Читать книгу Cave of Little Faces - Aída Besançon Spencer - Страница 15

“You mean to tell me there’s a load of magnetic rock so big under this particular little hill that it can pull a huge truck or car backwards up a mountain?” demanded Basil.

“That is exactly what I am telling you, Señor.”

“That’s amazing!” said Star.

“It is unique,” said the desk clerk at the hotel with a casino that they had selected, because, as Basil put it, “You don’t find a gold mine in a pig sty.” “I know of no place else in the entire world that has such a thing,” the clerk ruled with an interesting mix of helpfulness and haughtiness. Star sized him up: This was not a garrulous bonhomie kind of guy like Señor Feliz back in Descubierta, but he knew his stuff and was willing to play the host to the guests, even if they were tourists—a breed of people which he obviously did not personally care for, simply because they rarely respected such treasures of his homeland of which he was so proud.

So Star decided to respond appropriately, “Nowhere else?” she mused.

“And how come there’s no sign?” asked Basil.

“There was a sign once and a restaurant announcing the Polo Magnetico, but they fell into disuse. Everyone knows that it is there. We take small children to it to amuse them, but that is the extent of it.”

“It’s like the eighth wonder of the world!” exclaimed Star. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Nor will you,” said the desk clerk, and he turned away to answer a call on the hotel phone, for he had had drummed into him the universal reasoning of all innkeepers: these people have already paid; perhaps this is yet another customer who needs a place to stay.

Up in their well-appointed new room, Basil was already at work. “Magnetic World!” he tried, looking at Star.

She glared back at him with an eye more critical than he had wished. “Bo, it’s on a hill. A hill with a steep incline with neither side usable. A hill on a public highway. You think they’re gonna let you set up shop on a hillside road?”

Even he could not deny she was right. “What a missed opportunity,” he said glumly.

But Star was thinking. “Not necessarily. I’m getting an idea.”

Basil grabbed hold of the tail of his fleeting hope. “Whatcha got, honey?”

“I’m thinking about some jewelry I saw a couple of years ago.”

“Jewelry?”

“Yeah. Something about magnetic hemma-something. It was like ankle bracelets or something. I can’t remember it exactly. But, it claimed to have some kind of healthy stuff radiating out of it—you know, like healing properties. I don’t remember exactly, but it was claiming it was good for headaches and hypertension, and I don’t know what all.”

“Wow, you’re thinking about some kind of snake oil sales thing,” enthused Basil, getting into the swing of things. “But, wait a second,” he paused. “How exactly are we gonna mine this stuff? Remember, it’s under a public road on the side of a steep hill. . . .”

“Who says we’re gonna mine it? We can buy metal bracelets or pendants or earrings wholesale from anywhere and tell the suckers we got ’em from the hill.”

“That’s right, we could! So, what are you thinking, set up a little shop nearby and sell ’em? You don’t think the locals would see through this?”

“Right now, I’m just thinking,” said Star. “We gotta find the angle to it.”

“That’s my girl!” said Basil, proudly.

That encouragement was all she needed. The next morning at a supermarket in town, standing next to the magazine rack at the checkout where they had bought a meager amount of lunch supplies (and surreptitiously slipped a few other items into their pockets or big tote bag), it suddenly came to her almost completely full blown.

She was glancing at a woman’s magazine while she waited for the checker, who was leisurely servicing a friend buying a basketload of baby items, when she flipped a page and discovered a horoscope in the back. Automatically, she searched for Virgo and translated that “something big was about to happen to you, so keep your eyes open.”

“Horoscopes, new agey stuff—magnetic jewelry!” she cried, and then, “I got it!” The two women looked at her and then the clerk picked up her speed checking out the baby food jars. Basil, who was standing there holding some ham and cheese and bread and sodas and wondering if there was still enough room for one of these to disappear in his pants pocket, leaped an inch into the air and almost dropped everything.

“You got what?”

“The angle!”

“Wow! Really?”

“You bet!”

Out on a bench at the local central park, as they sat with the food between them, awkwardly brushing off flies while trying to cram some ham and cheese into little white rolls, she unfolded the plan before him. “Something new-agey,” she said.

“New-agey?”

“Yup.”

“That’s not a little passé?”

“Nope.”

“You sure?”

“They got it in the women’s magazines, so it’s still hot enough.”

“Okay,” said Basil, knowing this was turf he did not ordinarily trek. “So, what’s the angle? How’s it work?”

“We find a cheap little place somewhere nearby we can renovate.”

“We got to have a partner for that, because you know we’re broke,” cautioned Basil.

“Of course,” said Star. “That goes without saying. Some place people can stay. The angle is the healing power of the pole—see?”

“It’s got healing power?”

“It does now!”

“Oh, right!”

“Then we come up with a name and a slogan.”

“Like the ‘magnetites?’”

Star glared at him. “No!”

“Okay,” said Basil, “the Magnetic Healers, uhh, the Healers of no—no—something to do with the pole . . .”

“The Polarians!” cried Star.

“The Polarians! Oh, that’s good! That’s really good!” said Basil, gazing at her proudly. “I really, really like it.”

“Make it like a quasi-religion.”

“Yeah, yeah—like people could orient their lives around it.”

“Or with it!”

“Of course! We could come up with a slogan like ‘May the Pole orient you!’”

They both broke up with laughter.

“This is great!” said Basil. “These kinds of religions are popping up all the time. You can’t lose. It’s better than a real estate scam—it’s like a heavenly real estate thing. Who’s to say if you’re right or wrong? I mean, look at all those motivational speakers. What sounds like a load of positive thinking proverbs gets a new twist and suddenly they’re speaking at convention centers and making money hand over fist. We could even write a book: How the Pole Oriented My Life, by Basil and Star Heitz.”

“Who needs a book? You commit yourself to too much in a book. It takes too long to write. You use our real names? Do you remember how many people are looking for us?”

“Right, no book.”

“What we need is some capital.”

“That’s right and to develop the angle.”

“But above all,” said Star, “we got to find a sponsor.”

And that was the moment Ismael Balenzuela, scion of ancient Spain, rose from a first-class seat on an Iberian Airlines flight from Madrid to Santo Domingo and strode regally down the ramp to customs. This was, in fact, his first time in La Republica Dominicana, but absolutely no one watching him would have guessed. As he entered, he sized up the tourist card situation and was among the first in line. He signaled to a porter and had his bags—first-class bags so they came out at once—picked up and carted to customs. He bantered lightly with the female checking his tags, smiled with a self-confident air at the gentleman at the checking booth, and paused at the first set of rental car booths. Within an hour, with a marked map, he was on the road.

Delighted to see an announcement for Valenzuela gasoline just outside of Santo Domingo, he counted it as a sign of inevitable progress as well as an omen: the natural world and its dead denizens fueling the world of today and tomorrow that Man (he always used the exclusive term) had created.

As he drove, he gazed with a proprietorial air at everything around him. It was poor, yes, he expected that. But something was stirring deep within him. Some kind of inherited memory, he decided. He had learned about the Tainos and how they were all exterminated by his ancestors, though he laid as much blame on the Italian Cristóbol Colón as upon the soldiers and adventuring third sons, as he was himself. Offered only a place—even if it was a vice presidency—in the family business, while his elder brothers were made president and chief executive officer respectively, he preferred to take a job with another, non-family-based development firm of worldwide resorts—one in which he could prove his worth and rise to the top. The assignment was Barahona and its environs on the western shore of La Republica Dominicana in the Caribbean. The company already was involved in the machinations going on in the Bahia de las Aguilas, and the other stiffly competitive struggles to develop the tip of the peninsula of Enriquillo and, to hedge its bets, it decided to put up something earlier at the entrance to the peninsula. Ismael’s job was to find the locale and set up an all-inclusive resort that would bring in the money to finance the other beach developments. How hard could this be? Confidence he had in fistfuls, born, as he was, with the sense of entitlement that comes with an ancient, moneyed family that saw itself as the heir of the great conquistadores.

All through the little towns in his several-hour trek to the west, he could not help feeling like a conqueror himself. He had resources at his disposal, a company that believed in him, and the heritage that, to his mind, made all the difference. He noted all the Taino names on the map and in the towns and knew that, by these same culpable ancestors, they had been exterminated and replaced by Africans. It was a shame, of course, but, he defended his forbearers by noting to himself that there is a price to progress—the weak must yield to the strong. It is the way of the natural world.

This was the confidence that he brought into Barahona and, after driving up and down, surveying the available establishments in town, to the very hotel and casino where the Heitzes were staying. He was, one might reason, a lot like a hornet diving into a spider’s web.

Basil and Star, lounging in the comfortable reception area, took his measure as he strode in. “Let’s spring for supper in the restaurant,” whispered Basil.

“Okay, but we’ve got to watch the spending,” warned Star.

“I think we got a live one here.”

That night, Star, sitting next to the maître d’s stand in the restaurant, beamed her smile at Balenzuela as he stepped into the room and swept his gaze around.

He spotted her, of course—how could he miss her? Balenzuela grinned back.

“Oh, good, another American!” she greeted him warmly.

“Actually, Madam, I am Spanish from Spain,” he replied in perfect English.

“Oh, I love Spain,” she cooed. “What a wonderful country. Please, we would be so honored if you would join us. My name is Star. This is my—uh—my brother, Basil.”

Basil’s eyes flicked at her for an instant, and then he rose courteously. “Yes, dear Star’s brother, Basil. At your service.”

“I am Ismael Rodrigo Balenzuela Cordoba from Cadiz in España.”

“We are so honored to share a table with you.”

“Thank you.” He sat down and a waiter set a place for him.

“Here on business, no doubt?” said Basil easily. “You are a man of obvious determination.”

Balanzuela swelled a bit and thought to himself that these are obviously people of great discernment. “Yes,” he said, “I am here on a development mission.”

“How wonderful,” said Star. “So are we.”

“You are?”

“Yes, we are. And what do you wish to develop?”

“A resort here in Barahona.”

“Ah,” said Basil, “a beautiful little city.”

“And you?” said Balenzuela courteously.

“Our work is of a more spiritual nature. We are here for the magnetic pole.”

“The magnetic pole? What is that?”

“It is the eighth wonder of the world,” Star assured him. “But no one here values it. We represent a new and deeply spiritual movement. We call ourselves the Polarians, after the mighty pole.”

“And what does the pole do?” asked Ismael Balenzuela, intrigued by this charming couple.

“Let us tell you all about it,” said Basil, warming up. “You see, when Columbus and his”—he paused a moment, studying Balenzuela intently, and then continued glibly—“his liberators came to this lovely land, seeking a new world of opportunity, they did not know that they were actually drawn here by a magnetic mountain, a pole as powerful as the North and South Pole. For us, it is the center of the universe.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” said Star, melting him with her eyes and nearly taking his hand. “You see the pole is powerful. It can literally move metal! One can stop one’s car and the magnetism will pull it backward up a hill and over into the valley below. You see, the mountain and the valley form two counterpoints—two poles, one active, one passive. This is the kind of reconciliation we are seeking in Polarism—to adjust the natural magnetism of our lives into a harmonious synchronicity ordered by the natural pull of the earth.”

“Yes,” tag-teamed Basil. “Just as the north and south poles orient the natural polarities of our world, the magnetic pole in Hispaniola orients the spiritual polarities that we possess within ourselves. The magnetic mountain takes the vehicles which are our lives and pulls them to its own rhythm.”

A waiter cleared his throat deferentially at Balenzuela’s elbow and asked if they were ready to order. Balenzuela glanced at the menu and looked up instantly. “Sea Bass,” he said, definitively.

Both Star and Basil went for salads, the cheapest things on the menu.

There was a pause and then Balenzuela looked at them loftily. “I am very sorry, but I have to be honest. This sounds to me like a load of rubbish.”

Both Basil and Star froze and stared back at him intensely, and then Star took a gamble. “Of course, it is,” she said. “But this is the kind of thing that pays—and pays big with the right customers. No one at all has cashed in on this. And we mean to do so.”

“And we’re looking for a partner,” added Basil.

There was a moment of crackling silence, and then Ismael Balenzuela laughed heartily. “And if anybody can pull this off and sell this nonsense to the spiritually confused, I think you two can.”

“Are you in?” asked Star.

“I’m interested. But, if I’m putting up the money, I’m not talking about 50/50.”

“We’re not greedy,” said Basil.

“But, we’re not stupid,” said Star. “If we’re taking the risks, we need a decent cut.”

“Like what?”

“60-40,” hazarded Basil.

“80-20,” said Balenzuela.

“Meet in the middle,” said Star, “70-30.”

“What is the outlay?”

“We need a place to bring folks to. A lot like a retreat center. Anywhere around the area will do.”

“I think I can do that, but it’s going to need advertising. Don’t these kind of things need a book to push them?” asked Balenzuela.

“I told you,” said Basil to Star and turned to Balenzuela, confiding, “I’ve already been drawing one up in my head: The Dynamics of Polarism, I’m thinking of calling it, but more a booklet than a book. Something we can bang out pretty fast and then distribute far and cheaply. We could make some kind of perk that every pilgrim to the magnetic pole receives the right to wear a small magnetic pin and to distribute copies of our ‘bible,’ which, of course, they buy from us at discount to them, but a good markup for us, and give away or resell at a profit. It makes them feel special, like a very spiritual state to be in.”

“I can see it would be,” smirked Balenzuela. “You know,” he mused, “we could charter a cruise ship wherever the idea took hold and bring it here to Barahona.”

“Sure,” said Star, “devotees would begin feeling more ‘polarized’ the minute they got off the ship.”

All three of them laughed uproariously.

“Do you imagine they’d think it’s a good thing to be polarized?” chuckled Balenzuela.

“Well,” said Basil, wiping his eyes, “Nobody wants to be ‘depolarized’ do they? It’s like being lost.”

“Yes,” jumped in Star. “Unlike most religions, we wouldn’t have a concept of sin and salvation, doncha see? Just polarization and depolarization. And all sorts of aids to help people get polarized.”

“Look,” said Basil, “We’re not idiots. We realize explaining it to someone means they could steal the idea and do it all themselves, but we’ve got the inspiration and the experience and the skills to pull this off.”

“I can see you do,” said Balenzuela. “I confess that did cross my mind, but it would cause problems with my company back home. This, however, if it were worked carefully would be an investment. With the right presentation, it would fly, or I could simply do it myself with my own money, but, if I invested, I would have to know it would really work.”

“Listen,” said Basil, “I envision a fine line of magnetic products people can place under their beds or in the boardrooms of companies to draw people into harmony with a leader’s vision. In fact, we could bang out another book, Winning through Personal Magnetism, about how to use it in business. . . .”

“Or in one’s personal life, like one’s love life,” said Star. “Oh, that’s good. I really like that.”

“Are you really brother and sister?” asked Balenzuela.

“No,” said Basil.

“I thought not.”

“So, are you in?” asked Star.

“I’m in,” said the daring, and also routinely quick to closure, heir of the conquistadores.

“You won’t regret this. It’s perfectly legal. We deliver what we promise,” said Basil.

“So, what’s the next step?”

“We need a dupe.”

“A dupe?”

“Yes, someone legitimate that we can sell on the idea and have them round up all their friends for us.”

“Ah, I see you really have done this before.”

“Many times,” said Basil, “but, I have to tell you, this is the best one yet.”

“So, where do we find this ‘dupe’?”

“Tonight, we’ll go shopping in the casino.”

“Isn’t it a little early to start?” asked Balenzuela. “We don’t have a center, any booklets, or magnetic bric-a-brac. We don’t really have anything yet.”

“It’s never too early to find a dupe,” said Star.