Terminal Justice (18 page)

The trip occupied his mind. As he sat at his dining table, he reviewed the protocol book. After viewing the tentative itinerary, David couldn’t help but feel excited. He had been warned by others not to consider this a vacation, rather to consider it a journey that could be grueling physically and emotionally. Still, to travel to the land that he had read about as a child when he devoured books of adventure and intrigue that were often set against the geographical backdrop of the Serengeti Plain or deep jungles in Central Africa filled him with palpable excitement. Those stories brought
images of tall Watusi, fierce Masai, pygmies, and headhunters. As a child, he had spent hours imagining himself as the great white hunter who traveled the jungles of the dark continent. But this trip was to be real and not fantasy. He would meet no spies nor hunt big game. He wouldn’t travel to the dense jungle areas of Central Africa; instead he would see the sub-Saharan countries with their vast expanses of open plains and deserts.

David rubbed his left arm where he had received inoculations against malaria and other diseases to which he might be exposed on the trip. He knew he had been invited along as part of his education and maybe as a test. Seeing the relief work firsthand would certainly aid his work. It would allow him to infuse the knowledge of actual experience into the speeches and materials he wrote instead of relying on mere research. Yet he wondered if he was ready for such an exposure to the worst that life could deliver.

A fog of personal doubt settled over him. As a minister he had seen many unpleasant things, the worst being an eight-year-old child who had been killed by a drunk driver. Seeing the effects of the untimely and unjust death of the little boy had touched him deeply, but now he would be facing hundreds of adults and children who face untimely and equally unjust deaths every day. Was he the kind of man who could face such sights with the necessary balance of detachment and genuine concern—detachment to save his mind, concern to see the need?

Not for the first time, he felt a strong sense of personal doubt. It hovered above him like storm clouds on the horizon bringing flashes of lightning and peals of thunder. Some storms were worse than others, and David could never predict their severity. He had been plagued with incertitude since childhood, but he had always been able to overcome the pervasive feelings of impending failure and inadequacy through prayer and sheer determination. That had always worked during his years of school and ministry, but his wife’s desertion had wounded that resolve, leaving his mental resoluteness slashed and bleeding. Now in a matter of days he would be
forced to face, to really see, what caused most people, even those stronger than he, to avert their gaze.

Pushing back the protocol binder, David rose from his seat and went to the refrigerator to refill his glass. As he sipped the tea he felt a strong sense of loneliness that heightened his personal insecurity. When others were around there was a need to put on affectations of confidence, and the very pretense brought a notion of self-assurance. No one in David’s church would have guessed that their pastor suffered from strong doubts about his ability and worthiness. They considered him the best pastor in the church’s history, a man of direction and great ability. They never saw the cracks in the glass psyche of the man who was their shepherd. David simply did the job that needed to be done regardless of how he felt. But this evening he was alone, with no one around for whom he could perform his act.

Perhaps that was what he needed. Some company. But who? It surprised him only a little when Kristen’s face appeared in his mind. He had enjoyed her quick wit and ability to laugh, while not sacrificing the meaning of her life to frivolity. Would she consider going out for coffee tonight? Storm clouds of doubt flashed and roared in David’s head.

Returning to the dining table at which he had been working, David reached into his open briefcase and pulled out his staff directory. Thumbing through the pages he found her name, picked up the phone, took a deep breath, attempted to ignore the raging doubts he felt, and dialed her number.

Kristen answered on the second ring, showing genuine pleasure at hearing his voice. Now as David parked his car at the Mission Valley Shopping Mall, he felt a sense of cautious euphoria. He also felt guilty. He wasn’t sure of the guilt’s origin, or even of its purpose. This was not a romantic encounter, and even if it was, so what? He was the one who had been deserted. Did he not have a right to seek out a friend and companion, even if the companion was female? Of
course he did. But why the sensation of nagging guilt.
Someday, David
, he thought to himself,
you’re going to have to learn to give yourself a break
.

They had agreed to meet at the coffee shop next to the food court. The warm evening had brought droves of people out to walk by the shops, gazing at the wares, or to grab a quick fast-food dinner. When he arrived at the espresso shop he found Kristen sitting at one of the plastic outdoor tables. She saw him and smiled broadly.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she said cheerfully when he joined her at the table. “People are going to think we have a caffeine addiction.”

David chuckled, “It could be worse. What can I get you?”

“Latte with vanilla.”

“Sounds good. I’ll make it two.” David quickly made his way into the little shop. The room was filled with a blend of aromas that emanated from the various brews and flavorings. At least a dozen people stood in line while the employees hustled behind the counter adroitly creating each cup of coffee to order. David admired their skill at handling the crowd. A few minutes later he exited the shop with two tall cups of steaming coffee.

“I got large cups so I wouldn’t have to forge through the crowd again.”

“You’re a wise man,” she said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” David replied. “It’s still hot out, and here we are drinking coffee. But then again, I had a navy chief in my congregation who maintained that the only way to cool down in the heat was to drink something hot.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I didn’t think so either, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him. Besides, he could be right.”

They each sipped their coffee and made simple comments about how good it was.

“I’m glad you had some free time tonight,” David said. “I was
feeling a little boxed in. Lately, I’ve been indoors, either at home or in the office or in the car. With a few exceptions, of course.”

“I’m glad you called,” Kristen stated. “I tend to get a little antsy before a big trip.”

“Trip?” David asked with surprise.

“I’m going to Africa too. I assumed you knew. It’s my turn to go again. In fact, I was studying the protocol book when you called. Have you been reading yours?”

David nodded his head. “Several times. I found it all very interesting, although I’m a little concerned.”

“Concerned? About what?”

“If I read the program right, we will be meeting some important foreign dignitaries. That’s out of my experience. It’s probably out of my league.”

“Nonsense,” Kristen said firmly. “Those dignitaries are more nervous about meeting us. Americans can be mystifying to them. Besides, A.J. carries a lot of influence. He’ll be handling all the discussions. We just show up at parties and the like.”

“Parties?” David said, nonplussed. “They have parties in famine areas?”

“In some countries, yes. Remember, the political leaders are not the ones who go hungry, those in the outlying areas do. True, famine can and has reached some cities, but the seats of government usually fare better. You may be surprised at what you’ll see. In fact, I know you will.”

“You’ve been on trips like this before?” David said, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Two others. The first was to Mexico and the Yucatan Peninsula. The second was to South America, Brazil mostly. This will be my first trip to Africa.”

“Do you look forward to it—the travel, I mean?”

She paused before she answered, letting her eyes follow people in the crowd. “Yes, I think I do, but not the way I look forward to something pleasurable. I look forward to the trip because of the
way it changes me. No one goes on one of these trips and remains the same. We go places tourists never see. We travel to towns and villages that even the best travel agents have never heard of. It’s like being ill and going to the doctor: You don’t really
want
to go to the doctor, but you know that you will feel better if you do. You’ll do fine, David.”

“I hope so. A.J. and Peter have both told me that it can be rough, that I shouldn’t think of it as a vacation.”

“It’s no vacation, that’s for sure, but it does have its moments. The key is having the right eyes.”

“The right eyes?”

“Yeah,” Kristen leaned over the table and spoke animatedly. “It’s like this. Some people go on these trips and all they see is the abject poverty and human misery. They see death and smell its stench. They sense frustration. Soon that’s all they can see and feel. It overpowers them and fills their minds with despair. But there is more there than human misery; there is human triumph. I didn’t realize this until my second trip, but then I saw the innate ability of people to survive. Not all make it, many don’t—in some cases, most don’t—but they try so hard and survive so much longer than anyone would think possible. I’ve seen starving kids hunted down who find ways of helping themselves and helping others like them. That’s what gives me hope, David—that intrinsic good in people that makes them struggle to survive. That’s why I don’t give up. I have found that we can make a difference, that we can save lives, because those in need are willing to survive.”

“You never despair?” David asked quietly. “You never want to quit?”

Kristen shook her head. “Not much more than two or three times a week,” she quipped. “Sure, I have my moments of despair. We all do. I’ve seen A.J. in tears over situations, but we don’t give up. Why? Because it isn’t what we
feel
that matters, David. It’s what we
know
, and we know that there are people alive today, working
and having babies, because we were there. We can’t save them all, but we can save some.”

“So you’re saying that it’s all right that I have doubts.”

“It’s more than all right. It’s normal. Doubts have their place: They make us reevaluate our present position. That causes us to think, to reason things out. And sometimes we come up with a better way of doing things. Doubt is fine as long as it is used as a tool and isn’t adopted as a lifestyle.”

“You’re a fascinating woman, Kristen,” David said. “You have a reasoned purpose, you’re a person of faith and belief, you’re filled with passion, you’re witty, you’re intelligent, and you have enough good sense to drink coffee with me.” He continued the thought silently,
You’re also undeniably attractive
.

“Why, thank you,” Kristen said in her best Southern-belle imitation. “I have always depended on the compliments of strangers.” The two laughed heartily.

“Would you like another cup of coffee, or would you like to walk around for a while?”

Kristen thought for only a moment, “What I would really like is to see a movie.”

“A movie?” David said. “Well, it just so happens that there’s a theater around here. Any particular movie?”

“No, but nothing too romantic. I don’t want you to see me get all weepy eyed.”

David rose from his chair and offered Kristen his arm, and the two walked toward the mall’s theater box office.

THE TASK OF CONCEALING HIS EXCITEMENT WAS proving formidable for David. Not even the early hour could subdue the thrill of the trip he was about to undertake. It all seemed surrealistic. A little over seven months ago he was the pastor of a small Baptist church, but today he sat in the plush surroundings of a Learjet airplane. With him were his travel companions, A.J. Barringston, A.J.’s aide-de-camp Sheila Womack, Kristen LaCroix, Peter Powell, and two men David had just met.