by Tim Merriman
Gus watched them with fascination while he sharpened his whittling knife on a whetstone. He didn’t interrupt but just listened. He had read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz as a child and seen the movie. He remembered some of it and thought it was probably as good a choice as any for the trio to use as a guide. These kids seemed to be on a journey fraught with danger every step of the way. He was determined to get Daudi to medical help soon.
* * *
When Rosa landed, she picked up a rental car and went straight to the Hilton near the airport to check in. It had high-speed Internet and cable TV. She needed both to watch what was playing and to communicate with others in the media world. She also bought six newspapers off a newsstand and found her photos in three. It felt good that the story was so popular, but she had also realized she may have raised unwanted attention from immigration authorities or predators. She needed to get to the kids first.
She checked her e-mail and found one marked urgent from Ilan.
Rosie –
Get writing, girl. Everyone wants a follow-up, even a no-change follow-up and send more photos. I’m hoping you took your usual hundreds of these kids. Start with a dozen and we’ll see what happens. Catch me before deadline and we’ll be back on the wire right away. I hope it helps. You’re making a lot of money on this as well. I know that’s not why you’re doing it, but maybe you can help the kids with it.
Ilan
Rosa was absolutely wired with the message and she fired back a quick thanks, explaining that she had flown to Philadelphia to try to get ahead of the children. She had come to have faith in their ability to move toward their objective. They clearly were able to find their way around what should have been insurmountable obstacles.
She pulled Google.com up on her laptop and punched in “HIV Africa” and started recording statistics and sources, cross-checking every so-called fact three times. She found a wealth of data on The Clinton Foundation’s website and the United Nations site. She was astonished to learn eighteen million orphans live in sub-Saharan Africa and that over seventy percent of them are HIV-positive. Then she tracked down key words “land mine” and “Africa,” and “guerrilla, child, Africa.” The number of results was overwhelming and the stories heartrending. Child warriors, maimed children, devastated families, starvation, refugee camps, malaria, and HIV were all linked stories. Even the extensive time she had spent in Africa had not prepared her for the grim reality of the horrific numbers of people affected by these tragedies.
She identified her central theme in her mind and began writing. When it was roughed out, she switched back to her digital photos and sorted pictures until she had twelve powerful images that helped convey her story. Shots of seemingly happy children at the orphanage contrasted sharply with photos of children carrying automatic weapons and skeletal people in line at an HIV clinic. Before she began traveling and photographing the real Africa, she was like most Americans, who often saw only smiling children in orphanages, not wanting to look beyond the obvious to learn why they were there in the first place. She had witnessed unspeakable things and always felt compelled to document what was in front of her, no matter how obscene. She now knew the trials hidden behind the smiles and respected the ability of the African people to continue to have hope in spite of the terrible odds against them. She wanted to bring that awareness to others through her photos and stories.
She read back over the article for Ilan and fine-tuned it before sending it on. He called back in fifteen minutes.
“Rosa, keep it coming. They all want to know more now, even if there is no news whatsoever. Keep doing what you’re doing. It’s great.” Ilan was out of breath with excitement.
“I’m glad to hear of the interest, but now I’m worried, Ilan. Please call me any time, night or day, if you hear where they are. The coverage is great, but it also makes them more vulnerable. We may have done a terrible thing if the wrong people jump in to help them along the way.”
“I know what you mean and I want this to work as much as you do. You’ve painted such a clear picture of their lives, but it’s incredibly sad. What holds these kids together?”
“Hope and each other. They have more hope than you can imagine. But the funny thing is, it’s not necessarily hope for themselves. They have hope for the world, hope that people will begin to care more what happens to each other. I think Daudi is resigned to his fate, but he stubbornly refuses to believe there’s nothing he can do to change the world. That’s what hurts the most. I can’t bear to think what’s happening to him out there.”
“You’re an angel, Rosa.”
“I’m really not. The Sister Marys and Mameres, they’re the angels. I’m just a messenger, that’s all. Thanks again, Ilan, for being open to the idea.”
“You’ve made a believer out of me. I expect your photos and story will make a believer out of millions of others, too. Hope so, anyway. Listen, I’ll stay in touch and you let me know if you hear anything tonight. I put an unpublished trailer message on every wire saying that it is critical to call you immediately if they are spotted.”
“I guess now I just have to wait. Talk to you later. And thanks again. I owe you big-time.”
“Not a dime, Rosa. Just keep it coming.”
Rosa sat back and released a great sigh of relief. She had done what she could and now it was a matter of patience, never her best thing. She called Nancy and brought her up to speed on what had happened. She needed to burn off the energy born of anxiety, so she changed into running clothes and went for a long run. She felt better after the jog, a shower, and dinner at the hotel restaurant. While she ate, she checked out evening editions of the newspapers and was pleased to find her stories virtually everywhere. She went back to the room and caught her most recent story on several of the national news programs and even on the BBC. The compelling story had apparently touched a nerve and captured the hearts of people around the globe. Now, she thought, if only the phone would ring.
* * *
Daudi read for forty minutes in a clear voice and then a coughing spasm made it impossible for him to continue. Gus took him on the rear deck of the caboose for some fresh air and a frank talk.
“You read that real nice, Daudi. You have a nice feel for the words, make them into the story folks want to hear. But that cough is a bad one. You’ve gotta get some professional help. Are you afraid to see a doctor, son?” Gus asked sympathetically.
Daudi hesitated at first and then explained with a quaver in his voice. “I am not afraid of a medical doctor. I am afraid of the police, the Children and Family Services—the authorities, Mr. Gus. They will send us back. We have come too far. My cough must not defeat us now. I will see a doctor, but yes, I am afraid.”
Gus placed his hand on Daudi’s shoulder as the woodlands of western Pennsylvania streamed past at sixty miles per hour. Daudi could not hold back his tears. He was, after all, just a young boy who was sick and getting worse. He leaned into Gus’s warm bulk, but he was thinking of how Mamere would take care of him when he was feeling poorly. Nothing could replace her tender loving care. Nothing. And yet, in thinking of her, he could hear her voice encouraging him to carry on, to do good things and to help those who cannot help themselves. His tears dried and he smiled at Gus.
“Thank you, Mr. Gus. It is hard sometimes.”
Gus simply gave him a hug and said, “Come, on. Let’s go get us something to eat.”
The hot plate didn’t allow fancy fare, but Masozi thought the dinner of franks and beans with cornbread and honey was a masterpiece and showed his appreciation by once again eating more than his share. After they cleaned up the dinner dishes, they tried to make a plan about what to do next.
“Daudi, I have to get home tonight, but first I’m gonna take you to an emergency room at the university hospital,” Gus explained. “The docs there work a lot with people who have no money to pay. They’ll take care of you and probably won’t ask for any official papers.”
Daudi broke into another coug
hing fit that wracked his small frame. “Okay. We will go. But we have money, Mr. Gus,” he said proudly. He dug into his pocket and counted out the five twenty dollar bills. “We have one hundred U.S. American dollars. Will that be enough?”
“Hide that, son. You may need it later. They charge about $300 for you to walk through the door at this place.”
“We do not have so much money, Mr. Gus,” Masozi interjected. “And this money is all we have for food after we leave you, so it would be better if we do not spend it all, as you say. But how can this hospital take care of Daudi if it is so expensive? I do not understand this system.”
“It’s not always a good system, but sometimes it’s great. When you have nothing and ask for help at this kind of hospital, someone will help. And they know me there. My wife was pretty sick for a while before she passed, and I spent a lot of time in that emergency room.” A shadow of sorrow passed over his face for just a moment. “You hide that money for a rainy day. We’re just gonna tell ’em you don’t have any money at all.”
“No money at all!” Masozi said. Gus smiled and laughed a bit, saying, “You got it, Masozi. Sing that song and you’ll be fine. I’ve got a little plan. Just listen to what I say and agree.”
Late that night, the train slowed as they entered a train yard and moved onto a spur with a long metal mechanics shop on one side. Gus went up to the front of the train for a few minutes to meet with the chief engineer and then returned and walked them with their packs to his battered pickup truck.
“This here truck is my pride and joy. It’s a gas guzzler, but it gets me around,” Gus explained driving them across the city. When he reached the hospital and turned up into the familiar drive to the ER, he thought about his wife and how proud she’d be to be helping these kids. He walked them up into the bright lights of the ER and was immediately recognized by the receptionist on duty.
“Gus! We haven’t seen you around here in a long time. You all right?”
“Annie, it’s good to see you. I’m fine, but I’ve got a little problem on my hands,” Gus said, pointing to the children. “These kids are from the shelter where I volunteer and this one has a bad cough. Do you think someone could take a look at him and then call this number? I’ve got to get going and can’t stay to take them back to the shelter, so this little fella’s friends came with him to keep him company.”
Annie looked at the kids and back at Gus, wondering what the real story was. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t be asking for help if he didn’t need it, so she decided to just do as he asked and see where it led. He rewarded her with a large smile as she handed him some paperwork to fill out.
“Just leave the number on there and I’ll see that they get taken care of,” she said, giving Gus a wink. “Fill out what you can and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Thanks, Annie. You’re the best.” Gus scribbled a phone number on the form that he was pretty sure wouldn’t work. He and the kids had worked it out so that as soon as Daudi had gotten some relief, the three could head back out on the road. He had coached them on what to say, what not to say, and how to negotiate their way through the hospital hallways and stairwells to stay out of the hands of the authorities while in the hospital. If all went well, Daudi could get the help he needed and then they could get on their way without much interference. Ramla looked around the ER, more concerned about the characters she saw there than the authorities.
Leaving them was hard but Gus wasn’t certain what else he could do. As much as he wanted to help the kids, he knew he had just a day before he had to get back on another train headed south and lots to do in that little time.
“Well, I’m gonna leave you in good hands, you three. You be careful out there,” he said as he patted each on the shoulders.
Masozi hugged him and said, “Thank you, Mr. Gus, for my leg. Thank you. I will never forget you.”
Gus tried to say goodbye, but found it hard to speak as Daudi was wheeled into the examination room with Ramla and Masozi following. He drove home, praying they would make it safely to New York.
When Gus reached his house, he began to feel guilty about leaving them to their own devices, but he had no idea how he could have reasonably helped them further. He turned on the television to catch up on what he had missed while he’d been gone. He flipped through the channels, but couldn’t settle on anything. Finally, he realized he was thinking more about the kids than what he was seeing on the screen. They aren’t even my kids. I did what I could. But who would help them next? He admired their ingenuity and had enjoyed getting to know them, but they were just kids, after all, and from what he could tell, all alone in the world, if what they had told him was true. He sighed, switched the channel again, and then he was seeing their faces on GNN as the night anchor explained the plight of these three special children from Kenya. He listened in amazement.
“If these African children so challenged by the ravages of war, disease, and deprivation have any chance at all, it depends on us. No doubt they are finding other challenges as they travel across the United States on their way to tell their story at the United Nations. If you get the chance to meet them, please call 555-345-8989 to let us know. We’re following their progress and would like your impressions of these special youngsters. That number again is . . .”
Gus found a pencil and wrote it down, vowing to call it first thing in the morning. Then he realized there must be more to the newscaster’s request than simply gathering a good story. The kids had indicated they had no one to turn to, but someone must be looking for them aside from the authorities. He knew he had to find out who that was. It was now one-thirty a.m. and he was sure he’d be waking someone if he called now. But he decided it was too important to wait and punched the number into the phone as if every minute mattered.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosa heard the whinny on her cell phone and groped for it on the nightstand, knocking it to the floor. When she finally got it in her hand and popped it open, she feared the caller would be gone or worse yet, a crank, like the six other calls earlier in the evening.
“Rosa Carson here,” she said.
“Miss Carson. I just left three African children at a hospital and they’re needing some serious help. Does that mean anything to you?”
“You bet it does.” Rosa sat up in the bed, wide awake. “I’m a close friend of Sister Mary in Kenya who runs the orphanage where they come from. Where’s the hospital and what’s wrong?” Her tone left no doubt in Gus’s mind that this was the right person to talk to, but he couldn’t help asking the question.
“Miss Carson, if I give you more information, what will you do? They don’t want to go back to Kenya until they finish their job.” Rosa tried to answer with patience, but her nerves were frayed.
“Sir, I can appreciate your concern. Believe me, I’m happy to learn that they’re getting some medical help, but please, you need to tell me right now why they need it. What’s going on with them?”
Gus decided to trust his instincts, introduced himself and told her what had occurred over the last two days without revealing their current whereabouts. “I think they told me most everything, but they didn’t tell me about you,” he said. “I just want to make sure they’re going to be okay.”
“Thank you. I know they’re frightened and feeling alone. They probably think I plan to send them home, but what they don’t know is that as soon as I get the chance I’ll be making arrangements for their adoption. I will be home for them as soon as the paperwork comes through. I want to help them realize their dream of getting to the U.N., but I want to do more than that. I just haven’t had the chance to talk to them and tell them that. Every time I get close, they run.”
“I believe you,” Gus said. “Right now, they’re at the Harrisburg Philadelphia County University Hospital ER. I just thought Daudi needed to see a doctor. ”
“You are an angel, sir.” Rosa felt tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll head there just as quick as I can get dre
ssed and throw the suitcase in the car. I’m not that far away, so I can be there very soon. Thank you so much for all you’ve done. Thank you.”
She dressed while checking out a map on the Internet, wrote down the directions and headed out to the car. She drove out of the Hilton parking area and straight to an all-night McDonald’s drive-thru to get the largest cup of coffee they had. She would need it to do this. She hoped she would be in time to help them. She had to be.
* * *
Daudi and his friends were placed in a curtained examination room. They could hear the noises of busy doctors and nurses all around them, but none came in to check on them.
“Daudi, they are not coming to see you. Why is that?” Masozi asked. “You are very sick.”
Coughing spasmodically in the hospital bed, Daudi leaned on one elbow and said in a faint voice, “I am tired, Masozi. You and Ramla should lie down and get some sleep. If they are not coming to help, we still need to rest.”
“I will not sleep,” Masozi insisted. “I am going to look around this place.” With that, he put his head through the curtain and listened. He thought he might speak to a doctor and get help.
* * *
Rosa took the hospital exit from the interstate just twenty miles from her hotel, thinking about what she would do and say if she was in time to find them where Gus had left them. When she found the ER parking area, she turned in and parked as close to the building as she could. She locked the car and jogged toward the self-opening entry doors. The security guard stopped her as she entered.
“You a patient, miss?” he asked.
“No, I am the chaperone of three African children who were left here earlier tonight,” she explained, hoping no proof would be asked.
“That blind boy, the little girl, and the kid with the cough?” he asked.