Monday Morning Faith (31 page)

“The
warap
will take place sometime in the next week. We've been invited to attend.”

“That's good.” Eva clasped her hands together. “If they've invited us to their feast, it means they're beginning to trust us.”

The stolen Nikes surfaced when the clinic opened the next morning. A middle-aged villager, about my height, leaned against the side of the hut, my shoes dangling from his belt like a trophy. My lips firmed as the all-too-familiar burst of temper hit. Then I remembered Sam's accusation that I was too fond of possessions. There wasn't a smidgen of truth to the claim. Still …

Okay, I'd show them all that I didn't care about
things
. Sam might think I was a materialistic, possession-obsessed female, but he couldn't be further from the truth. Things weren't important to me. I ignored the man and my shoes, feeling saintly. It was, after all, a pair of tennis shoes. Plenty more where those came from, and before long I'd be walking through an air-conditioned mall shopping for new ones.

I was so lost in my sainthood that I didn't notice Poo until she yanked my shirttail.

She smiled up at me. “Jo.”

My name? She could say my
name
? Overcome with joy, I dropped on one knee so we were facing each other. “Say it again.”

She grinned and obliged. “Jo.”

“Jo — ” I touched my chest — “and Poo.” I touched hers.

“Jo … Poo,” she echoed.

Tears stung my lids. What an amazing breakthrough! Others had been here years and failed to make a connection, but I had been here only a short time and this wonderful child loved me enough to transcend language barriers! I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her bones dig into my chest. The children here had so little, no fancy toys, gimmicks, or games; limited clothing, basic medical care, and not always enough food. How could I have begrudged Poo what little of mine she'd taken? She nestled close and I rested my cheek against her forehead. Poo was offering me the most important thing she had to give: her love.

God, let me be worthy of this child's trust.

I straightened up, took her hand, and we sprinted through the village. I started yelling and waving my hands, filled with elation. Villagers turned to stare at our headlong plunge into the clinic. Sam glanced up as I burst into the hut like an elephant with a toothache. “Whoa! What's the hurry?”

“She said it! Poo said my name!”

A soft gasp escaped Mary. She turned from a patient. “What?”

“Poo!” I beamed down at the child — my prodigy. “She said my name! Clear as a glass.” I nudged Poo. “Go ahead. Say my name.”

The child peered up at me, silent.

“Go ahead — say my name, sweetie.” By now Frank, Eva, and Bud had joined us. We stood waiting. Poo stared.

“Now, Poo. Say
Jo
.” My ears had
not
deceived me earlier; she'd said my name. Yet now the child appeared to have lost her voice.

After several attempts to make her speak, it was evident I'd either imagined the miracle or miracles were seldom duplicated the same day. I must have looked as disillusioned as the missionaries, who resumed their work. I looked to Sam, tears suspended on my bottom eyelids. “She did — she said
Jo
.”

He paused long enough to give me a quick hug. “Kids. They never talk when you want them to.”

Was he just patronizing me? I was not losing my mind. The heat hadn't fried my brain. Poo had said
Jo.

A patient with an injured foot claimed the doctor's attention, so I nudged Poo outside the clinic to play with the other children and then returned to take my place beside Sam. Each time Poo looked in my direction she would smile, and I could hear her voice in my head: “Jo.” She'd said it; I'd stake my life on it.

I caught a whiff of unwashed body and turned to face the lout who'd taken my Nikes. By now he was wearing them, and a tight fit they must have been. He cornered me, preened, holding out one foot and then the other and rubbing his fingers together in the age-old gesture for money.

My eyes narrowed to thin slits. The gall of this barbarian! I drew a deep breath, briefly considered slugging him, and then turned aside to concentrate on cleaning instruments. Sam would not have to carry me out of the tent ranting and raging today. I was above hedonism, at least for the moment.

Poo burst into the clinic marching straight to the thief. Her contorted features shot fire. She stamped her foot.
“Mah pfuh
,
neho! Neho! Neho!”
She jabbed a grubby finger at his feet.

Shrugging, he turned away, but she dogged his steps like a hungry animal. She blocked his way, and when he started to step around her she fell on the ground in front of him, wagging a finger at him.
“Neho! Neho!”

He stepped over her and she latched onto his right foot, stripping the shoe off. He whirled.

“Mug, pge, dht!”

“Neho. Neho!”

“Ldy jeit llobh!”

A struggle ensued. Poo flew into him and knocked him to the ground. Horrified, we stood and watched the fracas. The villagers stood back, eyes solemn as they watched the brawl.

Poo held her ground. She bit, kicked, and spit. She was on that man like white on rice, as Pop would say. I fought back a grin. That little girl was scrappy; she and Nelda would make quite a pair. Wouldn't it be something if I could take the child home with me —

I started.

Take Poo with me? How could I? She didn't have proper papers. I couldn't just put her on a plane and transport her to another country. The Johanna who had arrived weeks ago would have been horrified at the mere suggestion. The Johanna I was today was actually considering it!

Poo had the thief pinned to the ground in an armlock. The man struggled, his feet pumping air. Finally the man must have cried out his surrender, because Poo released her grip. Getting to her feet, she stripped off the second shoe. Moments later she presented the sneakers to me.

“Thank you.” I glanced at the villager limping off to the bush. Though I didn't know their language, of this I was convinced: he'd never live this down.

Around noon, excitement broke out a second time. Two men bearing a stretcher came out of the bush. The natives turned and pointed to the man lying prone, eyes closed, face contorted in pain. The villagers started to mill about, restless, their eyes on the sick man. Sam motioned for men to bring the stretcher into the clinic; Bud and Frank hurried to join him.

From all appearances, the man was seriously ill, but I had no idea from what. Sam and the missionaries conversed in low tones, and then Frank rushed off. When he returned he carried the portable satellite phone. The situation must be grave if they were calling for the plane. Frank spoke into the receiver, his tone terse, words clipped. Bud had one hand on the man's shoulder, holding him flat to the stretcher.

Sam came over to stand beside me. “He's got a hot appendix; I'm arranging to have him flown to Port Moresby today.”

“You can't operate here?”

He shook his head. “I don't want to risk it. I suspect the appendix has or is about to burst, and he needs more specialized care than I can provide.”

“Thank goodness we worked on the strip — but with all this rain the grass is growing faster than we could keep up.”

Sam glanced outside the tent at the light falling rain. “Landing will be tricky, but we don't have a choice. A medical emergency will override the pilot's reservations.”

“If we're lucky it won't be the same pilot.” Frank lifted his hat and scratched his head. “Wasn't he having surgery?”

Sam nodded. “That's what he said.”

It seemed forever before we heard the hum of the approaching plane. The natives had carried the man to the landing strip. Half of the villagers had shown up to wait with us.

“They don't think much of the growling machine,” Sam observed under his breath. I looked up to see the curious villagers gathered near the edge of the strip, keeping a safe distance.

The plane appeared on the horizon, circled a couple of times, and came in for a landing. The wheels touched the ground and made two grooves through the high grass. Then the right wheel hit on something — probably a rock — and the machine bounced before sliding to a stop yards short of the end of the mown runway.

I released the breath I'd been holding, once again thankful I'd not been a passenger on that plane. A youthful pilot emerged, scratching his head. He stood in the doorway of the craft, staring at the ragged strip.

“You okay, fella?”

He nodded at Frank. “Man. Thought I'd lost it there for a minute.”

The stretcher bearers cowered, reluctant to approach the aircraft. The loud single engine was deafening. After several unsuccessful attempts to urge the natives to load the patient, Frank and Bud seized control. Scooping up the stretcher, they ran with the patient to the plane. The patient stirred, then shot up to a sitting position, fear dominant in his expression.

“It's okay, fella. You'll be fine.”

The patient started to abandon the cot. He jabbered and pointed to the plane, his eyes wide. He rolled off the gurney, grasping his side and shouting the same phrase over and over.

The onlookers backed up another two or three steps.

Sam, Frank, and Bud caught the patient and forced him on the stretcher, holding him down by brute force. Struggling, they tightened the strap and loaded him into the aircraft. I covered my ears to blot out his frantic screams. I've never seen any human so terrified.

The pilot got back into the plane, turned it, and taxied down the overgrown strip. It looked touch and go for a few minutes, but he managed to get the craft in the air. Then it banked and headed toward civilization. In my imagination I could hear the patient's screams long after the plane had vanished from sight.

Excitement over, the villagers faded back into the bush or headed toward the village. Bud looked at the hay field we called a landing strip. “We need to cut the strip today, rain or no rain. We'll have to do the worst part by hand. The pilot will be bringing that guy back within twenty-four hours.”

Frank glanced up at the overcast sky, where a light mist blanketed the area. “You're right. I doubt any pilot would try to set that plane down again unless we do.”

“We'll help clear the strip.” Eva stepped up. “Provided Sam can do without us in the clinic.”

“I can handle the clinic; the strip is more important.”

I took a deep breath. No telling what lurked in the rank vegetation, but the ground had to be maintained.

We set to work. Frank and Bud used scythes, bending and swaying in an ancient rhythm. We women raked the fallen grass in ragged stacks, and one by one the villagers returned to help carry the debris away. By the time twilight covered the area, we'd cleared a third of the strip.

Frank surveyed our work. “We'll go at it again first thing in the morning. We should have it cleared by afternoon.”

Like me, the others seemed too tired to eat that night. We sat on the dock, too weary to move. We tried to unwind as we watched fish feeding in the water.

I looked up to see Poo and her grandfather swimming toward us. From Poo's gestures, Eva decided that the child needed to speak to me. I signaled for her to climb the ladder. She stood beside me, dripping lagoon water, peering in my face. She started to babble. From the inflection in her tone, I suspected she was asking a question, but I had no idea what it could be.

Eva joined us. Poo pointed to the sky.

“Yes,
sky
,” I interpreted.

Poo shook her head and pointed again, jabbing and jabbing with her little grubby finger.

“Farther beyond.” Mary tipped her head. “Farther … God?”

The answer seemed to satisfy the child. She moved on. She touched her eyes. Twice, little pats beneath the brows.

“Eye?” Sam joined us now.