“Ah…he has a frozen shoulder,” Nick whispered to Maggie before Robert could interpret.
“See, you can do this.”
Nick looked down the line of patients. He estimated more than two hundred. “Maybe frozen shoulders are epidemic,” he said, grinning at her.
“How long has his shoulder been like this?” he asked Robert to ask the patient.
“He says over one year,” Robert said and added without asking, “He fell out of a tree.”
“Can I examine your shoulder?”
The witch doctor must have understood some English, because he scooted closer to Nick. Nick held the man’s wrist with one hand and put his other on the man’s shoulder. The muscles in his arm tensed like a snake ready to strike, and Nick wondered if the tension was caused by pain or because he was being examined by a Christian. In any case, he confirmed the witch doctor’s limited movement.
“How do you say relax in Iban?” Nick asked.
“Belelak,” Robert said and added in English, “Relax.”
The witch doctor smelled of tobacco and alcohol. As Nick moved the man’s shoulder, he inspected the tattoos. His skin, leathery from decades in the sun, was covered in them. Both shoulders displayed tattooed flower blossoms, but the tattoos everywhere else seemed symbolic of some creature or animal. There was a large bird in the center of the man’s chest with a great horned beak. A dragon or snake with multiple heads covered his entire back. Tatted writing adorned the man’s arms.
The witch doctor grimaced and tensed as Nick tried to find the extremes of motion of the shoulder. Forward, backward, side to side, Nick could only move the shoulder a few more degrees in any direction than what the witch doctor could do on his own. Nick led the man through some hand movements, verifying the nerves in the arm were working properly.
Nick rocked back on the mat, leaned against his extended arms and nodded. He relied on Robert to interpret. “You have a frozen shoulder and may have torn your rotator cuff in the fall. The tendons that support your shoulder and the capsule that holds the ball in the socket have scarred down.”
Robert told the witch doctor and then turned to Nick. “What can you do for him?”
The same hopelessness that Nick felt in Guatemala when he’d sat in front of the children with clubfeet fell again on his own shoulders and he sighed. A frozen shoulder in the US was hard enough to treat. It often meant multiple surgeries to cut the scarring, hard manipulation under anesthesia to rip the adhesions, and months of intensive physical therapy to keep it from freezing down again.
“Well, frankly, nothing.” Nick straightened his back and crossed his arms. Why would he help a man that in the least didn’t like him or at most wanted him dead?
Robert didn’t translate and stared at Nick like there had to be something he could do.
Nick shrugged and raised both hands in defeat.
“Would you pray for him?” Robert asked.
The question shocked Nick but lifted his spirit. His mind flashed with memories of sitting with Chang in Glacier Park, listening to Running Eagle Falls thundering over the rocks. He remembered Chang praying over him “to being strengthened with power by the Holy Spirit.” Chang’s words, “deep calls to deep,” resounded in his heart.
“Go deep, Nicklaus,” he heard God’s Spirit say to his heart.
Nick looked at the proud old man. The early stages of cataracts clouded his dark eyes.
“Can I ask you about the rest of your health?” Nick took the path of least resistance.
“He thinks he is in good health,” Robert interpreted.
“What about your drinking?” Nick took a turn to the road less traveled.
The man’s eyes burned with anger. “Did Robert ask you to say that?”
Oh, he does speak English. Nick looked at Robert, who remained silent. He looked back at the witch doctor. “No…I sensed that the God of heaven wanted me to ask.”
“What else would this god tell you to ask about me?”
Nick arched his back and stretched his neck from side to side, trying to hear the Spirit. “That you no longer have to be an orphan. That He hears you. He sees you,” Nick repeated what the Holy Spirit was telling him.
The witch doctor’s head drooped, and tears filled his eyes.
Maggie must have sensed the Spirit stirring and put her hand on Nick’s back.
Heat filled his hands like he’d stuck them in a fire, and he looked at his palms, making sure he hadn’t set them in something.
“Would you allow me to pray for you, my friend?”
The witch doctor nodded, and Nick laid his hands on his frozen shoulder. “Father…show Yourself great. Show Yourself as the great physician. To this shoulder, I speak restoration. Let every tendon and muscle come back to normal, as You made it. Loosen the scarring and Your healing on the shoulder.” Nick paused. “I especially pray the same for his heart.” He laid a hand over the man’s heart. He could feel it pounding. “Amen.”
Nick removed his hands, and the witch doctor stared at him with the shock of disbelief.
“How do you feel? How is your shoulder?” Nick asked.
The witch doctor’s hand shot straight up over his head. It surprised Nick as much as the man. Nick was flabbergasted. He had seen miracles, but none that had been ushered in under his own hands. His scientific mind wanted the witch doctor to run through all the motions and strength of the muscles. His shoulder moved normally. Robert and Maggie praised God, and a cheer erupted from the villagers.
Nick and the witch doctor stared at each other, not knowing what to do or say. One thing was clear, the witch doctor was smiling for the first time.
“I can see your Christian God is very powerful,” he said, taking Nick’s hands in his. “Can you teach me how to follow this Jesus?”
* * *
After spending the morning seeing the occupants of the entire longhouse, it was bath time, and Nick needed a good scrub more than anyone. He had never bathed with two hundred people, but here they were, in the deep, crystal-clear water of the Batang Ai River. The afternoon sun elevated both the temperature and the humidity of the jungle. Nick floated on his back in the cool water watching birds flutter in the canopy overhanging the river. A sense of contentment and peace flowed over him like the currents.
With Robert’s and Maggie’s help, Nick had explained God’s plan to the witch doctor and led him in a prayer of repentance and salvation.
Fortunately, the rest of the villagers were remarkably healthy, and most just wanted to shake Nick’s hand or have him and Maggie pray over them. Some of the older women suffered from back pain from carrying large water jugs up the path to the longhouse, and Nick showed them exercises to ease the hurt. And there were a few rashes that he had no idea how to treat, but Maggie suggested applying coconut oil.
The people were a shy and modest group—during his examination and now bathing—washing discreetly under their shorts or sarong dresses. But most of all, they were joyous. By the world’s standards, they had nothing, yet where it really counted, they had everything. Probably the reason they were so healthy was that there were no pesticides or herbicides, no cell phones or other electromagnetic energy changing their DNA, and no air pollution or water pollution. They had their health, fresh food from the jungle, clean water, and joy. So this is what joy looks like.
Nick sat up and then dunked under. As he came out of the water, he wiped his eyes. He looked around at this community living in harmony with the land. The people splashed playfully with their children or rested in contentment. It was a glimpse of God’s design and His Kingdom—full of joy and peace. The renewal of all things. It held more serenity than the hundreds of beautiful sunsets or mountain passes that Nick had experienced. He surveyed the people and asked in his heart, Was it for that one man that You sent me, Father?
“Yes, Nicklaus, I will go to the ends of the earth for the one.”
CHAPTER 22
THE OFFER
After the communal
bath, Robert had motored them an hour upriver to where Wright wanted to show Nick and Maggie a set of waterfalls. When they arrived, Maggie took Wright’s hand, and he helped her step out of the boat. She loved how he smelled and wished she knew his brand of cologne. She’d love to get Nick some but was embarrassed to ask Wright. He held her arm and guided her onto the slippery rock ledge below the falls.
It was just as Wright had described, but even his words didn’t do it justice. The river tumbled over shelves of red rock, coating the cliffs in a strong mist. Lime-green moss grew between the rust-colored shelves as the water cascaded into a deep pool. The crystal-clear water poured out of the heart of the jungle and disappeared downstream into the rainforest.
Robert secured the boat to a large tree with a rope. He looked every bit the Iban warrior wearing only a loincloth, a leather pouch hung around his neck, and a large machete strapped to his waist. He carried a hollow staff two meters long.
On the journey upriver, they had paused at another longhouse at the confluence of the Batang Ai and a tributary. Robert asked if it would be okay to stop for a short time. He had local business to discuss with the chief and asked them to wait in the boat. When he returned to the boat, he was uncharacteristically quiet and remained so, motoring up to the falls, only telling them that he had asked the chief if any orangutans were in the area. The Iban wore their emotions on their face, and Maggie understood there had to be more to the story, but she didn’t know if it was appropriate to ask, and Wright didn’t pursue it.
“You ready to find dinner?” Wright asked Maggie and Nick.
“Uh…can I say no?” Maggie smiled. “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my,” she said and looked at the men. With all the discussions of sun bears, clouded leopards, and the fox bats with a wingspan of over four feet, she already had her fill of jungle adventure.
While Nick and Wright had gone native and seemed to be in their element, Maggie thought that Wright’s tree-house mansion with its soft bed, satin sheets, and French soap sounded better by the moment. Yes, she had agreed with Nick what a simple and earthy existence it was here in the rainforest. But she’d also seen how hard the women of the village worked—lugging water from the river and caring for their families. They bore all the same cares as a modern woman but without the help of electricity or refrigeration. The men probably didn’t see it.
“You okay?” Wright asked and extended his hand to help her up the steep trail that disappeared into the jungle.
She fanned herself with her hand in the jungle humidity. “Lead on,” she said, not wanting to be the buzzkill.
They had traveled less than a mile on the trail when she grew more anxious. “If we see a leopard, is Robert going to fend it off with that stick of his?”
Wright laughed. “That’s not a stick. It’s a blowpipe, a blowgun.”
“Oh, I feel so much better.” She rolled her eyes.
“Besides, all those animals are more afraid of us than we are of them.” He smiled and added, “Normally.”
“Yeah, great,” Maggie said.
“We’d be lucky if we see one,” Wright said.
“A blowpipe? For real?” Nick asked.
Robert stopped to show them the weapon and handed it to Nick to inspect. “It was my father’s and his father’s before him. It’s been handed down through many generations,” Robert said proudly.
“What kind of dart do you use?” Nick asked.
Robert reached into the leather pouch around his neck and lifted out a large folded leaf, which he carefully opened, revealing five long wooden darts. They resembled long toothpicks with a cotton plug on one end.
Nick started to reach for one, and Robert pulled the packet away. “Oh no, Dr. Nickloss. You should not touch. They are very poisonous.”
“Really? I’m so sorry. I always thought that poisonous darts were urban legend.”
Wright put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “The poison is made from the latex of the Antiaris Toxicara tree. We have isolated the chemical in the research center—beta-antiarin, a cardiac glycoside. In small, healthy doses these substances decrease the heart rate and increase the output force of the heart. We developed a leading heart medication for congestive heart failure and another for cardiac arrhythmias from that tree—billion-dollar drugs.”
“You made a billion from a poison?” Maggie asked.
“Well, two hundred and twenty billion, so far, to be exact,” Wright said. “But, like in all of life, too much of a good thing is bad. The amount of the chemical on the tip of one of those darts would stop your heart in seconds.”
“Wow,” Nick said. “Thanks for not letting me touch it.”
“If you received a simple scratch from the dart, it wouldn’t hurt, but you would keel over dead,” Wright said. He still had hold of Nick’s shoulder and turned him toward himself. “And speaking of medical discoveries, I have wanted to ask you something, my friend. I suppose there is no better place than in the middle of the jungle.”
“What’s that?” Nick asked.
“You know the new drug that we are experimenting with, IGF-1, the one that helped heal my eye so fast? We think it has great orthopedic applications. Would you ever consider coming to work for Zelutex?”
Maggie saw the shock on Nick’s face, as he searched for a response. “Well…I…”
“Nick, I don’t want you to say anything now. Maybe we can talk about it more tonight over some tuak?” Wright placed a hand on Nick’s neck. “I wanted you to think about it before we talk.”
Maggie read Nick’s face. Over the last six months, he had been fighting a lack of confidence and purpose in his life, and now, one of the richest men in the world was telling him he was valuable. Nick looked at Wright with gratitude. “I don’t know what to say, but I look forward to hearing about it.”
Robert interrupted by holding up his hand. “Shhhh,” he whispered and crouched.
Maggie stooped with Nick and Wright but didn’t see a reason for the alarm. Her heart raced. What was it? A leopard? A bear? Or worse, one of the megabats whose image sent chills down her spine? She could not see anything but remained frozen with the men, wondering how many steps it would take her to get back to the boat.
Robert took two steps forward, loaded one of the poisonous darts into the blowpipe, and raised it to his mouth. Something in the foliage rustled. Maggie grabbed the closest arm to her and dug her fingernails into the flesh.
She heard it before seeing it. A branch snapped and a leaf moved, and in a flash of a millisecond, she saw color…reddish-brown. Then it was gone. A leopard?
Robert held his hand out to make sure they didn’t come any closer, as he silently took three more steps forward. A small animal appeared from the bush, looked at them and froze. Robert aimed the blowpipe.
“Ohhhh, he’s so cute,” Maggie said loudly.
And in a flash, it was gone. Robert’s dart missed its mark.
Maggie tried shrinking behind Nick and Wright, on whose arm she had left marks.
“I’m sorry, you all,” she said and grimaced. “He was so cute.”
“He was supposed to be dinner, so I guess we’ll have fish tonight,” Wright playfully scolded.
“Now you know why my father never took me hunting in Montana,” Maggie said. “What was that anyway?”
Robert turned, stood up straight and smiled at her. “A tender heart, along with that beautiful smile.” All was forgiven. “It is called a mouse-deer.”
Maggie thought it looked like neither a deer nor a mouse. It stood only two feet off the ground and was covered in orange-brown fur like a fox, but shaped like a small goat. The feature that she noticed most was its beautiful dark, Bambi eyes.
“They’re delicious,” Wright said.
“Well, I couldn’t have eaten it anyway. I think I’ve had enough jungle adventure for one day. I’ll be waiting in the boat for you men.”
* * *
Of course, they were not going to let Maggie walk by herself to the boat.
The jungle was full of things that were ready to hurt or eat her—deadly plants and insects, poisonous snakes and, of course, the carnivores.
“This was not the way we came,” Maggie said nervously as they made their way down a trail.
“We have a special treat for you, Maggie.” Wright pointed through the trees to the stream.
When they emerged from the jungle, they stood at the top of the waterfall, thirty feet above the crystalline pool and the boat. “I’m afraid, Ms. Maggie, it is our only way down,” Robert said with a growing smile.
“Oh, no…there is no way in heck that you’re getting me to jump.” Maggie shook her head and crossed her arms. “No way, no how. Besides, I have my cell phone in my pocket,” she said, pretending that she did.
“Come on, Maggie. You can do this. It’ll be fun,” Wright taunted her.
Nick stepped to the edge, peered over, turned, and smiled at her. “Just like med school days, when you and John and I would jump off the old bridge into the North Fork of the Flathead.”
“You mean when I was young and dumb and had a little too much beer,” she protested.
“Come on, Mags, for old times’ sake,” Nick said. “We can jump together.”
She sighed with resignation and took a step to the edge. Nick held out his hand to help her to the rim of the cliff, but she pulled her hands back and shot him a playful perturbed look.
“Don’t you dare. If I’m going to do this, it’s on my terms.” She stepped carefully to the precipice and peered over. “Oh, hell, no. There’s probably piranha or some woman-eating monster in that pool.”
“You’re thinking of the Amazon,” Wright said, joining them on the ledge. “I promise you there is nothing here but beautiful clear water.”
Before Wright could do more convincing, Robert shot past them over the cliff, giving a primordial yell as he went. He splashed down and then bobbed to the surface with a laugh.
“You’re not going to let an eighty-year-old man best you?” Wright asked and leaped off the edge.
The Rusted Scalpel Page 17
