Mexican Gothic(27)

The voice at her ear spoke again. It was very insistent, jabbing her.

“Open your eyes.”

She did and woke up to discover she was very cold; she had kicked the covers away and they tangled at her feet. Her pillow had tumbled to the floor. The door lay firmly closed. Noemí pressed both hands against her chest, feeling the rapid beating of her heart. She ran a hand down the front of her nightdress. All the buttons were firmly in place.

Of course they would be.

The house was quiet. No one walked through the halls, no one crept into rooms at night to stare at sleeping women. Still, it took her a long time to go back to sleep, and once or twice, when she heard a board creak, she sat up quickly and listened for footsteps.





8





N


oemí planted herself outside the house, waiting for the doctor to arrive. Virgil had told her she could get a second opinion, so she had informed Florence the doctor would be stopping by and that she had obtained Virgil’s permission for this visit, but she didn’t quite trust any of the Doyles to greet Dr. Camarillo and had decided to serve as a sentinel.

As she crossed her arms and tapped her foot she felt, for once, like one of Catalina’s characters in their childhood tales. The maiden gazing out the tower, waiting for the knight to ride to the rescue and vanquish the dragon. Surely the doctor would conjure a diagnosis and a solution.

She felt it necessary to be positive, to hope, for High Place was a place of hopelessness. Its shabby grimness made her want to push forward.

The doctor was punctual and parked his car near a tree, stepping out, doffing his hat and staring up at the house. There wasn’t much mist that day, as if the Earth and sky had cleared up in advance of this visitor, though it served to make the house look more forlorn, unshrouded and bare. Noemí imagined Julio’s house was nothing like this, that it was one of the shabby yet colorful little houses down the main street, with a tiny balcony and wooden shutters and a kitchen with old azulejos.

“Well, this is the famous High Place,” Dr. Camarillo said. “About time I saw it, I suppose.”

“You haven’t been here before?” she asked.

“No reason for me to come. I’ve been past where the mining camp used to be. Or what’s left of it, at any rate, when I’ve gone hunting.

There’s plenty of deer around, up here. Mountain lions too. You have to be careful on this mountain.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said. She recalled how Florence had admonished her. Could she have been worried about mountain lions? Or was she more worried about her precious car?

The doctor grabbed his bag and they went inside. Noemí had been afraid Florence might come running down the stairs, ready to glare at both Dr. Camarillo and Noemí, but the staircase was empty, and when they reached Catalina’s room they found the woman alone.

Catalina seemed in good enough spirits, sitting in the sunlight, dressed in a simple but becoming blue dress. She greeted the doctor with a smile.

“Good day, I’m Catalina.”

“And I’m Dr. Camarillo. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Catalina extended her hand. “Why, he looks so young, Noemí! He must be hardly older than you!”

“You are hardly older than me,” Noemí said.

“What are you talking about? You’re a little girl.”

This sounded so like the happy Catalina of days past, bantering with them, that Noemí began to feel foolish for bringing the doctor to the house. But then, as the minutes ticked by, Catalina’s ebullience began to fade and turn into a simmering agitation. And Noemí couldn’t help but think that even though nothing was exactly wrong, something was definitely not right.

“Tell me, how are you sleeping? Any chills at night?”

“No. I feel much better already. Really, there’s no need for you to be here, it’s such a fuss over nothing. Over nothing, truly,” Catalina said. Her vehemence when she spoke had a forced cheerfulness to it.

She repeatedly rubbed a finger across her wedding band.

Julio merely nodded. He talked in a steady, measured tone while he took notes. “Have you been given streptomycin and para-aminosalicylic acid?”

“I think so,” Catalina said, but she responded in such haste Noemí didn’t think she’d even listened to the question.

“Marta Duval, did she also send a remedy for you? A tea or herb?”

Catalina’s eyes darted across the room. “What? Why would you ask that?”

“I’m trying to figure out what all your medications are. I’m assuming you saw her for a remedy of some sort?”

“There’s no remedy,” she muttered.

She said something else, but it wasn’t a real word. She babbled, like a small child, and then Catalina suddenly clutched her neck, as if she’d choke herself, but her grip was lax. No, it was not choking, but a defensive gesture, a woman guarding herself, holding her hands up in defense. The movement startled them both. Julio almost dropped his pencil. Catalina resembled one of the deer in the mountains, ready to dart to safety, and neither knew what to say.

“What is it?” Julio asked, after a minute had gone by.

“It’s the noise,” Catalina said, and she slowly slid her hands up her neck and pressed them against her mouth.