Notes from a Spinning Planet—Papua New Guinea (8 page)

“It's not surprising,” I tell him. “She had no family, no friends, no education, and her future was ruined.”

He frowns and looks at the floor. I can tell this isn't easy for him, and I thank him for his patience and his help.

“It's all right,” he says.

“I want to tell her about a woman in the Bible-the one caught in sin, the one Jesus defended.”

His eyes brighten now. “I know that story, Missis Chase. I translate that story for Mister and Missis Johnson. I can tell her that story.”

And so I sit and listen as Peter tells the story. I don't understand the words, but I can almost tell what he's saying by his hand movements and expressions.

“I told her how no one threw a stone,” he says.

“That's great!” I tell him. “Did you say that Jesus forgave her?”

So he goes on to tell her more. I watch Mary as she listens, and somehow I think she understands the significance. And then he stops and looks at me.

“Did you tell her that Jesus wants to forgive her too?”

“I almost forgot.” And then he begins to talk with excitement, telling her that last bit. His eyes light up as he continues. I'm not sure what he's saying, but Mary is listening intently. In fact, it seems the other women are listening rather intently too.

Then Peter turns and looks at me with an almost-radiant expression. “She wants to pray with us. She wants to invite Jesus into her heart. She wants to receive his forgiveness.”

I'm nodding now, and I take Mary's hand. “Yes,” I say to Peter, “let's pray with her. Can you do this?”

“Yes. I am also a pastor for our village church. I know how to pray this prayey. We pray it often in our church.”

And so we bow our heads, and Peter prays, and Mary echoes his words, and finally he says “amen.” And when I look up, Mary is quietly crying. But she is also smiling.

“Tell Mary that she is our sister in Christ now,” I say with excitement. This is so amazing. I mean I've been a Christian for years, but I've never experienced anything quite like this before.

Mary nods after Peter tells her she's our sister. Then she leans back against her pillow and takes in a deep breath. She closes her eyes, and I sense that she's tired. I hope we haven't worn her out. We all sit there quietly for a couple of minutes.

“Maybe we should go,” I say to Peter. “Ask her if she needs to get some rest. But tell her we'd like to come back and talk to her some more.”

So he does this, and she nods and says something.

“She wants us to come back later,” he says. “She is tired.”

Then the woman in the next bed speaks again. And Peter tells me that she is ready to talk now.

“Tell her we'll come back later for her story,” I say, thinking I'd rather not talk to her at all if possible. “Tell her I need to write some things down first so I don't forget.”

He nods and speaks to the woman, who clearly looks disappointed, but I don't really care. I tell Mary good-bye, and we leave. I head straight back outside to the courtyard, feeling the need for some fresh air and sunshine. We go over to the table and chairs and sit down.

“You did a good thing in there,” I tell Peter as I open my notebook.

He nods and smiles. “I know. God was with us, Missis Chase.”

“Are you glad you changed your mind about talking to someone with AIDS?” I ask, even though it seems obvious.

“Thank you for helping me, Missis Chase.”

“Thank
youl”

Peter sits there humming as I write some more notes, and when I'm done, I realize it's close to noon. “I need to call my aunt,” I tell him. So I call Sid and tell her what's happening here.

“Do you want to stay longer?” she asks.

“Just a minute,” I say. Then I ask Peter if he has more time to translate for me, and he eagerly agrees. “Yes,” I tell her. “It's going so well, maybe we should just keep at it.”

“I have an idea,” she tells me. “I'll bring you guys, some lunch. How does that sound?”

“Great!”

Then Peter and I gp back and interview a young man named Manoa, whose story is just as sad as Marys. And in some ways it is much worse. He, too, was kidnapped as a child. He was sexually abused and beaten. When police found him, instead of returning him to his family, they locked him up. And there his abuse continued. Unfortunately, Manoa is very bitter about all this. And, really, who can blame him? Even when Peter tries to tell him about Jesus, Manoa doesn't want to hear it. He holds up his hands and tells Peter about how he went to the church for help once, but the Christians turned him away.

“Tell him that not all Christians are like that,” I instruct Peter. “Tell him there are Christians who would accept him and love him the way Jesus does.”

Peter nods sadly, and I can tell that he's feeling bad about some of his own previous prejudices. Perhaps he has been one of those Christians himself, the kind who would turn someone like Manoa or Mary away. But he's changing. It's obvious to see he's changing.

Sid comes with our lunches, and we go outside to eat and visit with her. Peter, with great enthusiasm, tells her all about Mary and how she accepted Jesus into her heart.

“I wonder if Christians ever come to see the patients here?” says Sid as we're finishing our lunches.

“I can ask Lydia,” I offer. “I'm sure she would know.”

“Lydia visits with the patients,” says Peter, almost as if the meaning of this is just hitting him. “She is a good Christian.”

“Maybe people need to get the word out,” I tell Peter. “Christians need to hear about what you experienced today.”

He nods solemnly. “Yes. I will go out and tell them my story. I will tell them how I have changed. I will challenge them to change with me. I will remind them of Jesus and the ten lepers.”

A
fter lunch, my aunt goes over some things with Dr. Larson while Peter and I return to Marys room. She's had a nap and food and seems to be feeling stronger now. We visit with her some jxLore, and Peter promises to send other Christians to talk to her. He even asks if she would like a Bible, but she says she cant read very well. The woman in the bed next to Mary demands our attention. She insists on being heard. So I move my chair over by her bed, and, trying to hide my exasperation, I begin to ask her the same sorts of questions, and Peter patiently translates for me. Her name is Pilada, and I soon discover that her stçry is a bit different from the others. She got AIDS from her husband, although she's not sure how long it has been, because he still hasn't shown symptoms. She was discovered to be positive only about a year ago. Based on her history, her husband was tested shortly after that. Naturally, she is certain her husband got HIV/AIDS from someone just like Mary. And it's not out of the question. It also explains her animosity toward her roommate.

But as I take notes and listen to Pilada share her story, I get the feeling that her attitude toward Mary is changing. At one point, when Mary begins to cough uncontrollably, Pilada stops talking and insists that I go and assist the girl. I help Mary drink some water and give
her some tissues, and after she quiets down, I return to Pilada, who seems satisfied that I tended to Mary. But it convinces me that Pilada feels compassion now. Maybe it's from overhearing Marys story about being raped as a girl. Or maybe its simply the fact that Peter and I both showed Mary some respect.

We learn that Pilada's AIDS hasn't progressed as far as Marys, but it s been complicated by another illness she's had since her first pregnancy. About twelve years ago, she began to suffer from diabetes. She's received some treatment for it because her husband is employed by a corporation that, amazingly, has limited health benefits. But if her health doesn't stabilize soon, the combo of AIDS and diabetes leaves her with a pretty poor prognosis.

“She has five children between the ages of four and twelve,” Peter translates in a serious voice.

I look at this woman-the same woman I had been irritated with because of her bossiness-and I realize she has a lot at stake. No wonder she feels out of sorts. “Tell her I hope that her health stabilizes soon.”

He says this, and she thanks me.

“How are her children doing?” I ask Peter. “Find out if any of them have HIV or if they've been tested.”

He asks her and then frowns as she gives her answer. He turns back to me. “They've all been tested,” he says. “Two of them, the younger ones, have HIV. But they don't have symptoms yet.”

“I'm sorry,” I tell Pilada. The word
sorry
is the same in pidgin, so she understands my meaning. “That is very sad.” I turn to Peter. “Ask her who cares for her children while she's getting treatment.” So he
does, and she talks for a while, then he tells me that her mother and sister and sister-in-law all help out. Their village is about a hundred kilometers from here, so she doesn't get to see her children. And no one from the village knows she has the virus. They think she's here only because her diabetes has gotten worse.

“Ask how her family and friends would react if they knew she and her family had AIDS.”

He translates this, and her dark brown eyes grow large with fear and realization. She does not answer him, but her hand flies over her mouth, and for the first time today, she is totally speechless.

“Tell her that we won't tçll anyone,” I say quickly. “Assure her that anything she says here will be our secret. Make her understand.”

So Peter begins talking quickly, explaining our plan for anonymity, and soon I see relief washing over her face.

“Tenkyu, tenkyu”
she says to me again and again.

Finally we wrap up this interview, and I thank Pilada for telling us her story, once again reassuring her that we will change her name when the story is retold. “People need to hear these true stories,” I explain to both her and Mary. “It helps them to understand that real people are hurt by this disease.” Then, to my amazement, Peter asks Pilada if she is a Christian. She confirms that she is, and then he asks her if she has a Bible, which she says she does not, although she proudly tells us that she
can
read.

“I will see that you get a Bible,” Peter says, “if you will promise to read it to Mary too.”

She considers this and finally nods in agreement. I think Peter should consider becoming a diplomat.

The third woman in their room is asleep now. She has been sleeping for most of the day. The few times she was awake, she was quiet. Judging by her emaciated appearance, her open sores, and sunken eyes, I suspect her condition is the most advanced.

We get a few more interviews, and finally I think it s time to stop. I thank Peter for his translation help. “You have been really amazing,” I tell him, and he smiles shyly.

“Thank you for helping me,” he says.

“Hello,” calls a woman's voice. We turn to see Lydia walking toward us. She looks neat and clean in her navy-blue skirt and a light blue blouse. I'm guessing she's just gotten off work. “How is it going?” she asks as she joins us. “Have you met very many patients?”

I go over the list of the ones we interviewed, and she seems impressed. “That's excellent.” She turns to Peter now. “How did you like doing this?”

He quickly and honesdy explains his earlier concerns and fears, and she nods and seems to understand. “I'm so glad you stayed and helped.”

“I am glad too.”

“And I'm glad I caught you before you left,” she says. “I told Maddie about the Mount Hagen Sing-Sing.”

His eyes light up. “Do you and your aunt want to see it?”

“We would love to see it.”

“I will fly to the highlands tomorrow,” he says. “The JAARS flight is not full. So you and your aunt can come, if you want.”

“I'm going too,” says Lydia.

“Yes, of course.” He nods, then turns to me. “Lydia is like my own niece. Her parents have been so good to me and my family.”

She smiles. “Yes, we are all like family. And you should see his little girl, Hannah. She is adorable.”

He frowns. “Do not remind me. I am missing her too much already.”

“One more day,” says Lydia, “and you will see her.”

Just then I notice my aunt and Dr. Larson coming our way. I wave to Sid, and when she joins us, I tell her about this great opportunity to go to the Mount Hagen Sing-Sing with Peter and Lydia.

“You cant miss that,” says Dr. Larson. “Its the biggest festival of the year. You re very fortunate to be here during August.”

“We'd love to go,” says Sid. “But do you think we'll be able to get hotel accommodations at this late date?”

“No,” says Lydia with a twinkle in her eye. “The hotels will probably be fully booked. But I think I can find you a place to stay.”

“Really?” Sid looks a little unsure, as if she's imagining herself sleeping on the dirt floor of a hut.

“My parents have room in their house. My brothers are both in the States right now. You can come and stay with us.”

“Thank you,” says Sid. “That's so generous.”

“You won't be sorry,” says Dr. Larson. “I've gone dozens of times, and it's one of the few events that preserves some of the true flavors of this country.” He chuckles. “Make sure you take a camera and lots of film.”

“Would you like to join us, Dr. Larson?” offers Lydia.

“No, no.” He shakes his head. “I fear I'm getting too old for such adventures.”

We try to argue this point, and then, laughing, he excuses himself for an appointment.

“What time is the flight, Peter?” asks Lydia.

“Not until one. I have to take care of some tasks in the morning,” he says. He glances at us. “I am here to do work for Lydias parents.”

“How's the printing coming along?” asks Lydia.

“Good,” he says.

“It's my parents' New Testament for our village,” Lydia explains. “They finished their translation in March and then spent the next two months checking it. It's being printed here in Port Moresby this very week. That's why Peter is here. He's making sure it all comes together just right.”

“How exciting,” says Sid.

“Yes,” agrees Lydia. “They're planning a dedication celebration for the weekend after this. That is, if the New Testaments are on schedule.”