As the jet began to approach the airport, Yuri could see the ships leaving their tiny wake on the ocean below. He was thinking about the status of the investigation. He had traveled thousands of miles to a hundred different places, without a clear objective. Then he remembered Igor. If Igor had only told him from the beginning that they had been expecting him for months, everything would have changed.

Or maybe nothing would have changed. Anyway, what had prevented Yuri from asking Igor something he had suspected for a moment? At one point Yuri felt that he knew ahead of time what Igor was going to tell him about the incident with the lama; at one moment he thought he knew that they had been expecting him in India for several months. Yet he never brought himself to asking Igor about these things. Yuri smiled, as he remembered his good friend. It was quite true, Igor was much more than just a simple "tourist guide."

Now he began to see the city of Buenos Aires below. He began a chain of free associations: "Latin America, Argentina, Buenos Aires. Cows, soccer, tango, Che Guevara." He thought about the state of affairs in this remote location from the point of view of his research. Religion and state were practically one and the same here. However, some twenty-five years ago some enraged mobs had set churches on fire. Later on, an astrologer almost took over the government. In the northern part of the country, people still practiced confused remnants of the Inca tradition. Advancing from the East, one could see Afro-Brazilian rites, like Macumba, Umbanda and Candomble. On the western borders with Chile, UFO sightings were one of the most frequent in the world. Perhaps this was a small model of a cultural crossroad.

However, it would be a boring place; there were hardly any interesting spiritual groups mentioned in Grigori’s book. His schedule was already planned: Santiago, Chile and La Paz. On the way back to Russia he would stop in Rio de Janeiro. And now he was arriving in Buenos Aires, just a stop along the way, and above all a place to make contact with his embassy.

The landing gear began to descend as songs in the Spanish language played over the loudspeakers.

The airplane tires hit the landing field and the vessel rebounded two or three times. "Blow by blow, and verse by verse," repeated Yuri to himself. They had landed in Buenos Aires.

The standard procedures he knew so well were repeated once again. The limousine that read "Soiuds of Soviestskij Sotsialistichieskij Riespublik" and drove him to the embassy. The reception by Galina, the female equivalent of Igor. Yuri would not need her company because he was quickly moving on to another country. Galina explained that he might have to change his route, because there were some diplomatic problems in the horizon. Yuri disagreed, arguing that he was not on a political mission, but on a scientific endeavor, and that his diplomatic passport and the help he could obtain from the embassy were merely a way of making his job easier. He could figure out what to do as time went on. What was clear to him is that he must leave Buenos Aires at once. Galina admitted to Yuri that they had been receiving telexes for five months advising them of his arrival. She added that a memorandum with some "prophecies" was delivered at this very embassy a short time before the telexes. A very respectable gentleman had delivered the memorandum, but could not later be found when Moscow had ordered the embassy to remain in contact. Galina, knowing Yuri's professional background, had assumed that there was a connection between the two events.

From that very moment, Yuri's sense of urgency intensified, but he tried to calm himself and organize his thoughts. He would take a train to some town near the border with Chile. He knew for certain that he must reach the Andes. Galina made the appropriate arrangements and left Yuri that evening at the train station.

He had journeyed for almost a thousand miles over a flat and empty plain where the land merges with the sky. A few towns would appear now and again. And everywhere they went he would see cows, just like India. The landscape then began to change, becoming harsh, as the train approached its destiny. Through the left window, Yuri could see a white line which became larger as time went on. By mid-morning, he could clearly see the outline of the Andes. He could now recognize three peaks: the Tupungato, the Plata, and the Aconcagua. The "rooftop of the Occident" was rising against a violently blue sky, waiting for him. The train stopped and Yuri slowly walked down the little ladder. There were very few people at the station. A signed told Yuri where he was now: "MEN - DO - ZA." From there he would go straight into the Andes to some town near the Chilean border. The penetrating cold reminded him of his far-away Moscow.

"Where are you going, sir?" asked a cab driver who was resting against the car door.

"To a hotel. It has to be one that is close to the business center."

"OK. The Hotel Aconcagua."

They left. On the way Yuri was watching the squatty, provincial buildings pass by when something pierced his eyes. He turned his head and looked out of the rear window, but could no longer see what had triggered his attention. Then a red light forced the automobile to a stop, and Yuri saw, through the right window of the vehicle, an equilateral triangle inside of a circle painted on a wall. It had been painted quickly, as if by someone wishing to avoid detection.

"What is that?" asked Yuri.

The cab driver looked at the sign and shrugged his shoulders, without bothering to answer.

"Why do you stop at the red light?" asked Yuri, trying to strike up a conversation.

"What? You want me to get a fine?"

Yuri now remembered that, unlike the USSR, other countries interpreted red as an order to stop, and green as a signal to go ahead. The conversation ended abruptly. They were now at the hotel. Nevertheless, the traveler felt that something was moving inside of him. It seemed to him that the possibilities of making contact were improving. But, contact with what? He didn't really know. The symbol was very similar to the one inscribed in the medallion given to him by Tensing, but it was most unlikely to find Tibetans living in this area. That is, unless the Lama had been able to obtain permission for some of his refugees to settle there. Anyway, that symbol might be somewhat common around the world. It could be the logo for a commercial product, for a club, or a political party. Yuri needed to find out.

An hour later, the professor was walking through the downtown area of that small town. He entered into a travel agency by the name of Alfa. Nobody was there. As Yuri was about to walk away, a very large man entered very slowly and asked:

"What do you want?"

"I want to know how to get to Santiago, Chile.

"You can get there by airplane, train, or van. I don't know if the vans are going to be of any use, though. When it snows too much they close the land route." The man paused for a moment, and then asked, "Sir, are you a foreigner?"

"Yes, I am."

"In that case, you will have to fill out a form."

"Could you provide me with some maps of the areas I will be traveling through?" Yuri asked.

"Well, if you go to the Tourism Office they will tell you all you need to know." Having said this, the large man turned around slowly and disappeared.

The professor left the agency and found the Tourism Office only a few yards away. A young woman gave him some crude maps which had been designed for tourists.

Yuri took advantage of the young woman's pleasant attitude, and decided to ask her a few questions.

"Are there any agricultural colonies organized by foreigners in the surrounding areas?"

"Yes, there are some Japanese colonies, they are dedicated to growing flowers."

"Are there any Tibetan colonies?"

"Well, if you walk over to the newspaper office, they can explain all that sort of thing. They are well informed about everything that goes on in Mendoza."

The logic was rudimentary, but Yuri had to admit that it was common sense. He went to the "Diario" and asked one of the employees for someone who was authorized to give information. The employee asked that Yuri identify himself, so Yuri brought out his passport and explained that he was Russian. Several minutes later, the director of the newspaper, acting reverently, asked Yuri to come into his office.

"So we have the pleasure of receiving a Russian diplomat!" the director exclaimed. "I'm sure that you have arrived to visit our exporters of wine." As he was speaking, the director pressed a button. "We also export dried fruit and onions of the very best quality. The United States is one of the best buyers of our melons!"

An employee came into the room, interrupting the conversation.

"Prepare an interview! Tell the photographers to come here!" the director yelled at his employee. The employee rushed out of the room. The newspaper director continued to explain:.

"We also produce excellent garlic..."

"Excuse me," said Yuri, "but I would prefer to remain anonymous."

The director coughed. He pushed the button once again and forced a smile.

"I see, I understand. You first wish to negotiate with the local businessmen."

"Precisely," said Yuri. "For example, I want to meet the people in the agricultural colonies."

"Sure, sure, the Japanese. We also export flowers."

"And the Tibetans?"

The director became quiet, but the door opened suddenly and a swarm of journalists galloped into the room. The director made a gesture and all of them swarmed out.

"There are no Tibetans here!"

"But I've seen their symbols painted on the walls. Circles with triangles inside of them."

The director's mouth opened, and he began to frown.

"Tibetans, my foot! Those are a bunch of clowns that are always dirtying the walls of this city, one of the cleanest cities in the world!"

Unexplainably, the director had lost his composure. His face was red. He loosed his tie and breathed very deeply.

"Tibetans! They are just a few nuts that claim to follow some Doctrine." The man was furious. "They are against religion and against decency. It is a good thing that some of them have been killed already, and some of them have been exiled from this country. I think it would be best to kill them all!"

Yuri felt a chill travel up his spine. A hurricane of images was sweeping through his mind. A kaleidoscope where Jose Fuentes, Tensing, and the young men in Poona suddenly appeared. Then he saw Grigori on top of Mount Ararat, searching for something that he could not find, as Kali, the goddess, began her sinister dance. Yuri felt everything was whirling as he traveled through a tunnel at great speed.

"The products that we export are of the finest quality!" roared the newspaper director.

Yuri felt as though someone had yanked him from a cloud. There, in front of him, was some petty bourgeoisie thundering behind his small, provincial desk. This little man, located 33 degrees south of the equator and 69 degrees west of Greenwich, was defending the importance of exporting onions. He insisted that "a few nuts" should not deviate an important conversation about garlic and dried fruit. He was assured that the Soviet Ministry of Defense, and geniuses like Karpov and Nietzsky did not know what they were talking about. He was convinced that exporting melons to the United States would detain the forthcoming psycho-social explosion.

"Who can tell me anything about the followers of this Doctrine?" Yuri suddenly demanded, violently.

The newspaper director moved his face away as if he had just been slapped. Then he nearly closed his eyes, pretending to make an effort to remember, and answered in a feeble voice:

"Perhaps a reporter that worked here a few years ago. He now works for the Alfa Travel Agency. He interviewed these people once, and was fired."

Yuri left the newspaper offices in a hurry. He knew now that the large man was waiting for him and that the symbols painted on the walls were not aimed at the newspaper director. Maybe they were like a lighthouse beam, a signal that goes on from time to time for the benefit of people who are looking out for them. He wondered if these signals had oriented other seekers before him.

When Yuri arrived at the travel agency, the large man was sitting at a typewriter.

"I'm sorry to bother you again," Yuri apologized, "but I need to speak with someone who follows the Doctrine."

The man stopped typing and looked at Yuri from behind the counter, nodding his head negatively.

Then he asked, "What doctrine?"

The professor produced the medallion and showed it to the travel agent, who examined it briefly, and replied with disdain. "It might be a good stone. If you want, I'll send you to an old man that knows a lot about these things. If he says it's a good stone, it is. What do you think?"

Yuri agreed.

"Did you find your maps," asked the travel agent.

"Yes, I have them here."

"Good. Throw them away, they are useless," he added with disgust. "Now listen to me. You must travel to a small town, or a bunch of houses, anyway. The place is called 'Punta de Vacas.' It is near the Chilean border. A van leaves every day at six o'clock and arrives at noon. You need to take some mountain clothing with you. The people there have gone mad because the energy is so intense, but don't worry about that."

The man paused for a long time while Yuri busily took notes.

"Ask for Don Vergara," he continued. "If you're lucky, you will find him lassoing some cattle. When you find him, show him this stone and tell him that you come from very far, because he knows a lot about these things..."

The travel agent stopped in mid-sentence and ended the conversation with an air of solemnity. "Now you must leave me alone; I have to finish a travel itinerary for my clients."

The man turned around and sat down at the typewriter, without even waiting for a reply.

"I am so thankful," said Yuri.

The travel agent didn't bother answering back. Yuri left at once to look for the bus terminal and made arrangements for the following day. He also had to find where to purchase mountain clothing. He still did not what to do about the last problem. The travel agent had warned him that "the people there have gone mad because the energy is so intense, but don't worry about that."

Very well, Yuri decided not to worry.

"Punta de Vacas!" the driver of the van yelled out, and stopped the vehicle.

Yuri got out of the van. The driver threw him the knapsack.

"Good luck!" he yelled again, then darted off at great speed with the fifteen other passengers that were continuing to Santiago.

Tokarev was completely alone on this dirt road. He turned around completely. He was inside of a huge depression within the mountain chain, completely surrounded by snowy peaks. A few yards away he saw a building with a sign identifying the school house. A little further on, some type of military garrison. To his right was a group of wooden houses -- they appeared to belong to the employees of the railroad. Finally, a few more ancient-looking shacks and the town's only guest house. With the exception of the wind beating against his face and whistling through the school's rooftop, everything appeared to be paralyzed. Yuri walked a few steps and knocked on the school building's door. He waited for a while, then knocked again. This time a woman of indefinite age appeared immediately.

"Good day," said Yuri, "I am looking for Don Vergara."

The woman looked at him from top to bottom, and then from bottom to top.

"Come in, come in," she then said in a friendly voice. "Why don't you come in and have a mate. It is cold outside."

Yuri went inside. The woman closed the door and led him into a run-down room. There was a smell of burning kerosene. Everything was a mess. Water was boiling inside of an aluminum container that rested on the stove. The woman made a gesture, and Yuri put down his knapsack and sat down on the dilapidated bed.

"I am Doña Juanita," she explained. "I am the teacher here in Punta de Vacas. The school is closed down for the winter, but I live here the year through."

The school teacher was busy with a small gourd holding a metal tube. She filled the gourd with boiling water, placed the tube against her lips and began to swallow.

"You are a gringo, aren't you?" she asked, with the tube still in her mouth.

"No, I am a Russian," Yuri protested.

"Oh, Russia! Listen, Don Vergara must be nearby. Missus Pepa can tell you where he is exactly." She filled the gourd once again with boiling water and handed it to Yuri. "Here, drink some mate, but be careful with the metal. If you're a gringo, you will burn your mouth."

Yuri took a swallow and burned his mouth. Then he tried again. The bitter, boiling liquid gurgled down his throat. Doña Juanita was observing him, sitting on a chair. Yuri continued to swallow, trying to act non-chalant, until he heard a sound that indicated he had emptied the small gourd.

Someone knocked violently at the front door. Doña Juanita bolted out of her chair and ran towards the front. The door was forced open and Yuri left the room, still holding the gourd of yerba mate in his hand.

"I'm going to smack you!" yelled the man who had just entered, running over to the school teacher. However, she ran toward Yuri and hid behind him.

"I'm going to knock you too!" he yelled at Yuri. "You think I didn't see you coming into the school?"

"Belisario!" pleaded Juanita, "Belisario, he is looking for Don Vergara, that's all!"

"Sure, sure, and you are probably hiding him between the sheets. I know what is going on..." he growled, looking at Yuri fiercely. "I don't know who you are, but you better vanish into smoke, or I'm going to let you have it!"

Yuri walked back into the room and picked up his knapsack. He threw it over his left shoulder and got ready to leave that place. Belisario moved back out of Yuri's path, retreated, then left the school building in a hurry. Yuri tried to regain his wits, and was ready to say good-bye, but the school teacher was now on her knees with both of her hands clasped as she whispered:

"I give thanks to the forty martyrs that Belisario did not create scene with me or with the gringo."

Then she stood up, and acting as if nothing had happened, turned to Yuri:

"Did you like your mate?"

The Russian professor nodded. Then he asked how to find Missus Pepa. He left immediately for Pepa's shack.

When he arrived, another woman invited him to come in. Missus Pepa was sitting on a table. There was a man dressed just like Belisario who was asking for advise.

"I want to know if I will be relocated soon?" asked the railroad worker.

Everything became silent, until a voice appeared to fill the room.

"Yeeesss..." the voice resounded eerily across the room.

"You see," said Missus Pepa, "the soul of the dead man has answered. Leave me a thousand pesos."

The railroad man was visibly impressed. He handed over a bill, and the old woman stuffed it inside of a box. The railroad man then greeted the other three customers crowded inside, and left.

"OK, it's your turn," said Missus Pepa to Yuri.

Yuri sat down on the chair and asked, "Where can I find Don Vergara?"

"Yeeesss..." answered the eerie voice.

Yuri had been able to pinpoint where the mysterious voice was coming from, so he kicked the rug underneath the table with his heavy mountain boot. The rug began to shake and the table seemed to float in mid-air. The woman who had received Yuri screamed and ran out of the shack. Finally, the table was turned over, the rug lifted completely, and a man began to climb out of a hiding place beneath the floor. He was covered with dirt and was holding a bottle of cheap liquor in his hand.

"You stupid old man!" yelled Missus Pepa. "You are drunk again! Look at what you have done!"

Yuri decided to leave the shack in order to avoid further complications. As he was leaving, he saw several people running toward the houses owned by the railroad workers. Apparently they were running towards one of them in particular, for he could now see a man atop the roof, gesturing wildly. As he arrived at the scene, several newcomers pushed him from behind. They were also rushing here to watch the show. The man standing on the roof was threatening someone:

"Lolita Barcelo, if you don't marry me, I'll jump!"

The plump Lolita had her arms wrapped around her father's neck.

"Papa, Papa," she whimpered, miserably.

"Lolita..." the man threatened again.

He could not continue with his pleading. A zinc plate where he was standing slid away and he lost his balance. The crowd screamed wildly. The man attempting suicide fell, but his pants were caught by a beam projecting from the roof. He was now swinging in the air, suspended by his trousers. Mr. Barcelo was barking out instructions:

"Get a ladder! We have to get him down from there!" Nevertheless, Barcelo himself did not move an inch. He merely stood there, shouting orders, caressing his long, thin Ho-Chi-Mihn beard.

The man threatening suicide was finally able to grab onto the roof and unfasten his trousers. Slowly, he was able to climb down the wall. When he was finally beyond danger, Lolita ran over to him and kissed him. The crowd began to laugh and to applaud, while Mr. Barcelo continued to caress his beard.

Yuri stopped to think about his situation. For more than an hour he had been going from one ridiculous spectacle to the next, but was not getting any closer to his goal.

"Is Don Vergara here somewhere?" he yelled out at the crowd.

"He is at the slaughterhouse!" responded the crowd in chorus, as they pointed in the same direction.

Yuri walked about a block to a makeshift yard. As he approached, he became aware of a sticky smell. A large man was delivering a hard blow to the back of the skull of a large, black bull. The bull fell down, with its head shattered. The large man took a knife and cut its throat. A stream of blood began to flow in bursts. The man brought over a bowl that was soon overflowing with bright, red liquid. Because the air was cold, a thick cloud of vapor was rising from the blood that had spilled on the ground and from the bowl.

"This is good for your health!" exclaimed the butcher, and began to drink the blood.

Two young men approached the bull and began to remove the hide. They were working quickly, as if they did this every day. There was no doubt that Yuri had found the slaughterhouse.

"Good day," said Yuri, "is Don Vergara here?"

"At your service," said an old man, and began to approach Yuri from the sides of the yard.

The small man was walking slowly. He was about sixty years old. His dark skin, tanned by the snow and the winds, indicated a hard life. He was walking without any hurry. "Slanted eyes, a sharp nose, and thin, slightly mocking lips," said Yuri to himself. His hair must have been black, but could not be seen because of the woolen cap that covered his head and ears. He was covered in a black poncho, and was moving a leather rope to and fro as he approached the professor. He looked into Yuri's eyes deeply, and without hurry.

"Very well, what do you want?" murmured the old man, lifting his chin.

"They told me that you are a great expert in stones, and I want to know if this one that I have with me is valuable," said Yuri, showing him the medallion.

The old man grabbed it with his left hand and began to caress it slowly.

"It's a good stone," he replied, and gave it back to Yuri. Then he turned around and continued on his way.

At that instant, Yuri remembered the words of Tensing: "Give it to the guardian if you want to see Mount Meru."

"Don Vergara!" he yelled out.

The old man stopped with irritation. Yuri ran up to him and offered him the medallion.

"If it is a good stone, then it is for you."

Don Vergara remained motionless for a while, then he stretched out his hand and placed the medallion inside his poncho.

"That's different," he whispered. "Come with me to my hut."

The hut was square, about 12 feet on each side. The walls were made of flagstones resting against each other, allowing the wind to whistle through. The roof was made of zinc; the hut had a dirt floor. There were no windows, only a wooden door that could be bolted from both the inside and the outside to prevent the wind from blowing it away. A wooden apple box was used as a night stand. A lantern and an aluminum can rested on top. A few clothes were hanging from stakes sticking through the flagstones. One table, two chars, and a mattress resting over a wire frame: this was the only furniture.

"I'm leaving for the Aconcagua tomorrow. I have to herd in some cattle that has wandered over to the Horcones lake. If you want to come, I'll prepare a mule for you. Here the sun comes up at ten o'clock, and goes down by four in the afternoon. You better bring some food because you are not going to like the guanaco jerky. Gringos get sick when they eat guanaco.

"I am not a gringo, I am Russian," Yuri insisted.

"The guanaco doesn't care, it's the same thing." The old man began to take off his poncho, then added, "You better run down to the guest house to see if you can get a room."

Yuri wanted to know more. He wanted to keep Don Vergara talking.

"Don Vergara," Yuri asked, "I think this whole town is crazy. How can this be?"

"Six hours of sun, snow, wind, and nothing more. People remember about their things, and since there is nothing here, they imagine all the rest."

It seemed to the professor that he was listening to Karpov's explanations about the chamber of sensory suppression.

Yuri remembered the travel agent and continued to insist, "You don't think that it is because there is so much energy in this place?"

"The energy is in the gourd," said Don Vergara, smiling, pointing to his head. "Go on, now, you better go and get some lodging."

      | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |