Standing beside Joseph, Nick was afraid of his wild eyes and clenched jaw. Miraculously, Maggie’s pleas stopped his rage, and Joseph lowered his weapon and he froze in place. The mob went silent. Then, in slow motion, Joseph lowered his gun. He tore off his hat and looked to the sky, asking God what he had done. “Dios, ¿qué he hecho?” Joseph wailed.
The woman continued to sob. Nick wondered if she was afraid or in pain or both. Maggie wrapped her in her arms.
Half-dazed, Joseph wandered off, and the mob parted to let him through.
“Go after him,” Maggie yelled at one of the Californians.
“Give me some light,” Maggie ordered as she assessed the woman. People stepped away from the car lights so she could see.
The woman bawled relentlessly, but the mob hushed enough for Nick to hear a whimpering. He looked around and saw a tiny child wrapped in a bundle between Maggie and the wailing woman.
Maggie begged Nick. “Please help me.”
Nick bent to assist Maggie and pull the woman to her feet, but the woman was strong and refused to budge. She said something Nick didn’t understand. “Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento.”
Nick was relieved to see Anna push into the crowd.
“She is saying that she is sorry,” Anna translated.
Maggie quizzed the crowd in Spanish.
It was as if everyone was hesitant to speak.
Maggie pleaded with the woman to stop crying. She checked her head for damage and found it damp from tears or blood, Maggie guessed both.
Finally, an old man from the town stepped forward. He spoke in broken English with a heavy Spanish accent. “Missus John. This one untouchable. You not want to be here with her.”
The mob burst into obscenities. A woman from the town spat at the scorned woman and kicked dirt at her.
Maggie hollered at her to stop and threw protective arms over the woman and child. The mob kept yelling obscenities.
The old man raised his arms to silence the mob and said to Maggie. “Missus John. Please go back inside. I beg you.”
Maggie was indignant. “I will not go inside, and I will not let you harm this woman and this child. What do you think you are doing? Someone, tell me who this woman is.”
The mob went stone cold silent.
Maggie wiped her brow with the back of her arm. “Well?” She stared at the old man. “What’s going on?”
“Missus John…” he began.
“Tell me,” she demanded.
The old man shrugged in resignation and pushed the words out. “She…she is wife of man who kill Dr. John.”
They had all heard the story of the man who was found with John’s heart in his bag.
The wailing woman cried for mercy. “Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento.”
Maggie was stunned. Pain stabbed her heart. She grasped her chest with one hand, the other still holding the woman. She gasped for breath. Nick grabbed her and tried to pull her up and away, but Maggie resisted. Then she began to choke and gag. Nick tried harder to pick her up, but she pushed him away with incredible strength and collapsed around the woman and child.
Catching her breath, Maggie leaned over the woman and held her shoulders. “Is this true?”
“Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento. Por favor, perdóname…please forgive me,” she cried.
Maggie let go of the woman and slumped back in the dirt. She pulled her hands over her face, leaving blood streaks from the wailing woman’s wounds.
The mob’s noisy rabble rose again.
“Stop,” Maggie finally demanded, pushing herself to her knees. The mob quieted, and the woman whimpered, catching her breath and waiting.
Maggie stretched as high as she could without rising. She scanned the crowd, and declared not only to them but to herself, “This is not John’s killer. This woman is not John’s killer. This child is not John’s killer.” She paused and appealed to heaven. “Jesus, help us.” Then she collapsed on top of the woman and child.
CHAPTER 22
* * *
The Gospel
Blood dripped down the woman’s face as Nick helped the team get her onto the exam table in the clinic. One of the California men held pressure on her scalp wound. They finally learned her name—it was Maria.
She clutched her one-year-old boy to her chest; any attempt to separate them had failed. She was still in shock, but at least she had stopped wailing. Now the baby screamed, either from the assault, the surrounding gringos, or, judging from his smell, a dirty diaper.
“Get me some gloves.” Nick directed a young man to the cabinet in the corner.
Anna came running into the clinic with an armful of supplies from the OR—gauze, saline, suture, instruments, and a large basin. “Here you go Dr. H. I grabbed everything I thought you would need and then some.”
“That a girl.”
Nick slipped on a pair of gloves and did a cursory exam of Maria. There were no obvious signs of trauma, except for the large gash on her forehead at her hairline.
The baby continued to scream.
“Oh my gosh, we’re going to have to do something with this kid,” Nick said.
Anna came to the rescue and spoke to Maria. “Momma, let me hold your baby so the doctor can look him over and fix you up. I’ll stand right here with him. I promise.”
Gently, but assertively, she pulled the baby away, encouraging Maria to hold her son’s hand.
Nick examined the child. Although very dirty, he didn’t seem to be injured. Nick turned his attention back to Maria when the boy’s kicking feet caught his eye.
“Here, turn him around toward me,” he said to Anna.
He held a tiny foot. “Oh great, another one.”
“What’s that?”
Nick lifted the child’s leg so Anna could see the foot. “Another damn clubfoot.”
“Looks like you’re going to be the local expert.”
It was Maggie’s voice. She came up behind them with a bottle of milk for Anna to give to the baby.
After the ordeal outside the gate, everyone was surprised to see her. She had washed the blood and dirt off her face, but she still wore the dirty, bloody shirt.
Paying them no mind and without hesitation, she went to Maria and put a gentle hand over her heart. “It is all right now, Momma. You are safe. We will not let anyone hurt you or your baby.”
The woman wept and barely able to get the words out, she said, “I am so sorry, I know I have no right to come here. When I heard there was someone here that could help my baby, I decided to come. I didn’t think people would recognize me. Please believe me. I can’t believe that my Danilo would have anything to do with your husband’s…” She couldn’t say the word. “He was a kind man, a good husband, and he loved our little Danilo greatly. Please believe me.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. “Please forgive me.”
Maggie held Maria’s hands. “It is okay. I know that God has brought you here for a reason. Now please stop apologizing, and let us take care of you and your baby.”
Anna translated for Nick, but all he knew was that right now he had a patient to attend to.
* * *
“You okay?” Nick asked Maggie, as the Land Rover bounced along a rutted dirt road toward San José Ojetenam on the way to Isabella’s village. Nick watched Maggie fight the Rover’s wheel. “You sure you don’t want me to drive?”
“I’m good,” she said, her eyes intent on the road.
“Okay,” he said, but he was still worried. They already had a mishap on this road. One of the many colorful buses packed with passengers had blown past them with its air horn blasting. When the bus forced them into the ditch, he was glad they were on the inside of the mountain road; otherwise, the near collision would have been sent them flying hundreds of yards down the steep mountainside.
Nick glanced back at Isabella and her parents as they jostled in the back. Her sad and solemn face never changed.
And why would it? God, I feel terrible.
Nick thought back to the long night before. After they got Maria sutured up and settled with Danilo Jr. in a room at the Center, everyone had gone to bed, except Nick and Maggie who sat and talked well into the night.
After talking it through, they had decided that it would be best to get Isabella and her parents’ home over the weekend to the rest of the family until Nick could decide what to do. He still had no idea.
Having Maria and her baby in the complex had been unsettling to everyone, including Maggie who had been the one to insist. Nick was amazed at Maggie’s courage when, after they got mother and child to bed, she told her team, “God has given us an opportunity to show love and mercy to someone that we might prefer not to. But isn’t this the very core of our faith?” She looked at her staff and the missionaries from California.
Nick saw fear and anxiety on their faces.
“You guys remember the story of Jesus teaching his disciples? I think it’s the one right after the Beatitudes, ‘Blessed are you that…’” She checked for their acknowledgment, and they nodded.
“Jesus said that we have to treat others the same way we want them to treat us. That if we love only those that love us, what credit is that to us? For even sinners love those who love them. He also said, ‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged; and do not condemn and you will not be condemned; pardon, and you will be pardoned.’ ”
Maggie wasn’t finished. “Look, you guys, moments like this define us. Do we really believe that Jesus died for everyone? Do we really believe that we are meant to forgive the unforgivable? Can we really love the unlovable?”
The young man who had carried Maria and her baby to the clinic raised his hand. Maggie smiled at him, waiting for him to speak.
His large, muscular shoulders trembled, and tears filled his eyes. He struggled to begin. “I…we…we have to watch over her. As I was carrying her, I felt the Lord speak to me. In my heart, I felt Him tell me that I was supposed to protect her…and the child.” He wiped his eyes and nose on his shirt. “I don’t know, ya’ll. Maybe this sounds weird. But as I was carrying them, I felt like Jesus was carrying me. Of all the stupid stuff I’ve done in my life…” He paused to sob. His friend put an arm around his shoulders.
“Like Jesus was telling me that I was forgiven for all the stupid stuff I’ve done,” the young man wiped his eyes and continued. “I’ve never felt like that before. I really don’t know how to describe it. I just feel free.”
Spontaneously, everyone cheered, and their fear and anxiety left the room.
“That mother risked everything for her baby. That kind of love triumphs over everything. That is the love our Heavenly Father has for us,” Maggie declared.
Somewhat to his surprise, Nick found himself agreeing.
* * *
As they pulled into the small village near the Guatemala-Mexico border, Nick’s stomach was unsettled from the bumpy ride. Anna had been right in describing their destination as National Geographic territory. The pavement had ended hours ago.
The high mountain village consisted of twenty or so shack-like houses scattered on ten acres surrounded by dense jungle. Maggie parked at what appeared to be the central area. A few children and mongrel dogs greeted them. In the center of a worn, dirt-packed area was an old-fashioned, hand-dug well.
Nick helped Isabella and her parents out of the Land Rover. Isabella’s father, not much bigger than Isabella, picked her up and carried her over his shoulder. He turned to Nick and thrust out his hand. “Thank you, Dr. Hart, for all that you are doing for my daughter,” Maggie translated for Nick who, given his guilt for not doing anything, didn’t know what to say.
Maggie smiled and answered for him. “We know God will make a way.”
“Amen,” Isabella’s mother replied.
Nick watched Isabella’s father carry his daughter up a path to their house.
“They want us to come to their home,” Maggie told Nick.
An old man with a large, toothless smile greeted them. By now, a small crowd had gathered, including some goats and chickens. Maggie shook the man’s hand and then translated for Nick.
“This is the village elder. He wants to welcome you. He says that it is a great honor to them for us to visit.”
The elder spoke, and Maggie translated. “He wants to thank you for all you are doing for his people.”
Nick started to say that he had done nothing, but Maggie interrupted. “He wants you to pray for them. There has been much sickness in the village, and some of the children have died. And, of course, you have seen Isabella.”
The elder spoke again, and Maggie translated. “He says he knows you have been sent by God and asks you to please pray.”
Maggie saw Nick’s anxiety and reassured him. “I think he sees you for who you really are, my friend, not how you feel.” She clapped her hands and winked at Nick. “You start, and I’ll help.”
“Maggie, I don’t think…” Nick began. Then he saw the men take off their cowboy hats and the women bow their heads. Many of them made the sign of the cross.
“Oh Geez.”
“That’s a good start,” Maggie grinned. “Jesús,” she translated for the villagers.
“Jesús,” they repeated.
There was an uncomfortable silence as Nick searched for words. Then, almost involuntarily, the prayer emerged. “Help me God. Help us God. Help us to understand this sickness and what we can do about it. Break the sickness. Bring health to this village and to these people. Bless these people, God.”
Maggie added, “In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
“Amen,” the villagers echoed and rushed to shake Nick’s hand, hug Maggie, and thank them both.
Thank you, Nick mouthed to Maggie.
She squeezed his arm. “You did great.”
The elder told them about their village and how they survived by farming and raising animals. Many of their family members had died during the war.
Maggie translated and added some history so Nick would understand. “The internal conflict lasted about thirty years, 1966-1996, and over 200,000 people died. I have heard that most of the people who died were Maya—most of them very poor. It was a terrible, terrible time in Guatemalan history.”
Nick listened to stories of the brutality, with much of the tragedy affecting women and children.
While they conversed, Nick watched a teenage girl lead a burro to the well. She reached the frame over the well that supported an old wooden pulley and grabbed the end of a rope. She tied the end of the rope to the burro and led the animal away from the well. After they had walked a hundred feet or so, Nick saw a bucket come out of the well. It was full of water.
Not sure I’ve ever seen a real water well.
The burro faithfully stayed in place as the girl came back to the well and unhooked the bucket. She poured the water into two large plastic containers. Then she attached the bucket back to the rope and returned to the burro to untie the rope.
Nick watched as the rope snaked along the ground, retracting into the well as the bucket plunged into the water. Something occurred to him. “Uh, Maggie—I think I just figured out why everyone is sick,” he said, interrupting the war stories.
Maggie turned in time to see the pulley finish swinging back and forth.
“That rope from the well got pulled through the dirt—and all the goat and chicken poop—and fell back down into the well. That can’t be good.”
* * *
Isabella’s mother set bread on the table, and her father poured warm Coca Cola into a glass in front of Nick, Maggie, and the village elder.
I’m glad we are not drinking the water.
Nick had no idea that people still lived like this, or at least he never wanted to think they did. The single room was dark, except for what light came through the door. When his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he realized that the floor was dirt, and the walls were made of clay bricks.
A row of hammocks hung on one side of the room. On
the other side was what Nick assumed was the kitchen. He saw an open fire under a chimney. He wondered how they kept their clothes so clean living in these conditions.
He realized that Isabella was watching him look around the room, and he smiled at her. Instantly, she avoided eye contact and looked at the floor.
He was shaken as he realized how awful it must be for her to have to get around on her deformed feet, not only on the dirt floor in the house, but in the surrounding jungle.
Maggie smiled at Isabella. “What do you dream about, mija?”
To Nick’s great surprise, Isabella spoke. She answered Maggie’s question as though she had been waiting all her life for the opportunity. “I want to wear shoes.” She paused. “And I would like to go to school with the other kids in my village.”
When Maggie told him what she’d said, he felt a knife stab his heart. There has got to be something we can do.
Isabella sat next to her twin sister, who hugged her sibling. Their older brother popped in and out; like most boys, he was not much for socializing. A baby cried, and Isabella’s mother went to the crib in the corner and brought the little one to the visitors.
Nick couldn’t believe what he saw. “Are you kidding me?” He looked at Maggie. “Did you know her sister has clubfeet, too?”
“I had no idea.” Maggie held the child and cooed to her. She glanced at Nick, “Welcome to clubfoot haven.”
“More like clubfoot hell.”
* * *
As evening fell, Nick was relieved to be safely out of the mountains and closer to Quetzaltenango. It didn’t help matters that they’d heard a car had been pulled over by bandits near Isabella’s village. The passengers had been robbed, and fortunately, no one was killed.
“I feel like the Grinch. You know, How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” Nick informed Maggie. “I’ve puzzled and puzzled till my puzzler is sore. I just can’t figure out what to do.”
Maggie laughed. “You know, Nick, I’m actually starting to feel bad. I had no idea how many kids around here had clubfeet. It’s like they’ve come out of the shadows.”
MAYA HOPE, a medical thriller - The Dr. Nicklaus Hart series 1 Page 15