For the Good of All

by Nicky Charles

  “It fell off.”

  The gunman didn’t reply, only gesturing with his weapon that Stone was expected to go ahead of him. He complied, keeping one hand on his injured side. After sitting for so long, the movement had him wincing and he didn’t attempt to hide the fact. Better to appear weak and injured. His captors might let their guard down.

  “Out.” A gun barrel in his back prevented him from setting his own pace as he left the room.

  There was no time to adjust his eyes to the bright afternoon sun. Another gun-wielding man was there and the two pushed and prodded him down a trail that led through a field of grain towards what appeared to be a walled compound, complete with armed guards patrolling the length of it.

  What the hell kind of a place was this? Was he being taken to an interrogation? A firing squad? If he was to be executed, he hoped it would be quick and merciful.

  His escorts gave some kind of password and the gate to the compound was pushed open. Several small buildings were visible but he was led into the first one.

  “Sit.”

  Stone looked around then shrugged. There was one wooden chair and a desk. Whoever owned the desk would have to stand, he guessed. He eased himself down and the two men took up positions by the door.

  There wasn’t much to see. The room was stark, a cot, two doors, no pictures and only one window which was presently shuttered. The floor bore the signs of recent blood stains. It didn’t give him much hope for his future. He clenched his jaw and stiffened his spine. If they were going to kill him, he’d go out fighting and take a few of the bastards along with him.

  After a minute or two the door behind him opened and slow steady footsteps rang out as someone crossed the room. He refused to turn and acknowledge this new presence, continuing to stare straight ahead instead. A dark-clad body moved into his line of vision. He raised his eyes to look into the face of his enemy and a small gasp of surprise escaped his parched lips.

  “Welcome to our medical clinic, señor. I am Sister Bernita of the Sisters of Santa Merici.”

  “Sister.” Stone could barely get the acknowledgement out as he studied the figure in front of him. Wearing a black dress with a crucifix necklace, the nun was perhaps thirty or thirty-five. Fine lines around her eyes and mouth indicated her face was expressive while her tan was the kind acquired from long hours in the sun rather than a tanning booth. Her brown hair was pulled up in a tight no-nonsense knot, no make-up adorned her face. She was thin and at first glance she might seem a rather unimposing figure. Closer examination showed her lively blue eyes were sharp and bright and the straightness of her back gave one the impression that she had an inner core of strength that would make her a force with which to reckon.

  “And you would be...?” She spoke in English with only a slight trace of an accent.

  “Elijah Stone.”

  “An American?”

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “Not really. I have no political leanings. All I want is for my little world here to be left alone.”

  “And yet you’re in the middle of a turf war.”

  She inclined her head. “Reyes and Mendoza have been fighting over this region for months, each bringing in men to try to tip the balance in their own favour. As a result we view any stranger with suspicion.”

  “I’m not associated with either group.”

  “And yet you’re not a tourist.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  They stared at each other, a battle of wills. Finally the nun sighed. “I supposed it doesn’t matter as long as you cause us no trouble.”

  “That’s definitely not my intention. In fact, I was heading south when your men detained me.”

  “My apologies that you were held for so long. I’d gone to the village today and only now learned you were here. They said you were injured?” She glanced at his blood stained shirt.

  “A scratch, nothing more.”

  “A scratch doesn’t bleed like that.” She straightened from where she’d been leaning against the desk. “Follow me. My medical equipment is in the back. I’ll bandage you up.”

  “No need.” He began to refuse only the gunmen at the door stepped forward.

  “Do as la buena hermana asks,” said one while the other caught hold of his arm and urged him to his feet.

  Stone pressed his lips tightly together, trying to control his temper. He was getting tired of being manhandled.

  “Put your guns down.” The nun scolded even as she led the way out of the room. “Mr. Stone already thinks we’re inhospitable.”

  Stone resigned himself to following her. His injury, unfortunately, was healing quickly and if she had any medical knowledge it would raise questions. He purposely stumbled, hitting his side against the door frame to open the wound again. Shit that hurt! Fresh blood began to stain his shirt.

  “Mr. Stone, you need to be more careful!” The nun tutted with concern as she pushed open a door that led into a large ward.

  It was a large whitewashed room with sunshine streaming in, brightening what would otherwise be a depressing space. Screens, some intact and some torn with age, covered the windows in a futile attempt to keep the ever-present insect life out. The walls showed definite cracks as did the plain cement floor. Old iron beds lined one side and ragged curtains provided some minimal privacy between each patient.

  Despite the worn and shabby appearance, the room was clean. A young girl was scrubbing a table in the far corner while another made up a fresh bed. Stone scanned the beds’ occupants: a few young children with runny eyes and coughs, a mother and newborn, a few men with bandaged limbs, an elderly woman so wizened that it was a wonder she was still alive.

  Sister Bernita was watching his reaction. “My infirmary is not as fancy as you are used to back in America but for these people, this is all they have.” She indicated a bed near the entryway and gestured for him to sit down. “Remove your shirt.”

  “Sister, there really is—”

  “Mr. Stone, your shirt!” Her tone let him know she wasn’t often defied and he slowly removed the garment. She took it, flicked a look at its condition and handed it off to a young girl in a white apron. “Anna, would you wash this and mend it, please.”

  The girl bowed and went off to complete the task.

  “Quite the little despot, aren’t you,” Stone murmured.

  “A benevolent one.” She crouched by his side. “I’m a woman and some might try to take advantage of the fact. I let them know I’m in charge.”

  “I’m certainly in no doubt.”

  “Good.” She smiled at him, her touch gentle as she washed away the dried blood. “You were correct. The injury isn’t as severe as I was led to believe.”

  “I heal quickly.”

  “No doubt from good clean living.”

  “No doubt.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

  She looked up at him, a twinkle in her eye. “And if I believe that, you have a bridge to sell me. Isn’t that how the story goes?”

  “You’re correct. It’s in Brooklyn, though the weather is lousy this time of year.”

  The sound of her laughter filled the room and he found himself smiling for a moment before he recalled why he was there. Christina. He gripped the thin mattress and looked away.

  “Did I hurt you, Mr. Stone?”

  He shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

  “All right.” She replied slowly, obviously not believing him. “I’ll apply some ointment and a dressing. It’s almost time for dinner. You will join me at my table.”

  About to protest, his stomach rumbled and he conceded. Fuel up before a mission, that’s what he’d told Christina before they set out.

  Sister finished patching him up. “You’ll need something to wear.” She looked at the two armed men who stood in the doorway. “Bring me a shirt for Mr. Stone and any belongings he had with him when he was picked up. Then you may go back to your guard duties.”

  Stone stood up. “Thanks.”
r />   She looked him up and down. “There’s a wash basin outside the door if you wish to use it.”

  “Is that your way of saying I look like crap?”

  “You could never ‘look like crap’, Mr. Stone.” She gave a tight smile and turned away, beginning to tidy up her medical supplies. “When you’re done, ask anyone and they’ll direct you to the dining area.”

  An hour later, Stone sat beside Sister Bernita watching in amazement as a dozen or so uniformed children filed in and took their places at the two long tables that stretched the length of the room.

  “I thought this was a medical clinic, not a private school.”

  “Clinic, school, home. I run an orphanage.”

  Stone scanned the children. Teenagers leading toddlers, young girls and boys of five or six years. They were all smiling and talking, their clothes clean, their faces sufficiently rounded to show they weren’t malnourished. “You’re doing a good job.”

  “Thank you.” She rang a bell and everyone grew silent.

  “Good evening, children.”

  “Good evening, Sister Bernita.” They all chanted.

  “We have a guest, señor Stone.”

  “Good evening, señor Stone.”

  He inclined his head then whispered to the Sister. “English?”

  “I try to teach them English. A well-rounded education is important, plus it will help them get jobs at the resorts when they are older.” She shifted her attention back to the children, leading them in prayer. As soon as ‘amen’ was pronounced the room erupted in chatter and the sound of children settling on benches. Dishes of food were brought around, some kind of rice dish with vegetables and few bits of chicken. The children ate with gusto while Sister Bernita smiled benevolently.

  Curiosity had Stone questioning her between bites. “Have you been here long?”

  “Me? About seven years now.”

  “You must have been very young when you came here.”

  “Twenty-six though it seems a lifetime ago.”

  “And when did you take charge?”

  “When I was twenty-six.”

  Stone quirked a brow.

  “The Sister who was here before me was killed; a stray bullet from one of the drug cartel battles. Since there was no one else around, I took charge.”

  “And who are your helpers?” He nodded towards those serving the food.

  “Some are graduates of the school who have nowhere else to go. Some are local women and men. My guards are from a nearby village. Many perform small services here in exchange for medical help.”

  “And how do you fund this operation?”

  “Ah, that is the tricky part. Sadly, the money tree I planted in the yard has never bloomed.” She smiled at her own joke, then shrugged. “I depend on handouts. Sometimes a missionary group will sponsor us. We have a vegetable garden. The children weave baskets and the older ones sew clothes to sell at the market.”

  Stone scanned the room again. “I’m impressed. The children look well fed and happy. They even have uniforms.”

  “Those are a new acquisition. A small church group has ‘adopted us’ recently. They’ve given us medicine, clothing, books, even chickens so we have fresh eggs and meat.”

  “An extremely fortunate turn of events.”

  “Yes. Very fortunate.” She frowned then gave a self-deprecating smile. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth, isn’t that what they say?”

  “Something like that.”

  Before Stone could inquire further, she stood and clapped her hands. The room grew quiet and Sister began to issue instructions in Spanish. Probably something along the lines of do your chores and brush your teeth, Stone mused as the children all scattered, some gathering plates, others sweeping the floor or leading younger ones out of the room.

  “Will you spend the night?” Sister led the way outside.

  Stone blinked, for a moment adding another meaning to her words before recalling she was a nun. “I should be on my way.” He carefully hitched his pack onto his back, thankful it had somehow made its way to the orphanage with him.

  “The jungle isn’t safe after dark. Where will you go?”

  He considered his answer. It would be impossible to find Christina at night. Her remains—he forced himself to use the word—might be scattered about; too hard to find in the dark.

  “Mr. Stone?”

  “Actually, I might borrow a bed if there’s room.”

  “I’m sure we can find you something.”

  Chapter 14

  Stone sat on the rough, wooden step outside the infirmary. He’d been given a bed there, the cot in the front room where he’d first met the good sister. It wasn’t fancy but he’d slept in a lot worse.

  The door opened behind him and Sister Bernita exited the building. “I’ve finished my rounds for the night. In about half an hour everyone will be settled and it will be lights out. I hope you don’t mind turning in so early.”

  “It’s not a problem. I’m grateful for any roof over my head.”

  “You’re used to sleeping rough?” She cocked her head to the side.

  “You could say that.”

  “It sounds like you must lead an adventurous life.”

  He shrugged. “It’s all in your interpretation. I think what you do here is quite interesting.”

  “This?” She looked around. “It’s my life, ordinary but satisfying. I’d not call it interesting, though.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “Tell you what, let’s go for a walk and exchange tales.” She descended the steps and began to walk, obviously assuming he’d comply.

  Stone chuckled at her take-charge attitude but followed.

  “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” Sister stared up at the sky, her hands tucked in the pockets of her robe.

  He looked up at the sky, the expanse of blue showing signs of darkening, tiny wisps of cloud changing colour as the sun moved lower in the sky. “That it is,” he agreed.

  “You know, when I was younger, I planned on travelling the world. Seeing the desert and riding a camel, having a snowball fight at the North Pole.”

  “Instead you ended up here.”

  “I did. It’s a good place. I’m needed and loved by the children.”

  “What you’re doing here is important.”

  “I know.” She walked by his side quietly for a few minutes. The crunching of their footsteps on the dirt created a steady beat punctuated by the squawking of birds vying for an evening perch in nearby trees. “Tell me about your life, Mr. Stone.”

  “There’s not much to tell.” He shrugged. Putting his life into words wasn’t easy, especially when most of it had to be kept a secret from humans. “I’ve travelled the world. Like you, I try to help people in need. In that respect we’re a lot alike; it’s just the age of the people we work with that varies.”

  “’We’re alike.’” She smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

  They’d stopped near some kind of flowering plant. A hummingbird was getting its last meal for the day, drinking sweet nectar from a large pink flower. After the bird darted off, Stone plucked a blossom, handing it to Sister Bernita. “Here. A thank you for the meal and the room.”

  “How kind. Can you tuck it in my hair?”

  Stone worked the stem into the knot of her plain brown hair thinking of how Christina’s tresses would have been rainbow coloured. Back in Chicago it had been a game he’d played with himself, wondering what colour her hair would be each day. And at night, he’d loved combing his fingers through it, gently tugging, holding her head in place while he’d—

  “Mr. Stone?”

  He gave a start, realizing his hands had lingered on the nun longer than they should have. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. The touch of another can be comforting at times.” She resumed walking. “Why are you here in Cantala? You claimed you didn’t work for Mendoza or Reyes.”

  Lying to a nun seemed inherently wrong. He
carefully worded his response. “I was here a few days ago trying to help some friends who were caught up in the drug war. One of my party was shot. I’ve come to try to find her body and return it to her family.”

  “A woman was with you?”

  “Yes. Christina.” He sighed and looked up at the sky, willing the wave of grief that filled him to pass. Could she see him now? Was she up there, somewhere, watching him?

  “You loved her.”

  “I...” He didn’t know how to respond.

  “I can see it in your face. I’m sorry she died.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Once you find her remains and return them to her family, what will you do?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t progressed that far.”

  “You could return here. I can always use more help. A strong back and a new face are always welcome.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Stone studied Sister Bernita out of the corner of his eye. Was there another meaning behind her words or was he reading more into it than he should? She was a nun, so it must be his fault. His thinking, his feelings – they’d been totally screwed up since Christina had died. Hell, up until he’d met Christina he hadn’t even realized he’d had feelings.

  “It’s almost time for lights out. We’d better return.” The sister’s voice became business like again. “Running the generator is expensive. We observe a strict curfew.”

  Stone nodded and they turned back towards the cluster of buildings.

  “Sleep well, Mr. Stone. Don’t go wandering the compound at night.”

  “I’d think the fence around the compound would keep any wild animals out.”

  “It’s not the animals, it’s the humans. There have been problems with people sneaking in at night.”

  “Stealing drugs?”

  “Among other things.” She pursed her lips. “I worry the children will be stolen. Human traffickers have been known to prey on orphans. If taken, they could be sold into the sex trade or as slaves. Sadly, children are often seen as little more than a commodity. The guards are very wary and some tend to shoot first and forget all about asking questions.”

  “A dangerous policy with children around.”