Isaak said to Dree, “The travel incubator you put together really was a stroke of genius.”
Dree shrugged and didn’t look up from where she was sopping up chicken chunks in tomato gravy with a piece of bread. “It was a stupid idea.”
Max said, “I don’t think it was stupid, and she might be okay.”
Batsa said, “The doctor seemed very pleased about her condition when I left. She doesn’t have a name yet. The mother didn’t tell her sister what she wanted to name her.”
A NICU doctor might be “pleased” with a preemie’s condition because half of their patients died or had significant brain damage. A nurse like Dree saw healthy babies all the time and could recognize a desperately endangered preemie when she saw one. That baby had a minuscule chance of survival.
Isaak said, “Whether this baby ultimately survives the ride or not, the idea of transporting a preemie in a warming cocoon is what’s important. All prototypes can use some refinement.”
“It wasn’t a ‘prototype,’” she said to him. “We weren’t in a medical device engineering lab running mathematical models of wind resistance and thermal insulation. We wrapped a premature baby in a frickin’ pashmina and drove her for hours on a motorcycle. I took a Hippocratic Oath, and today, I’m pretty sure I caused a lot of harm.”
“She was alive,” Batsa said again.
“Not just for that baby,” Isaak said to her. “But like Alfonso was talking about, there are premature babies born in those villages all the time that probably would survive if they could be rushed to a hospital. If they are kept warm enough and got to a hospital in less than three hours, a heck of a lot more than twenty percent of them would survive.”
“But I won’t be there to do something so stupid and rash and take them on a damned motorcycle.”
Isaak reached over and tapped the back of her hand. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve invented. With the insulation, heat packs, and a wind-breaker outer shell, you can transport a preemie to a hospital instead of just letting them die.”
“But they can’t,” Dree said. “Batsa knows. The reason that these people haven’t had medical care is that they don’t have transportation, and it’s a three-day walk to Chandannath. We can’t build a warmer that will last for three days.”
Isaak’s bright blue eyes swiveled up, and he contemplated the water-stain on the ceiling. “We might be able to.”
“That’s it.” Maxence held a piece of bread pinched in his fingers. “Alfonso kept asking what we could do with his NICU micro-clinics. That’s not the right question. The right question to ask is, why are we doing this? That’s the real question, the why. The reason why we wanted to build those NICU micro-clinics is to save more premature babies. Therefore, our correct question is, how do we save more preemies?”
Isaak pointed at Max as punctuation. “That’s what I’m trying to say. That’s what we need to ask, why? The way we save preemies is a transport capsule that’s a refinement of what you put together today, paired with an ambulance.”
“These villages can’t afford an ambulance,” Dree said. “It’s the same problem as with Alfonzo’s micro-clinics. The villages here couldn’t maintain a half-million-dollar ambulance full of computers and electronics. No one could drive it. It would fall apart and rust away.”
“But a motorcycle,” Maxence said. “Motorcycles are simple to maintain and drive. That’s why the underdeveloped world has so many of them. It’s not just that they’re far cheaper and use a fraction of the petrol. It’s that people can be taught to fix them in a few days.”
Isaak nodded. “These villages could all use an ambulance motorcycle, anyway. There were so many of these cases that you treated over the last few weeks that should have been seen at a medical clinic. Plus, if there’s a disease outbreak or something, someone could travel to Chandannath to bring back help.”
Max nodded. “So, if the real question is how do we drastically increase the health and medical care in these villages, the motorcycle ambulance is also the answer.”
Dree blinked, but she just couldn’t get as excited as the guys. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t screw up too badly.”
Isaak reached across the table and jostled her shoulder. “You made something amazing out of spare parts, imagination, and love. You should be proud of yourself today. You gave that kid a fighting chance.”
Batsa nodded. “My parents told me about what life was like in their village before they left to go to America. The communities are strong, and they still miss their families and friends. That is one thing that we do not have in the United States, a strong community ethic.”
Dree nodded. “Yeah, I noticed that. No one came to the clinic alone. Even for a kid with a mildly infected cut, the mom arrived with three or more relatives or friends as backup. In the States, you get pregnant women driving themselves to the ER while they’re having contractions.”
“That would never happen here,” Batsa said. “There are always aunties and cousins and sisters around when a woman is in a family way. However, a motorcycle ambulance would be a blessing that would help everyone.”
Maxence said to Isaak, “We can begin writing grants tomorrow.”
Isaak said, “We can start delivery of ambulance motorcycles in a month or two. I can start working on schematics for Dree’s preemie pod tomorrow, too. Finally, it’s good to be an engineer. The heat pack will be tricky. I’m envisioning something that can be recharged in boiling water. I’ve got friends who are chemical engineers whom I can get in touch with when we get back to Kathmandu. We can have test models in production in a few weeks, and refined versions rolling out in a few months. This could change how premature babies are handled in all underdeveloped countries, not just Nepal.”
Batsa said, “For the price of ten of Alfonso’s micro-clinics, we can put a thousand ambulance motorcycles and five thousand preemie pods in the villages of Nepal, and we can do it in months instead of years.”
Dree had stopped eating and was just listening to their grandiose plans. “But we don’t even know if it worked.”
Batsa frowned at her. “The baby was alive when we got her to the hospital, and her condition had not deteriorated much at all over several hours. That’s a win. That’s an enormous win.”
Maxence said, “And such a project would be far more community-based than the construction of micro-clinics that nobody asked for. Several people from each town can be taught to ride and perform basic maintenance for a motorcycle. These motorcycles won’t be computer-based technological marvels like the ones in Europe and America. We’ll use Royal Enfields like we’re riding, or something like that. Just having several people with the basic technical skills to change the oil and brake pads on those bikes will raise the technology level of this whole region. Other people will be able to get motorcycles because basic maintenance will be available.”
Dree nodded. “There are gas stations about every five villages or so. Gasoline shouldn’t be a problem.” Maxence’s strong arm was right beside hers. He’d taken off his black leather motorcycle jacket when they’d sat down for supper, and his coat was hanging over the end of the booth. His biceps and triceps curved around his arm, and his lower arm bulged with muscle. His ripped arm looked like an illustration from her anatomy textbook or maybe one of the models from the life drawing class she’d taken.
Maxence said, “Greater access to transportation means more trade. It means that villages that are close to Chandannath will have more opportunities for employment there, which means more money in those villages. Then, villages that are close enough to those places will have more opportunities for trade, employment, and wealth. This is a project with positive ripple effects.”
Batsa nodded. “When I was a child, I often visited my extended family’s village. We filled our suitcases with anything and everything we could find for them. A few motorcycles in nearby villages would have raised access to things they needed, from iodized salt to more diverse food in the winter.”
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Maxence said to Isaak, “This is the kind of planning that charities need. We don’t need billionaires to exploit impoverished people for tax write-offs or to make money off of charity projects.”
Maxence dropped his hands casually at his side while he spoke, but his fingers crossed the small space between his thigh and Dree’s and laced with hers.
She could scarcely breathe, and she held on.
Isaak nodded. “Even I, whose family fled the Communists and used capitalism to build factories to produce alcohol, must agree with you. Creating a product to sell to people who have money and want it is right and proper. Indeed, my family has become very wealthy doing it.” He smiled at Dree, and she was confused. “Sucking a profit out of a charity and exploiting people’s children is grotesque.”
Batsa said, “Exploiting poor people should be a grievous sin, right, Deacon Father Maxence?”
Deacon Father Maxence.
Dree loosened her grip on Max’s fingers, but he didn’t let go. He wouldn’t let go, even when she made her hand go limp. He held on, and if anything, tightened his grip.
It was easy to forget the vows he’d made to the Church when his arms were around her.
Too easy.
Maxence nodded. “As Dree mentioned a month ago, in the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-five, Jesus Christ himself said it was a mortal sin.”
What on Earth was he talking about? He couldn’t have known that she was thinking about mortal sins and his hands, his body, his lips on her neck.
Right?
“I didn’t say anything,” she mumbled.
“Oh, yes, I remember,” Isaak said to her. “It was around the campfire when Father Booker got nervous about the personal responsibility mandate. I was listening to you.”
Maxence continued, “Matthew is the first book of the Gospels for a reason. That entire chapter is the key to understanding Christ. The key to all three parables, but especially the Sheep and the Goats, is right at the end. Christ talks about the people who were hungry or thirsty, or the strangers and the prisoners, and he says, ‘I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me. And what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.’ He points to the people who let the poor and prisoners die and says, ‘And these will go off to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.’ Letting poor people die and doing nothing about it is a mortal sin, straight from Christ’s mouth.”
Batsa nodded. “And thus, we have a personal responsibility, according to the Church.”
Maxence shook his head and squeezed Dree’s fingers. “But Christ doesn’t gather people in that chapter. He gathers ‘the nations.’ The nations. We have more than personal responsibility. We have a mandate from Christ as a society, as a civilization, to not let the poor be lost, to protect those who are in danger, to feed those who are hungry, to bring justice to the world, and to not stop until we do. Most religions believe this. It’s not unique to Christianity. That baby girl whom we transported to the hospital tonight, none of us asked whether her parents had the money to pay an ambulance. Nobody asked whether the baby’s parents were rich enough to deserve their child’s life to be saved. You just do it. You just wrap the baby up and get her to the hospital because it’s the thing a decent person does.”
“Personal responsibility,” Batsa said.
“But you don’t stop there,” Maxence said. “Because we have seen the poor and the sick, because we have seen the preemies who die, then we make more preemie pods and make sure there are motorcycles for the next time, because that’s the right and decent thing to do.”
“Right,” Isaak said, nodding. “Not just this baby, not just this one time.”
Maxence went on, his words filling Dree’s ears and eyes, “But it’s not just us. It shouldn’t be just us. It should be everyone, because if you have a few tough years, your kids shouldn’t die. They shouldn’t be physically stunted from not getting enough to eat because you lost your job or the harvest failed. Your kids shouldn’t be blind because you couldn’t get them testing or treatment. That’s unchristian. It’s evil. And Jesus Christ himself said you would go to Hell if you allowed that to happen to other people’s kids. We need to practice Christianity as Christ preached it.”
The words he said filled her lungs and her soul like air.
Dree squeezed his hand. “You’re doing it again.”
Max released her fingers and sat back in his seat. “I am. You’re right. Dammit, I don’t know it sometimes, but it’s important. It’s important to talk about and to know. I can’t stand by and watch people who have billions of dollars swindle other people who work hard for their money. Alfonso is still out there, looking for places to build his NICU micro-clinics and overcharge impoverished people for the drugs to keep them running. He’ll make Nepal poorer, not richer.”
Isaak shook his head. His expression looked pained. “He surprised me. We were friends in school. I didn’t think he’d do something like that.”
Max nodded. “I didn’t, either. It surprised me when this project was approved, and then it shocked me when he admitted that it was all to turn a profit for his company. This is a charitable organization we’re working with. Everything is supposed to be not-for-profit, and there shouldn’t be forced-sales gimmicks hidden inside charitable donations. We have to get billionaires out of charities because they use them to strip regular people of their money.”
“But you’ve been working with charities ever since I’ve known you,” Isaak said. “You and Flicka put together that extravaganza for her wedding to your brother. You did amazing things with that money.”
Maxence shook his head. “For every amazing thing we did, some other psychopath used the charity system to suck more money out of the poor and people who work for a living. This is why I need to become a Jesuit,” Maxence said. “I want to work from inside the Church and change everything. The Catholic Church can make our practice of Christianity line up with what we say about Christianity. Instead of saying that some people, somewhere, should help and then absolving them when they don’t, we can make it happen. Everything we do should take the poorest people and the condition of the world into consideration when we decide what to do with missions and during sermons.”
Isaak sat back. “The guys on the yachts will destroy you if you tell them that they cannot suck even more wealth from the working and lower classes. We both know people who will do it. We grew up with them at Le Rosey, and we’ve met them through our connections from there. They’ll fight back. They’ll fight you. They’ll make sure you can’t become a priest if that’s what you want to do.”
Maxence shook his head and frowned. “My uncle isn’t long for this world. I sat by his bedside for a month. As soon as my brother Pierre takes over, he’ll give the Vatican permission to give me the sacrament of Holy Orders, and I won’t be stuck in this limbo of waiting and wanting. He’ll do it because he wants me out of the picture. I will disappear into the Church, and then I’ll change the world from within it.”
Maxence was going to disappear into the Church.
Dree needed to remember that, even when his cologne wafted through the air like the musk of desire in front of a fire built from cinnamon and vanilla.
She asked him, “Why does your brother control your life that way? That’s weird.”
Maxence nodded. “Yes. Yes, it is. But it’s the way my life works. But after I take Holy Orders, I will belong to the Church.”
He would belong to the Church.
Not to her.
She’d never thought he belonged to her.
Really, she hadn’t.
The screwing around in Paris meant nothing.
They’d both agreed to that. That was the plan. That was her plan.
And yet—
And yet the whole world was falling down around her.
“Right,” Isaak said to Max, sitting back in his seat. “Then you’ll be a Jesuit and you’ll belong to the Chu
rch.”
Isaak looked straight at Dree.
Dree was sitting beside a man she was falling in love with, but whose heart already belonged to the Church.
Oh.
The rest of the supper passed in a blur. There was more food. A dessert made of milk, rose water, sugar, and something round and white was on the table, and she ate one. The sweetness was cloying in her mouth because she just wanted to leave.
Her room was the same one as before, with a wooden, double-sized bed. Last time she’d slept at this inn, she’d slept alone and dreamed of a man named Augustine, a man who’d given himself to her utterly for four beautiful days, and she’d thought she was miserable because she couldn’t have him again.
This time, she was in love with a man who had given his heart to the world, and the world wouldn’t give him back.
Even though exhaustion weighed on her body with every step, Dree paced.
She shouldn’t go to Max’s room. The time when they’d shared a pup tent in the Nepali countryside had been a fantasy, and she was stupid to have believed it.
Maybe he would come to her. Father Booker wasn’t around to narc to whomever priests narced to about ordained deacons who screwed around.
Maybe there would be a knock on her door, and maybe it would be Maxence.
Maybe he would tell her that this last month and his ordination were the real lies, and his name was Augustine, and they could go back to Paris forever.
Lord, grant me sobriety and chastity, but not yet.
She hadn’t realized that he was praying to be a priest.
Her footsteps covered the floor as her body tried to believe what her mind was telling it.
She was pacing away from the door and had just passed the quilt-covered bed when a fist thudded on the wood of her door.
She ran.
She wasn’t proud of it, but she ran to the door, twisted the lock and the knob, and opened it, expecting the dark-eyed, black-haired unearthly male beauty of Maxence, an angel who wanted to save the world with a tattoo of demon wings on his back.
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