Patagonia

"You seem concerned," Fausto said.

"No. Yes," she laughed at her own confusion. "I suppose I thought shamen were like visionaries or medicine men, wild men who lived in caves or something."

Herrera smiled again. "That's very quaint, Caroline. And perhaps it is true for other cultures, I cannot say. But no, here they are men of respect, ordinary human beings who live among their people, here among the descendents of Ona and Yaghan at least. Don Alejandro has a university education as I have told you. He worked in Buenos Aires for the government for several years in Indian affairs but then came back to his people. Do not let his Indian ways perplex you, Caroline. A shaman is a man of respect in both worlds."

"Both worlds?" For a moment she thought he was referring to the modern world and the world of his tribe. "You mean the spirit world? Spirits?"

"For these people yes, Caroline. The spirits are very much alive for these people, and their beliefs must be respected. They will not make a decision without consulting with the spirits."

He glanced at her to see if she was laughing at him, but got no response, so he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers.

"But have no fear, Caroline." He pointed to the fat stack of contracts and documents. "I have made the necessary arrangements. Tomorrow we shall have our land. Our mission will be accomplished, as they say."

"Yes," she said. "Well that's good. That's the main thing. But why didn't you tell me before that you were working with Don Alejandro? You're supposed to keep me informed of these things."

"Oh, well..." He shrugged and pushed the papers back into his case. "I didn't want to bother you with it. I just never thought it worth mentioning to you. It's just the way they do business here. A silly custom. It means nothing, really."

He clicked the case shut and smiled at her benignly.

Caroline stared back into his smile. For a lawyer, he was a terrible liar. It was obvious he was fleecing someone. Rather than serving as her facilitator and legal counsel, Fausto was cutting all the deals himself with the help of this Alejandro. God knows how much of what EV actually paid for the land would ever get back to the sellers. No doubt Fausto and Alejandro would pocket most of it. That's the way things worked down here, and when word finally got back to corporate, it would be her ass on the line.

"And how much are we paying Don Alejandro for his services?"

"A small fee. No more than two percent. And most of that will go to the village itself, which will of course be a benefit to your company."

Caroline just stared at him, thinking of the myriads of ways Herrera and Alejandro could scam EV. But that's how it was. That was the cost of doing business down here, where everyone was on the take.

Her silence made the lawyer uneasy.

"I assure you Don Alejandro provided a very necessary service, Caroline. As you know yourself, these villagers will not negotiate with a woman or even take her seriously, and are very suspicious of all outsiders. Even I, who speak their language, could get nowhere with them. But Don Alejandro speaks with the wind—"

"Speaks with the wind?"

Herrera paused. "Yes. Osheina of the wind. He guides and is guided by the wind, which is of course a mighty force down here, as you know yourself. He's a very important man, and all the villagers respect him."

Caroline felt a little thrill run through her body, no doubt an echo of her cocaine rush. That often happened after she snorted: a blush of chills, a sudden erection of her nipples. Cocaine acted directly on the pleasure centers of the brain. She tried to ignore it.

"And what on earth does Flores' land have to do with the wind, Fausto?"

He sighed and raised his palms helplessly. "That, I cannot tell you, because I do not know. But let us concentrate on getting these last papers signed tomorrow morning, and not bother ourselves with native customs."

He lifted himself out of the chair and picked up his briefcase. "May I tell Doña Menendez to expect you for dinner tonight, or will you be eating in your room again? I believe she is preparing a sea bass just caught today, a very delicious fish which these people have learned to cook to perfection."

Caroline thought for a moment. "Yes. I'll be there," she said. "And please see that Don Alejandro is there as well? I'd like to talk to the man who's played such an important part in our negotiations. And who guides the wind. Maybe I can convince him to turn it down a little."

Herrera gave his professional smile, the smile that didn't mean anything, then nodded, got up, and backed out of the room still smiling. But his eyes told a different story, as cold as the sea outside.

* * *

Meeting Don Alejandro would be a major event, her one chance to learn what kind of deal he and Herrera had cut with the Indio land-owners before she left this place, and she treated it as such. She got Herrera to prevail on Doña Menendez to fire up the old oil drum that served as the hotel's only source of hot water , so she was able to shower and wash in the little stone bath house, her first hot shower in days. The same fire that heated the tank also warmed the stone floor of the little hut, so despite the occasional draft that found its way through the walls, the experience was wonderfully refreshing.

She emerged from the bath house bundled up and swaddled against the cold, and saw two village women climbing the hill behind Doña Menendez's house. They wore the usual village outfit of long skirt and thin cotton blouse, their only protection against the wind being a light sweater on one and an old sweatshirt on the other. The sun was just going down behind the distant Andes, and as it fell beneath the clouds it painted the landscape with fiery gold: the house, the hills, the women, everything. Both women turned and faced into the wind, into the west and the setting sun, and were instantly illuminated by the molten light and turned into incandescent beings—creatures of flame in a flaming landscape. And then it was gone and the sun sank behind the mountains, bringing a swift and chilling dark.

Caroline felt another kind of chill pass through her, one she couldn't explain. This place, these people...

She turned and walked quickly into the house and up to her room.

Aware of how her clothes affected her image but not entirely sure of the local customs, she selected a dark wool suit and a pair of sensible heels. It was a pencil skirt and the closest thing she had to the voluminous tents the village women wore. She wore her hair up in a rather more businesslike version of Dona Menendez's ragged coif, and glasses instead of contacts for their note of seriousness. A little eye makeup, a short pick-me-up of coke, and she was ready. She picked up Senor Amante and slipped him into her pocket, just for luck.

The hallway was dark and drafty, lit only by a single smoky candle. By the time she made her way down the slate steps to the dining room, Herrera was well into the bottle of pisco in front of him. This dining room served as lobby, tavern, meeting room, and, when guests weren't present, was also apparently the Menendez dining room. The household furniture had been pushed back to make space for a few wooden tables, and that was about all that was necessary to go from family room to public restaurant. A small plank bar stood against one wall, where two older Indios were glumly drinking. A sad colored fishnet adorned with dusty shells and starfish didn't do much to cheer the place up.

Nor did the little chandelier that hung from the ceiling, glowing feebly and unsteadily now during the two or three hours that Doña Menendez ran the little generator out back. The room was very dark, made darker by the big religious rugs hung on the walls to stop drafts. Most of the light came from the driftwood fire that burned in the fireplace, alternately roaring and subsiding with the wind that gusted down the chimney and the candles and kerosene lanterns set about the place.

"Well," she said brightly. "Isn't this cozy?"

"Oh! Caroline!" Herrera jumped from his seat as if startled and quickly pulled out a chair for her. "A drink before dinner? A glass of wine or some brandy? Some pisco?"

She sat and looked around. "Just some bottled water would be fine, thank you. Don Alejandro is joining us?"

"Oh yes, yes. He seemed most eager. But these people have no sense of time." He shrugged.

Caroline smiled. "I see. Yes, that must have made working with him difficult."

Herrera pretended not to hear and went to the bar, demanding water in a bottle for the Senorita from the taciturn girl who stood there.

These people weren't attractive but they were unusually tall. It was the Tehuelche blood, the same Indians that Magellan had described as giants twelve feet tall. They were all wiped out by now, wiped out by disease and by the army back when the government still thought this land might have some value for grazing. It didn't, but the Indians were gone and only their blood remained, mixed with the blood of their Spanish conquerors to produce a race of tall, muscular mestizos with no spirit and unfortunate faces.

The door opened and emitted a blast of cold rainy wind and three men stepped in, ducking under the carpet that sealed off the drafty wooden door. They were wrapped against the cold, but she recognized Alejandro immediately. The two others were obviously with him, his entourage.

Bodyguards, Caroline thought. He's brought his posse. The thought amused her.

Don Alejandro took off his knit cap and beat the rain from it, then approached the table. The other two men melted back into the shadows.

"Senorita Berger, Senor Herrera, I hope I find you well?"

Fausto stood and did his bow and scrape routine, while Caroline looked at the young Indian with open curiosity. He was well over six feet and not skinny. With the clarity of the cocaine, she wondered now how she'd missed his air of presence and authority before. Despite his size, he was wonderfully formed and all in proportion. His hair was tied back in a knot atop that a noble head, and his muscular neck suggested something of a bull's contained power. But his strength was belied by his remarkable eyes, a deep clear green like the ocean outside but with none of its coldness.

She wondered too how she had missed the obvious touch of America in his manner and mannerisms. In fact, up until now she wouldn't have believed that was such a thing, but Don Alejandro had an openness and ease about him that stood out in bold contrast to Herrera's icy formality and the Indians sullen shyness.

He must have been purposely hiding himself at that meeting, she decided. He must have wanted to blend in as just another Indian. Otherwise she would have noticed him immediately as a leader and a chief. She'd been too busy and preoccupies at that first meeting to have really noticed anything.

He looked at Caroline as if waiting for her permission, and she jerked herself awake.

"Oh please, sit, Don Alejandro. I'm sorry."

He smiled and seated himself like a gentleman, and one of his friends came and relieved him of his coat and hat.

The men at the bar drew themselves up into a more respectful posture, and even the wind seemed to inhale, then sent a slow, steady breeze down the chimney to fan the fire and fill the room with a breath of warmth.

Caroline looked at the fireplace and then at Alejandro. He was smiling at her.

"Your stay has been successful, Ms. Berger?" he asked. "You've accomplished what you desired?"

His English was perfect, with just the slightest hint of Spanish accent. It was a relief to hear.

"Yes, thank you. Very much so. And I understand we have you largely to thank. We appreciate the help you've given us. There are just a few details I still need to take care of."

"I was glad to be of service. As for these details, perhaps we can attend to them now over dinner so you can be off in the morning. Fausto tell me you are both anxious to return home. "

Caroline blushed. "Well..."

"That's quite all right, Ms. Berger. I know this place isn't to everyone's tastes by any means. There's a reason they call it the end of the world." He smiled. "We are all excited about EcoVentures choosing our little town. We're honored."

He turned and made a gesture to the girl behind the bar, and almost at once she brought them a bottle of wine and three glasses. This action seemed to galvanize the drinkers at the bar. They quickly drained their glasses and gave a polite bow to Alejandro and hurried out into the wind.

As Alejandro poured he asked, "Now what can I help you with?"

"Well, of course we appreciate all you've done on our behalf very much, and you'll be fully compensated. Mr. Herrera wasn't very definite on what you'd agreed on. I can arrange either a commission on sales or pay you a flat fee."

"Fausto knows my fee. Didn't he show you the contract? Seven per cent of all sales, to be deposited in the account I keep for the village in Ushuaia."

Caroline looked at the lawyer who by now was clearly tipsy.

"Seven per cent, Fausto? Isn't that a little high?" She looked back at Don Alejandro and saw amusement in his sea-green eyes. "That's more than we're paying Fausto here!"

"Then make it five per cent. Ten per cent. One per cent. Ninety per cent. It doesn't matter. Contracts don't mean anything to these people, Ms. Berger. They don't even know what selling one's land actually means. No one down here has any idea of land ownership. They don't own land, they just use what they need. You'd might as well try to sell the sky, or the clouds."

Caroline was dumbstruck. "What do you mean? I saw the contracts, and they're perfectly valid and binding. And once we get the surveyors down here... "

"Yes. Once you get the surveyors down here, and the lawyers, and the government, these people will be robbed of their homes and the land they live on just as they've always been. "

"Oh no, Don Alejandro. You don't understand. EcoVentures is not one of those greedy, irresponsible companies that just goes in to an area and destroys everything. We pride ourselves on our sensitivity to indigenous values and on our great respect for the environment."

"Yes, I'm sure you do, Ms. Berger." He raised his glass. "To your health, Senorita, and your success."

Caroline ignored her glass. "If that's the way you feel, why did you advise all those people to sell?"

He swallowed his wine. "Because we need your money. And because it doesn't matter. Your company will never establish anything down here, because people won't come. And if they do come, they won't stay. Your hotel will be empty."

"Well, I'm afraid we feel differently. We know there's a market for this kind of hotel. We know there's an interest—"

"Yes. They want to come down here and see the whales, the ice bergs, the penguins and seals. But they won't really see them. They won't really feel them. And if you don't feel this land and take it inside, it's a pretty terrible place. The land will work on them, and they won't come back."

The bar maid interrupted, setting down a large earthenware platter, steam rising from the enormous poached fish that lay surrounded by potatoes and greens and vegetables she didn't recognize. Caroline lost her train of thought as she suddenly realized that she was ravenously hungry. The aroma of the food made her mouth literally water.

Alejandro picked up the knife and fork. "May I? Your plate, please, Ms. Berger?"

She gave him her wooden plate. "What are you saying, Don Alejandro?"

"Alex, please. That was my name when I was at UCLA. It sounds more natural on Anglo lips."

He placed a generous piece of sea bass on her plate and some choice vegetables, then turned to Herrera, who waved him away and sat cradling his glass of pisco.

"I'm only saying what you've already learned on your trip here. This is the End of the World. No civilized person can stand it for long. None of them can understand it. The wind, the desolation, the constant clouds and drizzle, the cold and the forbidding sea. Others have come here looking to do what you want to do, and they all leave. The build their tourist hotels on the Chilean side, or down on the Straits, not on this forbidden land."

The fish was like butter. The potatoes too. The greens seemed to be some kind of seaweed. There were little dumplings made of quinoa flour. The girl brought a loaf of just-baked bread. The food seemed to clear Caroline's mind and brought back her composure.

"Well, Alex, I'll leave that up to corporate. That's not my decision. My job is to arrange for the land transfers. But I assure you, EcoVentures has no intention of cheating anyone or impinging on their freedom or customs. We don't work like that. As long as the contracts are valid..."

"Oh, they're valid. For you. For your lawyers. I give you my word."

Herrera nodded dumbly. He looked miserable and thoroughly drunk, sitting and cradling his drink and ignoring the food. Alex—Alejandro—seemed to be enjoying the lawyer's drunkenness as he ate.

"Senor Herrera tells me you're a shaman?" Caroline asked casually.

He didn't skip a beat. "An osheina, yes. I've been given that gift."

They continued to eat in silence. Carline asked: "What does that mean? Do you mind me asking? I don't mean to pry."

Alex leaned back and smiled. "Not at all, but I don't think you'd understand. A shaman is a person who has the gift of traveling back and forth between this world and the world of spirits. I'm able to do that, and bring my people messages from that other world, or carry messages from them to it."

He smiles at her conspiratorially, daring her to doubt him. "I was chosen by the wind when I was a boy of twelve. And now the wind speaks to me. Other things speak to me as well, but the wind is my spirit. It shows me things. It embraces me. Sometimes it obeys me, or gives me gifts, or wisdom. It gives me power."

He laughed softly. "This is a poor and barren land, cold and inhospitable. But if you know how to look, it's alive; teeming with life. The sky, the clouds, the sea, the wind, even the stones. It's only a matter of seeing and hearing."

Caroline sat back and pushed her plate away, ashamed at how much she'd eaten. Alex opened a second bottle and filled her glass again.

"Is that why you said no one will come down here? Did the wind tell you that?"

"The wind will tell everyone that if they come to visit. He doesn't want people down here. Not those kinds of people anyhow."

"The wind's a male?"

He nodded. "The wind and the sky are male; the rocks, the rain. The land and the sea are female. The clouds, the plants, the night."

"You believe all that"

"It's not a matter of believing. It's a matter of accepting."

Alex raised a finger and one of his bodyguards appeared and gave him a cigarette, which he lit from a candle. It was the last thing Caroline had expected to see down here, a man relaxing after dinner with a smoke. She stared.

Seeing her surprise, he inhaled and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. Despite the constant drafts and the wind whistling through the chinks in the wall, the plume rose straight and true, finally disappearing into the dark. At the same time the fireplace moaned again.

Alex looked at her. Did she detect a certain smugness?

On impulse, Caroline reached into her pocket and pulled out the piece of scrimshaw. "All right, Alex. You're a shaman. Tell me what this is."

She put Senor Amante on the table, and the smugness left his face. He looked at it fondly, the firelight reflecting in his eyes in the same way that the piece of ivory gleamed. For a moment she thought it might still be wet from her own secretions, but no. It was just the thing's natural glossiness.