by Gabi Moore
It wasn’t so bad. Not really. Valerie finally came back from the next village over and helped me fix my clothing mess. She’s nice. So I had at least one good, kind fellow-Christian here in this country. She’d been everywhere. Uganda. Nigeria even. She was easy and confident and came from England, and she had such a pretty accent. She was quite experienced with this kind of work, but I thought we’d become good friends, anyway.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to ignore the almost painfully sharp silence all around. Why was it so quiet around here? The dinner had gone OK. I guess. Mostly. I was bone-tired and yet now that I finally had the chance to sleep, I couldn’t. The bedding was scratchy, Valerie’s breathing was all irregular and annoying, and my mind was all over the place.
My imagination, as good as it was in times like these, seemed to be nowhere to be found. It was just bare, dusty red reality. I sighed and tossed over in bed, trying the other side. The mattress dented in the middle and was already giving me a slow ache in my lower back.
Here, in the darkness, I could admit that I had been wrong about some things. This wasn’t at all what I pictured. I was hungry, for one. The goat meat was revolting, and even if I did eat meat I couldn’t understand how everyone at the table had just gobbled it down like it didn’t taste like wet dog. The people seemed nice enough, but like they were already tired of me. They didn’t drink coffee. In fact, it seemed like all anyone ever drank here was soda. There were always, and I mean always, a gaggle of random little kids just running around the place. It’s like nobody even cared who they belonged to, they were always just there.
And the garden. They hadn’t even had the courtesy to arrange for the fertilizer to be delivered on time. It was pathetic. Help was right under their noses and now it was going to go to waste. It’s not that I was angry, it was just that …well, I hadn’t come here to socialize. I came here to help.
I vowed then and there not to breathe a word of this to anyone. I knew how they saw me. They thought I was weak and stupid and didn’t understand anything. Well, all the better for when I showed them what I was really capable of. It wasn’t for me to question what God had in store for me. I didn’t know yet what use he had for me …and if I could just fall asleep maybe I could stop doubting...
Mama Tembi was kind and would help me. Valerie I could trust, and we’d be friends, no doubt about that. Sister Dora was a little strange, but she seemed harmless enough. The two missionary guys didn’t seem to take me seriously. They had that Mormon vibe about them. I thought they were haughty. I’d never tell anyone that, but it was the truth.
Then there was “Vik”.
I tried to steer it in other directions, but my imagination kept coming back to him. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of him yet. He wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met before. I tried not to stare, but his body, first of all, was just so …muscled. Like something I’d only ever seen in fashion magazines. It was just too much. What was the point of being so built and strong, was he some kind of Neanderthal? I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was just something so …ungodly about him. The way he just paraded around, barely any clothing on at all. No shame. What was the point of a man, if he didn’t work, didn’t spread the word, didn’t have a family? Did he just sit in the jungle all day and contemplate his navel?
I personally found it very disturbing. And I did long before Valerie subtly told me that I shouldn’t get too involved with him, if I could help it. They said he was a bit unpredictable, a bit of a wild card. Mama Tembi had told me he was “bad news” and left it at that. From what I could gather, he loitered around in some shack in the forest and had …dubious means of subsistence, shall I say. Nobody could tell me what the rumors were, exactly, only that there were rumors, and that I should stay away.
But my imagination couldn’t stay away. Not tonight, in this unnatural silence. The room still had the synthetic floral smell of my shampoo lingering in it. Soon, it would fade. Soon, I’d meet him again and he’d take a sample of the plot soil and tell us if he could help. If we’d need lime. Or if we could get away with just “blood and bone”. Ugh. I’m not squeamish, but I really hoped it didn’t come down to that.
I heard a strange, eerie cry outside. A jackal? Google had told me about the jackals in this area. My heart beat faster. Then I had an idea. I was sent here for a reason. I had to be.
And maybe he was the reason.
Maybe I was sent here to teach him something. Clearly, he didn’t really belong here. Maybe it was my job to inspire him to return home to where he belonged, and make an honest life for himself.
Without thinking, my hands were under my nightdress. I sunk my head under the covers. It smelt like shampoo and dust and mosquito repellant. I let my imagination loosen a little. I would save him. He would thank me. He’d put on a shirt. Tell me that he felt God’s love. Felt it flow out from me into him. He’d be so grateful.
Something panged inside me. Damn.
It had happened again. I was …wet.
I struggled back my tears. That was twice in one week already. Once with Dylan and again now. I was getting worse. I pinched my own hand, hard enough that it felt like I might break the skin, and hissed the word to myself: no. I was better than that. I wasn’t going to defile my body like that, ever again. I was here on a mission.
I yanked my hands out from under the blanket and smoothed them on top. I could see how all of this was going to play out, clear as day. Vik would come, hoping to boast and brag about his farming methods, but all the while, I’ll be guiding his mind towards some real education, towards his soul. I’d give him the good news; the hope that he could do something better, nobler with his life.
I’d save him.
Chapter Seven - Penelope
He was crouching down on his haunches, like some kind of soil whisperer, handful of dirt to his nose and just …smelling. He was so lean that even folded double, his abs stayed drum-tight. He squatted for a moment, and Mama Tembi and I waited for the diagnosis. I seemed to be the only one perturbed by the fact that he still was not wearing a shirt.
As he was engrossed in the soil, I had a quick opportunity to get a better look at him. Not in that way, of course, but …well someone who parades around half naked is kind of inviting that sort of scrutiny, aren’t they? He reminded me a little of the sinewy Christ figure I had seen on the cross at St. Peter’s church in town. Only the man in front of me was certainly no Jesus. He was very much alive. And I could see the pistons and pulleys of his muscles working under his dark skin.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. I was wearing shampoo-washed underwear, my hair felt gross and I hadn’t looked into a proper mirror for three days now. I was slowly coming to terms with it: there was no way I’d be doing any gardening this trip. As I watched the red soil slip through his loose fingers and fly away in the wind, it seemed like my fate was sealed: even I could see that nothing would grow here.
“It’s perfect,” he said.
What?
“It just needs some fish. Skin. Tails and heads. That kind of thing. And some dried grass.”
Was this guy for real? First blood and guts, and now fish. I sighed loudly.
“Chimanga?” he said to Mama Tembi.
“Eya,” she replied quickly.
They were speaking Nyanja. Without me. He nodded and with one powerful movement of his thigh muscles, was standing upright and tall again. He looked at me, his hands still red and dusty. He was taller than I remembered. Not that I had been remembering him.
“They want to grow maize here, so fish will work” he said to me, slowly as though I was some kind of idiot.
“Ok …maize. Right. But will fish work with anything else we’ll want to grow?”
They both looked at me now.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know …like herbs maybe?”
Mama Tembi and Vik exchanged glances.
“Herbs? What’s …?”
Vik shrugged. He didn’t
know the Nyanja word for herbs. They both carried on with a quick back-and-forth, all in a language I didn’t understand, which was, if you ask me, a little inconsiderate of them. In any case, they wouldn’t have to do any of this disgusting fish nonsense if they had just properly organized for the right fertilizer from day one. Maybe Dylan was right. Maybe they really were different from us. I shook the thought from my mind. I shouldn’t be so judgmental. No matter who you are, you can always learn, right?
Mama Tembi cast her gaze over the dry plot one last time, narrowed her eyes and exhaled loudly. She wiped her hands on her apron and then shook Vik’s hand. She had to get back to the café, but she would start asking around for fish scraps and bones. Then she left. And I was alone. With him.
It was another baffling bit of bad manners, I hate to say, just to leave me unchaperoned like that, but I was beginning to think that people in this part of the world simply didn’t have a very developed sense of morality. That wasn’t their fault.
The plot was a good few acres wide, flat, and completely barren except for a few skeleton twigs and plants that were still desperately clinging to the rocks in the ground. It had taken me a good twenty minutes to trudge all the way out here, in the heat.
“Not quite what you were expecting, huh?” he asked me, with mocking eyes. In fairness, I was scowling at the sun, and the bad smell, and not the fact that this awful little patch of land was somehow meant to transform into food within a matter of six months.
“Not quite” I said, and turned to follow Mama Tembi. I had no idea what I was meant to do with myself for the rest of the afternoon, but standing in a field talking to …him probably wasn’t a good use of my time.
“You’re not so convinced about using fish as fertilizer?”
He seemed to be enjoying my discomfort. But I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of seeing me disappointed.
“No, no I’m sure you know what you’re talking about. Our cat died one year and my dad planted it at the foot of the lemon tree in our garden. Best lemons we ever had,” I said, surveying the land myself, pretending like I knew what the hell I was looking at.
He smiled at me. He was standing too close. Making too much eye contact. I couldn’t tell if he was being friendly with me or just contemptuous. He was …odd. His skin was too dark and his eyes too light. He couldn’t be older than 25, but he seemed so much more mature, with the way his skin was so tanned, and the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners. He had wrapped a faded sarong around his hips and knotted it in the front. Was there even anything under there? Besides the obvious, I mean.
“I’m sure they were,” he said, and his eyes twinkled like we had just conspired in something illegal together. I squirmed away from his gaze. I didn’t like how familiar he was being.
“Anyway! I should head back to my room,” I said.
He laughed out loud. My face burned. What an ass.
“What? What’s wrong with that?” I said.
“You’re afraid of me,” he said, grinning. His teeth were so white. He looked like a Calvin Klein model, although one that had perhaps been left to his own devices in a remote forest for a little too long. Surely the fuzz that grew just below your navel officially counted as pubic hair? What an ass.
I blushed. This wasn’t new to me. I knew how it went. Everyone has a laugh at the little Christian girl’s expense, because what does she know, right?
“Afraid of you?” I said. I looked him up and down dramatically, making as though it was the first time I had properly looked at him, and hadn’t already pieced his body together in my mind a million times every night since I landed here. “No, afraid is not the right word…”
His grin didn’t fade.
“Then what’s the right word?”
His body was so hard. I guess manual labor will do that to you. Poor guy.
“The right word is…” I made as though I was thinking hard. He had such an immensely arrogant look on his face, I could have just slapped him right there.
“Disappointed” I said finally, a little more roughness in my voice than was perhaps strictly necessary.
The grin lost a little of its sparkle.
“Disappointed?” he said. I hated how he seemed to have no idea of the proper rules of conversation. He didn’t jump in to respond or defend himself. He just repeated the word, held it there in his own mouth. Went silent and thought a bit. If he thought I was going to flirt with him, he had another thing coming.
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any offense, it’s just that you …”
“I’m not offended,” he said quickly. I kind of wished he were. I frowned and continued.
“It’s just that …well, since we’re being so candid with each other, I’m wondering what someone like you is doing …you know, here.”
The grin popped back onto his face.
“Someone like me?” he said.
Darn it, it was like having a conversation with a 2-year-old.
“Well, I don’t mean any offense, but, I don’t know how to say this but, well…”
He watched my face keenly, as though he was waiting for the punchline of a joke.
“Well, I mean, this is as far away from the world as you can get …I’m curious, what happened in your life to bring you here?”
It was bold. But if I were ever going to save any souls and put any notches on my bible, I’d have to be forthright.
“What happened?” he asked again. I was getting tired of him answering questions with questions.
“Yes, come on, you know what I mean …like, are you a fugitive running from the law or something? Clearly you weren’t born here…”
“I was born here.”
“I see. Ok, I apologize then. Just forget I said anything, jeez.”
“No, you asked the question. And I get to ask you the same thing. What awful thing happened to you in your life that you decided to come here, so, so far away from everything…?”
He had that mocking smile again. This was irritating. Clearly he would never be receptive to hearing the holy word of God.
“Me? Why would something awful have happened to me? I’m here because I want to help. I’ve been so fortunate, you know, and I just wanted to…”
I don’t know how, but he was somehow closer. I couldn’t tell if I had broken into a sweat from standing out in this blazing field or whether being so damn close to him was to blame. I realized with horror that I could smell him. Or maybe that my skin could sense him – that I could feel his body heat on mine. In any case he was too much. His body was too much. Too close. Too big. Too intense. It reminded me of visiting my uncle’s stables as child, opening the barn doors and being hit all at once by the incredible musk of the warm stallions in there, the hard, unclothed bodies, the heat of their flesh.
“And when I get back, me and my fiancé are going to get married!” I blurted, and took a step back.
Something deep and sinister formed in his eyes.
“Fiancé? Oh, you poor girl…” he said quietly.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, no offense or anything, but since we’re being so candid with each other…”
I wanted to punch him. But the thought of even touching him revolted me. We eyed each other. Far off in the distance, some cicadas whined in the trees. The horizon shimmered in the heat. I was in a strange country, wearing wilted clothing and standing alone in a barren field with some hooligan.
“They told me you’d be like this,” I said.
“Who told you? Be like what?”
“They said you’re a difficult person. There are rumors, you know, about you.”
“Good.”
“No, not good. Bad rumors. I think you like all of this, actually, playing at being such a bad guy?”
He grinned, but this time his smile had a vicious edge to it.
“Oh, I’m not playing.”
His milky blue eyes were glued to mine now. I swallowed hard. I couldn’t lose my nerve. I took in a deep breath
and tried to remember my mission. Forget about his crotch and his eyes and those ripples on his abs, Penny, and remember: remember his soul. Remember that you’re an emissary of the Lord, and you have a mission…
“You know what I think? I think you’re a big softy who likes pushing people away. But I won’t let you push me away. Wherever we come from, whatever our challenges in life, we’re all God’s children. For what it’s worth, I don’t believe the rumors at all…”
“You should.”
He turned his head to the side, his gaze still in mine. He wasn’t joking anymore. I just wanted to go home. I laughed nervously and then turned to go. But he followed.
“You know what I think? I think you actually like doing this, playing at being the good girl all the time.”
I spun around and glared at him.
“But I am good…”
“Don’t worry, I won’t give up on you yet,” he said and winked at me, a crooked smile on his lips. Despite myself, I giggled. He was cocky, I’d give him that.
“Oh, well jeez, how very generous of you Vik…” I started, and before I knew it I had playfully slapped his arm. I don’t know why. Or how. It just happened. My skin, on his.
He stared down at the place where I had touched him.
His face went serious and he changed his tone.
“If you’re not convinced about the fish fertilizer, I can show you my own garden. All natural. I only farm with what the earth provides. You should come and visit me and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
I suddenly felt like a foolish little girl. The smile fell from my face.
“Yes, um, of course. I need to learn how to do that,” I sputtered. “For the plot” I added, a little too nervously.
“Good. I like you Penny. You’re principled. I can appreciate that.”
I struggled for words.
“Well thank you, that’s very sweet of…”
“Good. Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“Yeah, my cabin’s this way.”
Chapter Eight - Viktor