March 31, 2016
Rio Chama, New Mexico
The concern over the truckload of Hispanic toughs following Pete and the diamond hunters drifted away as Ramsey became mesmerized by the sun glinting in and out of the pines on his way to Rio Chama. It took him into a state of contemplation. He held the belief that sacred places arose out of some singular magical event, real or imagined, occurring at a particular place within a given culture. From that moment on people in that culture made the place sacred. They built shrines, pilgrimaged there, and connected with the presence of a higher power there. It became a gateway to fulfilling the hardwired drive in all humans for self-transcendence.
His thoughts drifted back to the University of Oregon and his talk with Myriam St. Eves when he first arrived.
He and half dozen other postdocs, including Pete Miami, had met at Eugene’s Twisted Branch Tavern, a local brewery. Myriam held informal seminars here, where postdocs and graduate students talked about their theses and research plans. After a few rounds, the ideas flew thick and fast and no one could separate the chaff from the wheat.
Holding a St. Pauli Girl in one hand as a microphone, Ramsey harangued Myriam and the other postdocs with a certain religious fervor, aided by the alcohol, about an idea of his that he had formulated when he first started taking classes with Professor Orensen at Grinnell College. “The Protestant Reformation and its rejection of the trappings of the Catholic Church freed people to take their religion and God wherever they went. No longer attached to the old sacred shrines and pilgrimages, they could build churches anywhere and everywhere, creating sacred places out of whole cloth. I, Jonathan Ramsey, propose to revolutionize the understanding of America’s dramatic success by what I am calling the ‘Sacred Place Hypothesis.’”
Of course, all of that had happened before the Peru incident.
In the past week, with his investigation of the Milagro Shrine, those ideas took center stage once again in his thoughts. Now, while driving to the Rio Chama de Milagro Shrine, he had to rethink what they represented. How could the presence of a single living person, in this case Adam Gwillt, be responsible for so many miraculous healings and change the underlying physical structure of a place? It was mind-boggling. What am I missing? It was a refrain that had been with Ramsey since he first set foot on the shrine. Then it came to him. I need to find Adam Gwillt. Christ, perhaps my whole life has been about finding Adam.
A deep pothole in the road shook him out of his reverie. He glanced at the road sign. He was entering Rio Chama. Has my life been headed down the wrong path since Peru? He shook his head. Maybe. Maybe it’s always been about answering the question as to whether there is a supernatural power behind sacred places? Maybe after fifteen years Adam represents the opportunity to resolve it once and for all.
Filled with a new sense of purpose, he began to formulate some questions for Myriam. That’ll be the place to start.
Myriam could not meet until mid-afternoon. Sitting at an out-of-the-way table in the Café Rio, Ramsey caught up on business. He sent several texts to his business partner Ron Grange about an upcoming meeting at Blue Island, Illinois. The project was standard fare for their company—revitalizing a decaying urban neighborhood. They’d handled a dozen such ventures and pretty much had it down to a science.
It was late in the afternoon when Myriam arrived. He watched her get out of her car and walk into the café. She limped slightly, favoring her right leg. She joined him and waited for Ramsey to speak. Instead, he reached into his suit-coat pocket and pulled out a battered Ronson lighter and a half crumpled pack of cigarettes. He started to light up when Rosa came over. The restaurant owner was very apologetic but firm. “You can’t smoke in here. You’ll have to go outside.”
Ramsey nodded and reluctantly put the cigarettes back in his coat pocket. He drummed the tabletop with the lighter.
Myriam smiled. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
She pointed at the lighter. “As a post doc you always smoked when you became totally absorbed in what you were doing . . . especially when something didn’t sit well.”
“Old habits,” Ramsey muttered. He hadn’t smoked in six years. “I need the truth from you. You remember Pete Miami? It turns out he’s been doing some cutting edge research over the past five years looking for kimberlite pipes in this area. He operates out of Taos.”
“I had no idea.”
“I asked him to look at the shrine with his sophisticated GIS equipment. It revealed some pretty amazing energy coherences associated the shrine that I now believe are connected to Adam Gwillt.”
Myriam looked around to see if anybody was listening. “I believe the same thing.”
Ramsey was just about to ask Myriam about Hiram Beecher when his phone buzzed. “I should take this.” He picked up and after a few words felt the color drained from his face. Hanging up, he said to Myriam, “That was an emergency doctor in Española. Somebody dropped Pete off at the hospital and told them to call my number. He’s been shot.”
“Is it serious?”
“The caller didn’t say.” He hesitated wondering if he should tell Myriam that the last time he saw Pete was with Hiram. He decided not to complicate matters. “I have to go.”
Myriam pushed away from the table. “I’ll drive.”
Rosa came over. “Someone’s been shot?”
Ramsey nodded. “I think you know him. Pete Miami from Taos.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh no!”
Ramsey looked at her. The worry on her face was more than simply for an injured acquaintance, but he didn’t have time to ask her about that. Myriam was already rushing out of the restaurant and Pete needed him.