Found in Translation (21 page)

“Oh, man! I had no idea ….”

“I know. That’s why several of the team leads talked to Rob and me. Please understand: They weren’t complaining behind your back. They wanted to find a solution without involving you. Their only concern is everyone’s safety. Especially Anjelita’s.”

“I couldn’t stand it if something bad happened to that little girl.” I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. “I’ll be responsible for her safety.”

Later that evening I’d remember using the word
responsible
and wonder what my parents would think.

“We knew you’d feel that way. How about stopping her from helping you?”

“Oh, Charlie …” I didn’t know what to say, but this wasn’t the time to quote Barbra Streisand’s “You can’t stop a tidal wave.”

“The question isn’t really ‘Can you stop her?’ It’s ‘How will you do it?’”

Oh, man! A real tidal wave.

“I don’t know much about children, Charlie. I hope she’ll prefer playing tomorrow. Maybe her mom won’t let her work. That’s not good enough, huh?”

“Afraid not.”

I knew that as soon as I asked.

Neither of us spoke for a while. The sunset across the fields captivated us. I doubt that I was the only one praying silently with open eyes, mind, and heart. We’d soon need to retire for the night, but we had to solve this problem first. Or have a substantial reason to believe the problem would disappear on its own.

Our silent amens didn’t lead to a solution.

“Charlie, I need to sleep on this one. But tell me: What if Anjelita and I worked on something useful outside the construction area, something that has nothing to do with construction?”

“No problem. Construction’s going great. Rob is a whiz of an organizer, and most of the team is learning quickly. Some people have more potential than others, but almost everyone is motivated.”

I wondered if he was thinking of Geoff when he said “almost everyone.”

“At this rate,” he said, “the villagers would just have a few minor tasks to finish on their own if things bogged down unexpectedly. And that’s a worst-case scenario. We plan to finish their houses before we leave. Everything’s under control. In case you got lost in my verbiage, everyone will bless anything you do to keep Anjelita safe.”

“Thanks, Charlie. I have an idea, but I need to pray about it. But it’s okay to keep Anjelita working as long as it’s outside the construction area?”

“Absolutely, Kimmy.” He gave me a brotherly Christian hug that made me wonder even more about Geoff. “You have your flashlight with you?” I nodded. “Have a great prayer time and a good night’s sleep.”

Rather than chance being drawn into conversation in the girls’ field, I sat down where I was and began praying. But I must have fallen asleep, because all I remembered when I came to was a strange encounter I’d had with an angel. I didn’t think it was a dream, but …

“Good evening, Kim. I bring you peace.”

“Hello, Angel.” I hoped that was an acceptable way to address a heavenly being. It’s not like she had wings, a harp, or glowing clothes, though. If anything, she looked like one of the villagers. But she was speaking—or should I say thinking—English to me, and that was supernatural enough.

“God knows your idea for protecting Anjelita,” she said.

“Good. Will it work? Is that what He wants me to do?”

“It will keep Anjelita safe.”

“Good. But is this what God wants me to do?”

“Kim, do you want me to be honest?”

“As a messenger from God, you can’t lie, can you?”

“Touché. I’ll tell you the truth. God agrees that your project is important. It will benefit the villagers, but not as much as the task He has in mind for you.”

“Oh, I’ll gladly set this one aside and do what He wants.” My plan was going to take a lot of work. “You know I’m trying to be faithful, flexible, and obedient.”

“Kim, you’ve got a good heart, and you’ve made a good start, and I like making rhymes when I have the time, but God knows you better than you know yourself.”

Was it okay to laugh at an angel? I’d never met one before, and this one was a hoot.

“When you receive your other assignment, you’ll think it’s impossible. But that’s okay. God knows you’re not ready for it yet.”

I was drenched in sweat now, even though the temperature had already dropped into the sixties. Not ready for my other assignment yet?

“Kim, this has nothing to do with willingness. It has everything to do with relying on God rather than on yourself. You may not realize it, but you’re planning to do the first project on your own, and God’s going to let you. But you’ll have to depend on Him for the big one.”

“His project is bigger than mine? I’m not even sure we can finish mine in the time we have.”

“You can, Kim, and you will. I won’t tell you more about the other one until you’re ready. But I promise you’ll laugh at the idea.”

“Me laugh? I’ll never do that.”

“That’s what Simon Peter said about betraying Jesus.”

Day 4

I
was glad Aleesha was more awake than I was.

“Are you sure this is the best thing to do with my hair?” I asked. I’d gotten up promptly at dawn, determined to keep my hair from getting grubbier than it already was. I would never get used to stirring up dirt whenever I moved or to sweating constantly.

At home I washed my hair twice a week—occasionally three times—and kept it looking perfect. Referring to the large binder of hair care tricks I’d collected over the years, I never had a bad hair day I couldn’t do something about. If one-armedness could be mistaken as God’s curse, hair like mine must signify His great favor.

But in Santa María I would go without washing it for two full weeks, and brushing one-handed was nearly impossible. Braiding would help tremendously, but that was a definite two-handed task.

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Kim,” Aleesha responded playfully. “I just can’t do french braids like you asked me about. You may have noticed I’m not French?”

“You’re not from Haiti, Côte d’Ivoire, or Rwanda?”

We both giggled.

“I suppose one of the other girls could help you do a french braid if you want to ask. I won’t hold it against you longer than the next fifty years—or until death, whichever comes first.”

I ignored her offer to back out. Whatever she did to make my hair easier to deal with would be fine.

“Maybe you should’ve broken a leg instead of an arm. Then you could braid it yourself.”

Even at dawn when my mind and body resisted wakefulness, Aleesha could make me laugh. “I wouldn’t move around or get so hot and sweaty with a broken leg. My hair would still get filthy enough, though. You’re sure you can finish before breakfast? I thought something like this took hours, even for more darkly complected, less French-looking girls with shorter hair than mine.”

“I never said we’d be the first ones at breakfast today, girl. But this will be the perfect solution. I can work fast when I have to. Besides, I have special shortcuts. They don’t always work on our hair, but they’ll be fine for yours. I just wish your hair was clean right now.”

“You and me both.” My sigh probably woke up our nearest neighbors.

“And eighteen inches shorter.”

“No way.”

“Don’t get me talking so much or we’ll never get done.”

I snorted involuntarily. Aleesha couldn’t not talk much.

“Cornrows. Who would ever have thought it?”

“Modified cornrows, mind you. These won’t be the real thing, but they’ll be the best ones you can get at a beauty shop in the middle of nowhere.”

“Be good, Aleesha, and be quiet.”

We both giggled. I couldn’t tell what she was doing, but Aleesha had proven so multi-talented, I assumed she was equally good at anything she put her mind to. The results would be delightful, not just satisfactory.

Aleesha worked for an amazing ten or fifteen minutes without saying a word. I was quiet, too, except for yelping when she pulled my hair too tight. I felt my confidence level slipping.

“Can I see the mirror? Please?”

“Not yet, girl, but it’s lookin’ good. You won’t get the full effect with a mirror. I’ll take several shots with my digital camera when I’m done.”

I could kick myself for forgetting to bring my new camera. My parents had given it to me for this trip.

“You’ll wish God had made you black for sure then.” She winked. “But you still wouldn’t be as beautiful as me. Hold your head still.”

I shook my head in amazement. Aleesha could morph from serious to silly and back again faster than anyone I’ve ever known.

“How am I going to live without you when we go home again?” I asked her. “My life is going to be so dull.”

“You’ve got that right,” she said. “You remember I have a laptop? I’m big on instant messaging but not so good about answering e-mail.”

That admission freed me to admit my irresponsibility about failing to read the project-change messages. She cackled.

“That’s about what I would’ve expected from a black-headed blondie like you. Now hush. You’re slowing me down.” She jerked my hair again.

After a lengthy period of silence punctuated only by a few yelps on my part and an occasional “whoops!” on hers, she said, “It’s coming along just fine, but don’t touch it.” She was just teasing. And I’d made sure she didn’t have scissors before she started.

Patience was tough, though. Prolonged silence made Aleesha seem like a stranger, if not an alien from another universe.

If this hairdo made us look more like sistuhs—or was it sistahs?—that would be fine with me. It would certainly draw some interesting stares, though.

I spotted a pair of small eyes peering at me. Anjelita must have come to see if we were up. That shouldn’t have surprised me; but after the way Rosa reacted to me, I wasn’t sure she’d let Anjelita hang around me anymore. That would’ve settled the safety issue, but the loss of her company would have been devastating.

I would have been out of luck about my pet project, too. Keeping Anjelita away from the construction zone was the only way I could justify it. And doing it without her would be impossible.

Anjelita’s arrival—hopefully with her mom’s approval—settled the issue of an alternate activity. Good thing I couldn’t explain the problem to Anjelita, though. She’d never have to know that her childish heedlessness had caused our change of activities.

Or that it had given me an excuse to do what I wanted to do.

“Hi, Anjelita,” I smiled as I greeted her. “How long have you been watching us this morning?”

I’d probably never break myself of saying things she couldn’t understand. Not really a bad thing, though. My parents never talked down to me, and I eventually learned most of the words they used and ended up with a better than average vocabulary. Maybe Anjelita would benefit from having me treat her the same way.

“Buenos días, Señorita Kim.”

I’d forgotten how soft and tiny her voice was.

“Buenos días, Señorita Aleesha.”

Although Aleesha seemed so intent on what she was doing that she could only say hi, she smiled.

“Buenos días” was another of those Spanish phrases familiar to most Americans who’re otherwise ignorant of Spanish. As I repeated it back to her, I got out my pad and pen. I would record every Spanish word I heard in Santa María, even the few I already knew.

Although Anjelita yawned periodically, her eyes twinkled with fascination at watching Aleesha.

“You want to take a closer look, Anjelita?” Aleesha spoke slowly as if that might make her English more understandable.

Anjelita wrinkled her forehead in puzzlement.

Aleesha motioned for her to come closer. I felt a small hand examine my modified cornrows from my scalp all the way to the ends. Even in Spanish, the sounds of childish delight were unmistakable.

“You finished and let her see it first? That’s not fair!” I said in mock protest.

Anjelita giggled at the pouty face I made.

“You’ll live, missy,” Aleesha said. “And get those hands down.”

After hearing a click, I considered grabbing Aleesha’s camera so I could view her handiwork, but before I could turn around, she’d begun piling my cornrows on top of my head and using something—hairpins, I assumed—to hold everything in place.

The camera clicked again.

I wasn’t sure if Anjelita had ever seen a camera or a photograph, but she peeked over my shoulder as Aleesha handed me the camera with the original picture in the window.

I gasped.
Aleesha, you’re a genius ….

“Well, girl, what do you think?” she said, laughing.

“The other one. I want to see the other picture, please.”

Aleesha pushed a button on her camera. If I’d been a puppy, my tail would’ve been wagging a mile a minute.

“You’re a miracle worker. And you said you couldn’t do a french braid. But this is perfect—better than I’ve ever done. And the way you looped it around on top. You’re sure you don’t want to become a beautician?”

Aleesha’s face broke into a huge smile before she responded in her usual modest way. “Well, what did you expect me to do, girl? I’m good, but I can’t put hair that long into any kind of cornrows in forty-five minutes. I took my sweet time just to fool you.”

“I don’t mind when the results are this great, but why did you keep pulling my hair?”

“I didn’t even start braiding your hair till five minutes ago; I just played with it to make you think I was doing something special, and I grabbed and yanked a handful of hair every once in a while to keep you guessing.”

I shook my head.
Maybe I’m more naive than I thought.

Anjelita peered into Aleesha’s face with a look no normal mortal could resist and held out several strands of her own hair—hair twelve to fifteen inches longer than mine. She wanted a french braid, too.

Little Miss Copycat.
I smiled at her.

“No, not today … not now,” Aleesha said.

Anjelita understood the word
no
—it meant the same in both languages—and Aleesha’s unsmiling headshake meant no as well. But she couldn’t have understood that “Not today … not now” only meant “wait until later.” Aleesha looked and sounded like she meant “Leave me alone; I don’t want to do your hair.”