Monday Morning Faith (16 page)

Welcome to your new life, Johanna.

I was suffering from jet lag, and my biological rhythms were seriously out of sync. I was sunburned, bug-bitten, and drenched to the bone — and utterly convinced we'd passed through some horrific time warp.

Water collected in the bottom of the boat. I squinted, bleary eyed, through my contacts and the blinding downpour. Sam told me we were traveling to a region where the yearly rainfall averaged 120 to 150 inches. Apparently we were getting the full load this morning.

And, just to top it all off, the boat was leaking.

TEN

T
he driver cut the outboard and we drifted up to the first hut. If I hadn't been expected to live here I'd have said the setting was picturesque, but the word that came to mind was
hovel.
The boat bumped into one of the stilts and came to a stop. A slender woman with a tangle of brown curls held back by a tortoiseshell clasp stood in the doorway, waving to us. Sam helped me out of the craft, up the ladder, and onto the deck. The boat operator and his native helper unloaded our luggage, and I watched helplessly as they climbed back in the boat and jerked the motor's starter cord. It coughed and sputtered, but then began to idle. Moments later the craft disappeared around the nearest land point.

The rain stopped as abruptly as it had started. Steam rose from the wet deck. The sun was like burning coals on my water-soaked shoulders. I stood there drenched in sweat as I listened to the sound of the fading outboard. I'd cringed at having to ride in the smelly, dirty craft, but suddenly it seemed like my only link to civilization. I gladly would have climbed back in for the return trip. If I'd had anyplace to return to.

There was something unsettling about being on a different continent. Unnerving — if I'd had a single nerve left. I'd never realized what a barrier language could be. I could talk to Sam. The missionaries spoke English, but other than that I wouldn't be able to understand a single thing said to me.

The pretty brown-haired woman approached, smiling. Sam grasped her hand, and I recognized the strong bond between them. I peered down at the catfish-infested water. Could those things jump — like leap onto the landing? Sam introduced me to his friend, who turned out to be Eva Millet, my hostess for the duration of my stay. She was friendly, cheerful, and welcoming.

“We've been expecting you, but travel is so unpredictable here we weren't sure when you would actually arrive.”

“Unpredictable?” It hadn't occurred to me before, but how would I leave if an emergency arose? What if Mom or Pop took gravely ill?

“Nothing runs on schedule here.” She laughed as if that was no problem. Well, I could point out
lots
of problems, beginning with no cell phone signal, telegraph wire, or e-mail.

I knew Sam carried a satellite phone, but was it reliable? How did we stay in touch with the outside world?

“Did you have a nice flight over?”

Sam nodded at Eva. “Great trip.” He must have forgotten the coughing engine. “We're tired, of course. I think Johanna is still adjusting to jet lag, but other than that we're ready to get to work.”

By now we'd been joined by two men and a second woman, who I assumed were the rest of the missionary team. Sam made the introductions. The tall, broad-shouldered one was Frank Millet, Eva's husband and my host. I guessed the couple to be in their late fifties. They'd been here for twelve years. Living in a hut? On this island? Impossible to grasp such dedication.

The short, rather rotund man with a freckled face and sandy red hair was Bud Laske. Mary, his wife, had the same red hair and vivid blue eyes — Irish eyes, set in with a smudgy finger, as the saying went. They were a perfect fit — right and left shoe — where Sam and I must have looked like two left feet wearing an orange sneaker.

The Laskes lived in a nearby hut that looked identical to the one where we'd unloaded. The two dwellings were connected by a narrow, shaky-looking walkway. What would make someone like Mary, who would shine in any cosmopolitan setting, choose to spend her life in the middle of a killer catfish – infested lagoon?

Maybe she'd had no choice. Maybe missions was her husband's dream and she followed out of devotion to him. Hope surged that I might be with two women who could identify with my doubts, my dilemma. Eva and Mary could tell me the real truth about living on the mission field. They could provide me a reasonable argument for Sam. Not a selfish argument, but a matter-of-fact, logical one.

The Laskes were younger than Frank and Eva, maybe in their forties — too young to be buried in this isolated world. But then, Frank and Eva were too old to be here.

Just what age do you think is the proper age for missionaries?

I didn't know. But it wasn't
my
age, of that I was certain.

“Come inside,” Eva invited. “I'll show you where you'll sleep.”

I released a silent sigh. At least I'd have private quarters. Sam hefted my suitcase and Frank took the carry-on. I followed Eva as she led the way through the door, which I noticed only had a curtain separating it from the outside. Anything could crawl in the house, any animal or snake. Cheerful thought. I planned to be very careful where I stepped or sat down. Inside, Eva pulled aside a curtain and indicated a narrow space with a cot.

“I think you'll be comfortable here, Johanna.”

I looked at her, then back at the cot. Comfortable? In a lumpy, sagging cot, in a curtained-off cubbyhole? The thin piece of material wouldn't shut out noise. My suitcase and carry-on filled the allotted space, barely leaving room to move around the bed.

Eva broke the strained silence. “Let me show you the rest of our home.”

I could stand still, turn in a circle, and see it all, but she showed me how the privacy curtains drew around the bed where she and Frank slept.

The kitchen had a propane stove and a table with four chairs. I had no idea how they kept butter, milk, or refrigerated items. Eva seemed inordinately proud of her home. She pulled aside a blanket cordoning off a small area containing a very large jar. I looked at her questioningly.

High color tinted Mary's cheeks. She had been quiet during the tour. “The bathroom.”

I stared at her, comprehension slow to dawn. She looked at Eva as if asking for help.

“The restroom.” Eva sobered. “When you need to go to the bathroom, you use the jar.”

Color drained from my face. “You can't be serious.”

“You'll get used to it. When you think of the alternative — going outside every time the need arises — it doesn't seem so bad.”

I managed a lame grin. Outside? Here? “Well, no, not if those are the only choices.” One week — I'd give this experiment one week, and then I was outta there. Back to the States and civilization.

“Come on, Johanna, we'll give you a tour of the village.”

Hard as I tried, I couldn't muster much excitement at Mary's offer.

The men were waiting in a small rowboat moored to the Laskes' poles. Paint was peeling off the ugly craft; it looked to be on its last leg. I peered at the relic thinking about the fish beneath us.

Sam helped me aboard, his smile broad. “Your carriage, madam.”

I stepped into the boat, grabbing him by his shoulder as I tried to steady myself. The boat gyrated wildly. Mary and Eva gripped the sides. I had to learn to enter and leave boats more gracefully. Sam squeezed my shoulder and gave me a wink. My heart fluttered and for a moment I hoped that maybe everything would be all right.
I' ll adjust to all this.
Given enough time.
I' ll have to.

The men rowed across the small lagoon, their paddles breaking the water with gentle, rhythmic splish-splashes that lulled me. I was so incredibly tired now as the time difference caught up with me.

When the boat bumped the shoreline, the men climbed out and pulled the hull onto the beach. Each woman exited with the help of her spouse. Sam lifted me and set me lightly down. Taking my hand, he started up the incline behind the two couples.

“You said the natives are friendly?” In my mind I pictured missionaries staked to a pole with a pile of burning brush beneath them.

Bud picked up the conversation. “Friendly? They're non-threatening, but we have yet to break the language barrier enough to actually know their feelings. We believe we're making progress, but the forward steps seem very small.”

“If you can't speak their language, how do you communicate?” I struggled to keep pace.

“We don't.” Frank spoke now. “Our goal is to establish communication, make friends of the villagers, gain their trust, and care for their medical needs. We gesture, draw pictures in the air — you know. Anything to try and connect with them. We understand a few basic words, but nothing more, and we have no idea what they understand about us.”

“You mean you've been here all these years and still don't understand a thing they say?” Sam had told me as much but still, seeing reality, I was astounded.

Bud smiled. “In God's time, we will. The villagers won't allow us in their huts, but we understand from others that years before Frank and Eva arrived, a group came through and the villagers understood enough that some have chosen to have statues of Mary in their homes.”

We topped the incline and the village spread out before us. We stood looking at the row of huts sitting among saga palms and jungle thicket. At first the village looked empty; then my eye caught movement in the bush. A soft gasp escaped me as scantily clad stunted men with long straws threaded through their noses stepped from the thicket. The men stared at us. They were small in stature — not much over five feet tall. I noticed they wore the same straws in their ears.

Bud lifted a hand in greeting.

The natives' black eyes shifted to Sam and me.

Frank spoke, making motions as he talked. “Hello. We have brought the doctor.”

Women balancing small children on their hips began to emerge from the bush, older children trailing at their sides. Suddenly they all smiled, eyes dancing with curiosity.

I heard a sharp intake of breath (mine) and I quickly averted my gaze. The women were
naked
from the waist up.

Bud and Frank stepped forward, and for a few minutes they attempted to communicate with the villagers by hand gestures. The guttural sounds that emerged were indistinguishable, but the villagers seemed happy to see Sam.

Frank and Bud motioned for us to come ahead. My boots turned to concrete, but I took Sam's hand and did what I was told. Every one of the savages' eyes turned toward me.

Inside the village the dwellings were even more primitive than the missionary hut. I was beginning to understand why Eva was so proud of her table, chairs, and chamber pot. There weren't any luxuries here. I stepped around pig droppings, pungent in the hot sunshine. The animals ran freely through the village, rooting around the huts and scampering down the muddy track that served as a street between the houses. A sow with a litter of eight piglets barred our way, daring us to pass. Bud turned to speak softly over his shoulder. “Give them plenty of room. We believe the villagers give spiritual significance to their animals.”

The sow grunted and ran in the opposite direction, the pigs squealing and dashing after her.

A couple of mangy dogs fought over a bit of raw meat, snarling and snapping. Grubby children peeped from open doorways. Crying babies added to the din. Other villagers had reverted to daily activities. One large dog was tethered to a tree. The animal lunged, baring long teeth, snarling at us. We gave him wide berth.

The abject poverty overwhelmed me, sapping me of energy. I wanted to cry without understanding why. How could a loving God let anyone live like this?

The five people walking with me called out to the natives, smiling. Men lifted their hands and waved back. Apparently the villagers understood the missionaries were friends.

The women looked worn down, old before their time. I couldn't guess ages; the old looked very old, and the young looked almost as aged. Sam kept hold of my hand and led me into a thatched, open-air structure in the center of the village.

“My clinic.”

The hut had bare necessities: tables, three folding chairs, and two metal cabinets that I assumed held Sam's medicines and supplies.

We spent over an hour touring the village, allowing Sam to reestablish contact with the villagers. Some broke into wide grins when they recognized the doctor who had helped them. A man ran up pointing to a severed limb, grinning from ear to ear.

“He was bitten by a poisonous spider last year,” Sam explained. “Both Ni-ka and I believed he would not live.” Sam reached out to grasp the young man's hand. “But Ni-ka is very strong; he lives!”

The native balled his fists and made a victory sign.

Later a young woman carrying a child approached the doctor. She fell at Sam's feet, bowing her head. Sam gently lifted her to her feet and tenderly smoothed her hair. I watched, curious.