northeast of here, just across the border into Transnistria. I'm afraid it's not open to the public. Are you thinking of doing some sightseeing, Ms.
56
Stone?"
"Can you arrange transportation for me to go to Wolf Castle?"
"Out of the question. First of all, they would never let you cross the border without an invitation from the Transnistrian government. And second, it used to be heavily guarded and may still be. I don't know. It once serve as a secret getaway for Soviet government officials and foreign communist dignitaries."
Russell glanced at his watch. "I hate to break our visit short, Ms. Stone, but I have a pressing engagement and really have to run." He stood. "Is there anything else I can assist you with while you're in Moldova?"
Cotten shook his hand. "I wish there were, Mr. Ambassador. Thank you, anyway."
"Don't hesitate to call me if you think of anything." Before she could answer, he spun on his heels and headed across the lobby to the front entrance.
Dropping back onto the couch, Cotten felt the heat rise in her face. Anger made her grit her teeth. What a waste. Russell was no help whatsoever. Either he was hiding something or he simply didn't give a shit. Whatever the case, she couldn't count on him for any assistance. She was going to have to do this on her own.
"Excuse, please."
Cotten looked up to see a man standing over her. He appeared to be in his sixties, had small, dark eyes and a wide, bulbous nose billowing out over a bushy mustache. His skin was pasty white and his brown-stained teeth were probably the result of years of smoking the popular Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes. In his hand was a folded newspaper. She recognized him as the man who had been sitting nearby reading.
"Yes?" she said, hoping he wasn't one of the scam artists that targeted tourists and foreigners.
"May I join you?"
Cotten motioned to the ambassador's vacant chair. "Help yourself."
He eased himself down and seemed to take a moment to get comfortable. His smile was gentle and warm as he silently gazed at her.
"What can I do for you, Mr... ?"
"Please forgive me, but I couldn't help overhearing that you desire to visit Wolf Castle?"
"Yes," Cotten said with a bit of hesitation.
"Perhaps I can be of assistance."
YANOMAMO PING
The dark shadows of the Amazon rainforest fluttered across the ground, surfing on beams of moonlight that sliced through the thick canopy. This was the time forayahuasca, the ritual drink that took one to an altered state of
57
consciousness—another dimension—a place where one learned who he was and came to connect with all the elements on earth and in the universe.
Pierre Charles swallowed the bitter brew made from thebanisteriopsis cappi vine, knowing that the purging would soon follow in all its violence. The bowl for his vomiting rested between his knees, and moments later was put into use. But the healing, the transformation of his soul was worth the twenty-five minutes of misery.
Afterward, his body's reaction to the concoction would calm, and the vomiting cease. Pierre reclined on a straw mat in the hut. The village shaman continued his constant beat of bundled leaves, a repetitious swishing that blotted out other sounds, a white noise and monotonous rhythm, a vibration that helped set Pierre's brain free.
Soon the psychedelic flashing and geometric patterns superimposed on serpents filled his mind, and he was immersed in the visions.
***
When the sun burned off the early mist, Pierre reflected on his visionary journey the previous night. He was convinced there really were other dimensions and universes that existed on alternative, vibrational levels. This morning, as always after such an experience, he felt refreshed and self-assured. Initially, he hadn't come here to discover or experiment with native drugs and hallucinogens, but rather he came as part of his doctoral program to study the horrific practice of infanticide amongst the Yanomamo and
56
Stone?"
"Can you arrange transportation for me to go to Wolf Castle?"
"Out of the question. First of all, they would never let you cross the border without an invitation from the Transnistrian government. And second, it used to be heavily guarded and may still be. I don't know. It once serve as a secret getaway for Soviet government officials and foreign communist dignitaries."
Russell glanced at his watch. "I hate to break our visit short, Ms. Stone, but I have a pressing engagement and really have to run." He stood. "Is there anything else I can assist you with while you're in Moldova?"
Cotten shook his hand. "I wish there were, Mr. Ambassador. Thank you, anyway."
"Don't hesitate to call me if you think of anything." Before she could answer, he spun on his heels and headed across the lobby to the front entrance.
Dropping back onto the couch, Cotten felt the heat rise in her face. Anger made her grit her teeth. What a waste. Russell was no help whatsoever. Either he was hiding something or he simply didn't give a shit. Whatever the case, she couldn't count on him for any assistance. She was going to have to do this on her own.
"Excuse, please."
Cotten looked up to see a man standing over her. He appeared to be in his sixties, had small, dark eyes and a wide, bulbous nose billowing out over a bushy mustache. His skin was pasty white and his brown-stained teeth were probably the result of years of smoking the popular Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes. In his hand was a folded newspaper. She recognized him as the man who had been sitting nearby reading.
"Yes?" she said, hoping he wasn't one of the scam artists that targeted tourists and foreigners.
"May I join you?"
Cotten motioned to the ambassador's vacant chair. "Help yourself."
He eased himself down and seemed to take a moment to get comfortable. His smile was gentle and warm as he silently gazed at her.
"What can I do for you, Mr... ?"
"Please forgive me, but I couldn't help overhearing that you desire to visit Wolf Castle?"
"Yes," Cotten said with a bit of hesitation.
"Perhaps I can be of assistance."
YANOMAMO PING
The dark shadows of the Amazon rainforest fluttered across the ground, surfing on beams of moonlight that sliced through the thick canopy. This was the time forayahuasca, the ritual drink that took one to an altered state of
57
consciousness—another dimension—a place where one learned who he was and came to connect with all the elements on earth and in the universe.
Pierre Charles swallowed the bitter brew made from thebanisteriopsis cappi vine, knowing that the purging would soon follow in all its violence. The bowl for his vomiting rested between his knees, and moments later was put into use. But the healing, the transformation of his soul was worth the twenty-five minutes of misery.
Afterward, his body's reaction to the concoction would calm, and the vomiting cease. Pierre reclined on a straw mat in the hut. The village shaman continued his constant beat of bundled leaves, a repetitious swishing that blotted out other sounds, a white noise and monotonous rhythm, a vibration that helped set Pierre's brain free.
Soon the psychedelic flashing and geometric patterns superimposed on serpents filled his mind, and he was immersed in the visions.
***
When the sun burned off the early mist, Pierre reflected on his visionary journey the previous night. He was convinced there really were other dimensions and universes that existed on alternative, vibrational levels. This morning, as always after such an experience, he felt refreshed and self-assured. Initially, he hadn't come here to discover or experiment with native drugs and hallucinogens, but rather he came as part of his doctoral program to study the horrific practice of infanticide amongst the Yanomamo and
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