Found in Translation

by Roger Bruner

  I looked at Rob with tears in my eyes. I couldn’t speak. I suddenly realized I was clinging to Anjelita like a life preserver. I changed the subject to keep from bawling aloud. And because I had one more question. “Rob, you mentioned a ‘deal’ several minutes ago …?”

  “Yes. Jill was beside herself after the arrest, and Geoff kept procrastinating about his community service. He didn’t want anyone to see him in public. So—”

  “So you offered to bring him on this trip?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know anything about the original project, but Geoff wouldn’t have done evangelism, and it wouldn’t have counted as community service. The new project sounded perfect, though. I talked to the judge, and he agreed that this trip would surround Geoff with wholesome companions and inspire him to make a turnaround. It didn’t matter to him that the community service wasn’t local, since Geoff would be under my supervision.

  “He lowered his mask an inch or so by jumping at the chance to come to Mexico. But he pushed it back up when I pointed out I’d be responsible for his actions—good or bad—and I’d send him home and back to court at the first infraction of the rules. He still agreed to the deal, though—community service in Santa María with perfect behavior or home again, back to the judge, and probably off to jail for a few weeks with a prison record that wouldn’t go away.

  “I promised not to tell anyone on the team about him or our relationship. He’d sink or swim on his own. Not even Charlie knows.”

  “You’re breaking a confidence telling me.” Rob, I’ve been counting on you to keep mum about my secrets. Have I made a mistake trusting you?

  “Kimmy, you aren’t just anyone. You’re my daughter away from home, and that makes you part of Geoff’s family. He just doesn’t know it yet. Besides, I think you might be just the young lady Geoff needs to talk with.”

  I nodded. Rob made perfect sense. Now that I understood Geoff’s situation, it was time to change subjects. “Rob, you said you were looking for me earlier. What did you need?”

  “Oh, that?” He chuckled as if our conversation had been hilarious instead of tragic. “I wanted to caution you about Geoff.”

  So much for changing subjects. “Why?”

  “Everyone has noticed the way he looks at you. His team captain has complained about Geoff not getting much work done. He spends too much time maneuvering to be where you are.”

  “That’s for sure … the day before yesterday, anyhow. Then Anjelita and I started working together, and he’s been conspicuously absent ever since. Aleesha and I concluded he didn’t like having a little chaperone.”

  “I don’t have to remind you that what I’m telling you is confidential ….”

  “What about Al—?”

  “Confidential between you, me, and Aleesha, that is. Her perspective will be helpful.”

  “I wouldn’t want to tell anyone but Aleesha.”

  “Geoff stayed away from you yesterday because I had a talk with him. I didn’t mention you specifically, but I reminded him of his responsibilities and told him he was either going to do his share of the work or go home. That didn’t go over very well.”

  “Going home would be disastrous, wouldn’t it? He might keep his mask on forever.”

  He nodded. “By the way, if Geoff is jealous of anything, it’s Anjelita’s freedom to spend all day with you. Finding the two of you together when he’s not working probably rubs him the wrong way.”

  “I’d never thought about that.”

  Rob cleared his throat. Twice. “It’s confession time again, Kimmy. Last night, I saw Geoff approach you after Anjelita’s mom took her. I was curious.”

  “Oh?” I thought I knew what he was going to say.

  “I found an out-of-sight spot where you wouldn’t see me.”

  “You were spying.” Pretending to sound stern and disapproving took all my effort. I was about to crack up laughing. For an upper-middle-aged guy who made such an effort to live by his convictions, Rob could act pretty adolescent at times.

  “Yes, spying, and I’m sorry. It was wrong. I asked God’s forgiveness last night, but He told me in no uncertain terms to ask yours first thing this morning.”

  I just shook my head, avoiding eye contact. I didn’t want him to see how tickled I was. “Spying,” I repeated, leaving the word hanging like a drenched beach towel drying on a clothesline when rain is expected any minute.

  “And not just spying,” Rob continued. Never had I seen a grown man look so conscience stricken over such a tiny offense. “Eavesdropping. I listened to the whole conversation. I’m sorry, Kimmy. I wasn’t a very responsible Christian adult last night.”

  I put my hand over my mouth to suppress the laughter and hoped that the merriment in my eyes wouldn’t give me away.

  “Again, I’m just as sorry as I can be. Will you forgive me, Kimmy?”

  Here the poor guy was pleading his heart out for forgiveness, and I was doing my best not to laugh. I finally gave up, took my hand down, and let the laughter erupt like a carbonated drink someone shook before opening.

  Rob couldn’t resist. As confused as he looked, he soon started laughing with me. One of us would point to the other, and we’d start all over again. The tears poured down our cheeks.

  We didn’t realize that Anjelita had slipped away until we saw her coming back. She’d been to the mess tent, and her arm-and-a-half carried enough food for the three of us. That little girl always amazed me. She brought Rob and me the same foods she’d seen us eating all week.

  But when she saw us wiping our eyes, she dropped her load—she didn’t take time to set it down—and ran to console us. Then she discovered we were laughing, not crying.

  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.

  chapter forty-three

  Day 6

  One 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 ba
d 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 re
spective 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.

  chapter forty-four

  Day 8

  The 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.