She bent to perform mouth-to-mouth, but Manuel grabbed her shoulder fiercely, pulling her back. "No," he said. "The hupia will cross over."
"Manuel, for God's sake-"
"No." He stared at her fiercely. "No. You do not understand these things."
Bobbie looked at the body on the ground and realized that it didn't matter; there was no possibility of resuscitating him. Manuel called for the men, who came back into the room and took the body away. Ed appeared, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, muttering, "I'm sure you did all you could," and then she watched as the men took the body away, back to the helicopter, and it lifted thunderously up into the sky.
"It is better," Manuel said.
Bobbie was thinking about the boy's hands. They had been covered with cuts and bruises, in the characteristic pattern of defense wounds. She was quite sure he had not died in a construction accident; he had been attacked, and he had held up his bands against his attacker. "Where is this island they've come from?" she asked.
"In the ocean. Perhaps a hundred, hundred and twenty miles offshore," "Pretty far for a resort," she said.
Manuel watched the helicopter. "I hope they never come back."
Well, she thought, at least she had pictures. But when she turned back to the table, she saw that her camera was gone.
The rain finally stopped later that night. Alone in the bedroom behind the clinic, Bobbie thumbed through her tattered paperback Spanish dictionary. The boy had said "raptor," and, despite Manuel's protests, she suspected it was a Spanish word. Sure enough, she found it in her dictionary. It meant "ravisher" or "abductor."
That gave her pause. The sense of the word was suspiciously close to the meaning of hupia. Of course she did not believe in the superstition. And no ghost had cut those hands. What had the boy been trying to tell her?
From the next room, she heard groans. One of the village women was in the first stage of labor, and Elena Morales, the local midwife, was attending her. Bobbie went into the clinic room and gestured to Elena to step outside for a moment.
"Elena…"
"Si, doctor?"
"Do you know what is a raptor?"
Elena was gray-haired and sixty, a strong woman with a practical, no-nonsense air. In the night, beneath the stars, she frowned and said, "Raptor?"
"Yes, You know this word?"
" Si." Elena nodded. "It means… a person who comes in the night and takes away a child."
"A kidnapper?"
"Yes."
"A hupia?"
Her whole manner changed. "Do not say this word, doctor."
"Why not?"
"Do not speak of hupia now," Elena said firmly, nodding her head toward the groans of the laboring woman. "It is not wise to say this word now.
"But does a raptor bite and cut his victims?"
"Bite and cut?" Elena said, puzzled. "No, doctor. Nothing like this. A raptor is a man who takes a new baby." She seemed irritated by the conversation, impatient to end it. Elena started back toward the clinic. "I will call to you when she is ready, doctor. I think one hour more, perhaps two."
Bobbie looked at the stars, and listened to the peaceful lapping of the surf at the shore. In the darkness she saw the shadows of the fishing boats anchored offshore. The whole scene was quiet, so normal, she felt foolish to be talking of vampires and kidnapped babies.
Bobbie went back to her room, remembering again that Manuel had insisted it was not a Spanish word. Out of curiosity, she looked in the little English dictionary, and to her surprise she found the word there, too:
raptor \ n [deriv. of L. raptor plunderer, fr. Raptus]: bird of prey.
FIRST ITERATION
"At the earliest drawings of the fractal curve, few clues to the
underlying mathematical structre will be seen."
IAN MALCOLM
Almost Paradise
Mike Bowman whistled cheerfully as he drove the Land Rover through the Cabo Blanco Biological Reserve, on the west coast of Costa Rica. It was a beautiful morning in July, and the road before him was spectacular: hugging the edge of a cliff, overlooking the jungle and the blue Pacific. According to the guidebooks, Cabo Blanco was unspoiled wilderness, almost a paradise. Seeing it now made Bowman feel as if the vacation was back on track.
Bowman, a thirty-six-year-old real estate developer from Dallas, had come to Costa Rica with his wife and daughter for a two-week holiday. The trip had actually been his wife's idea; for weeks Ellen had filled his ear about the wonderful national parks of Costa Rica, and how good it would be for Tina to see them. Then, when they arrived, it turned out Ellen had an appointment to see a plastic surgeon in San Jose. That was the first Mike Bowman had heard about the excellent and inexpensive plastic surgery available in Costa Rica, and all the luxurious private clinics in San Jose.
Of course they'd had a huge fight, Mike felt she'd lied to him, and she had. And he put his foot down about this plastic surgery business. Anyway, it was ridiculous, Ellen was only thirty, and she was a beautiful woman. Hell, she'd been Homecoming Queen her senior year at Rice, and that was not even ten years earlier. But Ellen tended to be insecure, and worried. And it seemed as if in recent years she had mostly worried about losing her looks.
That, and everything else.
The Land Rover bounced in a pothole, splashing mud. Seated beside him, Ellen said, "Mike, are you sure this is the right road? We haven't seen any other people for hours."
"There was another car fifteen minutes ago," he reminded her. "Remember, the blue one?"
"Going the other way…"
"Darling, you wanted a deserted beach," he said, "and that's what you're going to get."
Ellen shook her head doubtfully. "I hope you're right."
"Yeah, Dad, I hope you're right," said Christina, from the back seat. She was eight years old.
"Trust me, I'm right." He drove in silence a moment. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Look at that view. It's beautiful."
"It's okay," Tina said.
Ellen got out a compact and looked at herself in the mirror, pressing under her eyes. She sighed, and put the compact away.
The road began to descend, and Mike Bowman concentrated on driving. Suddenly a small black shape flashed across the road and Tina shrieked, "Look! Look!" Then it was gone, into the jungle.
"What was it?" Ellen asked. "A monkey7"
"Maybe a squirrel monkey," Bowman said.
"Can I count it?" Tina said, taking her pencil out, She was keeping a list of all the animals she had seen on her trip, as a project for school.
"I don't know," Mike said doubtfully.
Tina consulted the pictures in the guidebook. "I don't think it was a squirrel monkey," she said. "I think it was just another howler." They had seen several howler monkeys already on their trip,
"Hey," she said, more brightly. "According to this book, 'the beaches of Cabo Blanco are frequented by a variety of wildlife, including howler and white-faced monkeys, three-toed sloths, and coatimundis.' You think we'll see a three-toed sloth, Dad?"
"I bet we do."
"Really?"
"Just look in the mirror."
"Very funny, Dad."
The road sloped downward through the jungle, toward the ocean.
Mike Bowman felt like a hero when they finally reached the beach: a two-mile crescent of white sand, utterly deserted. He parked the Land Rover in the shade of the palm trees that fringed the beach, and got out the box lunches. Ellen changed into her bathing suit, saying, "Honestly, I don't know how I'm going to get this weight off."
"You look great, hon." Actually, he felt that she was too thin, but he had learned not to mention that.
Tina was already running down the beach.
"Don't forget you need your sunscreen," Ellen called.
"Later," Tina shouted, over her shoulder. "I'm going to see if there's a sloth.
Ellen Bowman looked around at the beach, and the trees. "You think she's all right?"
"Honey, there's nobody here for miles," Mike said.
"What about snakes?"
"Oh, for God's sake," Mike Bowman said. "There's no snakes on a beach."
"Well, there might be…"
"Honey," he said firmly. "Snakes are cold-blooded. They're reptiles. They can't control their body temperature. It's ninety degrees on that sand. If a snake came out, it'd be cooked. Believe me. There's no snakes on the beach." He watched his daughter scampering down the beach, a dark spot on the white sand. "Let her go. Let her have a good time."