such a manner of living is not uncommon among Talamasca members. Frequently they divide their time between the Motherhouse and a private family home. I had and still do have a home in the Cotswolds in England. But it is not a good sign when a Member absents herself from the Order for long periods of time. In Merrick's case it was particularly disturbing due to her frequent and cryptic mentions of her dreams.
During the fall of that fateful year, her twenty-fifth, Merrick wrote to me about a journey to the cave. Let me continue with my reconstruction here of her words:
'David, I no longer sleep through the night without a dream of my Great-Oncle Vervain. Yet less and less am I able to recall the substance of these dreams. I know only that he wants me to return to the cave I visited in Central America when I was a child. David, I must do this. Nothing can prevent it. The dreams have become a form of obsession, and I ask that you not bombard me with logical objections to what you know I must do.'
She went on to talk about her treasure.
I have been through all of the so-called Olmec treasures, and I know now they are not Olmec at all. In fact, I can't identify them, though I have every published book or catalog on antiquities in that part of the world. As for the destination itself, I have what I remember, and some writings by my Oncle Vervain, and the papers of Matthew Kemp, my beloved stepfather of years ago.
I want you to make this journey with me, though certainly we cannot attempt it without others. Please answer me as quickly as you can as to whether you are willing. If not, I will organize a party on my own.
Now, I was almost seventy years of age when I received this letter, and her words presented quite a challenge to me, and one which I didn't welcome at all. Though I longed for the jungles, longed for the experience, I was quite concerned that it was beyond my ability to make such a trip.
Merrick went on to explain that she had spent many hours going through the artifacts retrieved on her girlhood journey.
'They are indeed older,' she wrote, 'than those objects which archaeologists call Olmec, though they undoubtedly share many common traits with that civilization and would be called Olmec-oid due to their style. Elements we might call Asian or Chinese proliferate in these artifacts, and then there is the matter of the alien cave-paintings which Matthew managed to photograph as best he could. I must investigate these things personally. I must try to arrive at some conclusion regarding the involvement of my Oncle Vervain in this part of the world.'
I called her that night from London.
'Look, I'm entirely too old to go off into that jungle,' I said, 'if it's even still there. You know they're cutting down the rain forests. It might be farmland by now. Besides, I'd slow you down no matter what the terrain.'
'I want you to come with me,' she said softly, coaxingly. 'David, please do this. We can move at your pace, and when it comes time to make the climb in the waterfall, I can do that part alone.
'David, you were in the jungles of the Amazon years ago. You know this sort of experience. Imagine us now with every microchip convenience. Cameras, flashlights, camping equipment; we'll have every luxury. David, come with me. You can remain in the village if you like. I'll go on to the waterfall alone. With a modem four-wheel drive vehicle, it will be nothing at all.'
Well it wasn't nothing at all.
A week later I arrived in New Orleans, determined to argue her out of the excursion. I was driven directly to the Motherhouse, a little disturbed that neither Aaron nor Merrick had come to meet my plane.
12
AARON GREETED ME at the door.
'Merrick's at her house in New Orleans. The caretaker says she's been drinking. She will not talk to him. I've called every hour since morning. The phone simply rings and rings.'
'Why didn't you tell me this was happening?' I demanded. I was deeply concerned.
'Why? So you'd worry about it all the way across the Atlantic? I knew you were coming. I know you're the only one who can reason with her when she's in this state.'
'Whatever in the world makes you think so?' I argued. But it was true. Sometimes I could talk Merrick into ending her binges. But not always.
Whatever the case, I bathed, changed clothes, as the early winter weather was unseasonably warm, and set out in a drowsy evening shower, with the car and driver, for Merrick's house.
It was dark when I got there, but even so, I could see that the neighborhood had deteriorated beyond my wildest speculation. It seemed as if a war had been lost in the district, and the survivors had no choice but to live among hopeless wooden ruins tumbling down into the eternal giant weeds. Here and there was a well-kept shotgun house with a bright coat of paint and some gingerbread trim beneath its roof. But dim lights shone through heavily barred windows. Abandoned cottages were being dismantled by the rampant greenery. The area was derelict and obviously dangerous as well.
It seemed to me that I could sense people prowling about in the darkness. I detested the feeling of fear which had been so uncommon in me in my youth. Old age had taught me to respect danger. As I said, I hated it. I remember hating the thought that I wouldn't ever be able to accompany Merrick on this insane journey to the Central American jungles, and I'd be humiliated as the result.
At last the car stopped at Merrick's house.
The lovely old raised cottage, painted a fresh shade of tropical pink with white trim, appeared rather wonderful behind the high iron picket fence. The new brick walls were thick and very high as they embraced the property on either side. A bank of densely flowering oleander behind the iron pickets shielded the house somewhat from the squalor of the street. As the caretaker greeted me, and brought me up the front steps, I saw that Merrick's long windows were well barred I
also, in spite of their white lace curtains and shades, and that lights were on throughout the house. The porch was clean; the old square pillars were solid; the leaded glass sparkled within the twin windows of the polished double doors. A wave of remembrance passed over me, nevertheless.
'She won't answer the bell, Sir,' said the caretaker, a man I scarcely noticed in my haste. 'But the door's unlocked for you. I took her some supper at five o'clock.'
'She asked for her supper?' I inquired.
'No, Sir, she never said anything. But she ate the food. I picked up the dishes at six.' I opened the door and found myself in the comfortable air-cooled front hall. I saw at once that the old parlor and dining room to my right had been splendidly refurnished with rather bright Chinese carpets. A modem sheen covered the old furniture. The old mirrors above the white marble mantels were as dark as they had ever been. To my left lay the front bedroom; Great Nananne's bed was dressed with an ivory white canopy and a counterpane of heavy crocheted lace.
In a polished wooden rocking chair before the bed, facing the front windows, sat Merrick, a wobbling light easily illuminating her thoughtful face.
There was a bottle of Flor de Cana rum on the little candlestand table beside her. She lifted the glass to her lips, drank from it, and then sat back, continuing to stare off as if she didn't know that I was there.
I stopped at the threshold.
'Darling,' I said, 'aren't you going to offer me a drink?'
Without so much as turning her head, she smiled.
'You never liked straight rum, David,' she said softly. 'You're a Scotch man like my old stepfather, Matthew. It's in the dining room. How about some Highland Macallan? Twenty-five years old. That good enough for my beloved Superior General?'
'I should say so, gracious lady,' 1 replied. 'But never mind that just now. May I step into your boudoir?' She uttered a small pretty laugh. 'Sure, David,' she said, 'come on in.' I was startled as soon as I looked to my left. A large marble altar had been erected between the two front windows, and I saw there the old multitude of sizable plaster saints. The Virgin Mary wore her crown and the vestments of Mount Carmel, holding the radiant Baby Jesus beneath her innocent smile.
Some elements had been added. I realized they were the Three Magi of Christian scripture and lore. The altar was no Christmas creche, you understand. The Magi or Wise Men had merely been included in a large panoply of sacred figures, more or less on their own terms.
I spied several of the mysterious jade idols among the saints, including one very mean little idol which held its scepter quite ready for duty or attack.
