The Missionary

by Margaret Ferguson

  “Still working on that one. Let’s just pray that we won’t have to do any explaining.”

  At that moment, Abraham walked in, and without even looking in my direction, handed her a pile of clothes before turning and leaving. She, in turn, gave them to me along with a thin towel. I set them beside me on my toshak.

  “When you are finished yell for Abraham. He’ll be just outside the door. Give him your dirty clothes, and he’ll see that they get washed. Then I’ll come back in and dress your leg again. After that, we’ll do a few exercises.”

  “Oh, goodie.”

  “Bathe,” she ordered me. “Your water’s getting cold, and we don’t have wood to spare to heat it up again.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Mary Beth narrowed her eyes. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said as she wrapped her face in her scarves and moved toward the door.

  “Mary Beth?”

  She turned hand on the doorknob.

  “I guess asking you to scrub my back is out of the question.”

  Her eyes smiled as she turned away and once again disappeared.

  There’s nothing like sponge bathing your body from a sitting position when you can’t bend one leg or move one arm. But I know soldiers who had been through worse, so I sucked it up and did it. At least she had given me an old plastic tarp to sit on.

  After I dunked my cloth for the second time, the water was gray. But I didn’t care. Though it was now lukewarm, it felt good. I washed as quickly as possible, until my skin was chilled and goose pimply, and I no longer smelled offensive—at least, to myself.

  Once finished, I slid the fresh tunic onto my clean body and called for Abraham. He was beside me in a matter of moments, a grand smile on his face. He nodded and gave me a thumbs-up—something I’m sure one of the Westerners had taught him. He immediately helped me stand to remove the plastic, then emptied my water before returning for my dirty clothes.

  Minutes later Mary Beth reappeared. “Feeling better?” My smile must have been enough for her, for she quickly replied, “good.”

  “I know it’s a stretch, but can I get a little more water to shave with?”

  Abraham walked in, and after she instructed him to warm one pot of water, he retreated to comply.

  “How does the leg feel?”

  “Stronger.”

  “Good!” she exclaimed. “Let’s take a look.”

  Mary Beth rolled up the long garment and began touching my wound, pressing around it. Then she reached into her sack and took out some of the antibacterial cleansers from the medical bag I’d given her. Gently, Mary Beth swabbed the wound and then dried it with a thin gauze square. She pressed the meshed, woven fabric onto it with her fingers, assuring that nothing was oozing from the scabbed tissue. It was sensitive, but not as painful as it had been. I watched her eyes as she worked, concentrating on what she was doing. She must have felt me watching her, as she glanced up suddenly.

  “Stop.”

  “What?” I asked, innocently, with a tilt of my head.

  She went back to her task. “You know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m watching you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m just fascinated by your skill and your expertise.”

  “Whatever,” she said batting her eyes.

  “Did you just say ‘whatever’?”

  Mary Beth glanced at me exasperatingly again, trying to look serious. Only, she couldn’t resist my smile, and a small grin crept up on the side of her lips.

  I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “I’m sorry. I just like watching you.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t like being watched.”

  “But you’re just so...”

  “Abrasive? Interesting? Annoying? What?” she asked in frustration, sitting back on her calves.

  “Beautiful.” I think I caught her off-guard. And I kind of liked that.

  “I’m not beautiful,” she replied under her breath.

  The door opened, and we both turned instantly. When I looked back to Mary Beth, she was blushing and glancing down again. Abraham immediately carried the water to my side. She gave him instructions regarding some equipment in the clinic, and once again he raced away.

  When she held out the razor, I pushed it back toward her. Her eyes met mine, and without arguing, she stood up and retrieved another small towel, then returned, kneeling before me again. There were no words, just an understanding, and she met it. Tentatively, she tilted up my neck, soaped up where my hair was traveling toward my chest and then gently began to scrape the blade across my skin.

  Now I can tell you: I’ve never had a woman shave me before. When home, I use the same barber I’ve used all my life, the same barber my grandfather used. And Amanda didn’t like me scruffy, so I lathered up every day. That being said, when I felt Mary Beth’s fingers carefully brushing against me as she shaved my neck, I felt a stirring. It was almost—erotic. And considering she wasn’t done tending to my leg, I needed to erase that thought from my mind immediately, to save her and myself any embarrassment. The only appropriate thing I could think to do was start talking.

  “So, how long does it usually take for the clothes to come back?”

  “A week.”

  “A week?”

  “Well, first they have to wash them, which could take a few hours considering how disgusting they were. Then they have to dry them on a line.”

  “And that takes a week?”

  “You have to take into consideration the defrosting time.”

  I lowered my head in disbelief as I chuckled.

  Without saying a word, she tilted my head back up.

  “So, the plan is to bathe once a week?”

  “If you’re lucky.”

  “Sweeeet,” I replied. “Just like home.”

  Now, it was Mary Beth who chuckled.

  “Just kidding.”

  “When I first arrived, I brought enough clothes for two weeks. I mean, I didn’t expect to change clothes every day, but we were moving here, so I figured that would be enough to last a month.” Her hands moved my head sideways as she spoke. “Then, after I’d worn almost all of them, I went to Zahra and asked her how I was to wash my clothes. And when she told me how it was done, I got all stressed out and upset. She couldn’t understand how I could be so distressed about it until she saw this massive pile of clothes I’d worn. And she said, ‘Oh, my dear! No wonder you’re so upset. You have too many clothes. All you need is two sets. One to wear one week, and then the other to wear while your first set is drying.’”

  My eyes glanced her direction catching her raised eyebrows as she nodded. She dabbed the last of the soap from my face with the warm rag.

  “Why does Abraham stay with me?”

  “You don’t want him to stay?”

  “I do. But why does he stay? Did the tribal council request it or did you ask him to?”

  Mary Beth stood and carried the basin to her small table, then turned. “No one asked him to stay with you. He wanted to.”

  “Why?”

  Her eyes turned down as she wiped her hands and then began toying with the washrag. When she looked back up, she smiled sadly. “Abraham likes you.”

  “There’s more,” I said, furrowing my brow. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  With a sigh, she walked to me and then stood before me. “I think he does it to protect you.” She dropped to her knees, her head lowered. “I think he feels guilty.”

  I hesitated. “Because of Henry?”

  Mary Beth nodded. “Henry was a father figure to him. He took Abraham under his wing and taught him things.”

  “Like chess.”

  She smiled. “Yeah. Like chess. But it was more than that. Henry let him help in the clinic. He taught him skills. Ones that he could use later in life.” Her eyes went back to her hands in her lap. “And then, after…”

  I couldn’t see her eyes, but I read the hurt in her body language. Heard it in her voice.

  “A
braham was never the same. He became very depressed. He hardly helped us in the clinic anymore. For a time, he avoided me as much as possible.”

  “He doesn’t seem like that at all. What happened?”

  Mary Beth looked up at me. “You did.”

  I looked at her perplexed.

  “He had always felt like God had taken Henry away. Then suddenly, you fell from heaven, and God gave him a second chance.”

  I pursed my lips, nodding in understanding.

  “Ever since you dropped from the sky, he’s back to the enthusiastic, eager young man that we had grown to love.” She shook her head. “I hate to think what will happen to him when you leave.”

  “We already talked about that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He asked if I’d come back and visit.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him, maybe.”

  She smiled slightly and moved beside me. She found the tennis ball beside my toshak and picked it up. “Let’s take a look at your shoulder,” she said, her hands gently reaching inside my shirt. She then placed the tennis ball between my shoulder and the wall and slowly slid my body from side to side. “Use this whenever it hurts for a self-massage. Roll it like this,” she said, slowly turning my arm, pressing me closer to the wall so that I would get the full impact of the deep tissue massage. “How does that feel?”

  “Your hands are cold.”

  She took them from under my shirt and then warmed them. “You always this demanding?”

  “I’ve been told I’m high maintenance,” I replied slyly. “Once or twice in my lifetime.”

  “I’ll bet.” She said, with a hint of playful sarcasm tossed in. She continued to work. “Give a man a private room, and next thing you know, he wants clean clothes that fit and his own bathroom.”

  “And a daily sponge bath by my nurse.”

  Mary Beth’s hands immediately stopped moving along my shoulder. She stood and picked up her bag.

  I could tell by the expression on her face that I had crossed the line. “I want you to use your band for a half-hour, three times today on your arm and your leg. If the pain is too much to bear, then back off of it. Use the ball to massage your shoulder as often as you can stand it.” When I finally looked up at her, she added. “Understand?”

  I could only nod.

  She slipped back into her garment as she moved toward the door.

  “Mary Beth?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she turned.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” I sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  This time, there was no smile in her eyes. No understanding or forgiveness. Only distance. Then, she turned and was gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  So, I rigorously followed Mary Beth’s instructions and then doubled it. I’d do several one-hour workouts. I added sit-ups until my stomach burned, and I had worked myself into a painful sweat. Be careful when you tell a soldier to work until the pain is too much to bear—he, or she, may never admit to it. The upside? I was already feeling stronger. The downside? It would be another seven days before I could bathe or change again. With any luck, I’d be out of here by then.

  So far, I wasn’t feeling very lucky.

  Abraham arrived with our dinner just after my last workout. He seemed nervous. Whether he read the pain and frustration in my face, or he had been around Mary Beth and sensed that something was awry, he was suddenly very attentive. More than usual. From making sure I had plenty to eat, to bringing me water several times during my meal. When he finally sat beside me, I watched him as we ate together in silence. I thought about what Mary Beth had said. He was here because he wanted to be. That made one of us.

  After dinner, I invited him to stay up for a game of chess. He eagerly accepted.

  “Mary Beth told me you play well,” I began, as he eyed the board.

  Abraham smiled. “I beat Mister Henry.”

  “The student beats the teacher,” I smirked, as I observed him contemplate his next move. “She also told me that you are working at the clinic.”

  He didn’t speak until he finished his move almost a minute later. Then he looked up at me proudly. “Yes, Mister Henry was a good teacher. He helped me learn how to take temperatures and check blood pressure. I even helped give shots.”

  “Wow. That’s impressive. Don’t you have to have some special training or go to school for that?”

  “Yes, but Mister Henry told me he was going to help me get into a school that teaches medicine. So that I can do what he did,” he replied sadly.

  I didn’t know how that was possible. The odds against a goat herder from one of the most impoverished towns in one of the poorest nations in the world being accepted had to be astronomical. Even on a Westerner’s recommendation. I merely nodded. “So, you help Mary Beth, too?”

  “Yes. Miss Mary Beth, she’s kind and patient. She teaches me to read and write so that I can be a good student.” He considered his next move before capturing my pawn in a way I’d never seen. Noting the perplexed look on my face, he stated matter-of-factly, “En Passant.”

  “In what?”

  “En Passant. Mister Henry said it’s French.”

  And then he proceeded to explain to me, quite eloquently when the move could be played. Even if I hadn’t believed him, I would have given it to him, just for coming up with something so complicated.

  “Good move,” I conceded. “So, you want to be a doctor?”

  “Yes. Very much. Then I can come back here and help my people.”

  “That sounds like a noble cause. What does your mother think?”

  “I believe she’s afraid if I leave I will not be back, and then my family will starve.”

  As he took my rook, he smiled up at me.

  Damn it! I don’t know what’s worse, getting beat by someone younger than my kid brother or the fact that he was a fifteen-year-old, mostly illiterate Afghan goat herder. I forced a smile in return.

  “So, tell me something else that Miss Mary Beth teaches you.”

  He looked at me contemplating for a moment, before studying the board again. “She teaches me about the Christ.”

  I glanced up suddenly.

  “She gave me a Bible.” He took one of my bishops.

  I gritted my teeth. This was an interesting development. I wasn’t sure how to respond to it, so I didn’t.

  “Check!” he said flatly.

  Though I could see the excitement in his eyes, he remained stoic. Henry had taught him well. “Hmm,” I murmured, surveying the board. I was cornered. I had to try and think several moves ahead—something I obviously hadn’t been doing—having underestimated my opponent’s abilities. When I glanced at him, he was surveying the board as well. “I think you would make a good doctor,” I finally said, as I moved my queen.

  He slid his bishop several spaces, then his eyes turned to mine. “My mother thinks so, also. And Mister Teddy, Miss Denice and Miss Mary Beth.”

  I captured his rook, proudly, then his eyes moved back to the board. When he looked up at me again, he added, with the conviction he needed to motivate him to succeed. “I will be a good doctor.” I studied the board and then cringed as I realized he’d baited me. He sat up straight. “Checkmate.”

  I glanced down, then back up at him. This time, he was smiling.

  Damn it!

  Chapter Nineteen

  The space was small. Non-descript. Dark. Tortuous cries had echoed from the room beyond for the past three days. It had been harrowing. Painful to listen to. He didn’t dare call out, since their captors were often unforgiving. At least he wasn’t alone, anymore. He was the first. Then they brought in a Brit. Then the American and an Afghan. But it was different with him. He was treated well, considering—. He received food twice a day, now. Meager as it was, he was fed. And since it was winter, he had an unlimited supply of water, from melted snow. Oh, and a bucket in which to do his business.

  They had beaten him so man
y times, he was sure he had a concussion, not to mention a painful perforated eardrum. He could no longer hear anything out of his left ear, which still threw off his equilibrium whenever he stood. He closed his eyes tightly, massaging his brow, trying to remember what day it was. Trying to remember how long he’d been here. But where was here? He’d been moved at least twice since being taken. Both times at night. Both times blindfolded.

  He thought of his mother, how she’d cried when he told her where he was going. How he’d promised her that she had nothing to worry about. He closed his eyes. Nothing to worry about. The moaning stopped and then—he heard a voice.

  “Can you hear me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I know there’s someone there. Who are you?” the voice called out confidently.

  Didn’t dare answer.

  “Do you speak English?”

  He looked around, helplessly. If he could only give a warning to the voice, without drawing attention to himself. It’s too dangerous. Much too dangerous. “Shh!” he hissed loudly.

  “Please,” the voice pleaded in return.

  Moments later, a door slammed open. Angry shouts in Pashto were met with spewed obscenities uttered with a thick British accent. Followed by muffled wrestling and strangled wailing as the voice repeatedly howled “No!” at the perpetrators. And then, the screams fell eerily silent.

  His head dropped into his hands, and he rubbed his forehead in frustration, closing his eyes. He tensed when he heard the door to his own cell open, though he didn’t dare look up. “Please,” he whispered into the darkness. He heard and then felt them walk up behind him. “Please, God,” he breathed out, as they stopped next to him. He drew in a deep breath before calmly looking up. A hand firmly grasped his shoulder, turning him. The cloaked soldier nodded slowly, jerked him up by the arm, and with the aid of another, dragged him from his room.

  En Passant

  Chapter Twenty

  I hadn’t slept much since arriving on this Godforsaken mountain. And, as an American soldier deep in Taliban country, I’d been practicing the metaphorical sleeping with one eye open since arriving. I have too many things on my mind, most of them sleeping within miles of me. Some of them sleeping much closer.