Monday Morning Faith (19 page)

The sun beat down on my unprotected head until I was light-headed. I had forgotten my hat, and nobody had reminded me to bring one. No doubt they were getting sick of babysitting me.

The blistering sun didn't seem to affect the others, but I couldn't catch a clear breath in the humidity. Around noon, Sam appeared from the clinic and saw my distress. He suggested we go back to the Millets' hut for lunch. Steam rose from the water and the lagoon vegetation. As soon as we arrived at the landing I clambered out of the boat and hurried inside the hut. A blessed coolness washed over me. Utterly drained, I sank down on one of the kitchen chairs.

Eva turned from the stove. “You're here! Lunch is about ready. How was your visit this morning?”

“Hot.” I fanned my flaming face with my hand. Never before had I realized what a wonderful invention air-conditioning was. The man who dreamed it up should be enshrined on Mount Rushmore. He'd done more for the world than some paltry president.

Lunch was fish, and more pineapple and papaya and bread.

“Don't you ever just want a McDonald's Big Mac and fries?”

Eva giggled. “No, but I would give all I own for a plate of General Tso's chicken, all white meat, extra sauce.”

We ate with hearty appetites, though Bud kept consulting his watch. “Sam, I think I'm going to check on the landing strip this afternoon. Can you make do with Mary and Frank's help?”

My ears perked up. “The landing strip?”

“Once every two months a small plane brings supplies,” Bud explained. “It's our job to keep the strip cleared. The rain and wind last night may have blown limbs and other debris onto the strip. I'll need to check.” He looked up. “Johanna, you might come with me and see where the strip is located.”

I could get out of here
. Today
.

Mary must have read my thoughts. “The aircraft is for supplies and emergency use.” She set a glass of tea on the table.

“Oh.” The thought of a plane every two months appeased me. I would be long gone by then. “Okay, I'll go with you, Bud, if Sam doesn't need me.”

Sam shook his head. “Go with Bud. You'll enjoy the walk.”

Bud and I bypassed the village and followed a narrow path through the jungle. Long vines dangled from trees crowding close to the trail. Vegetation brushed against us, dense foliage loaded with parasites. Bud forged ahead, apparently unconcerned about bugs, snakes, or wild animals — all the fears dominating my thoughts.

We walked for what seemed like miles before we reached a large clearing. I gazed at the overgrown weed patch they called a landing strip and realized it would be a huge undertaking to keep it mowed. The rain and hot sun grew the grass at an alarming rate.

“It needs mowing,” Bud conceded. “Too wet to work today — maybe tomorrow morning. Plane won't be here until late next week.”

“What do you use to cut the grass?” Probably scythes. Or maybe they tied a goat on the strip to let it eat one patch before moving it to another.

Bud motioned to a small thatched hut sitting off to the side. “Got a little power mower we use. Keep it stored in there and locked up tight so the natives won't get it.”

A villager with a power tool.
Scary.

“Lucky for us, they're afraid of the machine.” Frank came to stand beside me. “If they weren't, I'd expect it to come up missing someday.”

“Are you saying the natives steal?”

“Well, let's just say they're naive to the concept of personal possessions.”

Great.
I made a mental note to lock my suitcase every morning. The villagers could swim the lagoon with ease.

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 stepped 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.