“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.
“Her baby was born with a large malignant growth on the side of his head. I arranged to fly her and the child to Port Moresby, where the doctors successfully removed the growth. The child shows no evidence of the cancer now. The mother is very grateful.” I looked at the beautiful toddler. He had only a hint of a white scar running along his left temple. He flashed a mout
hful of teeth at me.
The woman grabbed Sam’s hand and pressed it tightly to her lips. Sam’s eyes met mine over the top of the woman’s kneeling figure. “One day, I’ll be able to tell her of God’s unending love, mercy, and compassion. For now, I’m simply someone she can trust.”
It wasn’t much. But as I stood there, watching him with the woman, I realized it was a start. And for Sam, that was enough.
We ate dinner that evening in the Laskes’ hut. Frank busied himself outside, leaving Eva and me to get acquainted. Conversation topics were limited. It seemed a wide chasm separated us. Her lifestyle and mine were worlds apart. She asked me about my work at the library, but there wasn’t much to tell.
“Do you have family, Johanna?”
“My parents. They moved into an assisted living facility a couple of months ago.”
“Have they adjusted well?”
“Better than I have.” Because she was a stranger I opened up to her. “They made the arrangements to move without telling me.”
“I assume they had a reason.”
“I’m sure they did, but it escaped me. I like things to stay the same.”
“Nothing stays the same, Johanna. Life is about change. We get older and wiser. We gain experience in new and different areas. God never meant for us to live in a state of suspended animation.”
I switched subjects. “I notice there isn’t a door on the huts. Aren’t you concerned about animals or snakes coming in?”
“Not really. The huts are built on water, so that eliminates a lot of the problem. And on the few occasions something has gotten in, Frank makes short work of the intruder. You learn to not worry about small things.”
Small things. What did a woman — this woman of God — know about small things? She focused on the eternal, not the external. Already I missed Mom and Pop and Nelda with a tangible ache. I missed Itty Bitty. But most of all I missed my clean, comfortable home and my simple, uncluttered life. I’d never take anything for granted again.
Sam and Frank entered the hut. I wiped the moisture in my eyes and turned away. This was Sam’s life. Everything I had seen today only drove me farther away from him and the life to which God had called him. He gave me a tentative smile, and I realized he could read my emotions.
“How is my Johanna this evening?”
I pushed my glasses up on my nose. The contacts were in my luggage. I couldn’t bring myself to complain in front of Frank and Eva. “The villagers are interesting.”
“It grows on you,” he promised.
I smiled and nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He patted my shoulder and went outside again with Frank.
Eva and I sat at the kitchen table and drank some sort of a root tea — tasty actually. “How have you managed for twelve years?” I desperately needed to understand why a woman — any woman — would choose this life.
“With difficulty in the beginning, but Frank strongly believed this was where God wanted us to be. Sometimes we want to leave and go home, but then something always happens to show us we’re needed here.”
“Do you ever see improvement?”
“Sometimes. It’s slow.” She looked past me, out the door. “The country is really beautiful, and of course, in the cities it’s more modern. But the villagers, particularly this village, are very poor. Disease is so common; it robs them of their children. We do anything we can to help. Most are grateful, and those that aren’t simply don’t yet understand our purpose. Language is the enemy. We struggle with communication because the tribe speaks a mixed dialect, one we’ve not yet been able to translate.”
The men came back into the hut and Mary started to prepare dinner.
“May I help?” I asked as she moved to the propane stove.
“Got it all ready; please, sit down. You’re my guest.”
Frank and Sam had brought a couple of folding chairs to allow seating space for six. Mary bustled around putting food on the table. I was delighted to see I could identify most of it: some sort of dried bean casserole, fresh pineapple, and papaya. There was thick, hard-crusted bread with a delightful nutty taste.
Mom’s neighbor’s son had been in the navy, and I remember her telling that when he was in Sri Lanka he ate monkey without knowing it. Thank goodness the villagers gave spiritual significance to animals. No chance of my having to eat monkey.
We gathered around the table and Bud blessed the food. His petitions were simple but powerful as he invoked God’s hand on the villagers and asked that the mission team continue to succeed in their pursuits.
Talk was general for the most part. The men spoke about planting crops and the building projects they were working on. Mary and Eva held weekly hygiene classes for the women, something that didn’t appear to be working.
“Johanna — ” Frank reached for a slice of bread — “you’ll have to come with us Saturday.”
“What happens on Saturday?”
“Oh, that’s when we have fun!” Eva grinned. “We take shiny objects, like mirrors and colorful ribbons, and we tie them on trees and bushes deep in the forest.”
I put my fork down. “Whatever for?”
“To entice those living deep in the bush to come out. The natives adore the sparkly trinkets. Granted, we barely get a glance of them, but they’re back every week for the goodies, so they know we’re here. And when one is sick, they come to the clinic in droves.” She smiled at Frank. “The crowds are getting bigger every time Sam comes.”
After dinner Eva insisted on cleaning the table. “You two go outside and look around. Johanna would probably be interested in learning more about the place where we live.”
I followed Mary outside, thinking I already knew more about this place than I cared to. The board planks of the deck were dry now. The small rowboat bobbed at the piling. Overhead, clouds had started to build.
We rested our arms on the railing, staring into the murky lagoon waters. Mary must have sensed my reservations because her tone gentled. “It’s all rather overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“Sam tried to prepare me, but I guess one never realizes the conditions until they witness them.”
“There’s no way to explain its magnetism or its exotic beauty. One has to experience the area to fully understand.”
“The village is so dirty. So … so unsanitary.”
“Only to us, who know the difference. The villagers are quite happy and content — or so it would seem. Believe it or not, living conditions are better than they used to be.”
“You’ve been here four years. Why do you stay?”
“It’s where we feel God wants us to be.”
There was the declaration again, the same one Eva had mentioned. How could anyone be that certain of what God wanted? “You’re so lovely, Mary. It would be easy to imagine you having a successful career in New York or LA, wearing the latest fashions, enjoying life.”
She laughed. “Thanks for the compliment, but I have no longing for what you call a ‘successful career.’ If I’m following God’s leading in the places where he wants me, that’s all the success I need.”
“I’m trying hard to understand, but I feel — ”
“Confused?” Mary picked a piece of bark off the railing and tossed it in the water. “I had the same doubts when I first arrived. Bud and I almost broke up over what he saw as his calling and my reticence.”
“You weren’t called to missions?”
“Not to foreign missions. If I’d had my way in the beginning, we would have worked in the States.”
“And now?”
“Now I know this is where I’m supposed to be.” She turned to meet my gaze. “Don’t fight your feelings, Johanna. Relax and see what God has in store for you. It may be entirely different than what you think. Pray about it. If you’re truly searching for answers, I can promise you that he won’t allow you to drift too far in the wrong direction.” A flash of lightning lit the darkened night. Mary glanced up. “Here comes the rain, right on schedule.” We sto
od there watching nature’s display until the first fat drops hit the landing.
I excused myself and retired to my curtained alcove. Stretching out on the cot, I tried to pray, but words failed me. I missed Nelda. Her plain common sense and outspoken ways had helped me through many a crisis. I desperately needed her now.
The day had been a blur of sights and smells. I thought about the pig droppings, the lunging dog secured to a tree with a thick vine, the smell of wet earth and vegetation, and the scent of growing tobacco. The hubbub of crying babies, combative animals, pigs grunting. Half-naked men with straws in their noses and young women who looked a hundred years old.
Dear God, can this possibly be what you expect from me?
No answer came. I knew that I loved Sam and wanted to share his life — or did I? I was becoming more and more confused. Suddenly one of Pop’s earlier conversations popped into my head. We’d been driving home from church. That morning the pastor had told of a man who’d come up to him at a funeral and, knowing the deceased well, asked the pastor if the man was now in hell, paying for his sins. The pastor replied, “No, if he’s in hell, it’s because he couldn’t pay for his sins.”
Was this the fate I wanted for these villagers?
No, I wanted them to know the truth. And I knew that if anyone on earth wanted to know the gospel, God would send those people a messenger. Sam, Frank, Eva, Bud, and Mary were filling that role for these people.
But what about me? Try as I might I could not make my piece of the puzzle fit.
I cried myself to sleep, listening to the deafening clatter of rain on a tin roof.
ELEVEN
Sam materialized in the doorway to the hut at dawn the next morning. The Millets and I were still eating breakfast.
“Johanna, you want to go into the village with me and the Laskes?”
“Give me a minute and I’ll be ready.” I shoved my chair back from the table, sounding more decisive than I was.
I dug out my plastic raincoat and put it on. When I told Eva good-bye I gave a last lingering look around the warm, mostly dry hut. (The roof leaked in a couple of places, one of them over my cot.) Though simple and lacking much comfort, it still looked like a palace compared to the village.
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