by Arthur Plotnik I DOUBT if physicists envision black holes the size of pearls, much less black holes contained in small silver boxes. I'd certainly have dismissed such ideas as nonsense, or maybe some conceptual artist's fantasy. But then I hadn't yet found myself entering the Witches' Market of La Paz, Bolivia, after wandering through South America in a state of dread. In El Mercado de Las Brujas , science, reason, and reality gave way to magical beliefs. Crowding the sidewalks of this old quarter, the vendors—most of them leathery Indian women—hawked supernatural powers to be gained through potions, dolls, rocks, herbs, silver bracelets, woven crosses, and dried animal parts. I'd been traveling through South America not for pleasure, but because I'd needed to get at least a continent away from my husband Patrick and what I'd learned about him some weeks earlier: A secret club. School children. Filmings. Not only that, but to suppor
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