The Rusted Scalpel

by Timothy Browne

  “I think we need to help this poor child. My God, it breaks my heart. Since the whole family is headed to the research center, we’ll do a work-up on the couple’s son, and I will check with Wright or Ms. Boxler to see if we can send the girl to Singapore. There has got to be something the plastic surgeons can do.”

  The old man must have read their frustration at the situation and spoke to Robert.

  “That is why the family agreed to the medicine trials,” Robert said. “They thought they could raise enough money to have the child evaluated.”

  Nick felt helpless. Even if the deformity were orthopedic in nature, there would be zero he could do out here in the jungle. Worse, the deformity was out of his specialty, and because he was no longer practicing medicine, there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do to help. He looked at Robert, who was staring at him.

  “Why don’t you lay hands on her, Nickloss, and pray for her?”

  As incompetent and inadequate as he felt as a surgeon, Robert’s request multiplied his angst.

  Robert must have recognized the hopeless anxiety in Nick’s eyes. “You know, Nickloss,” he said, “nothing is impossible with God.” He turned to the old man and asked if it was all right if they prayed for the girl.

  The old man nodded.

  CHAPTER 29

  MOTHER TERESA

  “How is Grandmama?” Maggie asked, looking at the passing sights from the Bentley.

  Wright smiled at her; he loved how she said Grandmama with such endearment and tenderness. “She gave her doctors a bit of a fright this morning. They thought she had developed pneumonia in her right lung, but they caught it early and put her on the appropriate antibiotic.”

  “I’m sorry that I didn’t go with you,” Maggie said.

  “It’s all right; the doctors seem to have it well under control. I wanted you to enjoy your breakfast and massage this morning,” Wright said. “How was it?”

  “Honestly, I’m struggling with all the pampering. The people in the hotel are so kind and generous,” Maggie said. “A two-hour massage with two masseuses—who would have thought?” She blew air through her lips. “I was such a limp noodle by the end, I was surprised I could get off the table. Then they did my nails and my makeup.” She showed him her perfect fingers and flipped back her hair.

  He smiled at her. “You look refreshed, pretty as a morning lily.”

  Maggie blushed. “I was really sore after the horse ride yesterday, but they worked out all the kinks. I feel like a new woman.”

  Wright looked at the Maps app on his phone and told the driver to turn left at the next street.

  “So, where to today?” Maggie asked.

  “Since we need to stay for another day to watch over Grandmama, I thought I’d take you to the fanciest restaurant in Calcutta for lunch. I hope you don’t mind? It’s very popular.”

  He read the conflict in her eyes, and it made him smile inside. It was nice to see her struggle with the opulence while being kind and grateful at the same time. Maggie was a breath of fresh air. His usual companions were either employees or business associates with an agenda. Yes, his foundation had just endowed her mission, but with her, he perceived no ulterior motive.

  “I’m a bit concerned that we haven’t heard from Nick,” Maggie said.

  The statement irritated Wright, not only because she was thinking of Nick, but also because he had misread her conflict. Maybe his scientists could develop a cologne that would break off attraction. He smiled to himself. He would name it Repel.

  He hid his disappointment and said, “I’m sure they are having so much fun that they have just forgotten. We can call them after lunch if you would feel better.”

  “I think that would be good.”

  Yes, Repel…that’s what he’d call it.

  He looked at his phone again and told the driver to take the next left and then a right.

  “I hope this place has small salads. I’m still full from…” As Maggie was finishing the sentence, the driver pulled to the front of a worn, gray building with a crowd of Bengalis huddled around the entrance.

  “See, I told you it was quite popular.”

  She looked at him, confused, still not registering where they were.

  “Come, I have reservations,” he said, taking her hand and guiding her out of the back seat of the Bentley.

  Wright led her toward the crowd, which courteously stepped aside, creating a pathway to the entrance.

  “ স্লামালিকুম, Welcome,” many of them warmly greeted in Bengali.

  “Good afternoon, শুভ সকাল, ”Wright answered back. “এক্সকিউজ মি, please excuse us.”

  Wright led Maggie through the multitude, keeping a firm hold of her hand. He glanced at her and smiled, enjoying her bewildered expression. A guard at the wrought-iron gate saw them, opened the access and let them pass through to the entryway. Wright stopped to allow Maggie to catch her breath and gain her bearings. Above the archway was an iconic picture that Maggie recognized immediately, and she teared up.

  She let go of his grip and covered her mouth. Speaking through her hands, she said, “Oh my God…Mother Teresa.” She studied the portrait. “That’s one of my favorite pictures of her.”

  Wright looked at the picture of the saint in her trademark sari with three blue stripes. She knelt at the bedside of a frail man, sponging his face with a cloth. Under the picture hung the charity’s mission statement: To serve: the hungry, the naked, the homeless, the crippled, the blind, the lepers, all those people who feel unwanted, unloved, uncared for throughout society, people that have become a burden to the society and are shunned by everyone.

  Maggie stared at Wright but said nothing until he looked at her.

  “Wright, how did you know? I mean it…I’ve so wanted to visit her mission. In fact, I was praying for the nuns last night as I was going to bed.”

  “I had the feeling that with your heart for people, you’d want to visit the mission. I guess great minds think alike.” He grinned. The truth was he had watched last night when she prayed. Technology had made it so easy for a bouquet of flowers or other inanimate objects to hold a wireless camera. Of course he would never tell her that.

  “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Oh, my gosh, Wright. I am so happy.” She hugged his arm.

  Three sisters in their white saris and veils edged with the same three blue stripes came toward them. The oldest one, in the middle, extended her hand to greet them. “Mr. Paul, Ms. Russell, welcome to the Missionaries of Charity. Thank you for joining us today. I’m Sister Caroline.”

  * * *

  The long line of people concerned Wright. He wondered if it would ever end—three hours had never lasted so long. The most unpleasant part was many of them stank of body odor, urine and worse.

  Finally, Wright and Maggie sat down to the same soup and crusty hard bread that they had just served to the throng. Wright didn’t feel much like eating. He looked at Sister Caroline sitting across from them; she seemed happier than he’d ever been, as did Maggie. He let the women chat, thankful there were people in the world that enjoyed this sort of thing.

  “Mr. Paul, thank you for your very generous donation today, but most of all, I thank you for your time and bringing this special lady to join us.” Sister Caroline said, then turned back to Maggie. “It has been such an encouragement to hear about the Hope Center and your mission in Guatemala. May God richly bless you.”

  “Oh my gosh, Sister Caroline. It’s you I must thank.” Maggie said. “I read Mother Teresa’s book in college, and it inspired me to go on my first missions trip. It is such an honor to be with you. How long have you been in Calcutta?”

  “If I tell you, you will know how ancient I am.” Sister Caroline hooted. “Like you, I was looking for something more out of my life. Mother Teresa started the Missionaries of Charity in 1950, and I came to Calcutta a year after t
hat—I was eighteen. I never left, there was so much work to do…still is.” She smiled sincerely. “I walked in the first day expecting some sort of orientation, and all I got was a mop. These days, we try to be a bit more accommodating to our guests.”

  “How does one go about volunteering?” Maggie asked.

  “Honestly, most just show up. To become a Sister of Charity now takes nine years. You have to earn your stripes, we like to say.” She hooted again. “Not everyone is cut out for this kind of work, nor the vows of chastity, poverty and obedience.” She then smiled at Wright. “We need very little in our lives. Our possessions include three saris, a veil or two, a girdle, a pair of sandals, a rosary, and a crucifix.” She put her hand over the silver cross hanging around her neck. “We are very content with our love of Christ.”

  Wright’s thoughts drifted as the women talked. He didn’t understand how these nuns could be so devoted to something unseen. Love was a difficult concept for him anyway, but to be so in love with a religious icon was beyond his comprehension. After the death of his parents and a couple of incidents of drug-induced rebellion, he was sent to a shrink by the university.

  His jaw tightened as he thought about that psychiatrist. The doctor had told him that his personality made it difficult for him to understand love. Maybe that’s when his contempt for others began, especially those who knew love. In the past, he considered affection to be unattractive and a form of weakness. The psychiatrist suggested that being a pampered only child had molded his mind for egocentrism. He’d even gone so far as to use the word narcissistic. Wright had hated the man for saying that, especially after Googling the word that was typically associated with psychopathic personalities. Wright understood that many highly successful people, including CEOs, tended toward narcissism—craving control and using others for their gain—but he didn’t consider them psychopaths. That term should be reserved for serial killers and terrorists. His doctor had begged to differ.

  Could I learn to love? The closest thing to affection he’d ever felt was when the news of the North Korean incident broke, and the media plastered Maggie’s picture across the news. He had an instant fascination with her. Her beauty matched her charity and her ability to articulate the Hope Center’s mission. Maybe he wasn’t so atypical as the psychiatrist suggested. After all, Wright had always thought that being unique was a good thing.

  “Don’t you think so, Wright?” Maggie asked. She was looking at him with concern.

  “Uh…I’m sorry. What was the question?” he stuttered, jerked from his thoughts.

  “Sister Caroline was saying that their simple lives of devotion, prayer, and service to others are keys to joy. I was just saying that we found similar joy in the lives of the Iban. Their lives of simplicity are inspiring.”

  “Yes…true.” Wright searched for words. “There are days when I long for the simple life. I would love to give up the stress and responsibilities of my businesses, but I also appreciate the opportunities my position allows for philanthropy. I’m thinking about some of my contemporaries, Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg. They seem to have found a balance between their wealth and benevolence.” He looked into Maggie’s eyes and smiled. “But they also have wonderful wives that ensure that balance.”

  * * *

  Maggie knelt at the railing of the Missionaries of Charity’s chapel. Sister Caroline had invited them to stay for the service that was as pure and unassuming as the sisters shepherding it. Their worship was supernatural—their voices joining with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven as they sang, “Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your glory.”

  The sisters celebrated their life with Christ solemnly but joyfully, then left Wright and Maggie in the chapel alone. Maggie had excused herself to go to the front of the small sanctuary to kneel before the altar and her God. A simple wooden crucifix hung behind the altar lit with two old beeswax candles. The agony of Christ, so well captured by the carving, brought tears to her eyes. Yes, you paid the price for all my sins.

  “Tetelestai, it is finished,” Maggie said out loud to the cross. “Jesus, thank you for loving me…for laying your life down for me.”

  She identified with the nuns’ consecration to the poor and admired their steadfast devotion to their vows. First and foremost, Maggie held an unwavering love for Jesus in her heart, but she was not sure that she had reached a level of piety that would cause her to swear off intimate relationships.

  Maggie glanced at the back of the chapel where Wright sat comfortably in the last pew, his arms stretched out on each side. His handsome face gazed at the rafters in contemplation. She could almost see his hazel-green eyes, which seemed to captivate her heart.

  Suddenly it occurred to her: What did he mean by that crack about wonderful wives? Was he suggesting I should be his balance between wealth and benevolence?

  She forced her eyes back to the cross. Sure, she liked him. How could she not? There was an ease about him that made her feel relaxed. His cologne kind of turned her on. But marry him? She whacked her head gently to keep her thoughts from short-circuiting her brain. Wright was too fetching for his own good.

  Maggie sighed, took a deep breath and exhaled. How can I even be thinking like this? After all, she’d just kissed Nick on the lips in the airplane, and she’d known Nick a long time. They had a history. And then this guy comes along.

  Was she that starved for love and affection? It had been years since a man held her in his arms. Why does my head say yes while my heart says no?

  “Father, help me. Help me love you more.” She prayed aloud but not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

  CHAPTER 30

  THREAT

  Not even the invigorating water could squelch the flame of failure that burned in Nick’s heart. His prayer had done nothing to heal the girl’s deformed face. Parting ways, she looked as sad and pathetic as when the scarf had fallen from her face. She simply stared at him with haunting sorrow, not knowing why she’d been rejected.

  Amy chose to go with the family to the research center and had already climbed into their overloaded boat. There was no room for Nick to go with them. He would stay with Robert, further investigating the longhouses.

  Nick and Robert interviewed the two men that had fallen sick but recovered. Both had been on the heart medicine, but both blamed omens and curses, not the medication. They had stopped taking the pill a few days before falling ill, experiencing uncontrollable tremors and sweats. One claimed to have had visitations from a dead grandfather and other deceased family members. But the men thought they were back to normal now.

  Amy left the satellite phone with Nick so when she got back to the center she could communicate her findings. Judging the position of the sun, Nick thought they would have been back at the center for only a few hours, too briefly to learn anything.

  He had called Maggie and now wished he hadn’t. She seemed only too happy to relay her excitement on being in India, visiting Mother Teresa’s ministry, and meeting Wright’s grandmother. Nick tried to sound excited for her. Isn’t that what love is? But he was consumed with a growing sense of uneasiness. Obviously, Wright had no control over his grandmother’s health, but Nick wished he’d chosen to go with them or, better yet, convinced Maggie to stay.

  Nick floated in the river’s current, trying to make sense of his life. It was impossible. At one point he was a talented, well-respected surgeon at a level-one trauma center, and now he was a nobody. Right now, he floated in a river with people who had never stepped outside the rainforest of their remote and mostly unknown island. He had no clear direction about what he should do with the next few days, not to mention the rest of his life. The love of his life was flitting around the world with a man with whom he couldn’t compete. Nick was losing the battle for her and was defenseless to fight. None of this made sense, and the more he tried to figure it out, the more confusing it became.

  A strong hand grabbed Nick’s ankle. He pulle
d his torso out of the water to see Robert smiling at him. The old man’s face was peaceful, unscathed by the events of the last few days.

  “I was thinking about the young girl with the deformed face and thought I better check in with you, Nickloss. You seemed pretty upset that your prayers had no result.”

  Nick knelt on the river bottom and tread water with his arms. “The girl has to be one of the saddest creatures I have ever seen. Is it not God’s will to heal her?”

  Robert floated next to him and offered no answer.

  “Look at what happened to your surly old witch doctor, or even the miracle I received,” Nick said. “I would think a benevolent Father, a good God, would give healing to that little girl.” His neck burned with anger. “She should be the first in line.”

  “Yes, the Father must have mercy for her…like He does for all of us. We are all equally loved by Him. I, too, was disappointed that we did not witness a miraculous change to her face, but the Lord did not tell us that we would understand all things. He told us to have faith and to pray and to keep praying. I’m afraid, Nickloss, I do not have answers to your questions.”

  Nick nodded, knowing life would always have its mysteries.

  “I know in His Word, Jesus promised that healing is His will,” Robert said. “But I also have a sustaining grace when healing doesn’t come. It takes me through my unbelief, so I don’t quit.”

  “Maybe my faith is too small,” Nick said. “As I was praying, I’m not sure I believed my petition would be answered.”

  “Possibly, but I doubt your faith was much stronger when you prayed for the witch doctor.”

  “That’s true. Maybe even less…smaller than a mustard seed.”

  “Nickloss, we are always growing and advancing into God’s Kingdom. You are moving from faith to faith. Don’t let your disappointments rise above God’s Word. The missionaries explained to me that faith is both a fruit and a gift.”

  “I’m not sure I understand, Robert.”