Saint Bad Boy (4 page)

Chapter Two

The single engine Cessna descended from the fluffy clouds and began circling the tree lined airfield below. I saw macaques scattering into the rainforest that surrounded the mud-puddled landing strip, which precariously seemed to stretch the length of three football fields. Sister Janice’s shoulders touched against mine as we sat scrunched in the plane’s small cabin. She quickly gestured the sign of the cross and began muttering the Lord’s Prayer underneath her breath while keeping her eyes tightly closed.

My ashy hand grabbed onto her right shoulder and I spoke loudly into her ear over the Cessna’s purring engine. “Sister, look out the window, you can see Kilimanjaro.”

“I will not look out the window until I feel the plane land on the ground,” proclaimed Sister Janice, as she placed her head on her lap, while clutching her rosary.

Mitch, our pilot, a handsome Brit in his mid thirties, wearing blue blockers and just a tee shirt which tightly hugged his chiseled upper frame, spoke up after overhearing our conversation, “Sister, I’ve landed here plenty of times. In fact, last time I landed here there were 50 mile per hour gusts. It’s a beautiful day today, nothing to worry about.”

Mitch gripped the scraped joystick and veered the plane on its final turn before lining it perfectly over the airfield on its final descent. Even though there weren’t strong gusts as Mitch had indicated, the small winds still managed to rock the small plane in a hypnotic and puke-inducing motion.

“Hail Mary full of grace...” Sister Janice began reciting, smothering the beads of her rosary which glistened with sweat.

I began giggling softly as I watched Sister Janice acting as if the grim reaper was about to turn our small plane into a smoldering wreckage. Mitch stared back at me and gave me a sly wink as he held the joystick with a professional steadiness. The muscles in his forearm twitching with the sense memory of an aerial savant.

As the plane hovered 25 feet off the ground it tilted left and for a split second it looked like the left wing was going to touch the airfield before he could even square the landing gear perpendicular to the ground. With a sudden jerk of the joystick, Mitch managed to right the plane. We suddenly felt a strong bump, followed by another. The single engine Cessna sputtered to a halt. I looked over at Sister Janice and she had her head in her lap and didn’t look up until I nudged her with my elbow. “Did we crash?” she asked, looking around the cabin like a startled little girl.

“Welcome to Zaire, sister,” exclaimed Mitch.

Sister Janice let out a relieved cackle and looked to the ceiling of the cabin. “Thank you Jesus.”

Mitch opened the little door at the front of the cabin and pulled his seat forward so Sister Janice and I could get out. A small gathering of people began to emerge and walk toward us out of the heat waves that rose in the distance at the edge of the landing strip. As soon as we stepped from the plane, I instantly felt the heat and humidity press against my face, chest and legs.

“Here you go, sisters,” said Mitch, as he handed us our bags from the small storage compartment underneath the Cessna. I smiled at him as he gave me another wink. Mitch’s half smile and quick draw of his eyes let me know he probably found me attractive but respected who I was. I bucked the trend of old nuns with brown stockings and wrinkly double chins, and I was a welcomed relief to a man who spent most of his time in the skies above the dark continent.

“Hello,
mes amis
,” bellowed a booming voice with a French accent, right behind us as we grabbed our bags. “I hope Mitch’s flying didn’t hurt your tummies.”

Mitch gave Father Anton, a somewhat hefty man with a gray goatee, curly long hair, and a cheery disposition, a friendly pat on his back. Father Anton wore the thinnest linen shirt and matching linen pants. It would’ve been delirious on his part if he elected to sport the typical black clerical clothing we were accustomed to seeing on priests in the sweltering mid-afternoon heat.

“Hello, my name is Carmen,” said the other sister alongside Father Anton, as she reached over to shake my hand. She was a gray haired lady in her sixties, who had a firm demeanor.

“Jessie, Sister Carmen has been our main liaison in Africa since 2002,” explained Sister Janice. She turned to Sister Carmen. “Sister, Jessie here is the newest member of our convent. She will do a wonderful job, I believe, of getting the message across to the youth in our mission that exuberance and modernity does not have to be compromised to follow Christ’s message.”

“That is wonderful,” proclaimed Father Anton. “I think your youth and energy will do wonders for our mission here in Zaire,” he grinned.

“Well, friends,” interjected Mitch. “I must leave and go back to Kinshasa. I will see you at the end of the month with the scheduled supplies. I’ll also be picking you both back up.” Mitch nodded and hopped back into his plane, closed the small door and turned on the Cessna. The propeller sputtered to a start and the engine murmured like a toy. Mitch looked through the window and made a small salute with two of his fingers before building momentum for his ascent. As Mitch’s plane began to speed down the runway, we heard the unmistakable shrill cheers of children emanating from the path that was carved into the jungle across the runway.

A tall, slender figure came running toward us, blurred by heat waves and whirling particulates of dirt from the runway. A chiseled frame, with muscular legs, shoulder-length dreadlocks, and the most beautiful pair of blue eyes I had ever seen contrasting against clean mocha skin, emerged from beyond the runway. He was sprinting and kicking a soccer ball and was joined by a throng of screaming children.

“Hello, my name is E’tienne,” politely revealed the imposingly handsome athlete, as he first shook hands with Sister Janice.

E’tienne then made direct eye contact with me. His eyes were an opiate for the senses. I caught myself reacting with a relaxed smile, too relaxed. I immediately lowered my lips into a drab position, one known as the nun’s countenance of stoicism. A stern look that lets others know that you mean business and you only do business in Jesus’ boardroom.

“Nice to meet you,” I said quickly. I then abruptly avoided eye contact and composed myself by looking down at the children who were worshiping E’tienne’s every move and word.

“E’tienne has decided to help our mission for a couple of weeks during the offseason,” proudly stated Father Anton. “It is an honor to have him here after leading France to another Confederation Cup this year. Unfortunately though, we lost to Spain, but he got us there.”

Wow, impressive. Soccer wasn’t a sport I followed, I liked to watch a baseball game here or there, but I wasn’t exactly a sports nut. My father was a big Steelers fan, but I never sat down and watched the games with him. I was in church volunteering most of the time on Sundays.

E’tienne was a big deal, but I couldn’t get over how beautiful his eyes were, and his legs, my goodness. It seemed as if his muscles and ligaments were bound tightly onto his healthily calcified frame. He was as desirable as a man could be, and it was so difficult keeping my eyes away from him. The good thing was that he seemed like an incredibly nice person and didn’t flash me any signals that he was at all the least bit interested.

Father Anton turned around and put his arm around E’tienne and began walking toward the village. All the children following the international soccer star cheered and kicked the ball ahead of our group. “Don’t forget to lead with your toes,” yelled E’tienne, as the children disappeared into the dense foliage. I trailed behind them, and kept my eyes fixated on E’tienne’s calves and thighs; without a doubt his backside was as irresistible as his front side. I looked up into Zaire’s beautiful blue sky and mouthed, “Why must you tempt me?”

“What did you just say?” asked Sister Janice, with a perplexed look.

“Can you help me?” I said, quickly thinking on my feet, or so I thought. “My arm is sore from the flight and my bag all of a sudden feels like a large sandbag.”

Sister Janice crinkled her brow and gave me a suspicious look. She then turned her attention to the group in front of us. “Father?” she implored loudly. Father Anton turned around and faced us with his carefree demeanor. “Can you please help me out with Sister Jessie’s bag?”

“Of course,” Father Anton replied. He motioned to one of the helpers. “Can you please get that bag for our sisters.”

The gray bearded, healthily thin, village worker walked over to us and smiled, showing off his set of crooked teeth, and picked up my bag. Sister Janice shot me a quick look and said, “Stay focused Jessie. I lobbied very hard to get you here. Your youth, beauty and dedication is a gift that our order and way of life desperately needs in these times.”

“Yes, Sister,” I said, as I lowered my head for a brief moment.

“Let’s eat!” Father Anton exclaimed, as we continued on our short trek to the mission.

Chapter Three

They stood in the center of the rustic village. Their feet planted on top of the holed and grass-patched dirt. Sister Janice took off her habit, revealing a sweaty imprint created by the rubber banding of the aesthetically unpleasing head-wear we were unnecessarily subjected to. I swear it added years to my appearance but I wasn’t supposed to mind, right? I was dressed to impress the Lord and no one else.

“The staff cleaned the center bungalow for the both of you. It is the only facility on the grounds that has running water,” said Father Anton, who was standing in front of the entire group next to a large circular well, who’s wooden components were decimated by termites.

E’tienne looked toward my direction with his hauntingly beautiful eyes and smiled. I smiled back. It was a warm grin and didn’t come off like the permanent cold smile of a wily snake. My God-given curse of beauty was always a magnet for creepy smiles. I had developed fairly good intuition for what constituted a sincere one and one filled with ulterior motives.

“You may head to your rooms. We are having dinner in the commons in about an hour. Freshen up and be there in 45 minutes for prayer,” said Father Anton.

I looked at E’tienne one more time before retreating to our rooms. He quickly looked away and began kicking the soccer ball across the village grounds, as the children stuck to him like glue. Part of me was relieved he didn’t make eye contact with me again, even though my inner urges tempted me to sneak another peek.

“Jessie, are you okay?” asked a somewhat perturbed Sister Janice. “Your head seems like it’s in the clouds.”

“I’m fine, it’s just...it’s just the humidity...it’s making me feel lightheaded.”

“Well, let’s go inside and freshen up before dinner,” she commanded, in a motherly tone.

“I think I need some drinking water—the water is safe to drink, right?.”

“I think they have bottled water. I saw Mitch unload a carton of bottles right before he took off toward Kinshasa.”

We retreated toward our bungalow. Father Anton, Sister Carmen, and the other volunteers left to their rooms as well, as they chatted theology and who would be chosen to lead prayer at dinner time.

Our bungalow was not very roomy. There was a partition with a washroom to the left as soon as one walked through the flimsy wooden door. Two beds were against the farthest wall in the musty cabana. The floor was not tiled or cemented, in fact it was the same continuous dirt from outside, but with less grass.

“Water,” I exclaimed, as I quickly snatched a water bottle from the top of a white dresser made of old flaky wood. I quickly downed half the bottle as Sister Janice gave me a cold stare.

“We are here for a whole a month. Moderation, Sister Janice, moderation...” she lightly scolded.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t down the entire water bottle. I’ll save some for the evening. Is it okay if I shower first?” I asked.

“Yes, but please hurry. I need to shower too and dinner will creep up on us soon,” she said, while unpacking the belongings of her bag onto her bed.

“I will, I promise,” I said, while grabbing my little toiletries purse from inside my large bag.

As I walked behind the partition I snuck a quick peek toward Sister Janice as I quickly pulled out my disposable pink razor. I covered the side opening that led to the pitiful and lonely rusted showerhead which hung over a dark nook within the bungalow with a towel. I began shaving my legs, which had begun to sprout stubble. I gently pressed down on the head of the razor as I worked my way up my thigh and finally my bikini area. I’d never wear a bikini; however, I felt compelled to shave that portion of my body and trim my pubic area. I thought of E’tienne as I did it. I didn’t think dirty thoughts. I abstained from flashes of erotic imagery. Just E’tienne and his eyes, his athletic build, his sweet, melting smile. I wanted to be clean just in case. I knew nothing would happen. But I did it anyway.

“Sister Jessie, how long does it take to shampoo your hair. Why are you taking so long in there?” exclaimed Sister Janice.

I tip-toed and raised my head over the top of the partition and made eye contact with Sister Janice. “Sister, please be patient. You’ve been rather impatient and stressed since we arrived.”

Sister Janice let out a rigid groan. “Sister, you daydream too much. Maybe its a generational thing. It’s something I need to get used to, I guess,” she muttered to herself, while folding one of her drab, brown dresses that looked like all the drab brown dresses in her travel bag.

I hurried the last few swipes of the razor and I cut myself on the outer edges of my vulva. “Ow,” I yelped.

Sister Janice quickly scampered with her little feet toward the shower and peered over the partition. I hid the razor inside my hand and blood streamed through my closed fist and down my upturned arm.

“What in heavens just happened to you?” Sister Janice emphatically asked, with both hands on her hips.

“Something bit me,” I said, feigning a worried look, with sagging brows and curled lips.

Sister Janice ran around to the opening of the partition and walked into the shower area to assist me the best she could.

“Sister, please, just hand me the towel,” I said. “I am immodest at the moment, just go get help.”

Flustered, Sister Janice left the bungalow seeking assistance. As she bolted through the door, I opened my hand and stared at a three-inch long, superficial cut across the palm of my hand. It was thinly sliced enough to bleed, but fortunately, extremely manageable. I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my body. I then grabbed one of Sister Janice’s brown stockings and tightly wrapped it around my hand. I quickly tossed the cursed razor into my bag and took out a set of clean clothes.

“Sister, are you alright?” asked an accented, soothing and familiar voice.

I turned around and E’tienne’s athletic build was silhouetted against the blinding, late afternoon sun as he stood in the doorway.

Sister Janice came running behind him and placed her hand over E’tienne’s eyes and snapped at me, “Sister, put some clothes on.”

E’tienne’s contagious grin illuminated the bungalow’s third world décor. “It’s okay, I didn’t seen anything,” he said, laughing like a school boy.

“Sister, it’s fine, I have a towel on,” I said, as I quickly put on one of my long skirts while still managing to keep the towel around my waist. I quickly twisted my index finger in the air toward Sister Janice. She turned E’tienne around and I hurriedly put on my bra and a plain, white polyster-blend shirt . “You can turn around now,” I said, while buttoning my shirt.

“What bit you?” E’tienne asked, as he walked toward me. He then took Sister Janice’s stocking and opened my hand , examining it with a furrowed brow of sincere concern. “An animal did this to you?” he asked, in a perplexed tone.

I shrugged my shoulders and looked up into his eyes, as he continued to stare down at my palm. His large hands carefully gripped my thin wrist. Skin tingled at the behest of his warm touch. “I think I’ll be okay,” I said.

He gave me a playfully suspicious raise of the eyebrow as he made brief eye contact with his sky blue irises. He turned to Sister Janice. “I think she’ll be okay.”

“What bit her?” asked Sister Janice.

E’tienne turned toward me and gave me a playful smirk, “A mantis?”

I slowly nodded and grinned.

“Yes, it was a mantis.”

“Are they poisonous?” asked Sister Janice.

“No, they are not,” said E’tienne, as he maintained eye contact with me.

With the gracefulness of a large, muscular cat, E’tienne let go of my hand and strutted toward the door. His footsteps deliberate and silent. The calf muscles on his legs strained and released like fleshy pistons as he planted his steps on the caked ground. Before exiting the bungalow, he gave me one last look and said, “I’ll see you both at dinner in 10 minutes.”

“Of course,” said Sister Janice.

As soon as E’tienne was absorbed by sunlight. Sister Janice gave me a half grin. “He’s a lot of man isn’t he?”

“What?” I asked, somewhat surprised at the question.

“You know...” she said, cheeks blushing. “His build...it’s just manly.”

I giggled and Sister Janice did as well.