by DiAnn Mills
“Shine your torches over here,” he said.
But the lion was closer than any spear or fire torch, and Ben couldn’t see it, only smell and feel the animal’s presence. The lion roared, settling in for the kill. The village men shouted as they rushed toward Ben. Time, Ben’s ageless enemy, offered no mercy. A faint light outlined the lion’s body. Ben fired. Then again.
Moments later, the men raised their torches and spears over the lion’s lifeless body. Ben recognized the warrior etchings cemented in their faces. He knew the thrill of the kill and the awe of victory. They’d talk about this for days to come. He’d rather forget it. Give him a two-legged enemy any day.
Ben searched in every direction for Daruka. He found her standing apart from the men. Her sobbing rose over the night air.
He made his way to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist as he’d seen Paul do for Larson. Daruka needed comfort from the man who had promised to love and care for her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Ben. I’m so sorry. You could have been killed, and it would have been my fault. I was so scared.”
The truth of who was at fault slammed against his conscience. “Promise me you will think hard before leaving the village at night.”
She nodded. “I was so foolish. I acted like a child. When I’m upset, I have to face whatever disturbs me. Tonight I nearly got both of us eaten by a lion.”
Ah, to be devoured by a lion sounds better than to be devoured by cancer. “But we’re fine now, and the animal is dead. I hurt you with my harsh words and stubbornness.” He couldn’t think of another word to say, and he refused to tell her the truth. “Let’s go home, Daruka.”
She leaned her head against his chest. “I love you. I’m sorry I pressed you about the pills.”
He squeezed her trembling body to his. “I love you too.” And for the first time he thought maybe he did.
* * *
Paul gazed down at the dirt landing strip beside Warkou. Home. He’d looked at beautiful houses in Nairobi yesterday afternoon and today. He could well afford any of them for his family, but he couldn’t bring himself to indulge in such opulence. Spending a fortune on a home and furnishings and hiring servants to care for it made no sense to him while his people suffered from disease and starvation. When he and Larson had married, they’d agreed to live simply so they could give more to others. If the two of them chose to live in Nairobi, they’d find something that fulfilled their needs without the high-dollar price—and the guilt.
Once Paul was certain of flying into the wind, he flew over the village—a habit he’d acquired when they’d married to let Larson know he was home. Another circle of Warkou, and he pulled the landing checklist from the upper left-hand corner of the cockpit. He might live in a developing country and fly in and out of a cleared splice of dirt, but that didn’t mean he ignored any safety guidelines.
When the wheels touched down, mud flew everywhere. If not for the daily rains to shower off the mud, he’d consider building an airplane car wash. He chuckled. In one breath he’d frowned on extravagant homes, and in the next breath he wanted an airplane car wash.
Familiar children ran to greet him, knowing he’d have food for them. The fresh smell of pineapples had teased his taste buds all the way here, but they were for the children—along with a case of granola bars. Larson would have her normal chocolate, rich coffee, and a special treat he’d stored in an ice chest.
Paul climbed down from the cockpit and sliced through a pineapple to hand each child a piece. He’d wait for another day to pass out the granola bars.
“Thank you,” echoed around him.
“Don’t thank me. Thank Jesus.” Paul swung a tiny girl up into his arms.
“Amen,” a boy said.
Paul laughed. His heart warmed with the love of home. How could he and Larson leave? But they must.
“And what did you bring us?” Larson strolled his way, carrying Thomas.
Paul set the child on her feet and enveloped his wife and son in a hug. “Would you be so glad to see me if I didn’t bring you anything?”
An irresistible smile met him that said more than welcome—a smile that bannered her love and everything they’d gone through together. They shared a timeless bond surpassing what many couples even knew existed, and it meant more than the times they had barely escaped death or had traveled to remote villages to help the needy. If he died today, he would rest in the joy of this gift that God had given him.
“Well, Dr. Farid, what if I did fail to bring you something?”
Her shoulders rose and fell as if she was preparing to pout. “I’d be disappointed, but I’d get over it. What did you bring for Thomas?”
He grinned. “Clothes, diapers, baby formula, bottles, a crib for us to put together. The directions are supposed to be easy.”
“Us?” She giggled. “I work with surgical tools, not fix-it tools. My granddaddy used to say that I was two screwdrivers short of a toolbox.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
She laughed. “No matter. It’s an American thing. I’ll explain it later.”
“Actually, I bought two cribs.”
“Did you buy out the stores in Nairobi?”
He squinted. “How did you know? The plane is packed. I went a little crazy on the clothes, bibs, a funny thing that looks like a nipple.”
“A pacifier.”
“Yes, that’s it. You’ll just have to see for yourself. And I got a car seat for the Hummer.”
She planted a kiss on his lips. “Thank you.” She stepped around the plane and looked inside. “So much for the simple life, Mr. Farid. We could open a baby store.”
“I didn’t buy everything. And I brought my wife something special.”
“Oh?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously.
“Besides the coffee—and I did enjoy a wonderful latte at Wilson Airport in your honor—I found dark chocolate, white chocolate, and milk chocolate. All to appease your every whim.”
She laughed again. “You know how to pamper me—and make me fat.”
“There’s more. I bought ice cream, your favorite kind with pieces of chocolate-chip cookie dough and peanuts. Had to special order it.”
She wiggled her shoulders like one of the kids gawking at them. “Yum, I think I’m in heaven.” She patted her tummy. “Did you hear that, sweetheart? We’re in for a real treat.”
He reached for Thomas. “I missed you. I always miss you when we’re not together.” Searching her face, he realized a truth. “Wherever we live, it has to be together.”
Tears welled in her eyes, a common occurrence lately. “I agree, but where?”
“I looked around Nairobi. We could live there if you liked the city.”
She nodded. “But it would be so hard to leave Warkou. And I’d still worry you’d be planning a meeting with Nizam. Promise me, Paul. Please, there’s no reason for you to ever see him or another member of your family.”
“But what if the Holy Spirit is prompting him, like He did me?”
“Have you so quickly forgotten the past few weeks?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. But I’ve nearly given up on God giving me direction.”
“We can talk later, I suppose. Denying it all does not settle a thing.”
“I feel the same, but we no longer have just the two of us to think about. God has other plans.”
“Indeed He does.” She patted her stomach again. “He is growing.”
“She is growing. I’m sure of it.” He was about to say more, but his phone rang.
“Hello, Brother. Is this a good time to talk to you?”
Paul raised a brow at Larson. It was as though his brother had just overheard their conversation. “Nizam.” Larson took Thomas from his arms, and he walked away.
“I hear children.”
“Yes, I’m walking away for privacy. How are you?”
“I’ve talked to your friend Tom Messinger in California. You gave him my number?”
“I did. All of the numbers you and Muti have used to call me. I asked him to contact you when you’d be sleeping.”
“I see. He asked if I had questions about your Jesus.”
Paul tried to detect anger or frustration in Nizam’s voice, but his brother spoke as though others were listening. Suspicion coiled in Paul’s heart. “And did you?”
“Yes, but I also told him I’d rather talk to you. He said both you and he would have the same answers. Perhaps different words, but the same meaning.”
“He spoke correctly.”
“I have an Arabic Bible.”
If Nizam spoke the truth, he could be killed for having it in his possession. “Are you reading it?”
“Yes, Brother. Today, while turning pages, I found a man in the New Testament section by the name of Paul. I read a great deal about this Paul. I see now why you took this man’s name.”
Dear God, please touch my brother’s heart and claim him as Your own. “I pray God speaks to you through your reading.”
“Perhaps I am acquiring an understanding. But these teachings of your God are blasphemy to Allah. I fear I am already destined for hell.”
“Then why do you continue to read?”
“I ask myself the same question when I pray to Allah. At times I think my only hope of paradise is to give myself to the cause of Islam.”
“I’m sure al-Qaeda would assign you a mission.”
Nizam chuckled, a nervous shake that hinted at something else, but Paul was afraid to speculate what.
“My fear is I’m not ready to die,” Nizam said.
“And you’re not ready to leave this life until you have the assurance of the real God and acceptance of what His Son did for our sins when He died on the cross.”
“Allah has no son. Blasphemy, my brother.”
“You will have to determine those things for yourself.” Paul swallowed hard. Oh, that Nizam was earnestly seeking answers instead of setting Paul up for death. “As for me, I serve the Lord God who gave His Son Jesus Christ for my sins.”
“I hear your conviction, but what if you are wrong?”
“I’m not, which is the source of my real joy. Will you continue to read the Bible?”
“Possibly. I want to see you, Abdullah.”
“Paul. Abdullah died when I became a Christian.”
Again Nizam chuckled. “I want to speak with you about these things. As I said before, I will meet you anywhere. Will you still see me in California?”
Paul struggled with a response. He glanced at Larson with the children. Dare he risk leaving her a widow for the opportunity to lead Nizam to God? Whom did Paul serve? By refusing his brother, he cast aside his trust in God’s protection. Though sometimes he wondered if the Nile would run red with the blood of the innocent before the Creator of the universe stopped the senseless killing.
“Nizam, call me in a few days. I must discuss this with my wife. There is much at stake here, when I consider you may be setting a trap for me.”
“This is no trap. I do not comprehend why I am taking this path that may get me killed. But I must find the answers. I will call you in a few days.”
Paul disconnected the call. He held the phone in his hand and stared at it as though God might speak to him. Nizam. Do you really want to know God? Or do you seek to kill me like the others?
CHAPTER 21
Five days had passed since Nizam had called Paul, and every time her husband’s phone rang, Larson feared it was her brother-in-law. She wanted to believe Nizam was seeking real answers about Christianity. But she didn’t trust any member of a family who had made it known publicly that they were out to kill Paul. She’d learned of the reward money and what her husband could expect in the torture chambers. Paul had committed an unforgivable offense by turning his back on Islam, and now he was an infidel who deserved death.
Larson had gathered enough information about his family’s religion to understand that the extreme groups condoned lying for the cause of Allah. To her, Nizam represented a form of terrorism worse than the most deceitful of men. But God called His own to love—to give of themselves as He had freely given Himself without regret.
Her spirit burned with the quandary—not simply an unresolved situation but a heartrending dilemma. She couldn’t hold Paul back from obedience to God, even if it cost him his life. But her husband’s potential sacrifice was what frightened her the most.
“Spend more time in prayer and in God’s Word,” she’d said to him before Sarah arrived at the clinic this morning. “He wants you to have the right answers.”
“Silence is all I hear.” The calls of birds outside the clinic punctuated his words.
“Do we already know the answer? Are we ignoring it?” Her own question hit her hard, for she feared what must be done.
“This is by far the most difficult choice of my life.” He stood from his chair at the computer. “I’ve asked for prayers from all over the world.”
Larson studied her husband, memorizing every line and curve of his face. “What would Jesus do in this situation? What would the apostle Paul do?”
“He’d pray for guidance.”
“Which we have done together. I wonder if, in the silence, God has instructed His angels to clear a protected path to Nizam.”
Paul nodded. “I’m not afraid to die, but I am concerned about you and our family.”
“We have to trust, Paul. If God is leading you to witness to your brother, then you have no choice. But my love for you says differently. I want you beside me for many years, not written about in some book of martyrs, like Jim Elliot and Nate Saint.”
His curious glance caused her to smile. “They gave their lives for Christ in South America back in the fifties. Later, the ones who killed them became Christians.”
“There was a purpose.”
She blinked, her throat burning. “Then you have your answer.”
He pulled her to him. His eyes told of his love for her. But even more so, his eyes told of his love for God. “I love you, Larson. I’ll be careful.”
* * *
Ben glanced at David, seated beside him at the military outpost. The youth listened to the talk of soldiers. Some boasted of past firefights and others talked of the future. David asked few questions and studied each man. He had the marks of leadership and a good mind. Tonight Ben would discuss the activities of the day with him and give him an opportunity to voice his thoughts.
He’d hesitated to bring David after the incident with Daruka and the lion. She’d be lost without their son and concerned about safety for both of them. The natures of men and women washed over him. Often men were the ones who stepped out in courage to protect their homes and provide for those they loved, while women waited at home—and worried. A man’s role was easier.
Ben’s life had always been filled with confidence and certainty, until cancer attacked. Telling Daruka about his health had crossed his mind. At least she’d understand the necessity of the pills and why pain racked his back. Yet filling her life with misery in the knowledge of his impending death sentence seemed grossly unfair. She’d no doubt realize he’d married her for their son, and Ben refused to hurt her any more than he already had.
“Father, thank you for bringing me with you.”
He’d never tire of hearing his son address him. “I wanted you to see what my life is about while it is relatively safe.”
“I hope the new government doesn’t interfere with the rebuilding of the South.”
Ben nodded. “Before Vice President Garang was killed, I’d been invited to work with a team of men who seek to do that very thing.”
“Who took the vice president’s place?”
“A man called Salva Kiir Mayardit, a military man. We shall wait and see about him. He does support a separate South, and I like that.”
“I think you should be the man to lead the rebuilding. You’re a colonel and have been educated in the States.”
Ben laughed at h
is son’s declaration. “I think my reputation as a man with a temper might shadow my qualifications.”
David shrugged. “Then the government shouldn’t make you angry.”
Ben clasped him on the shoulder. “Ah, I think you will be a much better leader.” He stood and cringed with the pain.
“Father, where do you hurt?”
“Oh, I’m simply getting old. My bones have seen a lot of fighting.”
“I’ll pray for you.”
My wife has raised a Christian son. Ben hoped the boy’s faith didn’t end up being a sign of weakness. “I have something to do, and I don’t think it’s the place for you.” He smiled. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Ben strode toward the tent where Muti was being kept until Ben or Okuk grew mad enough to kill him. The Arab refused to reveal any information and had resigned himself to death. Torture had little effect on him. The idea of bargaining power had settled in Ben’s mind, and today he wanted to work on Muti from a different angle.
Rain began to fall in heavy drops, eating away at the mud on Ben’s boots. He shoved aside the image of his shortened life washing away all of his pride and self-respect.
Standing in front of the guard, Ben watched water drip off the bill of the soldier’s cap. The guard saluted and didn’t flinch.
“Is the prisoner alive?” Ben asked.
“Yes, sir. He’s talking.”
“Has he been given anything to eat today?”
“No, sir. Only a cup of water.”
“We’ll see if he lasts the day. Has Commander Okuk been to see him?”
“Yes, sir. Twice.”
Ben stepped inside the small tent. Muti was gone.
* * *
Paul adjusted the strap of his backpack and hastened his pace alongside Bishop Malou. They made their way to the bishop’s truck, a war-shot, rusted vehicle that had to have rolled through the factory line during the Vietnam War.
Bishop Malou possessed a powerful countenance. Larson often said she could feel God’s presence in the bishop. “Like a Sudanese Billy Graham. His eyes seem to see the things about me known only to God.”
Paul recognized the same trait. The difference was, he hadn’t put words to the effect of the soft-spoken man’s demeanor. Respect for the bishop spread across southern Sudan, but the man’s home was here in Bahr al-Ghazal province, and here lay his heart.