Hector was waiting in the lobby for me, bright and early the next morning. Too bright and early, considering I had dozed off around 3:30, and I can’t stand morning people at the best of times, but Hector’s greeting was more infectious than annoying. Besides, I reminded myself that for the next ten hours I could avoid thinking about Jonathan. I was here to interview staff, meet patients, and read balance sheets, and it was high time I got down to it. This was a world I understood.
I had one question answered very quickly. When Hector introduced me to Dr. Reyes, I recognized the man who had opened the door for me yesterday at the museum. He recognized me, too, and made another bow.
For the rest of the morning, Hector let Dr. Reyes do most of the talking, though he accompanied us throughout our tour of the hospital, occasionally filling in a detail or prompting Dr. Reyes on a patient’s name. The grant proposal had been full of Dr. Reyes. I soon decided that, while the photo had been accurate enough, my other impressions had not been. The man on the page was a solid but undistinguished doctor who talked a lot without saying much. But that’s why we do site visits. The measure of a man is not in what he says.
The hospital, as I now knew, had been built from the ground up just six years before, all of it done with private donations. I warmed to Dr. Reyes as he pointed out every feature, from the gleaming, sterile operating room to the well-stocked recovery ward. While reading, I had thought they were moving too fast with their expansion plans. Now that I was there, everything indicated success, stability, and confident leadership. These were the people to meet the need.
And the need was there. The hospital was full. We had lunch — Dr. Reyes, Hector, and I — with one of the nurses, a young woman who had chosen her profession after Dr. Reyes treated her infant daughter for typhoid fever. She told me about 20-hour shifts, about mattresses spread on the floor during a malaria outbreak, and about the need to expand vaccination programs. Hector, almost a shadow throughout the morning, actually joined the conversation then. I gathered that one of his main responsibilities was to coordinate the deliveries of vaccines and drugs donated by a dozen NGOs. He dwelt at some length on the need for proper storage conditions for the vaccines, a major component of the planned expansion. By the end of lunch, I saw clearly both the need and the plan, and I only had one question left: Could they add?
I’m a CPA. I don’t care about grammar or spelling (unless you’re a university). But if your balance sheet doesn’t balance, I’m not going to give you money: you don’t know what to do with it.
Dr. Reyes showed me to his office, asking me to consider it my own for the afternoon. I told Hector that he could just leave me to my spreadsheets, but he pointed out that most of their donor records weren’t on the computer, and that he knew his way around the files a lot better than I did. It’s hard to argue with logic. We spent the next few hours immersed in numbers — happily on my part, cheerfully on Hector’s. With unruffled good humor, he went back and forth with files, and even insisted on bringing me coffee. He had a story to accompany every receipt, and all in all, I have never done a more pleasant audit.
But late in the afternoon, Hector was called away to a patient. For the first time that day, I was left entirely alone with my thoughts. I had heard dozens of anecdotes. Now I sat back to look at the big picture.
It didn’t fit. They had grown too fast. They were too well stocked. I fully believed that the need was still greater, but the fact was that even what they had now had been done a little too easily. I told myself that I was jumping to conclusions, that my perception of Mexico had been warped by the evening news, that even in an impoverished small town, a large amount of money could be honestly come by. But I couldn’t help thinking that everyone, even (especially?) Hector, had been working very hard to keep me from drawing those conclusions. And I knew that Jonathan had not come here to write a book.
When Hector came back, I barely let him get into the office before asking, “Which cartel paid for this?”
I desperately wanted him to look surprised. One idealist would have made me feel less lonely. Or maybe less stupid. And I needed him, at least, to be what he had seemed. But he quickly pulled the door closed behind him and said, “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that.”
“Because it’s true?”
“Because it’s dangerous to say it.”
“But is is true?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
When I didn’t answer right away, he dragged a chair over next to mine. He looked like he wanted to take my hand, but he restrained himself. “Miss Evans. I’m glad it does matter to you. I wish I could afford to let it matter to me. Yes, some — all right, most of the money that comes in here is not from a good place, and when it leaves here most of it doesn’t go to a good place, but at least while it’s here it does some good. You focus on what’s in front of you, and you try not to think about the rest. It gets easier with time.”
That much was obvious. His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he’d long since made his peace with what he didn’t want to see. I wondered how much time it had taken.
I think he saw me wondering, because he smiled. Equal parts sympathy and chagrin. “You’re not there yet. I get it. Do whatever you like about the grant. Just don’t ever mention this to anyone. I’m not joking when I say it’s dangerous.”
“Do you ever worry about yourself?”
He shrugged. “Remember, I’m safely ensconced on the wrong side.”
“That’s what I mean.” I fumbled for words. “What if… What if you were found out?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“No.” I would regret anything that happened to Hector, but Jonathan was Jonathan.
“Okay then. Go home and don’t say anything.”
In what follows, it’s important to remember that I fully intended to follow Hector’s advice. I had spoken in the first heat of anger, but I was every bit as scared as he wanted me to be. You can say that’s natural and understandable, and I’ll agree with you. Just don’t try to tell me it wasn’t wrong.
Hector gave me a few minutes to collect my thoughts. He used them to collect my notes and my laptop. I found myself being presented with a neatly packed bag. “Come on. You should have been out of here an hour ago. You don’t have to speak to me, but let me walk you back to the hotel.”
I nodded. He opened the door. I took a deep breath and told myself everything was fine.
On the way out, we ran into Dr. Reyes. “Hector. There you are. Mrs. Garcia stopped in and she’s asking for you.”
Hector rolled his eyes, but he said good-naturedly enough, “She does realize she’s not the only woman who’s ever been pregnant, right? I’ll go talk to her. Miss Evans…”
“I can find the hotel,” I assured him.
Hector nodded and left us. Dr. Reyes fell into step beside me. “Did you get everything you needed?”
“I think so,” I answered. And a lot more than I needed. “Everyone has been very helpful.”
“I’m glad to hear it. We are very grateful to you for coming, though I confess we were also surprised. But then, I think, the timing was convenient for you?” As he spoke, he held open a door for me.
I didn’t know the hospital well, and anyway, I had plenty on my mind, so I hadn’t paid attention to where we were going. As I walked through the door, I realized we were in the operating room. Before I could ask why, the why became very obvious.
And I knew, right there and then, what my answer would have been.
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