Chapter 2. An Offering of Miracles, and Chapter 3. Atomic Death, from "All You Need is Love: An Eyewitness Account of When Spirituality Spread from the East to the West" [Excerpt]by Nancy Cooke de Herrera
Foreword by Deepak Chopra
© 2003 by Nancy Cooke de Herrera
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2. An Offering of MiraclesFOR WEEKS WE TRAVELED by rickshaw, oxcart, train, taxi, and bus. Sometimes during that month our quest was in vain, other times successful. Our bedrolls got grimier by the day, but the soul of India had entered my heart. This exotic land captivated me, and my mind was being blown open by what I was witnessing.
In Srinagar, capital of Kashmir, we interviewed a young boy with a special ability. By covering his head with a black bag and concentrating on the whereabouts of a particular person described to him, he would go into a trance, and tell in detail the location of that individual. By this method he had helped the police recover the body of a drowned child after all other attempts had failed. The body was covered by weeds in Dal Lake.
Near Amritsar, then capital of Punjab, a man read the Bhrigu Samhita, the book of life, for us. Finding the corresponding palm leaf, marked in mulberry juice with the correct astrological signs for that day, he told Tom his past, present, and future; as it turned out, he was accurate about the past, but way off on the future.
Tom was so hopeful and became exasperated with me when on occasion I would point out how easily something could have been faked. After one demonstration I spoke out, "Give me an hour and all those robes and I bet I could do better. You talk about scientific, controlled conditions -- that was a complete con-job!" I was worried that Tom, in his eagerness to find phenomena, would be fooled.
By late March, we looked forward to one of the highlights of our expedition -- a visit to Dharamsala to see the Dalai Lama, God-King of the Tibetans. We lucked out; a forest ranger lent us his jeep and driver. However, while passing through the Kumaon Forest, made famous by Jim Corbett's book on tiger hunting in this region, we got stuck in a river. Night was falling, and our driver became increasingly anxious about man-eating tigers, "See those cliffs ahead, Memsahib; the people are too poor to burn their dead, so they throw the bodies over the cliffs. The tigers are used to man-meat."
This news startled us. Tom remarked, "All we have to protect ourselves are fishing poles. Maybe we'd better listen to the driver and spend the night in the temple he insists on going to."
I was so disappointed; I'd been looking forward to the hotel in Dharamsala -- especially to the use of a Western toilet. It was a ghastly night, surrounded by sleeping and coughing bodies. Poor people; I'm sure I heard a few give a last agonized gasp. In the morning I insisted on taking a cold bath out of a bucket, "I'm not going to call on a God-King covered with negative vibrations." Tom tolerated my outburst; I'd been a good sport so far.
Dharamsala, where His Holiness resided, is near the Tibetan border at 7,000 feet. As we wound up the mountain, we observed the precautions the Indian Army was taking to protect the revered holy man. At every turn were tanks, guns, and troops. India had granted him political asylum after his spectacular escape from Tibet. For three months after leaving Lhasa, the God-King, and the thousands who followed him into exile, disappeared until he arrived in India. The Chinese planned to kill him and put the Panchen Lama in his place.
Just before reaching the summit, we met a large group of Tibetan children parading down the hill, each carrying a long white scarf. They greeted us with happy faces, cheeks pink from the brisk air. With youthful energy they hailed us, "Jole, where are you from? California, is that in America?"
An older man, who seemed to be in charge, came forward. He wore a Tibetan hat, its crown covered with dusty brocade; the fur-lined earflaps were turned up like a Dutch girl's cap. His heavy, black padded robe hung below his knees and was thrown off one shoulder and caught in the middle by a wide leather belt. A long turquoise and coral earring hung from one ear only. When he smiled, he showed large, stained teeth.
"It is most auspicious that you arrive at this time. His Holiness has just come out of two weeks of silence. Today we are celebrating the second anniversary of his escape from Lhasa. These children were just received by him." He gave us directions and went on his way.
With renewed excitement, we continued up the steep grade. When we came to the gate and the guards protecting the holy residence, we presented the letter we had prepared in advance requesting an audience. Within minutes, a young man with a gaunt, high-cheekboned face approached us from within the official compound.
"I am Sonam Kazi, interpreter for His Holiness." He held out his hand in greeting, and shook ours with enthusiasm. "If you will follow me, I will take you to him. He will be very happy to receive you on this special day." We were elated. Kazi's English was excellent.
We followed his long, black-coated figure up the hill to what must have been an old English summer bungalow with green wooden shingles, and leaded glass windows. It was surrounded by pine trees and overlooked a magnificent view of the mountains and Gangetic plains below. I could feel the altitude as we walked up the Lingkor, the holy path that circled the residence in exile. We passed pilgrims making rounds, repeating their mantras, and spinning their miniature prayer wheels.
We entered a friendly, faded-chintz-covered room. There was the assorted furniture usually found in summer places -- what didn't fit somewhere else was sent here. The floor was covered with Tibetan carpets of all sizes; the furniture was large, overstuffed, and comfortable. Little wooden tables, an umbrella stand, thangkas, books, magazines -- all added to the busy friendliness of the room. Kazi stopped us. "No, you do not need to take off your shoes."
Before we could be seated, a tall young man briskly entered the room from the rear. A spicy scent of incense arrived with him. His face was long and cleanly shaven. He wore eyeglasses, which accented his penetrating gaze. We knew him to be in his late twenties.
Kazi stepped forward, "I have the honor of presenting His Holiness, the Dalai Lama." We made the sign of namaste. I presented my khata, a white ceremonial scarf, and we seated ourselves as directed on the couch. I was thrilled -- we were sitting two feet away from a God-King.
The Dalai Lama wore Western men's shoes and trousers; a long, wine-colored robe with saffron-colored lining covered these. His right hand fingered his prayer beads. As we related, through Kazi, the purpose of our trip, he watched our faces with keen interest. However, he brushed aside the subject of psychic phenomena. "What Iwant you to hear is about the genocide being practiced against my people by the Chinese. The outside world does not know the truth."
The cruelties he spoke of were almost unbelievable -- the killing of thousands of priests, the raping of nuns, the refugees fleeing out over treacherous mountain passes with new stories of their ruthless captors.
"Hundreds of monasteries have been destroyed. These were the centers of our Tibetan culture."
As he told us of the thousands who had lost their lives in attempting to escape, his serious face was filled with sadness. "Instead of bringing their own belongings, they carried out the holy scriptures, the Kangyur, printed on palm leaves hundreds of years old and carefully wrapped in cloth." Kazi brought one for us to see.
Presenting khata to His Holiness the Dali Lama (Dharamsala, India, 1962)."In order to keep our tradition alive, we must get as many young children out of Tibet as possible. We need money to build schools. Switzerland, Norway, and the United States have been very kind to us. We will get our country back one day, but it may be a hundred years or so. Time means nothing to a Tibetan."
Soon the hour we had been allotted had passed. Catching Tom's eye, I signaled it was time. Kazi nodded his head in agreement. Standing up, we expressed our thanks to His Holiness for receiving us, and I added, "You can be sure I will pass on all I have heard to my audiences, and Mr. Slick will help through his education foundation. He has a special affection for Tibetans and Sherpas ever since he organized a group of them and went hunting for the Yeti."
"What do you know about the Yeti?" came in English from His Holiness. It surprised us to hear him speak directly after having spoken through an interpreter for an hour. Now he came forward, took each of us by the arm, and said, "Please stay; my English is poor, but there is much to talk about."
"Do you believe in the existence of the Yeti?" I asked.
"First, tell me what you know about the Yeti."
Luckily, Tom always carried photos of the evidence he had collected to prove the existence of this legendary creature. He dug into his pockets, and minutes later the three of us had our heads together like a group of conspirators. The pictures were of Yeti footprints, a skull, the droppings, and a lair where the creature supposedly gave birth.
As I sat there, I kept reminding myself who this man was. He was so likeable and easygoing. Tom had told me, "For two years after the death of the thirteenth Dalai Lama, the court lamas searched until they found him as a small child." While a youth, he was cloistered from contact with outsiders except on religious occasions, yet at this moment he was like any young man, swapping adventure stories.
Everyone who lived in Dharamsala, and thousands of Tibetan refugees in India, were there only to be near him, the same man who at this point was asking Tom to describe the droppings of the Yeti!
Only after exhausting Tom's information did His Holiness tell us, "Yes, I am convinced of the existence of the Yeti. One of my most respected lamas told me of a creature who would come each day and help him draw water from the well. It was very similar to yours, Mr. Slick."
His face was animated now; it was easy to see this was a subject of great interest to him. "Another lama reported to me that a similar creature would visit his hermitage every week or so to eat the grain he spread out on the frozen ground. He knew when it was approaching by the strong smell that preceded it."
'That is evidently why it got the name of the Abominable Snowman," added Tom. "Was he ever able to tame this creature?"
"No, but it continued its visits for a long period of time -- especially during the winter months when food was hard to find. They usually eat the blossoms of the rhododendron trees and wild berries. They are not carnivorous."
All barriers to friendship were soon dissolved when Tom volunteered to raise money for schools. His Holiness then came forward with an offer, which electrified us. "I am convinced of your dedication, Mr. Slick. If you will bear all expenses of the project, I will send three of my lamas to your foundation in Texas, and they will exhibit the power of man to levitate, materialize objects, and to pull the load of seven elephants under duress!"
We were stunned. Was it possible? Our search was over; Tom had found what he had come to India for. I was elated at having been part of such an important expedition. Plans were made for follow through, and when we finally took leave, we shook hands with the God-King, promising to tell the Western world about the Chinese atrocities.
We floated down the hill to where Ranjit awaited, as the guards had not allowed him to accompany us. He would be so happy to return home. On many occasions he had asked me, "Are all Americans so full of energy?" He had difficulty in keeping up with us.
Little fat dogs yapped at our feet, and soon a curious crowd gathered around us while we related our experience to our Indian companion. Kazi explained, "Many of them have never seen a European before. They would like you to share tea with them."
Smiling, Tom watched me as I took my first sip.
"Oh my God, what's in this?"
He laughed, "It is tea made with rancid yak butter and salt; it is very good for keeping the body temperature up in cold weather."
The taste was unexpected and nauseating. It prompted my ungracious reply, "The heck with my temperature going up, my problem will be in keeping the tea down!"
***
3. Atomic DeathBy EUROPEAN STANDARDS, the Dharamsala hotel could hardly be called deluxe, but it had electricity. So that night, after a shower, I settled down to read some Buddhist literature and to think back on the interview with His Holiness. Feeling chilly, I decided to plug in the small wall-heater. As I inserted the plug, all the lights went out. Looking out the window, I could see the whole place was in darkness. Soon a bearer came with a candle, "So sorry, Memsahib, somebody plug in heater and blowout all lights. Man come fix tomorrow." So much for my evening of reading.
The weak candle threw strange images against the walls, but I felt cozy in my room alone. It was pleasant to let my mind wander back over the past month calling on certain spiritual personalities -- holy men. There had been few moments of solitude in which to do so.
It appeared that Tom had been successful in his quest, but what about mine? I'd certainly found plenty of lecture material, as well as colorful, ethnic costumes for my show. That afternoon I'd bought articles of clothing from the refugees, which would help me illustrate the dramatic story of the Tibetans. But what about that other dimension -- the spiritual world which was beginning to intrigue me? I had felt such serenity while sitting at the feet of the holy men we'd called on. It was a serenity I had not felt for years, and I was not going to let it slip away. Had I been guided to India by this inner need? I seemed ripe for the knowledge I was receiving.
After seven years of reading and searching I had come to certain conclusions, but it was here in India that those conclusions were taking form and being expressed back to me in words. These words excited me; they pointed to a path for me to follow. I needed a belief that would serve as an insurance policy, an insulator, against ever again experiencing the terrible grief that had engulfed me after my late husband's death.
A deep sadness came into the silence around me as a face drifted into my consciousness -- it was the face of a handsome, dark-haired man with golden lights in his brown eyes. His finely chiseled features were full of intelligence and humor. Everything about him exuded energy and passion. Oh, beloved Luis, what a short time we had together, but what an impact you have had on my life! Yes, he was the love of my life, and what joy we shared -- more happiness and excitement than most people would know in a lifetime.
My thoughts went back to our meeting.
It was summer 1951 -- my first trip to Europe. One evening in Paris, my French friend Huguette Empain had implored me, "I know you are exhausted by parties, but you must join us, we need you. We have three attractive Americans who drove in the Le Mans last week. You won't have to struggle with French; they all speak English. Be a good sport and meet us at eleven o'clock at the Plaza Athene." She would not take no for an answer.
Luis told me later that when he saw me in the distance, he thought to himself, "Hope she is the one joining us." He said he liked the way I was dressed, the way I walked, and the way I came up and in a friendly way said, "Hi, I'm Nancy Cooke." Nothing coy, nothing mysterious.
What a night it was! We went to Dinashads, a Russian restaurant specializing in caviar-filled blinis. These were washed down by quantities of champagne. Every time we drank a glass, presented to us on a violin, we emptied it and threw it into the fireplace. Later, while dancing at Jimmy's, Luis led me into a slow tango. Wrapping our bodies together, as is customary with this sensuous dance, he made me terribly aware of the intimacy we shared. I liked the smell of his hair and the feeling of his strong body pressed to mine. I surrendered myself totally to his directions. When the music stopped, he slowly let me go, saying, "I think I've been searching for you all of my life." I laughed and discounted his words, "Isn't it wonderful what magic champagne creates."
It was 8:30 A.M. when I returned to my hotel. Five hours later I met Luis de Herrera for brunch at the Ritz. I was curious as to how I'd find him by day. Iwas puzzled by the deep impression he'd made on me. Maybe I'd be disappointed. But he looked even better, in spite of a lack of sleep. When he entered a room, something changed-his vitality radiated to all. Six-foot-three and powerfully built, he had been the amateur golf champion of every South American country. He had played in the British Open just before coming to Le Mans to meet his pal Briggs Cunningham, the veteran U.S. racing driver. Although born in London, he was actually a Uruguayan citizen living in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Educated both in Spain and France, he'd finished his schooling at Cambridge. All of this I had found out the night before.
Now across the table we discreetly probed to find out more about each other. He took the initiative, "I've known and liked many North Americans, but you are not typical. Huguette said you were in your twenties, but you have a quiet confidence, a worldliness beyond your years. Where does this come from?"
Nancy posing with Ester Williams (Honolulu, 1949).What a question. I laughed, "Two months ago my divorce was finalized, after nine years of marriage in Honolulu. Also, I'm the mother of three little boys who at present are spending their vacation holidays with their father, while their mother takes her first trip to Europe." I made a sweeping gesture. "So there it all is, my life history."
"No, I want to know more. You are very at home in the world and have a natural ease with people. I watched you closely last night, or didn't you notice?" He was persistent. "Tell me more about your background, your family."
"Well, I had a wonderful childhood shared by two look-alike sisters, which made life even more fun. I went to Stanford University for three years before getting married to Richard Cooke, and lived in Honolulu during the war."
"That must have been interesting."
"It was fascinating. As all the military wives were sent home, we local women were in great demand. We became hostesses for the top army and navy officers -- we became good friends with Admiral Nimitz and Admiral Halsey especially."
"Was your husband in the military service?"
"Not before the war. After Pearl Harbor he became a naval officer."
"So it was a command performance when the top boys invited you."
"Yes. As a matter of fact, Admiral Towers, who was head of Naval Air for the Pacific, included my husband and me at all his functions. He even sent his aide to teach me how to make a perfect martini."
"I like that man's style."
"It was a unique experience; we were in on everything. Also, I took part in community theater and helped entertain the troops."
He laughed, "My question is well answered."
"Thank you, but now tell me about yourself."
"I'm a banker by profession, on an extended holiday. But this I talked about last night. I am married and have four children."
My heart registered dismay, but it was just as well. It was best not to get involved with anyone yet; I needed time to enjoy my newly won freedom.
Then I heard Luis add, "But I no longer live with my wife. We have a separacion del cue, po (a legal separation), as there is no divorce law in Argentina."
Not so safe after all.
As we talked, something special was happening. So-called experts have reported that we know these things within ten minutes. His eyes searched mine and found answers. A part of me quietly suggested caution. Things were moving too fast.
We spent several days visiting Versailles, touring the French countryside, and eating in small inns. Luis was full of enthusiasm. His French was fluent, as well as his knowledge of French art and history. I could not have picked a more attractive guide. We ran over with words -- we had so much to talk about. Knowing that he was leaving in a few days' time, and that this relationship could go nowhere, I kept him at arms distance -- actually was shy about allowing him into a more intimate relationship -- I'd been off the "dating market" for such a long time, and I was unsure of myself.
Nancy berating a longshoreman at a "We the Women" picket line (LIFE: MAGAZINE, July 20, 1949).He mentioned he would be in England at the same time I'd be visiting my friend Nancy Oakes (well-known to the press because of the notoriety resulting from the grisly murder of her father, Sir Harry Oakes, in Nassau during World War II). I'd given him my London address, and as I said goodbye in Paris, I silently prayed, "Please call me. I do want to see you again." How little I knew; maybe he had a ladyfriend already there waiting for him.
Several days later, arriving at Heathrow, there was Luis waiting for me! I was so surprised -- he looked unbelievably handsome. My heart almost burst as he embraced me and kissed me in a very gentle way.
His first words delighted me. "Something came up unexpectedly. Your friend Nancy has gone to Scotland for a few days. I told her I'd meet you and be your guide. She agreed it would be more convenient for her to have you stay at the London Ritz where I am until she returns."
The staff at the Ritz greeted me with great warmth. They had known Luis during his Cambridge days. I was a bit perplexed when we came to a suite of rooms connecting to the public hall through one common door. But my room was on the left and Luis's on the right, so I said nothing.
"Do your unpacking, and then come over to me for a lovely English high tea," invited my handsome guide. (It actually crossed my mind as to how we would keep our bills straight. I was so naive.)
Needless to say, once I crossed that hall, I never got back to my room again except to bathe and change clothes.
Nancy with Johny Gomez and Jimmy and Gloria Stewart (Honolulu, 1950)Luis with great gentleness introduced me to the passion my body was capable of and had never experienced. Until then it had been easy to keep my distance with men -- sex was no big thing as far as I knew. Arriving at the altar as a virgin, I found my wedding night a total disappointment. Why all the hoopla about this painful, messy act? Time didn't seem to help. Dick and I had no "fire" between us and I slowly became a "frigid wife." But now, with an experienced partner, possessing a body chemistry perfectly matched to mine, a whole new world of sensations opened up.
Several days later Luis confessed, "I called Nancy Oakes and told her you would be delayed a week -- maybe you'd better give her a ring."
So she had been there all the time! She howled when I explained, and said, "Go off and enjoy yourself, I'll be here all summer."
Luis and I had fallen desperately in love by the time we joined his Australian friend Peter Reid, and spent a month touring France, Switzerland, and Monaco. It was a storybook trip, one that would make us suffer more when we parted. We could not stay together; there were too many obstacles, but knowing it didn't make it easier.
Luis followed me to New York and then to Los Angeles, delaying our eventual separation. Finally, with despair, we agreed to go our separate ways. He returned to Argentina and his family, and I to Honolulu to bring the boys back to California for school. My enchanted summer was over.
The joy of being reunited with my precious, blonde-haired, little sons helped my aching heart, but it was an emotional time for me. I'd closed a nine-year chapter in my life, and would now move away from my circle of supportive friends. We had all been newlyweds and first-time parents together -- our roots were deep. My mother-in-law, whom I loved, had asked me not to stay in the Islands for Dick's sake.
Raising the morale of wounded Korean War soldiers at Tripler Hospital (Honolulu, 1950).So, even though I was relieved to have my divorce behind me, I felt both apprehension and hopeful expectations as I returned to the San Francisco Bay area.
Getting my family resettled and moved into a new house kept me so busy that life began to fill in, even though I longed for Luis. Then in October a letter arrived. He wrote, "You are under no obligation to me, but I can't go on as it is. I will get a divorce in Uruguay and Mexico. Only when I am completely free will I appear in your life again. Darling girl, I refuse to envision a future without you!"
I didn't come down from the clouds for days; my happiness wiped away all problems. Everything would be worked out in time. What I knew for now was that it was possible! Six long months later, Luis came to California and formally called on my father to ask for my hand.
Then Dick came for a visit with our sons. While staying at my sister's, he agreed to my taking the boys to Argentina. This was a big relief to me, as I had to have his written permission to take them out of the U.S. (Foolishly, I thought his oral promise was good enough.) It was agreed that I would send the boys to Honolulu for the summer, and go to Argentina, select schools, and so on, and then return for them in September. We would make the trip back to Buenos Aires together.
So with good faith I made my plans. Only when I looked at a map and saw how far away Buenos Aires was did I have butterflies in my stomach. It was as far away from San Francisco as Australia. My family had mixed emotions. They were happy for my joy, but felt sad about my going such a distance. However, I had no choice; Luis's family banking business was there, and this was the source of his income.
On June 26, 1952, one year from the day we met in Paris, I joined my husband-to-be in Chile; from there we traveled to Argentina. The country was in turmoil over the impending death of Evita Peron. All nightlife was subdued as the people waited, but it hardly affected us. All we needed was each other. Luis would go to the office for an hour, and then return home for lunch to make sure I was not homesick. Luckily, he had a good Scottish manager to run things.
After selecting a fine British school, ordering uniforms, and getting everything ready for the children, Luis and I went to Montevideo, Uruguay to be married. We were so happy, even though I wished my family could have been there with us.
Then the bomb dropped. Dick wrote saying he would never let the boys come to Argentina. He had waited until I was married and could not change my mind.
Nancy and Luis: the happy couple (Monte Carlo, 1951)Nancy and Luis: the happy couple (Monte Carlo, 1951)It threw me into a complete panic, soon to be replaced by rage. Luis comforted me with plans to return together to the U.S. for Christmas. So began my custody battle with the Cooke family, one that dragged on and on.
On April 12, 1954, my birthday, our daughter Maria Luisa was born -- what a heavenly time! It was also a time to make another decision, one the boys begged me to make. So, after trying for two years through lawyers and repeated lengthy stays in California, I took the whole family back to Argentina without the written permission of anybody.
I took enough money with me to support the boys until their father came to his senses. Now my happiness was complete. We all adored the baby, Luis was a supportive and admired stepfather, and we bought a large house outside the city near the school. Everything was going beautifully when, six months later, tragedy struck.
On returning from a New Year's Eve party, Luis had been violently sick. He recovered, but didn't feel normal for a couple of weeks, so we decided he should check into the British Hospital for a check-up. As a typical Argentine, he was sure it was something wrong with his liver.
How I remember that dreadful day -- every minute is engraved on my heart. It was the 15th of January, a beautiful summer day. A battery of diagnostic tests were run, and we were waiting in his room for the results.
Finally, Harry Fergusson, Luis's doctor and old golfing friend, came in with a handful of papers and announced, "Well, pal, I'm afraid my suspicions were correct. You have a blood intoxication. It must have been what you ate the night you became so sick."
"That Chilean lobster?" asked Luis.
"Very likely. Anyway, you're not going to get over it immediately. We're going to keep you here and give you regular transfusions until we wash out this reaction." Turning to me, he said, "I guess you'll be staying here for a while, dear Nancy. You'd better move your car into the shade. It's going to be a hot day. Let me walk out with you."
This was strange. I had parked my car in the shade, but I didn't say anything. Evidently, Harry wanted to talk to me alone.
Once out in the corridor, he took my elbow and guided me into a nearby waiting room. His rawboned, weathered Scots face was sad. "Nancy, Luis is seriously ill."
I don't know why, but a dreaded thought crossed my mind. I asked, "Is it leukemia?"
"Yes." His large features seemed to drop as he sighed.
"Does that mean he is going to ... to die?" I choked on the word.
''I'm afraid so, unless there is a miracle. It's rare at his age, but the leukemia is acute."
"But he's always been so strong and healthy."
"Yes, but now there will be a crisis. If we can just get him through the next ten days .... "
I was sinking into the earth. Harry's voice seemed far away as he continued, "I contacted Dr. Albert Pavlowski, head of the World Blood Society, who is luckily in Buenos Aires. I asked him to check my diagnosis, praying I or the lab made a mistake. The diagnosis is correct."
For a moment my vision expanded. Harry seemed to be standing at the opening of a distant tunnel. As if outside myself, my voice asked, "Will it be a painful death?"
"No, he'll be spared that."
Someone pulled the cork, and my whole life poured out on the floor.
I tried to grab hold of myself -- not break down. In a matter of minutes, I had to see Luis. Harry settled me back into a chair and asked a passing nurse to bring me a sedative.
He took my hands, "This will be hard. Go back and stay with Luis until Dr. Pavlowski and I return." His grip tightened. "Talk and try to appear as normal as you can. We don't want to arouse his fear. He has only a small chance of surviving this crisis, but if he panics, he won't even have that."
I don't know how I did it, but it is amazing what you can do for someone you love. Harry and I agreed it was best to convince Luis that he was reacting to lobster poisoning. If I broke down, he would guess the truth.
The next hour seemed like a hundred. Sitting on the hospital bed, running my fingers through Luis's fine black hair and chatting with him, I had to fight back thoughts of the reality crushing in on us. To me, my husband was everything a man could be. His Latin temper was counterpoised by his English heritage. He was tender, affectionate, and bombastic. How he loved to debate, an incessant devil's advocate, taking either side. Never knowing what to expect from him, I was captivated by this electric man. I looked at his strong chest and shoulders, his athletic golfer's hands and legs. He emanated health. I couldn't believe what was happening.
Finally, Harry returned with a small, fair-skinned man whose kind brown eyes looked out of a prematurely lined face. After Dr. Pavlowski examined Luis, he asked me to join him for a cup of coffee in the hospital cafe, leaving Harry and Luis talking golf.
Harry had told Pavlowski that Luis and I had been exposed to an atomic fallout 20 months before. Perhaps there was a connection. He urged me, "Please start at the beginning, and don't leave anything out. I need to get the complete picture."
"In May of '53," I began, "we were visiting the Grand Canyon. One evening in a bar, we heard a radio announcement that the atomic test that was previously scheduled for that day had been canceled because of high winds. Luis commented, 'Those damn fools don't know what they're fooling around with.' Another man at the bar volunteered, 'They're taking tremendous precautions -- it won't hurt anyone but a few animals. All roads in and out of the area are closed.' He sounded well-informed, so we dropped the subject, and forgot about it.
"Early the next morning, we left for Zion National Park. I was driving and remember turning off the car radio, as there was no reception in the canyon. We were awestruck by the rugged beauty of the scenery -- I don't have any idea exactly how long we were there."
Pavlowski asked me if we knew the bomb had gone off. "No, we'd never thought of it since leaving the hotel." Now I thought back on how stupid we had been.
He interrupted, "What kind of car were you in? Were the windows down?"
"Oh yes. It was a station wagon. It was a beautiful, warm day, and we had the windows wide open."
"Where were you stopped?" He was making notes.
"We had driven through the towns of Mesquite and St. George, which are in Utah. Shortly after we left St. George, three men in army fatigues signaled us to pull over."
"Were there no signs warning you to stay off the road -- anything to that effect? Had you seen any other army personnel?"
"No, we were just driving along, enjoying the beauty of the desert."
"And the soldiers? What then?"
'They were three young corporals. One asked, 'Where have you come from?' When we explained, he said, 'But that road is closed. Don't you know there's been an atomic fallout?' We didn't know a thing. I thought back to the scene. How oblivious we had been. I pointed out that we hadn't seen and couldn't have heard anything.
"One of the soldiers in a uniform one size too big commented, There's been a slip-up somewhere; the roads in that area are closed from the Canadian border to Mexico.' They told us to get out of the car so they could do some testing. One of them pulled out an instrument, explaining, 'This Geiger counter tests for radioactivity.'"
"At this request, I raised my foot while he held the instrument to my moccasin. I saw the red needle go to the top, and asked, 'What does that mean?'''
"It says you're hot, lady."
"Foolishly, I answered, 'Oh, thank you.'''
"Luis reprimanded me, 'This is not funny, Nancy.' Then they tested the car, and pronounced it the hottest one they had seen that day."
"You mean other cars happened through also?" asked the doctor. "Apparently."
"What about the people who live in those towns you mentioned? Were they evacuated?"
"No. We asked about that. They were warned to keep their windows shut and stay indoors until advised differently."
Dr. Pavlowski sighed. "About what time of day was it?"
"Mid-afternoon. They sent us about a halt-hour's drive down the road to what they called a decontamination center. There the car was washed approximately six times and each time retested with the Geiger counter."
"What did you and your husband do during this time?"
"Well, Luis was angry. He asked one of the soldiers, 'How do you know if you've received a dangerous dose of this radiation?' The soldier wasn't very tactful. 'Oh, you'll know. You'll get nauseated, your hair will begin to fallout, and you may go blind.'
"'For Christ's sake!' was Luis's response. His Latin blood boiled over. There was a saloon across the street. We went there. Luis ordered a double scotch, only to be told by the bartender, 'Sorry, sir, it's a state election day, and in Nevada we can't serve alcohol 'til after seven.' That's when the you-know-what hit the fan."
Pavlowski's eyes never left my face.
"And then what did you do, see a doctor?"
"No. When we returned to the car, we were given a package of soap and told to bathe and wash our hair with it. We were to put our clothes in a laundry bag and send them to the cleaners." So they could contaminate everybody else's, flashed through my mind. "It was suggested we have a blood count taken in about six months, but we really didn't know enough to be worried."
"Yes, go on."
"Well, there's not much more to tell. The road to Overton, Nevada, where we had planned to stay with relatives, was closed. So we went straight to Las Vegas where my aunt and uncle came and met us instead. That night Luis and Uncle Fred drank up practically all the scotch in town."
The doctor was now conversing with himself. "So that makes it about 19 to 20 months ago -- that figures." "What do you mean?" I held my breath, not wanting to hear the answer.
"Most of the victims of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, who didn't die during the blast, developed this particular acute type of leukemia and died between 18 months and 2 years after the fallout."
"Oh, Doctor Pavlowski, do you really think this is the same thing? Isn't there any chance it could be something else?" I was begging for hope.
"My dear, I wish I could tell you differently, but you've asked me to be truthful. I know of no case where a patient has lasted longer than ten months with this illness. And, I've never seen a more virulent case." He went on to describe how the cells looked like little walking canes under the microscope. There could be no mistake. I clenched my fists to my mouth.
"Your husband will have a crisis in ten days. If he lives through that, he can live from two to ten months, allowing that he can tolerate the medication."
He looked directly at me. "You should stay away from X-ray or any form of radiation for the rest of your life." This fell on deaf ears. My only interest then was Luis.
Later I asked more questions. The doctor felt the fact that Luis had had hepatitis shortly before leaving Buenos Aires had made him more vulnerable to the deadly effects of radiation. Also, he was 14 years older than I. Pavlowski said he would call Dr. John Lawrence at the University of California's Atomic Research Lab with the exact details, to find out if this information could have any bearing on his course of treatment.
"Isn't there anything else we can do? Should we get Luis to the States?"
"I don't think your husband could tolerate a long trip, but there is something we can try. I have been using a new medicine, which might help. However, I want to confer with Dr. Lawrence before administering Perinithol."
This presented another hurdle. There was only enough Perinithol in Argentina for two days of treatment; we had to obtain more from the U.S. immediately. I threw myself completely into solving this -- the momentary problem helped to stave off thinking of the future, but when I heard Mother's voice on the phone and told her of Luis's illness, I broke down for the first time. It made me realize how far away I was, how alone.
Mother promised to put the Perinithol on the first Pan Am flight, so treatment commenced. Luis responded well; his blood count held up between transfusions, and Harry became optimistic that he would survive the first crisis. We hung on every straw. I took hope. If we could just get him home where we could build up his strength for the second crisis. Two to ten months -- anything could happen in that amount of time. I would not allow myself to think otherwise.
I spent every possible hour in Luis's room treasuring each moment, trying to imprint every sound, every touch into my memory. During the periods between headaches and relapses, Luis was especially lively-particularly after the transfusions. Switching from subject to subject and waving his arms for emphasis, he was his animated, handsome, and cheerful self. It seemed unbelievable that he could be dying. I watched for signs of the coming crisis. I prayed for a miracle.
Leslie Pepper, an old friend of Luis's, came to the hospital daily to relieve me, so that I could dash home to check on our household. Miss Julia, our nine-month-old baby's nurse, was aware of the gravity of Luis's condition, but I said little to the boys, not wanting to alarm them. I'd decided to wait until we got Luis home. On the eighth day, Leslie took me aside and said, "I think we're in for trouble. Luis is hemorrhaging again."
"But Harry said that he was much better."
"He said that yesterday. Now he's worried that the medicine is losing its effect. Nancy, there's just no point in fooling ourselves." I didn't want to admit it, but I too had noticed how Luis's urine bottles were black with blood. He sneezed blood. His gums were raw. Dr. Pavlowski had predicted he would die of a cerebral hemorrhage. I was terrified. Harry reassured Luis that it was the body just throwing off some blood from the transfusions. I wondered if Luis suspected the truth but was afraid to ask.
Leslie had not given up hope. He said, "Theodore Hicks is in town again. I've arranged for you to meet him."
The previous year, Hicks, an American evangelist, had come to Argentina on a tour of the major South American cities. Quoting the Bible, he affected instantaneous healings before the multitudes who jammed into the theaters and stadiums to hear him. The newspapers were filled with stories of his miraculous cures. Leslie's daughter, who had Down syndrome, had been helped by her encounter with Hicks. This I had helped to arrange. Now Leslie wanted to do the same in reverse.
"I think you should see him ... even Peron has told the Catholic Church to put up or shut up. He suggested they demonstrate the same kind of healing that Hicks was doing for hundreds in Buenos Aires every day."
"But of course I'll go to see him. He may be the miracle we've been praying for. Thank you, thank you, my dear friend." A visit with the faith healer presented a ray of hope. If only my faith were strong enough, God would help.
So the next evening, as I sat in The Continental Hotel lobby waiting to see Hicks, I prayed for strength. Also, "Not Luis, please do not take Luis." I didn't want to face life without him. I promised to atone for any sins I might have committed. I hadn't meant to hurt Dick when I took the children away. Mentally, I went through any acts of mine that had caused unhappiness for others.
I made all sorts of promises, if only my husband could be saved. But I felt so alone. Then is when a strong faith would have helped me.
Mr. Hicks's secretary found me in the lobby and escorted me upstairs to the evangelist's room. If I had not been led to him, I never would have noticed him. He was a man of medium build with salt-and-pepper gray hair. He wore a baggy suit, but his appearance belied the conviction in his steady, pale blue eyes, which penetrated me as he opened the door.
"Come in, my child. There is help for all who seek it in the house of God." Mr. Hicks's measured tone was smooth and rich. "Your friend told me of your beloved husband's illness. We will speak of that later, but first let us talk about you."
He motioned for me to sit on the couch next to him. "Do you believe that the Almighty Father has unlimited power?"
"Yes."
"Do you pray?"
"Yes, constantly. I talk to God and to Jesus and implore them to heal Luis and to give me strength. My words may sound trite, but God knows what is in my heart and how desperate I feel." The dam broke, and the tears I had been holding back poured out.
"It is better to let the tears come first, my child," he whispered. "Then we will pray together and ask God to send you strength."
When I regained control, Mr. Hicks asked me to kneel and put my arms around his waist while he stood holding my head in his hands. He intoned a prayer in a loud, firm voice. "Lord God Almighty, we stand here in your presence .... "
A soothing calm came over me. I could feel the ringing words of his prayer permeating me, bypassing my comprehension. Mr. Hicks prayed that God would give me strength to pass through my ordeal, that I might have great faith, knowing that only faith would help me in the days to come. He was not praying for Luis, but for me!
I felt better and we made plans for Mr. Hicks to visit Luis the following morning. I also warned, "Luis doesn't know what he has, or the severity of his illness. Have I been wrong in not telling him the truth? The doctor suggested waiting until later."
"No, my child. We all must make decisions. You are doing a kindly thing. You want to save your husband. He will know when it is his time to die." A smile transformed his solemn demeanor.
"As for my call, I will tell him that I am visiting various floors in the hospital and make the whole meeting seem accidental."
When the evangelist dropped in the next day, Luis received him cordially. I left the room so that they could be alone. When I returned Mr. Hicks had departed, and Luis described a remarkable scene. "The old boy asked me about my life, my beliefs, and whether there was anything burdening my conscience. I told him I hoped I had not caused anybody harm, and if I had, it was not with bad intention." Luis went on, "He then had me put my arms around his waist and asked me to pray with him. When Hicks touched my head, my sinuses, congested by this hemorrhaging, suddenly cleared, and I could smell all of the roses in the room! Nancy, that man has something -- some quality of tremendous spirituality. I'm delighted he came to this room."
Did Luis secretly sense his great danger? Happiness and hope flooded my being -- maybe a miracle had happened.
"So cheer up my love, before you know it I'll be as good as new. That transfusion really did the trick." He ruffled my hair -- his eyes full of light again.
But, by afternoon, while I watched in panic, the hemorrhaging turned into a deluge. Luis complained of a dreadful headache. Narco and oxygen were administered, but eventually even they could not control the pain. Luis's last words to me before he went into a coma were, "Que dolor, mi pobre cabeza -- mi querida, mi querida. " ("What pain, my poor head -- my dear, my dear.") I held his hands and the doctor and I watched as his respiration stopped. His strong heart kept beating, and then gradually, without oxygen, his pulse disappeared and my Luis was gone from me.
The doctor left the room. I sat there with Luis's quiet hand in mine. I became aware of the fragrance of roses in the room. The nurses came in shortly to prepare Luis. I asked them not to take the lamp away that I had brought from home. It was on the bedside table next to him and its light was soft and so much nicer than that of the harsh overhead light of the hospital room. I was then led down the hall to a room. I was in such shock I thought nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing. I was then told that certain decisions must be made now. And so I did.
I then asked to be alone with my husband for the last time. I stroked his hair and thanked him for the happiness he had given me. I knew I would never love another person with the passion I had felt for him. Later, when I was taken home, Miss Julia, the nurse, said that Maria Luisa started to cry inconsolably at the exact moment of her father's death.
Early the next morning I went into the garden and cut all the beautiful blossoms off of Luis's favorite tree. They would cover his casket. Then I gathered my three sons and gently broke the news that our Luis had left us. Rikki, the eldest at ten, asked, "Will we have lots of problems, Mom?" My answer was, "Yes." He volunteered to get a job to help the family.
The months that followed brought an agony I cannot describe. Slowly, through my overwhelming sorrow came the realization of our predicament. It arose like a slow sunrise, its rays lighting up the valleys of my dilemma. It would have been easier to lie down and die of a broken heart the way dogs often do after losing a master. Until then grief had been a foreign sensation for me; now I was overwhelmed by its unrelenting persistence. It enveloped me during sleepless nights, it made my throat refuse food -- and yet, I had to pull myself together -- I was in a faraway land with four dependent children and almost no money.
Our protector, benefactor, and interpreter was gone, and the wolves were forming a ring outside our door. Amongst them were some of Luis's immediate family who had never met or accepted me. As we were never legally married in Argentina, now I was not recognized as the legal wife, and all payments from the office ceased. Four months before, we'd bought our wonderful old house out of a German estate. I paid the first payment of $35,000 cash, the money I'd brought to support the boys; Luis was to pay me back when his money from Uruguay arrived, but this never happened.
It wasn't only a financial dilemma. I had brought my children to Argentina without the permission of their father. Now, from bitterness he wrote, "You made your own bed, so lie in it." He refused us any help and let me know he would take me to court on my return to the United States. So bridges had been burned behind us.
But maybe in the long run it was a blessing to have all these problems. It made me stay busy. I had to discipline my thoughts -- if I cried all night, I was useless the next day. It was as though I couldn't even afford the luxury of my own terrible grief. Too much depended on my staying strong.
As much as Mother feared flying, she came from California. She will never know what this meant to me -- meeting her at the airport brought the first ray of sunshine into my heart since Luis's death. After appraising our situation, she got us moving. We had a sale such as diplomats often do when leaving an assignment. We sold the house and many of our valuable belongings. The boys set up a table and sold their blue jeans and boxes of bubble gum.
Mother left after two months, but it took more than a year to unscramble our affairs. Between legal matters and the revolution, which ousted Peron, it was a tumultuous time. The only time I felt any serenity was when I sat by Luis's grave. I accepted the fact that there was a reason why he had to die; I never questioned God's will, but thanked that force for allowing me the three years of happiness we'd had.
I couldn't bear the word eternity and had engraved on Luis's headstone,
Sleep Peacefully Beloved Until We Meet Again. If there were justice in the universe, and there had to be, I figured it involved continuity of lifetimes. (I wasn't familiar with the term reincarnation then.) I continued to dwell on Mr. Hicks and his remarkable conviction and longed to believe myself.
I had so many questions to be answered. I envied him his unquestioning faith. Shortly after Luis's death he sent me a note saying, "Do not worry about your husband's soul. His talk with me had the quality of a full confession. He died with God's grace."
I believed him, and it was then that my thirst began, a thirst for answers, a thirst for a trust to be used as a faith, a support, should such a terrible grief engulf me again. And I knew that when I found a belief that worked for me, like Mr. Hicks, I would tell the world about it.
The warm Indian sun was shining in my room. It took a minute to realize where I was ... in the hotel in Dharamsala. I had fallen asleep in a sitting position. Had it all been a dream? Sometimes on awakening I prayed my worlds were reversed, that Luis's death had been just a nightmare. But this was reality. However, I knew one question had been answered. My search was not ended. It was just beginning. It was time to take some real steps into a new dimension, the world of going within, the world of spirit, of justice and self-knowledge. I hastily dressed. I had many questions to ask Kazi. This was an opportunity not to be lost.