Do-Gooder

by J. Leigh Bailey

  I followed Henry to a back entrance of the building and into a dimly lit hall. At the end of the corridor we were greeted by a man in tan pants and a short-sleeved button-down checked shirt. Not your typical laborer’s uniform, but not professional enough to be one of the professors. Probably a clerk of some kind.

  “Bonjour, Claude. C’est le fils de Dr. Martin,” Henry said in halting French, and I almost rolled my eyes, and not in annoyance. I didn’t know if French was the language of love or not, but the combo of Henry and French, even imperfect French, made something in my stomach coil. “Il s’appelle Isaiah.”

  The clerk guy beamed at me. “Welcome. You are here for to visit your father?” His English was as choppy as Henry’s French. “Your father, he is a very good man. Very good. He does many good things.”

  My polite smile almost slipped. Everyone seemed to like Chuck. Everyone except me. Not that I disliked the man, I just didn’t know him. I forced my smile wider. “Yes,” I agreed. I mean, what else was I supposed to say?

  “Avez-vous… uh… les….” Henry gestured a square shape with his hands. He blew out a long breath that sent one loose strand of hair dancing around his face. He grinned wryly. “Claude, do you have the boxes for the camp?”

  Claude’s lips twitched, and he slapped Henry’s shoulder. “You are getting better, n’est-ce pas? Très bien. Yes, the boxes, they are ready.” He stepped back and waved Henry and me in.

  Along the side of the room were four stacks of cardboard boxes, each about as tall as me. Henry’s brows lowered in confusion. “Are those all for us? We don’t normally get that many cases.” He walked over to the stacks and started examining labels.

  “Oh, ah… yeah, these are what Dr. Martin ordered,” Claude confirmed. He grabbed a packet of papers and flipped through them, promptly dropping them on the floor. His hands shook when he picked the papers back up.

  Henry shrugged. “Okay.” He started loading boxes onto a two-wheeled cart. Claude grabbed a box from one of the stacks, and I grabbed another. The box I picked up was heavier than I expected, given that it was labeled as bandages. The weight probably added up when the supplies were packaged in bulk. I made my way to the door and held it open with a foot so Henry could wheel the cart through.

  “Which route will you be taking to get back to the camp?” Claude asked when they’d stopped so Henry could open the back hatch of the Range Rover. “Doumé or Bertoua?”

  “Doumé,” Henry said, loading the boxes into the vehicle. Our shoulders brushed as I stacked my box into the cargo area. A little thrill shot through me. Stupid? Absolutely. I knew better than to get all hot and bothered by some guy when I didn’t even know if he bent that way. And the likelihood of a missionary being gay? I wouldn’t bet on those odds. If I weren’t so tired, I’d be able to guard my reactions better, I was sure of it.

  “Bertoua is a bigger town,” Claude said when he took his turn depositing his box. “If you have to stay the night, there are better choices there.”

  Henry slid the last of the boxes from his cart into the Range Rover. Wiping away the sweat on his forehead, he nodded to Claude. “Yeah, I know, but there’s a patch on N1 that’s flooded and nearly impossible to get through.”

  “N1?” I asked.

  “It’s the main highway we’ll be taking. We’ll branch off to a different road before Bertoua.”

  Okay, I had looked at a map of Cameroon before I left Wisconsin. I had thought I was prepared enough to keep myself oriented when I arrived. Despite my homework, I only had the vaguest idea of where the towns they named were in relation to each other, to Yaoundé and to the refugee camp. I knew enough to realize that where we headed and the route to get there would be a little rough. Africa wasn’t all safaris or the Sahara. There were cities. There were universities (as the campus I stood on proved). There were even McDonald’s restaurants. But most of the guidebooks I’d read called the part of the country I headed for “the forgotten land.” It was the poorest, least-developed part of the country. Obviously I hadn’t done my homework well enough. I’d only been off the plane for a couple of hours, and I was already lost.

  One more trip to the Range Rover with supplies, and we were done. And I was a hot, sweaty mess. The air conditioner, when the vehicle started again, emitted little puffs of barely cool air. Next to the overwhelming humidity outside, it felt fantastic.

  “There’s a little café a couple blocks over with good food,” Henry mentioned when he slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Sounds good.” I grabbed my backpack and dug through it until I found the spare T-shirt I’d packed. I quickly pulled off the sweaty one that clung uncomfortably to my skin. I used the dirty shirt to wipe up extra sweat, no doubt a waste of time.

  “What’s that?” Henry paused with his hand on the gearshift. His eyes fixed on the blue plastic insulin pump and the thin tube that attached to my side. I looked down. I was so used to it, I sometimes forgot it probably looked weird to people who’d never seen something like it before.

  “Insulin pump,” I told him, unhooking the monitor from my belt. “I’m diabetic and this monitors my blood sugar and dispenses insulin at regular intervals.”

  “You’re diabetic and you intend to spend the next four months in an area with almost no medical technology or infrastructure? Are you out of your mind?”

  I reattached the monitor to my belt and pulled the clean shirt over my head. “I’ve got all the insulin I’ll need in my bag.” I pulled the small pack out of my bag to show Henry the vials of insulin in their cooling case, and the extra tubing, syringes, batteries, and other pieces that made the monitor do its thing.

  “Doesn’t insulin have to be kept cold to work?”

  “The cooling case can keep the insulin cool enough for a few days, and when we reach the camp it can be stored in the clinic’s cooler. I’m sure the camp is rustic, but Chuck is a doctor. If I have any issues, he’ll know what to do.”

  He blinked. “You call your father Chuck?”

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to call him Charlie.” I said this as if it should have been obvious to anyone.

  I think he was waiting for more info, but he settled in and buckled his seat belt. He shrugged, put the vehicle into gear, and headed to the café.

  Chapter 3

  THE STARTING and stopping of the erratic city traffic barely smoothed into steady highway speeds (significantly slower than I was used to) before I fell asleep. The thud and lurch of the big 4x4 hitting a particularly large pothole jerked me awake. I blinked and sat up straight, stretching my neck to loosen the knots I’d gotten from leaning against the doorframe.

  “Sorry,” Henry said, looking over at me. “I didn’t see it in time to avoid it.”

  “No problem.” I yawned and shook my head, clearing away the last wisps of drowsiness. “I probably should be awake anyway.”

  “You’ve just flown halfway around the world. You’re entitled to a nap.” His eyes trailed over my face, and his lips twitched.

  “What?”

  The twitch turned into a full-blown smile that caused my heart to trip in my chest. “You have an impression of the seat belt on your cheek.”

  I flipped down the sun visor in front of me, and the small mirror showed me my reflection. A big pink stripe crossed my cheek, from the corner of my eye to the edge of my mouth. I must have used the belt as a pillow. Nice. “How long was I asleep?”

  “About two hours. We’ll reach Doumé in about two more.”

  I covered a yawn and nodded.

  “Question.” Henry kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him.

  “Okay, shoot.” I turned the visor back up and drew my feet up onto the seat in front of me. I rested my arms across my bent knees.

  “That bracelet. Are you wearing it to shock your dad or is it real?”

  I twisted the rainbow bracelet around my wrist a couple of times, watching the colors alternate. Now, I’d never hidden who I was. I wasn’t ashamed, but not being ash
amed wasn’t the same as being stupid. I was alone in a vehicle with someone I’d just met, in the middle of a foreign country, and he wanted to know if…. Smile that made my heart pound like a bass drum aside, I had no way of knowing how Henry would react.

  He must have noticed my hesitation. “It’s cool if you are. But don’t expect your dad to freak out or anything. He knows I’m gay and has never said anything about it. He’s one of the most open-minded, accepting people I’ve ever met.” Did I catch a little hero worship in his voice? Great, it looked like Chuck had a fan club.

  Okay, maybe part of me had wanted to see Chuck’s reaction, but in all honesty, like the insulin pump, I’d gotten so used to wearing it I usually forgot it was on. “My school’s GSA chapter made them. A sort of silent protest against a less-than-supportive administration.”

  Suddenly it hit me. He said he was gay. Holy crap, Hank the Hottie was gay too! Now, if this were a movie, we’d fall instantly in love and be together forever after an hour and a half of mind-numbing pseudoconflict. But, sadly, this wasn’t a movie and just because he played for my team, didn’t mean that he would be attracted to me too. Not that I wanted him to be. Because, come on, he was just like my dad. I didn’t want to be the guy with the daddy issues, though I had a few of those, but I had enough trouble with one person in my life out to save the world. I certainly didn’t need another.

  I needed to stop my rambling thoughts. “Does the radio work in this thing?” I reached forward and fiddled with the radio’s power button and volume knob. Static blared through the small space, and I cranked the volume back down. I turned the dial to scan for anything with actual music, or even talking. Anything to distract me.

  “We can sometimes get a station in pretty clear when we’re in Yaoundé, and even Bertoua occasionally, but for the most part, it’s dead air.”

  “No CDs or, hell, even cassettes? How can you stand the quiet?”

  “I like quiet. When there are no distractions you can clear your head of everything else and just exist.”

  That sounded a little too woo-woo for me. He must have caught and understood my expression. “I’m not talking about meditation or something like it, but more along the lines of appreciating what’s around you. Really, look around. What do you see?”

  I scanned the empty road and the vegetation that tried to take it over. “I see a whole lot of nothing. No people, no buildings. A whole lot of creepy nothing.”

  “That’s the city talking.” Henry pulled to the edge of the road and put the big vehicle in Park. “I see a forest that is as close to untouched by man as most people will ever see. Look.” Henry pointed out past my window. I followed the line of his arm and finger, trying to see what he wanted me to. “Do you see it?”

  I found it hard to focus on anything else with Henry practically touching me. He’d leaned close to point, and I could feel the heat from his body. I wanted to lean back into him, extend the contact, but my previous “momentary lack of judgment” thing aside, I wasn’t stupid. I blamed my body’s reaction on jet lag. Jet lag and teenage hormones.

  I forced myself to look past Henry’s pointing finger. I saw trees. Lots and lots of trees. There were tall, scraggly trees that looked like oversized bonsai plants, short squat trees that seemed almost bush-like, and thick, leafy trees that towered over them all. The canopy of tall branches stretched out until it almost covered the small road, and pale, sun-bleached grasses sprouted between the bushes. Sure, it was different than I was used to, but I didn’t see anything to get excited about.

  “Right there. Do you see it?”

  I’d almost admitted defeat when a small movement from one of the branches caught my attention. No bigger than a house cat, it looked like a monkey (or some kind of monkey-like creature—I’m not a zoologist). It had yellowish fur and an almost skeletal face. On the whole, though, it was kind of cute.

  “That’s a talapoin. This is one of three countries in the entire world that you can find them.”

  “That is so fricking cool.” I leaned closer, trying to get a better look at the critter.

  “See that flash of neon green over there?” This time when Henry pointed, it brought his body into even closer contact with mine. I closed my eyes, trying to rein in my frantically beating pulse. Teenage hormones sucked.

  It took a minute—there were a lot of different greens in the dense forest—but eventually I noticed the flash of color. A tiny, neon green bird.

  “That’s a lovebird,” he told me.

  I snickered. “A lovebird? Seriously?”

  “People in the States keep them as pets, but they’re indigenous here. See? Sometimes there’s a benefit to the quiet.” He turned his head and suddenly we were face-to-face with barely an inch separating us. I could feel the moist puffs of his breath and see the lighter flecks of color in his brown eyes. For a minute I thought he was going to lean forward, to close the distance between us. I licked my lips. A nervous gesture? An invitation? I wasn’t sure.

  “Anyway,” Henry said, pulling back and clearing his throat. “I like it here. It’s easy to forget about your problems, your past, when you’re surrounded by this kind of awesomeness. And here your problems don’t mean anything and your past can’t catch you.” He said the last so quietly I knew he didn’t intend for me to hear. Something about his voice indicated a maturity or life experience that didn’t match his age.

  He started the Range Rover and pulled back onto the highway. Neither he nor I said anything for a while. He, clearly, lost in his thoughts while I watched the terrain around me with a new appreciation. I wanted to see more monkeys—or talapoins, whatever—or maybe something equally cool. There were supposedly pygmy hippos in the forests of this area and an assortment of antelope. Pythons were sometimes sighted too, but I really didn’t want to see one of them. Gross. Not that my city eyes were suited for the job. Unless a minihippo came out of the trees wearing a pink tutu and jumped onto the hood of the Range Rover, chances were I’d miss it. But I needed something to do to pass the time.

  “ANOTHER QUESTION.”

  The sun had begun to set, and the dense forests shrouded the narrow road—no longer paved, only a packed red dirt line barely big enough for two trucks to pass side by side—in shadows. I looked away from the trees at Henry’s statement. I hadn’t seen a hippo or a monkey in the last hour, but a few birds, their brightly colored feathers making them almost impossible to miss, darted in and out of my line of vision from time to time.

  “Shoot.”

  “Why are you here? I mean, what made you decide to come and stay with your father now? It seems like you’re not one of his biggest fans.”

  “Decide? I didn’t decide. I was forced to.”

  “Forced? Why?”

  “I got caught with a gun at school.”

  “What? You brought a gun to school?”

  I slumped a little in the seat and stared ahead. Though darkness shadowed the trees, the sky glowed vibrantly pink and orange in the distance. “Not exactly,” I muttered.

  “How do you not exactly bring a gun to school?”

  “I wasn’t exactly at school.” I hadn’t been able to tell anyone the full story, and the reasons for my silence were complicated. “I have this friend,” I started.

  “A friend or a friend?”

  “A friend. Wendy.” I shifted in my seat, turning so my back pressed against the door. I wiggled a bit, trying to return sensation to my butt, which had long ago gone numb. “Things had been rough for her lately. One day—right before the end of the semester—I found her at the bus station near the school.”

  “You were looking for her?”

  “Yeah. She’d skipped homeroom, and I was worried.” What I didn’t say was that I’d suspected that someone—someone close to her like her son-of-a-bitch father—had been abusing her. Not like she’d come to school with a black eye or had any mysterious bruises from running into the door or anything. She’d just started getting quieter and quieter and losing wei
ght she couldn’t afford to lose. “When I found her, she sat there on the bench holding a gun—some kind of handgun. You know, like you see on television?” I didn’t know any more about guns than I did about African animals.

  “What was she going to do?” Henry’s voice was soft, husky. Comforting and sincere.

  “I don’t really know. I don’t think she knew for sure. Debating, I think, about either killing herself or going after… someone.”

  I looked up from my clasped hands in time to see something dart from the trees in front of the Range Rover. The headlights illuminated a deerlike animal with a smallish body and tall, delicate legs. “Watch out!”

  Henry slammed on the brakes, making the big vehicle fishtail in the red dirt. Sitting sideways as I was, I couldn’t brace myself against the forward momentum. Henry flung his arm out, keeping me from hitting the dash.

  The deer, or whatever it was, jumped into the trees on the other side of the road, oblivious to the mayhem it almost caused.

  I grinned at Henry. “Did you just soccer-mom me?”

  He looked at his arm, which still held me back. “I guess I did. Should I apologize?”

  “Nah. I mean, I lost a few macho points, and if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it, but mostly I’m glad I didn’t hit the dash.” I shifted to face forward again while Henry accelerated the Range Rover. “How close are we? To Doumé, you said, right?”

  “Not too far. Maybe another half hour. You do know what to expect, don’t you? The guesthouse is the best way for us to go. Cheaper than the tiny motel, but it’s not really more than a lean-to with a couple of cots and a kerosene lantern.”

  “So it’s like camping?”

  “Kind of. Mrs. Okono is a friend of your father’s. When your dad comes through, he usually makes it a point to stock her up on supplies and things. In exchange, we get to crash at her place, and she’ll feed us.”

  My stomach grumbled at the thought. It had been way too long since our late lunch. “Whatever. As long as I can get horizontal for more than an hour or two, I’ll be fine.”