Found in Translation (27 page)

Infectious laughter has no language barriers.

When the three of us stooped to pick up the food, Rob’s small can of baked beans started rolling away, and he and I both dove in the dirt after it. After amusing a cheering crowd of onlookers with our lack of dignity, we whooped and clapped as the can disappeared into a small animal burrow.

“I’ll report you to the SPCA if that can hurt any animals,” I said. The tears from my laughter were making mud out of the dirt on my face.

“Good shot!” Charlie said, barely able to speak for laughing.

“First hole-in-one I’ve ever made,” Rob said. “I’ve been trying for years.”

“No wonder you succeeded now.” Charlie’s face was red from laughing so hard. “Look at the size of that hole. You couldn’t have missed it with your eyes closed.”

Then I saw Geoff. He looked at the three of us on the ground, filthier than we would’ve been at the end of the day. He stared at his uncle as if he didn’t recognize him—or didn’t want to. Then he looked at me.

I couldn’t guess what he was thinking. His mask was too effective.

“Geoff?” I wanted him to join us. “I promised to talk with you today. I’ve got time now if you do.”

He looked the other direction and then went out of his way to walk around us like a biblical Jew avoiding Samaria.

Day 6

O
ne of the most precious things Anjelita did for her “big sister” that week was to play matchmaker. No matter what we were doing, she kept her eyes on every guy around, trying—as it turned out—to find one for me.

She didn’t know how I felt about mission-trip romances. I doubt she would have understood even if I’d had the words to explain it to her. Bless her little heart, though. She just saw me as a woman in need of a man.

A number of team members had started dating, and Anjelita pointed them out to me. She looked in my face, possibly checking for signs of jealousy, frustration, or loneliness. Smiling her most encouraging smile, she extended her hand—palm up—toward the crowd of guys in the mess tent as if to say, “This field of fellows is white unto harvest. Do your job as a woman and pick one.”

She pointed to this boy or that one and watched my reaction. Her taste was good, her recommendations excellent. Too bad I wasn’t interested. She suggested only the picks of the litter.

I wondered if Anjelita had a little of Aleesha’s street savvy. She not only failed to recommend Geoff but frowned whenever she saw him. Did she sense his disinterest in her and her people? Was her nose sensitive to his “bad smell,” too?

Each time Anjelita pointed to another guy, I shook my head and said, “No, thank you.” The way she pursed her lips and looked at me suggested that her failure to find her sister a man made her feel miserable. Perhaps like a failure at an important task.

I hated that.

At first, her matchmaking was interesting. She forced me to put each guy in turn under my microscope of personal standards and examine his qualifications in detail. I didn’t have nearly enough information to go on, though. I didn’t know much more than the first names of many of the guys.

Perhaps matchmaking was a standard practice in Anjelita’s culture, but I couldn’t imagine picking out a fellow the way I’d shop for, say, a new hair dryer. For that, I’d look online and compare features. The reputation of the brand, wattage, weight, available colors, and price would all play a part in my decision. Then I’d check out my favored choices in a brick-and-mortar store and see how they compared to the online advertising.

But selecting a guy was more like shopping for a car. Although I’d done that with Mom and Dad several times before, I really began paying attention to details when we went shopping for my sixteenth birthday present. Boy! Did I learn to be picky then.

I’d want one of the manufacturer’s finest, a one-of-a-kind model that didn’t require a lengthy breaking-in period. Although the body style wasn’t overly important, he’d need a certain sparkle—a special flair—before I’d bother checking the mileage rating and opening the doors to inspect the interior for quality of mind and spirit.

I placed a great emphasis on retention of value. I’d invest more of my time and attention in keeping a guy like that on the road than if I settled for the first one who caught my attention. Although some body parts might prove defective over time and others would wear out, my fella would have greater value in old age than in youth.

Price rarely mattered. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I could get almost any man I wanted—and some I didn’t want. I’d refused to go out with several of my male teachers after I turned eighteen. But at least I never coveted somebody else’s man the way Scarlett obsessed over married Ashley Wilkes.

Long before the end of the day, I tired of Anjelita’s matchmaking and wanted her to give up. She might stop when she ran out of boys, but I was scared she’d cycle through them again in the hopes I might change my mind. I had no idea how she planned to get the guy interested in me if I didn’t cooperate.

I sat on the ground eating supper. Anjelita had wandered off, as she sometimes did. She was never gone long.

“Hi, Kim … uh, Miss Kimmy.” The greeting was enthusiastic, but then he quieted down like someone who’s just discovered how high the high diving board is—á la Mr. Bean. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Unable to recognize the voice, I looked up. It belonged to Neil, the boy genius, whose grin was growing shier by the second.

“Sure, Neil, I’d love to have the company. Anjelita seems to have deserted me for the moment.”

“She seems like a sweet little girl. If I ever have a daughter—”

“Or if your future wife does …”

He started turning red, and I felt horrible. Maybe Neil wasn’t robust enough to survive my company. He looked pretty scrawny.

“Neil, I’m sorry. You were serious, and I was trying to be cute. Please continue. If you ever have a daughter …”

Although the red had faded from his face, his ears still had a cute glow. I’d had a lot of firsthand experience with embarrassment this summer. I felt for Neil.

“I’d be exhilarated … ecstatic … tickled pink if she turned out like Anjelita.” He sounded like he was trying to talk like a regular guy, but—well—he wasn’t one. Despite his questionable maturity level, no one would have mistaken an eagle like Neil for a pigeon. I had to keep from giggling, though. He said “tickled pink” at the exact moment his ears lost their last tinge of excessive pinkness.

“I wish I could take Anjelita and not bother having kids of my own,” I said.

After chatting pleasantly for several minutes, I spotted Anjelita. She appeared to be watching from a partially hidden position. I motioned for her to join us, but she grinned and shook her head so vigorously that only her French braid kept her hair from flying in a million directions.

“That Anjelita,” I said with a laugh. “She’s trying to play matchmaker today. She’s worried because I don’t have a boyfriend. I appreciate her concern, but her efforts are getting to me. I hope she doesn’t do it again tomorrow.”

Neil remained silent for a moment. Then the words burst forth like the rush of air from a punctured balloon. “Do you know why I came over here?”

“Because you knew I’ve been wanting to get to know you better and hadn’t gotten around to it yet?”

“Uh, before you say any more, I’ve got a girlfriend back home. She’s my age. Young men and older women sometimes make suitable couples, but only when they’re substantially older than you and me … I.”

“And you think I … we … Anjelita and I …?”

Neil’s face reddened more severely than before. He resembled someone whose necktie had been jerked ten degrees too tight. “Not anymore. She pointed over here as if indicating that you were alone and might want company. Although that surprised me, I was more gullible than I might have been if she hadn’t caught me staring at you.”

“Staring? At me?”

Neil’s attention was flattering, but he must not have realized what he said. My mistake.

“My girlfriend, Anne, has hair the same length and thickness as yours, but she never braids it. So I often look at you—at the back of your head, that is—and try to imagine Anne’s hair that way.”

“That’s really sweet, Neil.” I wasn’t about to admit my relief at discovering that our disinterest in one another was mutual. Embarrassing him a third time would have been unforgivable.

“When Anjelita caught me peeking, she must have thought I was interested in you.”

“Oh, wow. How much more mixed-up could things get?”

He looked a little sheepish at first but quickly regained enough composure to begin smiling. “Tell me. Would it help any if we pretend …?”

“Pretend?”

“That we’ve become sweethearts.”

“You’re the genius here, not me. If you think that’ll work, I’m all for it.” Wait! Didn’t I have a similar idea earlier? Maybe I’m smarter than I give myself credit for. I’m no Neil, though. “I promise not to come between you and Anne.”

Neil smiled and slipped his hand over mine. As we intertwined fingers, I leaned my head against his shoulder. At least I tried to, but his shoulder was too scrawny to bear the weight, and we both fell over, domino-style.

After straightening up again, we looked at Anjelita—she came out of hiding when she saw that her plan had worked—and smiled like newlyweds with cake still on their faces. We raised our joined hands in the air and waved to show how happy we were.

I’d never seen her more pleased with herself. Apparently satisfied that she’d brought her self-appointed task to its ultimate and successful conclusion—oh, man! I was starting to think in Neil-words—she left the mess tent. Returning with Rosa several minutes later, she pointed at Neil and me and said something to her mom.

Rosa looked at Anjelita with mom-pride and lit up the fast-fading day with her smile. The last time I saw them that evening, they were skipping like two little kids, hand in hand, with Anjelita whistling one of those haunting Mexican melodies I’d fallen in love with.

As soon as mother and daughter were out of sight, Neil released my hand. Why didn’t it surprise me that our hands were sweaty?

We got up to head for our respective fields, but he surprised me by taking my hand again—this time in a firm, gentlemanly handshake—and thanked me for a wonderful evening. Although I wanted to peck him on the cheek, I didn’t. He’d still be blushing when he got home to Anne if I anointed him with that kind of innocent display of appreciation.

We agreed to perform the romantic drama again only if Anjelita resumed matchmaking. She didn’t.

Day 8

T
he days were running together. I couldn’t remember the day of the week anymore, much less the date. The construction crews enjoyed some variety. Building a modest, one-room shack from scratch involved a variety of tasks. They didn’t do the exact same things day in and day out. Besides, they were adding to something, not taking away from it.

But every day was too much like the day before for Anjelita and me. We continued our daily grind, and almost everyone helped when they had time, opportunity, and inclination. Some people did more than others.

Progress was remarkable, and I quit fretting about whether we could finish. The Passover Church would have a spotless yard days before time to leave.

That didn’t brighten the dullness of the routine, though. I wouldn’t have admitted this even to Aleesha, but I was sick of debris and dying for God to start me on the more important project.

But He wasn’t ready to do that yet, and I had to remind myself every day that He was the boss, not me. “God is God, and I am not.” How often had I heard Pastor Ron say those words?

I couldn’t say if this was true of Anjelita, but the work was wearing me down physically, even though each armful weighed very little. Not even work gloves prevented us from getting blisters on our hands. Even on our arms. I thought I’d keel over laughing at a dollar coin-sized blister on the stub of Anjelita’s arm. It didn’t seem to bother her, though.

Although she sometimes looked like she’d prefer doing something else, she never lagged. Whether her commitment was to me or to the project itself, I couldn’t tell. But I knew—and I think she did, too—we needed to keep up a good front for the sake of the senior citizens who helped us almost all the time now.

And—bless Anjelita’s heart!—she’d become the acknowledged team leader of the children, who spent hours of their daily playtime helping.

She may have lacked Charlie and Rob’s finesse in guiding rather than bossing her team, but she could bark orders as deftly and relentlessly as any drill sergeant I’d ever seen on TV. She kept her troops alert, on the move, and on target. She even made them march like soldiers. I couldn’t imagine where she learned anything like that.

Her constant watch care over her volunteers moved me. If she noticed someone lagging from thirst or fatigue, she made the child sit down and rest while she went to get him water or food. Then she made her soldier rest a few more minutes before allowing him to return to the battle. She sent more than one child home on R & R for the remainder of the day when she saw it was in the child’s best interest. She seemed to realize instinctively that what was best for each child was also best for the team and for the project.

She would make a fine mother someday, if she could find someone among this handful of children to marry when the time came. She was one of four village girls. Only the two youngest children were boys.