Monday Morning Faith

by Lori Copeland

  We spent the next hour picking up broken limbs and debris. The heat was overpowering. Wading through the tall grass was like wading through a steam with a giant spotlight shining overhead. After a few minutes I was so groggy and disoriented Bud slid an arm around me. “Why don’t you sit in the shade for a while? I keep forgetting you’re not used to this climate.” He led me to a giant tree, like nothing we grew back home in Saginaw. I slumped down on the ground, eyes closed, feeling as if I’d been rolled in sweat and deep fried. Finally I cooled enough to take stock of my surroundings. The grass here was thick and luxuriant and alive with bugs and insects. A small lizard watched me from under a large leaf; a monstrous black beetle crawled up my pant leg.

  I leaped to my feet, stamping my foot.

  Bud glanced up from the strip. “Everything okay?”

  “Bug!” I shouted, still stamping. “Big one, but I’m fine!”

  The beetle lost its grip and fell to the ground, landing on its back, legs scrabbling in the air. I brushed my pant legs, hoping I’d not picked up a bunch of parasites. Ticks! Did they have ticks here? Tick fever. I shuddered. Ants scuttled across my left shoe and up my pant legs. Lots of ants.

  Then they started biting. Hard.

  I leaped from one foot to the other, swatting the invaders, releasing shrill yelps.

  Bud dropped an armload of limbs and rushed toward me. “What in the world? Johanna? What’s wrong?”

  “Ants! Oh! Ow! Help me!”

  Bud began to stomp out the pesky critters with his heavy boots. “I should have warned you. You have to be careful where you sit.”

  “They’re biting. Ow!”

  “Here — ” he grabbed me by the shoulders — “into the brush. Quick.”

  I dug in my heels, resisting. “I don’t want to go in there — ”

  “You have to get out of those pants now!” He shoved me toward a thick patch of undergrowth. “Go on. Strip!”

  Strip! The warmth in my cheeks turned nuclear. This was beyond the call of duty!

  I dashed into the brush and unzipped and stepped out of my jeans. Seconds later the blouse came off. I picked up the pants and shook them, hard, sending a shower of ants through the air. I did the same to the blouse.

  “You all right?” Bud called.

  “This gives new meaning to the phrase ‘ants in your pants.’ ”

  He laughed. “You’re okay, Johanna. You’re going to fit right in, despite your reservations.”

  I looked around. Now what? Here I stood in my unmentionables. Did Bud have something to cover me?

  “Should I come out now?” Surely he’d offer some kind of covering. His shirt, perhaps.

  “Come out. I think most of the ants are gone.”

  I stood for a moment, thinking. He didn’t offer his shirt. Maybe underwear was considered overdressed in these parts. The village women wore next to nothing. I couldn’t stand there all day. I had to try and fit in for Sam’s sake. Biting my lip, I tried to cover my condition as best as I could with hands and arms. Still, I was embarrassed, but Bud had told me to take the pants and blouse off. I stepped out of the brush.

  Bud was standing, hands on hips, waiting. He focused on me, and his jaw dropped. Crimson spread across his already flushed features. He spun on his heel, looking the opposite direction.

  “What’s … wrong?”

  He cleared his throat. “I … uh … meant for you to put your clothes back on … Sorry.”

  Heat flooded my face and I dove back into the bush.

  See, Lord? I huffed when I picked up the jeans, gave them a sharp snap, and dragged them on. I begged you not to send me here!

  Ants or no ants, we finished at the landing strip and returned to the village. Bud didn’t mention the embarrassing incident, and I certainly wasn’t going to say anything. The afternoon line in front of the clinic was even longer than the morning line had been. Bud and I approached, threading our way to the front. Sam looked up at me and smiled.

  “Are all these people here to see you?” It would take hours — into the night — for Sam to evaluate all of their needs.

  “Word spreads fast when the clinic is open.” He continued with his work. “Can you hand me one of those cotton swabs?”

  I gave him the requested item. A small child sat on the wooden table, his mother holding him. I spent the remainder of the afternoon working beside Sam, a new adventure for me. I experienced firsthand his skills and compassion. The villagers trusted him; you could see it in their eyes. I knew he’d earned their respect.

  Yes, indeed. I was proud of my man.

  As I’d thought, darkness had fallen by the time the last patient disappeared into the bush. Frank, Bud, Mary, and Eva had left earlier; the older couple was exhausted from the heavy workload. Bud returned after dark to row Sam and me back across the lake.

  I took a deep breath. I hated to mention a delicate topic, but the situation was becoming desperate. “I need to ask you something.”

  Sam turned on the seat to face me. “What is it?”

  “With all the heat and humidity, I need a bath.”

  Oh yes, I needed one. I’d never been this dirty or gone this long without bathing. Ever.

  Bud entered the discussion. “You can bathe anytime you like, Johanna, right here in the lagoon.”

  My mouth opened. I hadn’t heard right. “Pardon me?”

  “In the lagoon. It’s where we bathe.”

  I spoke slow and distinct. “There are catfish in the lake.”

  “Sure, but they won’t bother you if you leave them alone.”

  I looked from Bud to Sam. He nodded. “I know you’ve been warned to keep your hands out of the water, but we bathe in the lagoon and the fish never bother us.”

  Fish, no. Eel-tailed catfish? He had to be joking. I stiffened. “I am not bathing in a lake infested with dangerous fish.”

  Bud tried again. “Sam’s telling you the truth; they won’t bother you. Eva and Mary bathe every night.”

  “Well, I can’t …” I looked to Sam, my eyes pleading with his in the moonlight. “Sam, I would be terrified.”

  “You could dip up a bucket full of water and take a sponge bath.”

  A sponge bath wouldn’t cut it. I wanted to stretch out in cool, clean water and soak away layers of thick grime.

  Sam was quiet for a moment, then, “I’ll see what I can rig up. There are some two-by-fours stacked on the deck. Is it all right if I use them, Bud?”

  “Sure. Use whatever you need.”

  “Well, my carpentry skills are weak,” Sam confessed, “but you never know what you can do until you try, right?”

  Bud shrugged and kept rowing. “Frank and I will help, but I must warn you we’re novices when it comes to carpentry.”

  I grinned. “You can do it! I’m counting on you.”

  Sam winked back. “Have I ever let you down, my lady?”

  I just shook my head. Of course not. He’d never let me down on anything.

  As tired as Sam was, the dear man went right to work on my tub, refusing dinner. I helped, nailing boards together, getting needed items. I had given up on my carpentry skills when he called for me to step around the corner. Right there on the Millets’ deck stood a crude wooden frame with a canvas lining.

  Eden.

  “I’ve filled it with lake water for tonight, but as soon as it rains you’ll have fresh water.” He looked so proud of himself my heart was touched.

  I stood on tiptoe to kiss him. His beard was scratchy; he smelled of antiseptic. He was my hero. “You are a real miracle worker. I’m blessed to have you.”

  He sobered. “I’d do anything for you, Johanna. You know that.”

  Yes, I knew, and that made my plan to defect at the end of the week more contemptible. But love him as I did, I still knew that pretending an enthusiasm that I didn’t feel would only lead to deeper problems.

  I waited until the others were in bed and asleep before I slipped out of the hut. Dropping my robe, I steppe
d over the edge of the makeshift tub and lowered myself into the cool water. I hitched the bathing suit top higher; I wasn’t taking any chances on someone waking up and coming out on the deck for a breath of fresh air.

  Ahhh. Absolute paradise.

  I stretched out as full length as possible, luxuriating in the sheer bliss of my first bath since coming here. A canopy of stars blazed overhead. They seemed closer, larger, and brighter here. Frogs croaked from the lake, and the village drums were loud tonight. A celebration? I’d seen the drums earlier, hourglass-shaped wooden bodies with taut, stretched monitor lizard skins for the drumhead. The sound was eerie and penetrating, but rather peaceful and soothing. I nestled deeper into the water, leaning my weight against the side facing the lake. What was Nelda doing tonight? And Mom and Pop? Were they under the same moon, the same stars? Hard to believe that thousands of miles separated us. Were they thinking about me? I sensed they were, and I sensed their prayers. Prayers for health and safety, for spiritual wisdom.

  With a sigh, I sat up. Time to get clean. Now … where was the soap?

  With a groan I realized I’d left it on the deck, beyond my reach. I stood and started to step out to get it. My foot had other ideas. It slipped, and I leaned hard against the wooden side. With a subdued crunch the framework began to collapse. I lost my balance and floundered, grabbing for anything solid … but the whole tub was coming apart. The tub — and I — plunged into the catfish-infested lagoon.

  My eeeeeeeeee! resonated across the continent.

  I dropped, the two-by-fours hitting the water around me. The lagoon waters closed over my head as I plunged into the depths. Struggling to overcome panic, I fought my way to the surface.

  Sam leaned over the broken railing above, shouting my name. Some weird quirk of my mind made me realize the drums had stopped.

  A mighty splash rocked me like a boat, and Sam, still clothed, surfaced beside me. He shook the water from his hair, sending a shower in my direction. “It’s okay. Don’t panic, Johanna, I’ll get you out of here.”

  He reached out for me and I latched onto him, holding on with a grip born of pure terror. He made an effort to break my hold, but fear sent strength surging through my veins like a shot of steroids.

  “Johanna! Let go! Don’t fight me!”

  “There’s something biting my feet!” My scream reached the decibel of a jet plane on takeoff.

  He swam around me, staying just out of reach, clearly afraid I’d drag him under. I could swim a little, but I’d forgotten everything I knew about the art. I went under again.

  Sam dove for me, grabbing my shoulders and spinning me around. Then he got an arm around my neck and dragged me to the boat. He helped me aboard, and Bud offered me a hand up the ladder to the deck.

  I collapsed onto the rough, splintered boards of the wooden platform. Sam climbed out of the water and dropped down beside me, gasping for breath.

  I lay staring at him.

  What had I ever seen in this man? Who was he? He must have satanic power to talk me into coming here. Him and his cobbled-up bathtub! When I finally managed words, they came out in a taut, controlled tone. “You weren’t kidding about your lack of carpentry skills, were you?”

  He started to answer, but I was already struggling to my feet.

  “Johanna.” Sam’s voice held a note of pleading.

  I kept walking, fearing I would break down in tears and say things I would regret come morning. But though I held my silence, there was one thing I knew.

  No one — not Sam, the Laskes, or the Millets — could be surprised to know that I hated this place.

  TWELVE

  Sam had turned silent.

  An undeniable cord of tension stretched between the two of us. I suspected he was avoiding me the next morning, but even if he had been inclined to talk, there was no time. Natives formed a long line to the clinic. I tried to help, but there wasn’t much a librarian could do. I said as much to Sam, and he touched my arm.

  “You can start by folding bandages.” He indicated the cabinet filled with rows of blue boxes.

  “Okay.” I wouldn’t be an ounce of help elsewhere, but I could fold gauze. I meandered to the cabinet and took out a couple of boxes and dumped the contents on the table. “You want square? Round? Oblong?”

  “Square.”

  I folded a patch, then looked around. How was I going to cut this material? I glanced at Sam. “Scissors?”

  A frown creased his forehead.

  “Scissors — I need something to cut with.”

  In a moment he’d located the tool and handed it to me, then returned to his patients.

  “What do you want me to put them in?”

  “Anything — doesn’t matter.”

  I began to cut the flimsy fabric. The material was so feathery light I chased it over the table, finally pinning it with my elbow before I managed a ragged cut. I held up the crooked piece — clearly not Chicago-Hope standard, but it would do.

  Once I was through both boxes I knew I’d found yet another calling I didn’t have: making bandages. The stack of pitiful-looking patches lined the weathered table. Flies buzzed the tent, and I guessed the heat was building to crematorium levels. My stomach churned.

  “Are you okay, Johanna?” Sam’s voice penetrated my fog.

  “Fine. Just … fine.” My eyes fell on the bandages and my imagination kicked in. Every injury that came through the clinic was bloody. Soon these bandages would be soaked … in blood …

  My head swirled, and I reached out to grip the side of the table. The tent sides waved and changed shapes before my eyes.

  “Johanna …”

  “I’m fine, Sam!” I knew I had snapped at him, but for heaven’s sake! I might be perceived as useless, but I could fold gauze! Straightening, I took a deep breath …

  My knees promptly buckled and everything went dark.

  “Johanna?”

  Bud’s gentle voice penetrated the darkness, and I opened my eyes. “Did I …?”

  “Faint?” He nodded. “You did. But that’s okay. We’ve all done it at one time or another.”

  Bud glanced at Sam, who was working on a patient. “You gave us all a scare. Sam told me I had to sit with you until you came to. He would have done it himself, but — ”

  I nodded. “The patients need him.”

  With Bud’s help, I stood and went to watch Sam as he worked. The villager on the table had an infected arm, which he held out for Sam’s inspection, wincing from the pain. The skin was red and tight, swollen, with a bulbous area protruding like an undersized coconut.

  Two stout natives pinned him on the table while Bud went to hold a basin under the man’s arm. Sam proceeded to lance the wound. He slashed the shiny scalpel down in one swift, piercing stroke. The villager’s body arched; his pain-saturated cry filled our ears and senses.

  I recoiled from the stench of decay as Sam worked until the infected area was drained. The patient slumped in his friends’ arms while Sam probed the wound with tweezers. He withdrew the instrument, holding it aloft, triumph on his face as he waved it around for all to see the half-inch black thorn.

  I was going to be sick.

  The natives grinned and nodded. The patient looked immensely relieved. He nodded and offered a weak smile.

  I took a deep breath. “You mean that little thorn caused that much infection?”

  “This is tropical country, hot and humid. Infection can set in quickly here.” Sam grinned. “I’m glad you’re back with us, but you still look a little green around the gills. Bud can help me here. Why don’t you sit in on the women’s meeting?”

  “I think I will. Thanks.” I knew now why I’d never followed my childhood wish to be a nurse. Bud took over, and I wandered to the open-air meeting.

  A sizable group of women gathered near the clinic entrance. They sat on pieces of logs, large rocks, or stood. I noticed none sat on the ground, and I had a good idea why. They didn’t want ants in their pants — if they wore
any. I leaned against a large tree, the likes of which I’d never seen before, and hoped it wasn’t harboring anything that would attach itself to me.

  Eva did most of the gesturing, and though the women seemed polite enough, I sensed a certain disinterest in the subject. How many of them cared about personal hygiene? Eva worked with picture boards, showing images of babies, buckets of water, and bars of castile soap the missionaries handed out. Old campfires, animal waste, rotting vegetation, and unwashed bodies made up the pungent essence of everything that bothered me about this village.

  I listened as Eva sought to make connection. As a woman pulled her toddler from the dirt and onto her lap, preparing to nurse the child, I decided none of the women were listening. Didn’t Eva see their total lack of concern for cleanliness? My eyes wandered around the gathering.

  A woman seated across the circle stroked the strip of bright-colored fabric tied at her throat. I squinted, then, eyes wide, peered closer. A scarf. I leaned for a closer look.

  That was my scarf!

  That woman had my scarf, the one that two hours ago was lying across the foot of my cot. I wanted to leap across the open area and snatch it away from her. I was stopped from the foolish action by the realization that she was at least three inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than I and could probably sling me into the branches like a rag doll. Yet I couldn’t stand by and allow blatant thievery!

  I eyed the intruder from beneath lowered brows. She’d been in my space, handling my possessions. The very thought made me seethe. How could Sam find such compassion for these people? Stealing — on top of everything else. It wasn’t the loss of a scarf; I found the whole concept of stealing offensive. I eased around the circle and sat down beside the woman. She was preoccupied with fingering the silk, her dark eyes shining. I sat as still as a church mouse, then reached over and snatched the scarf from her neck. My eyes remained on Eva, pretending a rapt interest in the art of lathering soap.

  A soft gasp had escaped the villager. She sat motionless, her eyes flicking from the scarf to me. I refused to look at her. The very nerve of her slipping into the Laskes’ hut and taking what belonged to me. Confident that my possession was mine again, I relaxed and watched the lesson.