistling as he turned off the shower. She got up and headed downstairs to make breakfast.
The kitchen was small, yet airy with a large window over the sink looking out into the back yard. The hickory tree was almost bare, its yellow leaves lay on the dying grass as the crisp weather migrated towards the frigid temperature of winter. Amanda folded her arms across her chest and shuddered in anticipation of the coming cold. Of all the seasons, she disliked winter most, even though it was one of crystallized beauty. In the meantime, the leaves needed to be raked as well as many of the nuts as possible if Daniel wanted to run the lawnmower one more time.
She pulled herself away from the view and fell into her normal routine as she turned on the coffee maker and grabbed a frying pan out of a bottom cupboard. She took a bowl and fork from the dish strainer, put them on the counter, and rummaged through the refrigerator for something to throw an omelet together with. She felt fortunate to find three eggs, some mushrooms, and a couple of slices of Swiss cheese. Not the greatest, but she knew Daniel wouldn't complain.
The strong smell of percolating coffee drew Daniel down the stairs. He picked up his Samsonite briefcase, a gift Amanda had given him when he completed his residency, placed it on the table by the door, and opened it. Amanda's presence was minute as she placed a mug beside him and faded back into the kitchen. Daniel took a small sip and almost sighed. The sweeter blend and almond extract were unexpected, and her subtle way of distracting herself from the worry she felt over the upcoming meeting later in the afternoon at Sanford, the small mental facility, where she was the medical director. He closed the black lid and followed her.
A bowl and spoon were at Amanda's place on the light pine kitchen table. Like the window, it added a spacious quality to the otherwise snug quarters and fit perfectly against the off-white wall. Daniel went into the pantry for a box of cereal and raisins. It was his way of telling her he understood and the best way he found to get her to talk if she was bothered. He fixed her simple breakfast as she slid his omelet onto a plate. "Thank you, Daniel."
Daniel nodded then sat down. "This looks good, Mand."
She noticed the extra raisins as she poured milk into her bowl, but didn't comment on them. "There wasn't much in the refrigerator. I have to go shopping."
"Do you want to talk about the meeting?"
Amanda took a bite of Raisin Bran and chewed slowly. The crunch of bran grated irritatingly with her thoughts. She swallowed and took a sip of coffee to wash it down. "There's nothing to talk about."
Her mumble made Daniel clasp his hands in front of his mouth as he observed her bowed head which remained transfixed on her cereal. An urge to swipe the bowl and throw it welled up inside him. He imagined Amanda's startled look as it shattered against the wall behind her, the brown flakes stuck like splintered wood as milk ran to the floor. With his luck, she would just reach for her coffee and ignore his presence until he left then clean it up. "Are you sure?"
"No," she admitted. "We're losing another donator. It's just letting the staff know. Then we're going to discuss where we can afford cutbacks. "
Daniel's face softened. "Unfortunately, people with mental problems aren't considered as important as trying to find a cure for cancer."
Amanda looked up. Her eyes were sharp enough to draw blood. "Daniel, did you forget we're talking about the less-than-human form of our species?"
"I know you're upset, Amanda. I'm just asking if there is anything I can do for you."
Amanda sighed. "I appreciate it. It's hard dealing with those who don't function normally. I know some psychiatrists are talking about reintroducing insulin-induced comas, even though it's no longer legal, for the moderate to severe cases of schizophrenia."
"You're hearing talk about insulin-induced comas again? That's barbaric."
Amanda shrugged. "Five out of our eight patients have schizophrenia. Plus, we don't have the funds to get set up to administer electric shock therapy. Even if we did, we don't have the facilities for it. The remodeling alone-"
Daniel felt himself shudder as his gaze turned sympathetic, yet unreadable as her voice trailed off. "Does any family come to visit them?"
"Not really. It's like running a small carnival sideshow. I'm wondering if we should follow Bedlam's etiquette and turn it into a human zoo, as they did, and allow people to pay to see the patients. We could even keep sticks for those who want to pay extra and poke at them.
Daniel choked on his coffee. Not knowing if she was serious, he bit down on the soft flesh inside his mouth at the corners of his lips to keep from laughing. When he spoke his voice was tight. "That's one way to earn money."
Amanda's head snapped up. "Are you being snide?"
Daniel met her glare. "No. I'm running late. Have a good day, Amanda."
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and dropped it on his plate. Amanda mumbled something under her breath he didn't quite catch and swallowed the considerably cooler remains of her mug. She was thinking about the amount of insulin it would take to put a non-diabetic into a coma and revive him. According to the reports she had read, there was a claim it worked for a majority of schizophrenics, although they were prone to relapse. At any rate, it was cheaper to inject a person with 100 to 150 units of insulin instead of ECT treatments. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Daniel's departure from the table.
Daniel was fumbling with his keys when he caught sight of a crow picking at something in the driveway. Frowning, he approached the squirrel he had hit when it had been too dark to see. The crow had picked over its head well and was working on its body. He put his briefcase on the passenger seat of his dark blue 1978 VW Scirocco and went back inside for a garbage bag.
Amanda heard the front door open and was pulled back into the moment. She gave him a puzzled look as he grabbed what he needed. "Dead squirrel."
Not waiting for a response, Daniel left to pick up the rodent and saw the crow had returned. He shooed the bird away, put the remains in the bag, and shoved it towards the bottom of the trash can in hopes it wouldn't smell too bad since the weather was cooler. If it did, he reasoned it wouldn't be around long enough to make a substantial impact. Once it was disposed of, Daniel got behind the wheel, gave the car a moment to warm up, then left. Amanda put the dishes in the sink and the cereal away. Time was passing faster than normal so she would have to hurry if she wanted to get errands done. She grabbed her wallet and keys off the table by the door and left.