from Mexico by phone or e-mail, and he left wondering if he'd ever see his daughter again.
The hoarseness worried him. He thought he felt a fullness in the back of his throat when he swallowed. And when he checked his neckthat night he discovered another enlarging node on the left side.
The next day he paid a visit to Dave who blanched when he reexamined Will's throat. He scheduled another MRI that afternoon and they reviewed the results immediately after.
“Shit!” Dave said. “I told you it was aggressive, Will, but it's beyond that—it's spreading like wildfire. My God, if you don't want the surgery, at least throw some rads into that thing to slow it down.”
Will fought a surge of nausea as he stared at the images. He was no radiologist, but even he could see the rampant progress of the tumor . . . the “traitorous tissue,” as Maya had called it.
“Captain Carcinoma,” Will said as the name struck him.
Dave looked at him. “What?”
“The tumor . . . that's its name. It's leading a mutiny and trying to take over the ship.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Look—not a word of this to Annie, right? At least not until I come back from Mexico.”
“Mexico?” Dave's expression was a mixture of anger and incredulity. “You're not seriously thinking of traveling?” He pointed at the films. “You could be heading for a carotid blowout!”
Carotid blowout . . . Will hadn't considered that. The tumor could erode through the wall of one of the frankfurter-caliber arteries running up each side of his throat. If that happened, the resulting massive hemorrhage would drain away his life in minutes.
He could think of worse ways to go.
“Just for a couple of weeks.”
“Christ, Will! If you don't have a blowout, in a couple of weeks you'll be on IV's because you won't be able to swallow!”
That hit hard. Will leaned back and closed his eyes.
A couple of weeks?
Maya was getting ready to leave ahead of him—“To prepare the way,” she'd said. He was to link up with her in Mexico a few days later. But how could he risk leaving the country if . . . ?
This changed nothing, damn it. The tumor had taken charge of the rest of his life, but it wasn't taking charge of this.
And if he was going to die, maybe Maya's Mesoamerica was the place to do it. No one to watch him suffer, no one to take over and stick him on life support if he became too weak to protest.
Yes, now more than ever he wanted to leave on his adventure.
But he had to ask Dave a big favor first. . . .
6
Mesoamerica
Where are we?
Will stared out the window of the battered Cessna two-seater at the lush beer-bottle green terrain sliding by below. He felt as if he'd been flying over Mexico for days. The trip had started early in the morning at JFK. A few hours ago his DC-10 had dropped through the ochre haze that passed for air in Mexico City. He'd gone through customs and hopped a jet to Villahermosa Aeropuerto where this singleprop rattletrap had been waiting for him. So now, after his third takeoff of the day, he was in the air again.
Conversation was hopeless. Even if he could make himself heard over the deafening roar and bone-rattling vibrations of the plane, his rudimentary Spanish wouldn't get him too far with Diego, the pilot.
That he'd learned at the airport when he tried to pry some information out of the young Mexican. Will was able to establish that Diego was indeed the pilot Maya had hired for him, but as for whereDiego was taking him, the best Will could learn was, “South . . . we go south.”
So Will spent the flight gazing out the window.
Like France, where he'd expected the whole country to look like Paris, Mexico surprised him. He'd assumed he would see the desert settings of The Magnificent Seven or The Wild Bunch . Instead, it looked more like Ireland. All he'd seen since arriving were endless stretches of green mountains. Now the mountains were giving way to jungles, but the
The hoarseness worried him. He thought he felt a fullness in the back of his throat when he swallowed. And when he checked his neckthat night he discovered another enlarging node on the left side.
The next day he paid a visit to Dave who blanched when he reexamined Will's throat. He scheduled another MRI that afternoon and they reviewed the results immediately after.
“Shit!” Dave said. “I told you it was aggressive, Will, but it's beyond that—it's spreading like wildfire. My God, if you don't want the surgery, at least throw some rads into that thing to slow it down.”
Will fought a surge of nausea as he stared at the images. He was no radiologist, but even he could see the rampant progress of the tumor . . . the “traitorous tissue,” as Maya had called it.
“Captain Carcinoma,” Will said as the name struck him.
Dave looked at him. “What?”
“The tumor . . . that's its name. It's leading a mutiny and trying to take over the ship.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Look—not a word of this to Annie, right? At least not until I come back from Mexico.”
“Mexico?” Dave's expression was a mixture of anger and incredulity. “You're not seriously thinking of traveling?” He pointed at the films. “You could be heading for a carotid blowout!”
Carotid blowout . . . Will hadn't considered that. The tumor could erode through the wall of one of the frankfurter-caliber arteries running up each side of his throat. If that happened, the resulting massive hemorrhage would drain away his life in minutes.
He could think of worse ways to go.
“Just for a couple of weeks.”
“Christ, Will! If you don't have a blowout, in a couple of weeks you'll be on IV's because you won't be able to swallow!”
That hit hard. Will leaned back and closed his eyes.
A couple of weeks?
Maya was getting ready to leave ahead of him—“To prepare the way,” she'd said. He was to link up with her in Mexico a few days later. But how could he risk leaving the country if . . . ?
This changed nothing, damn it. The tumor had taken charge of the rest of his life, but it wasn't taking charge of this.
And if he was going to die, maybe Maya's Mesoamerica was the place to do it. No one to watch him suffer, no one to take over and stick him on life support if he became too weak to protest.
Yes, now more than ever he wanted to leave on his adventure.
But he had to ask Dave a big favor first. . . .
6
Mesoamerica
Where are we?
Will stared out the window of the battered Cessna two-seater at the lush beer-bottle green terrain sliding by below. He felt as if he'd been flying over Mexico for days. The trip had started early in the morning at JFK. A few hours ago his DC-10 had dropped through the ochre haze that passed for air in Mexico City. He'd gone through customs and hopped a jet to Villahermosa Aeropuerto where this singleprop rattletrap had been waiting for him. So now, after his third takeoff of the day, he was in the air again.
Conversation was hopeless. Even if he could make himself heard over the deafening roar and bone-rattling vibrations of the plane, his rudimentary Spanish wouldn't get him too far with Diego, the pilot.
That he'd learned at the airport when he tried to pry some information out of the young Mexican. Will was able to establish that Diego was indeed the pilot Maya had hired for him, but as for whereDiego was taking him, the best Will could learn was, “South . . . we go south.”
So Will spent the flight gazing out the window.
Like France, where he'd expected the whole country to look like Paris, Mexico surprised him. He'd assumed he would see the desert settings of The Magnificent Seven or The Wild Bunch . Instead, it looked more like Ireland. All he'd seen since arriving were endless stretches of green mountains. Now the mountains were giving way to jungles, but the
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