The Lord of Opium

Lunch was a large pizza and a salad. Listen wriggled in anticipation as the doctor served Matt first, then himself, and last of all her. She inhaled the odor of hot cheese and pepperoni, but she didn’t eat until Dr. Rivas had given her permission.

“What do you like to do?” Matt asked her.

“Don’t know,” said Listen. She ate with surprising delicacy, or perhaps Matt was only used to Mirasol’s wholehearted gobbling.

“Do you like dolls or coloring books?” Matt tried to remember what he did at her age. “Do you watch TV?”

“Don’t know.”

“That’s very rude, Listen,” said Dr. Rivas. “Answer the patrón.”

“I like all of them,” the girl said sullenly.

“Did you ever see El Látigo Negro?” Matt said, naming his favorite show.

“I might have,” Listen said.

“I liked the battles El Látigo had with the Queen of Skulls. She was always playing dirty tricks on him.”

“She turned into a snake once and he picked it up, thinking it was his whip,” said Listen.

“I remember that! It bit him and he almost died.” Little by little Matt drew her out until she was almost relaxed, but she kept her distance.

For dessert they had watermelon. It was brought to them by Mirasol, who was followed by a chef in a long white apron. “I had to let her come,” he said apologetically. “She kept jittering, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“That’s all right,” said Dr. Rivas. Mirasol took up her post by Matt’s chair. She was in her waitress uniform again. “Listen, you may take slices of watermelon for yourself and Mbongeni, but pick out the seeds before you give him any.” The girl slid out of her chair and made a speedy exit.

The doctor turned toward Matt. “Aren’t you going to ask me who Mbongeni’s original is?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to allow the boy to be operated on,” Matt said.

“He’s Glass Eye Dabengwa’s clone.”

A vague feeling of dread came over Matt. He found it difficult to connect the happy child with the sinister adult, but someday—if Mbongeni survived—he would turn into an elephant-gray monster with yellow eyes. “Why is he here?”

“This hospital was the finest of its kind in the world. It was a safe place for the drug lords to raise their clones, and in those days El Patrón was Glass Eye’s ally. That was when he was still president of Nigeria. Now he’s retired. El Patrón’s great-great-grandson Benito married Dabengwa’s daughter.”

“Her name was Fani,” said Matt. “I remember she had to be drugged into doing it.”

“Drug lords marry for power, not love,” said Dr. Rivas. “Tissue samples for Mbongeni and Listen were sent here eight years ago. The original Listen was Glass Eye’s favorite wife, but the original died before our Listen was harvested.”

Matt flinched inside. He would never get used to the word harvested.

“Normally, such embryos are terminated, but Glass Eye wanted her spared. She was, legally, no longer a clone. She was human and would grow into an intelligent, beautiful woman. He wanted her raised to be his wife.”

“That’s disgusting!” said Matt, pushing his chair away from the table. “He’s horrible. He’s a sadist. He’s ninety-nine years old, and he never blinks.”

“Drug lords live a long time.” Dr. Rivas signaled to Mirasol, and she began gathering up plates. “When Glass Eye is a robust hundred and ten, Listen will be eighteen.”

“He’s not getting anywhere near her!” Matt could feel rage rising within him and desperately tried to force it down. But Dr. Rivas’s next statement took him by surprise.

“I agree, mi patrón. She’s too good for him. But consider this: As long as we have Listen and Mbongeni—especially Mbongeni—Glass Eye won’t dare to attack Opium. He needs the boy for spare parts.” The doctor smiled a friendly, all-encompassing smile. You could almost believe that he wouldn’t say boo to a baby, let alone harvest it. “They’re our insurance policy.”

And they were, Matt realized. They would give him breathing space to renovate the hospital, cure the eejits, and replace the opium with real crops. Later he could deal with the problem of Dabengwa, but for now he felt an enormous burden roll off his shoulders.

He noticed that Mirasol was dawdling over the leftover watermelon slices. “Eat,” he commanded, and she, with her usual speed, obeyed.

19

DR. RIVAS’S SECRET