Gift of Revelation (10 page)

The doctor supervised the transport of the corpse to one of the sheds, handed the infant to one of his staff, and walked off with some of the other refugees.
God, protect these remarkable people,
I thought as the doctor hopped onto a truck headed to the main gate.

The first thing I did the next day was find time for Addie. When I caught up with her, she was dressed in a short-sleeved blouse and khaki shorts. What I didn't like was that she had picked up a tobacco addiction. She now smoked about five cigarettes a day, and her fingers were now stained brown from the puffs she neglected to take while she chatted and from forcing fumes down her lungs. We sat near one of the medical tents, watching the sick and frail assisted to the road by staff to make way for others waiting for treatment.

“I want to go home,” Addie said flatly.

“Why?” I knew that earlier in the week she'd been dissatisfied with this Sudanese journey and the amount of sickness and death it entailed.

“Clint, I didn't know it would be like this,” she replied.

I shrugged that off. “Addie, you saw the slide show and heard the people talk about what was going on over here. They said it was heartbreaking and rather dangerous. They said Africa was dangerous. They said Sudan was dangerous. You knew this was not going to be a picnic.”

She scowled at me. “I knew that, but you're ignoring me. You spend all your time with that white woman. I warned you about that. Did you see her with the big black soldiers? She's like a cat in heat. You know what she wants.”

“Elsa will get nothing from me,” I insisted.

“Are you sure, Clint?” She was lighting up another cigarette.

“Why are you smoking?”

Addie grinned. “I like it. Maybe it's because my folks didn't let me do it before. But I like it. It calms me.”

I watched her inhale, then exhale, her nose shooting out snakes of smoke. “I don't plan to stay long, just long enough to see what I want to see. Bear witness. I think Americans, especially black Americans, should know what is going on in this part of the world. We watch the TV news, and this stuff is not really shown.”

“Or it's shown when it gets really bad, Clint.”

“Yes, you're right. But as I told Hasseem, the editor, I want to see for myself. This place is plain crazy . . . Africans killing Africans, Sudanese killing Sudanese, children of God killing each other. These people are killing women and children, effectively wiping out future generations. This is nuts.”

“I know it is,” she agreed.

For a moment, we listened to the steady sound of the big generators, which powered the refrigerators where the drugs were kept and the lights in the residences and the surgery tents.

“I'm lonely, Clint,” Addie finally said.

I stepped back to let two men carry a man without legs to the tents so he could be treated. Bloody, dirty, and foul smelling. Addie shook her head in disbelief. Some of the other refugees walked toward the area where they would be counted, added to a list, and assigned space in the camps.

“Loneliness is something I know all about,” I replied. “I lost my wife and kids. My wife killed the children too. I know I'm still not over it. This sense of loss still haunts me. Sometimes it drives me crazy. Sometimes I think I've found a cure for it, but then it comes back stronger than ever.”

“You miss them, huh?”

“Yes. Lord knows I miss them, especially the kids.”

Addie lowered her eyes, with her hands covering her face. “Sometimes I miss my man too, even though he often treated me like a dog. I miss his touch. I miss the way he loved me. Why is that?”

“Dr. Smart used to say, ‘Loneliness comes from being estranged from the Lord,'” I answered sadly.

“Estranged?” A puzzled expression appeared on her face.

“Separated. Alienated. That's what it means.” I held her hand, her small one in my big one.

“Clint, maybe this whole trip to Sudan is about fear—fear of intimacy, fear of bringing somebody into my life. I don't want to end up an old maid. I want to start over, want to have a man of my own, want to start a family.”

“Addie, I don't believe you'll end up an old maid,” I said. “You've got too much going for you. I know you'll find somebody.”

She freed her hand from mine, stood up, tossed a freshly lit cigarette butt, and stomped on it. Then she sat back down next to me. “I don't want to settle for just anything or just anybody. Putting a bandage on my broken heart is a phony, temporary cure. Do you know I mean?”

“I guess so. The late Dr. Smart also used to say that you could use loneliness as an emotional tool to get out of ruts and grow up. I think he had something there.”

“Is Dr. Smart the one who tried to lead you astray?”

“Sorta. He did himself in with his own wickedness.”

“You still respect him, don't you?” she asked.

I spoke as slowly and clearly as I could. “The dictionary defines
loneliness
as ‘cut off from others,' ‘being without company,' and ‘feeling sad and blue.' I don't think the definition of
loneliness
fits us now. Look around you. We're in the middle of one of the world's hot spots, Sudan. I've never felt more alive.”

Addie frowned at something I had said. “You said I'd find somebody. So what that means is it's not you. Right, Clint?”

“I don't know. I really don't know.”

“Why don't you know, Clint? Why?”

I was suddenly irritated. “I followed you like an insecure puppy into this hellhole. Every devil is on the loose in this blasted place. I've seen things I wish I hadn't seen. This experience is extremely painful.”

She stared at me cruelly. “But what does that have to do with me? You agreed to come. You're a grown-up. I didn't force you to come.”

Immediately, I thought of something, and my mouth blurted out what my mind was thinking. “I wonder if Jesus was ever lonely. What do you think?”

“I don't know about that. That's more your business, your line of work.” She reached for another cigarette from the pack, taking her time. I watched the men look at her, committing lust with their eyes. She loved the attention.

“Addie, do you often mistake quiet moments for loneliness? Do you get them mixed up?”

“No. I'm glad to be alone sometimes. It's good to just sit quietly, breathe, and read a nice book. Solitude is a good thing.”

I sighed. “I'll tell you what. After all this is over, I'll enjoy my quiet time.”

“I see your point,” she said, laughing. “What about Elsa? Do you want to be with her?”

“All right, Addie. Do you want to chew me out over something I haven't done? Let's get it over with.”

Her stance was bold and hostile. “Elsa is no good. She's no good for you. You see her flirting with every man she sees. I don't want you to be one of her victims.”

“I'll remember that,” I said curtly.

“What's to stop us from getting married?” she asked, looking deeply into my eyes.

It was my job to neutralize this blowup from the start with some common sense and plain speaking. She was trying to throw me off balance.

“I don't know if you want to marry me and go on the way we're going now,” I said. “You don't know what you want. Now, you wanted to get me here so you could exercise some control over me. I was a fool. I should have never come here, but now that I'm here, I'm going to make the best of it.”

She seemed offended. “You make me sound like an evil-minded heifer.”

“Am I on the right track?” I asked. “Did you want me to follow you to Sudan so you could show me who is the boss?”

“No, Clint.” Her answer was firm.

“Tell me the truth,” I said.

She lifted her head proudly. “No, I didn't think that at all. I thought I had feelings for you at the time, and I wanted you to be near me. I wanted you to be with me.”

“Are you sure that is all there was to it? Are you being truthful?”

“Yes,” she said snidely. “That's all. I swear. I just wanted you to be with me. Now I know it was a big mistake. What do you think you're going to accomplish here?”

Somehow I resented her for asking me that question. She sounded like the editor and the government officials in Khartoum.

“I want to bear witness, to see this crisis up close and personal,” I replied. “I want to know the facts and do good deeds in the name of the Lord. Sometimes I don't have to preach the Holy Word to these people. I just have to be a good example as the Lord's messenger.”

“Clint, you'll get yourself killed,” she said. “These people don't give a hoot about Jesus Christ or Christians. They want to wipe them out in Sudan.”

“I know this,” I said.

“So why put your neck out?” she asked.

“I read somewhere that ‘God doesn't speak one language. ' I can reach these sinners. Others have.”

Interrupting our conversation, one of the staffers approached and gave me a jar of something, and I drank it down in almost one gulp. The stuff was fermented, frothy, tart, much like sweet ripe bananas.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Banana beer,” he said, his dark face grinning, showing yellow teeth. “The doc felt you needed a drink after the long trip.”

The staffer handed Addie ajar of the beer. She took one sip and then dumped the alien liquid on the ground. She screwed up her face, rolled her eyes at the Dinka staffer, and moved behind me when she noticed he was leering at her behind and legs.

I borrowed a newspaper from the doctors' residence and took it back to my tent. One of the stories caught my eye, the images of chaos and mayhem burning into my mind. The thought of whether this conflict would ever end troubled me. Violence was rampant and there seemed no way to stop it. Nobody had any answer or remedy for it.