So is this the way you try to do better?
I clamped down on my mental rant. Today was supposed to be the beginning of a new era when I’d do my best to communicate with these people, make an effort to understand their ways. Fine. I could do that. In fact, if I found the crook who stole my glasses, I intended to communicate big-time. And they were going to have no problem understanding me.
Scripture. I needed to read Scripture. Calm down. Gain strength from the Word. Wasn’t that what Sam had done?
I pulled the small Bible out of my backpack. I held it between my hands for a moment, then let it fall open. Okay, Lord. Words of encouragement. I need wonderful words of encouragement. I glanced at the top of the page. Jeremiah. Good. I looked down, and a verse seemed to jump out at me: Jeremiah 22:10. With a grateful smile, I read it.
“Do not weep for the dead king or mourn his loss; rather, weep bitterly for him who is exiled, because he will never return nor see his native land again.”
I slammed the book shut before I took the message to heart.
We cleaned up after breakfast and walked to the boat. Mary sat on the bench beside me as we crossed the lagoon. “Are you ready to see your little shadow again?”
The little girl they called Poo had latched onto me the past couple of days, dogging my every step. Efforts to discourage the child had proven useless.
“What is the child’s name? It’s not actually Poo, is it?” I couldn’t imagine anyone, even the villagers, naming a child Poo. The little girl with bushy black hair the size of a basketball and sparkling round, black eyes lived with her grandfather in a hut on the village perimeter. The missionaries had no information regarding the whereabouts of the child’s parents or siblings.
“I don’t know the child’s name,” Mary admitted. “Her name sounds like “Poo” when her Bum and others address her. She’s an intelligent little girl. Eva feels she might, in time, communicate with the child.”
I didn’t doubt that. More than in any of the other children I’d recognized certain intelligence in Poo’s young eyes.
Mary turned toward the village. “Poo understands more than she admits. In fact, I believe some of the adults understand more than they let on. After all, they’ve been listening to Frank and Eva for twelve years and Bud and me for the past four. They’re bound to have picked up a few words in that length of time.”
“Why wouldn’t they use them then?”
“A general resistance to change?” Mary shrugged. “Who knows? We’ll get a breakthrough someday. We just have to keep plugging away at the communication gap.”
Bud guided the boat to a gentle stop, and Sam climbed out and secured it to a large rock, then helped us women out. As soon as my feet touched land, Poo was there. She grasped my sleeve, spouting a stream of garbled words. Sam responded to my upraised eyebrows.
“You don’t have to understand the words; just watch the gestures. I’d say she wants to be your friend.”
Friend? This child was more nuisance than anything else. I couldn’t move without tripping over her. Poo was like a possessive cat, always underfoot, clawing at my sleeve or pant leg. I’d turn around and she would be gone, then a second later she’d be back.
She was making me dizzy with the way she came and went.
Sam reached for my hand and we started up the steep incline. “Want to help in the clinic today?”
“Sure, why not. I’m a born medic.” We both smiled.
On the way through the village we passed the scruffy black and white dog still tied to a tree. Sam indicated the menace. “That’s a mean one. Even the villagers are afraid of him. Don’t get too close.”
The dog hunched down, growling low in his throat as we walked past. He lunged toward us. I jumped and clutched Sam’s arm. He stepped between me and the snarling animal. The grapevine tied to him held fast, jerking the animal backward. Sam smoothed my hair. “He’s secure. He can’t hurt you.”
I didn’t mention that the dog had a fondness for sweets. I’d been feeding the growling monster for several days now, though he still seemed anxious to bite the hand that fed him.
Why would the villagers keep such an animal? The owner was nowhere in sight. I wasn’t sure who fed and watered him, but someone must. The villagers didn’t need a watchdog, unless …
I froze.
Headhunters! They kept the dog to alert them of enemies who might prowl through the night seeking unsuspecting victims. My gaze darted to the jungle, visualizing painted warriors peering from the shadows.
Either that, Reason whispered, or they’re simply nuts and don’t know what to do with the animal, so they just tie it to a tree and let it bark.
I let out a sigh. I’d been in that jungle and hadn’t seen a single headhunter. Sam was right — the more familiar things became, the less I feared them. No, I would not add headhunters to my list of worries.
A long line had already formed in front of the clinic. Today some of the natives were on crude, homemade stretchers, while others sat on the ground, supporting their heads with both hands. Mothers carried infants, and small children crowded the area, running and yelling. I held to Sam’s shirttail as he pushed through the crowd, trying to enter the clinic. The villagers parted, then surged back in a wave of unwashed flesh, all jabbering at once. My stomach roiled, more from anxiety than distaste. One could become claustrophobic in such close contact with all these needy people.
We threaded our way inside the clinic to find it as crowded as the outside. Sam set his case of medical instruments on the low table, pausing to speak to a woman in the front of the line. The woman grasped his hand, her eyes radiating pain. She had a large laceration on her right arm.
According to the wall thermometer the temperature hovered in the upper nineties; the flies were so thick they covered the ground and swarmed in a black cloud inside the clinic. I blinked, fighting my contacts in the heat and humidity.
Sam motioned for the woman to take her seat on the low stool while he examined the cut. After cleansing the wound and applying an antibiotic ointment, he moved to the next patient. The multitude of injuries and illnesses became a dark cloud hovering over me. Sam was so tolerant, so eager to help, but he worked with inadequate supplies and equipment. True, he supplemented with prayer, but it had to be discouraging when he thought of the state-of-the-art medical equipment and medicines he’d left behind.
The wretched dog outside barked, driving me to distraction. He was an ill-tempered beast. “What is he barking at?”
“The children like to taunt him.” Sam pushed his way through the crowd to the outside. A second later I heard him roar. “You kids get away from there and leave that dog alone!”
A sudden hush fell over the villagers, and I didn’t blame them. I’d never heard Sam raise his voice before. The villagers might have no idea what he said, but you could see they recognized his angry tone. Clearly, Dr. Littleton was ticked.
And I? I was astonished at how moved I was.
Sam’s compassion extended even to something as unlovable and fierce as that dog. But the creature was helpless and needed a champion.
Truly, Sam was a strong, vital witness for his God.
Poo had burrowed her way through the mass of people to stand beside me. I’d stumbled over the half-pint at least a dozen times that morning. Each time she would look up and give a hint of a smile. She liked me — why I didn’t know, because all I’d done for her was hand her a few pieces of candy. Still, her adoration shone in her eyes and brightened her smile. I sighed and tried to concentrate on the medical tasks at hand. My anger was so ghastly my head pounded.
Around one o’clock the crowd had thinned enough that we paused for a break. I was eating a mango when I looked up to see Poo’s Bum staggering across the muddy stretch of ground, headed for the clinic. Judging from his uneven gait, I decided he’d had more than his allotted share of betel powder this morning.
I watched as he approached. He looked different today - — and not just because
of his drunken step. He was wearing the usual scanty loincloth, his hair matted and tangled, a straw threaded through a large hole in his nose, but something was different.
The realization hit like a hammer blow.
Glasses.
He was wearing glasses.
I stared, my eyes narrowing. Anger swamped me like a tsunami. So the case of the missing glasses was solved. That wretched old man was wearing my glasses!
I forgot Sam and Poo and all my good intentions. Dropping my half-eaten mango, I waited until he reached the door of the clinic, then snatched the glasses off his face. He reared back, outraged shock showing in every line of his scrawny body. Once I had the glasses in my hands I paused to examine them.
I should have run while I had the chance.
The old man grabbed the rims, catching the earpiece. We struggled like a pair of snapping, snarling dogs, though I tried to be gentle and not destroy the valued spectacles. He jabbered in his language and I screeched in mine; it would have been difficult to say which of us made the most noise.
Using one hand to hold the glasses, I used the other to shove him backward, hard. He stumbled, losing his balance but holding firm to the left earpiece. I stared down at my mangled eyewear, overcome with rage. He’d broken my earpiece.
I lunged at him, yanking the severed piece from his hand. Ignoring his protestations, I worked to fit the two pieces back together. Well, great. Just great! Where would I find an optometrist out here?
About that time Sam came around the corner of the hut, eyes wide. He jumped in to break up the fight and send Bum on his way. I watched the man’s normal gait and realized he hadn’t been drunk. My prescription was too strong for him.
Sam took the glasses from me, turning them over in his hands. “I take it these belong to you.”
“He stole them and now they’re broken!” I was so mad I could spit. “Now what am I going to do? They’re thieves — -every last one of them!”
“Calm down, Johanna. What seems wrong to you isn’t to them. They see things differently here.” He reached for a roll of surgical tape. “Let me see what I can do.”
With a surgeon’s dexterity Sam soon had the earpiece taped back on my glasses. I had calmed down by the time he finished, but no one could call me happy. I would now wear large black frame glasses adorned with white surgical tape — but so what? This village wasn’t exactly a center of fashion.
Sam handed them to me. “See how that works.”
I tried them on, and while they sat a little uneven, giving me a cockeyed view of the world, I could see through them — or I would be able to once I removed the contacts. I was still plenty steamed though. Thieves! The whole lot were chronic thieves.
Poo stood beside me, dark eyes clouded. She reached out and patted my leg, but I jerked away. When her eyes darkened, shame flooded my soul. She was a child, for heaven’s sake. Drawing a deep breath, I exhaled and reached out to rest my hand on her bare shoulder. Her smile returned and shone like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.
Sam grinned. “She loves you.”
“Forgive me if I don’t feel warm and fuzzy right now.” But I kept my tone light so I wouldn’t further upset the child. I gave a reluctant chuckle and admitted, “All right, so I’m not Mother Teresa.”
Wild barking split the air. I turned to see that the children were again poking fun at the dog. The animal was going crazy, yipping and bounding in the air. Adult villagers ignored the racket, but the children were laughing and lunging at the dog, twisting away at the last moment to stay out of reach. Then the dog gave a mighty leap — and the vine holding him snapped.
He tumbled end over end, snarling and snapping as he rolled across the bare ground.
Villagers bolted, yelling as they scrambled for safety. I’d never seen a place clear so fast. Men who had been on stretchers, struggling to breathe a moment ago, resurrected and scattered into the vegetation. Women and children scurried like turkeys the week before Thanksgiving.
One native who’d been rolling on the ground, moaning, jumped to his feet and shinned up the side of the clinic wall like he’d been fired from the mouth of a cannon. Now he sat atop the thatched roof, feet drawn up, curled into a fetal position as he stared wide-eyed at the snarling beast.
The village had emptied of natives.
Frank shouted a warning as the dog turned his attention to us, the only fools left in attack range. Frank reached for Eva’s hand, pulling her toward the nearest palm. Bud helped Mary up onto a low-hanging limb while the frenzied canine nipped at their heels. Sam grabbed my hand. “Hurry, Johanna! This way!”
The dog bounded from one tree to the other while the missionaries drew their feet higher, clinging to their perches. Sam dragged me across the ground to a low-branched tree. Swinging me up in his arms, he shoved me up and I caught a limb and pulled myself farther into the tree, thankful for my childhood tree-climbing years. The dog hurtled toward Sam. I yelled a warning and Sam leaped straight up, grabbing a limb and swinging himself atop it in one smooth movement.
Until that moment, I had no idea the man was part monkey.
We clung to our lofty perches while the dog strutted from one tree to another, barking out a dare to descend. I was reminded of Goliath and the Israelites, except we had no David to come to our rescue. The dog knew who was in charge. And it wasn’t us.
The sun blazed down, filtering through the scant foliage and searing my skin. I leaned my forehead against the rough bark, biting back tears. Every day in this horrible place brought a new disaster. And I had been so good to that dog — jelly beans, sometimes twice a day.
“Don’t worry, Johanna,” Sam called. “He’ll tire of the game before long.”
I stared down at our four-legged tormentor. “He doesn’t look like he’s getting tired. I think he’s trying to figure out how to climb trees.”
We sat. One hour. Two hours. The dog backed up and took a running leap, snapping at Bud’s foot when it dangled just out of reach. Mary screamed and Bud jerked his foot higher.
The dog strutted around — king of the hill. Sam tucked his feet up closer and I shifted my position, almost losing my grip on the tree trunk.
Three hours.
The dog had finally decided to lie down, resting his head on his paws.
“Is he asleep?” Sam whispered.
I angled a look first at the beast, then at Sam. “I can’t tell.”
Sam made a move to descend — and we had our answer. The beast sprang to life. I yelped and clawed at the tree limbs, the rough bark stripping skin off my bare hands. The dog strode back to Frank and Eva’s tree. Sam shot me a weak smile. “Think what a funny story this will be when you’re back home.”
I stared at him. He’d come unhinged. “Hilarious.”
“Well, maybe not right now, but you’ll be surprised how time will change your perspective.”
“Yes, Sam. That will surprise me.” I’d had enough. I was tired and frustrated and hungry.
Hungry … of course! I still had three packets of jelly beans in my backpack. I scanned the ground. The pack was leaning against the base of our tree, and the animal was now sniffing the pack. If the dog didn’t eat me alive I had a chance. Why hadn’t I thought of the candy earlier?
I glanced at Sam. “Try to distract the mutt. I’m going down.”
“You’re what? Johanna, have you lost your mind?”
“Just try and distract him; throw something at him.”
The animal had returned to our tree and dropped to the ground panting, his gaze pinned on us.
“Johanna — ”
“Throw something, Sam, or plan to spend the night in this tree.”
He broke off a sizable limb and took careful aim. “What if I hit him?”
“Try not to. Just scare him off long enough for me to shinny down.”
Sam’s throw proved accurate. The stick landed in front of the mutt. He yelped, tucked his tail between his legs, and disappeared around the corner of th
e clinic. I slid down the trunk and fished in my backpack for the candy, keeping an eye on the clinic. Seconds later the persecutor rounded the corner, ears back, yapping, teeth bared. I pitched a few of the sweets at him, wishing it was laxative instead.
Mean-spirited, yes. But the toughie needed a lesson.
The animal skidded to a halt and started gobbling up the goodies. Then he looked around for more. When he looked up at me I threw two entire bags as far across the clearing as my arm allowed. The dog scrambled after them.
I spun to the trees. “Everyone! Clear out while you can!” I motioned for the villagers to scat!
Natives slid down tree trunks and ran. Sam hurried to help the victim stranded on the clinic roof, supporting him away from the scene. The area cleared in three minutes flat. The patients would have to return the following morning after some brave soul captured the dog and resecured him to the tree.
After devouring the first bag, the beast looked up and then started on the second packet. By then Sam, the missionaries, and I were well on our way to the boat. The six of us were a weary, sunburned, and parched group as our footsteps thundered down the incline to the boat.
Oh, yeah, missions were my thing — lovin’ it more every day, Lord.
FOURTEEN
I was up earlier than usual; the thought of a villager prowling the hut cost me a night’s sleep. While I waited for Eva and Frank to rise, I decided to secure everything I owned in my suitcases. Sam could excuse the local population’s thievery, but I couldn’t.
As I rearranged blouses and slacks, refolded and straightened, I came across two large safety pins I’d carried in my luggage since I was the tender age of fourteen. I was always prepared — a throwback from my Girl Scout days. The pins, along with the small pair of scissors I used to cut tags off new clothing, came in handy a few times. Seeing them now gave me a sense of something familiar. A sense I sorely needed.
Once the suitcases were in order, I relocked the luggage and put the key on a silver chain around my neck. Now let’s see anyone steal my stuff. Tonight I’d lock my glasses in a suitcase too.
Monday Morning Faith Page 15
