The Missionary

by Margaret Ferguson

“Don’t I get a reprieve?” I stepped tentatively, attempting not to favor my right leg.

  Watching me walk toward her, she smiled and nodded. “You’re doing much better. Here. Let’s take a look,” she said, clearing the boxes from the table and moving them to makeshift wooden counters lining one wall. “Drop them, and hop up here,” she said, patting the wood covered with only a thin white sheet.

  I felt my face get hot. Somehow, every time Mary Beth checked my leg, I felt more anxious. I looked around to assure no one had come into the waiting area. As though she knew what I was thinking, she walked past me and slid the curtain across the metal pole wired to the wall above the opening until the other room was no longer visible. Then she turned to me, eyebrows raised, and crossed her arms. When I hesitated, she said, “That’s an order, Soldier.”

  I exhaled, and then dropped the pants of the nice Paran Tamban set the mullah had given me on his last visit. Considering that I had been going commando since I'd arrived in this little borough, I held my hands tentatively over my privates after sitting upon the table. As I lay back, I felt the cool of the thin sheet she tossed over me as it floated to envelop my body. Thank you! I stared up at the ceiling, all the time thinking of as many things as I could think of that had nothing to do with women. Drinking beers with the guys back home, shooting on the gun range with Kevan. The last mission I was on—the task ahead. Anything to keep my mind off her.

  Mary Beth’s touch was warm and gentle as she carefully massaged the area around my wound. “You’re coming along fine,” she said proudly. “How does it feel?”

  “Great!” I exaggerated. Then I thought about my mother and stepfather, standing on the porch of our home, waiting for me, hoping against all the odds that I was still alive. I’m alive, Mom. I continued to reflect on anything and everything else so that I didn’t focus on how good her touch felt. Mary Beth stretched my foot out and then slid it back toward my bottom. My range of motion had improved considerably. After several stretches, she slowly lowered my leg. My arm accidentally brushed against her chest as she leaned in to help me up. It didn't matter if there were a dozen layers of clothing between me and her bare breasts. Instantly, all the things I'd been thinking to distract me from her, were out the window, shot to hell as I felt a flutter of excitement. A tingling. And I knew immediately, that I was in trouble. I sat up quickly, holding the paper-thin linen over me. I jumped down, hurriedly put my pants on and stood before her again.

  She gave me a curious look, grinning. “Well, I must say that’s the fastest I’ve seen anyone get dressed.”

  I cut my eyes at her. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she had done that on purpose. “I thought maybe you could bring me dinner later.” I blurted out. “I mean; I believe we should discuss what I’m supposed to do when we are out there. Your routine—what’s expected of me, not just by you, but those we encounter, as you said before.”

  “You’re presuming that I’m going to sign off on you going.”

  “Oh, I’m going,” I insisted. “I’ll be a hundred percent before you know it! Of course, it’s all due to your amazing skills as a nurse.”

  “Suck-up!” Mary Beth turned back to her inventory sheet.

  “Is it working?” I asked coyly, as I stepped toward her and looked into the box.

  “Maybe,” she replied wryly, without looking up from her clipboard.

  “Maybe?” I leaned onto the table on which I had just sat.

  Mary Beth glared up at me and I, in return, grinned. Batting my eyes.

  “You think because you have a nice smile that you can manipulate me to get your way?”

  I slid my arms forward until I was mere inches from her face. “You think I have a nice smile?"

  With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she looked back at her clipboard, again. I could tell that it was now I who was distracting her. And I liked that. For a moment, I wondered if I leaned in if she would let me kiss her. "It's not my best feature," I said, looking down at the table, toying with the linen that had just covered me moments before.

  I looked up suddenly when she slapped the pen against the clipboard. "Really?" She looked up at me. "Did you really just say that? Are you working me?" Now she was glaring at me. "I mean if you are; is that your best line?"

  "No," I said, slowly smiling as I stepped toward my nurse. "I've got more." I took the clipboard and pen from her hand and set them on the table, then put my hands on her hips.

  Instead of backing away she stood her ground, looking defiantly into my eyes. "Oh, I'll bet you do. I'll bet you have a whole arsenal."

  I moved my right hand to her cheek, caressing it with the back of my fingers. I could feel her fortitude failing as she leaned into my touch. I smiled, leaning toward her, feeling her hot breath on my cheek. Only, I stopped just short of her lips and whispered, “I'm Special Forces. We’re taught to use every tool at our disposal."

  She tilted her head backward. “So, how far would you go, Soldier, to get your way?”

  My hand toyed with her curly locks. When I looked into her eyes, she didn’t look away. "As far as you'd let me," I said, honestly. A moment later I pulled her to my chest and kissed her forehead; her breath teasing my neck. I hugged her tighter.

  "So, you'll come by later?"

  She hesitated before nodding against me.

  "In an hour?"

  “Mm-huh,” she hummed.

  “Good,” I said, stepping away from her. “You can tell me all about our mission.”

  Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at me—dare I say—longingly. And for what it’s worth, I loved teasing her, almost as much as she loved being teased. “Good, I’ll see you in a bit.” I kissed the end of her nose as I turned to leave. I looked back and grinned. “By the way, is there a good take-out place close-by?”

  Mary Beth tilted her head again. “I’ve got this,” she said flatly.

  “I can call out for pizza—.” I began.

  “I’ve got this,” she chuckled. “You just go cool down and then I’ll stop by.”

  As I stepped back and turned, I know that my smug smile wasn’t lost on her, as she just realized that she’d been worked. This nurse/patient thing was starting to have its perks. I brushed back the curtain before stepping into the other room. I put on the rest of my jackets and wraps and walked out into the crisp, cold January day.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I was more anxious than I’d ever been before a date. But this wasn’t a date. Was it? I did allude to the details of our upcoming trip, right? Then why the sweaty palms? And the nervous stomach. No, I had looked for an excuse to go with her. An excuse to be with her. Surely, she saw through my seemingly ridiculous ploy. I spent the next hour straightening up her house around where I’d been lying, heated some water for tea and even washed my face and brushed my teeth. Then I sat on my toshak and waited. And waited. Once again, I twiddled my thumbs.

  Since I’d been more mobile as of late, Abraham had been around less and less. He checked on me often, and we’d sneak in a game of chess or checkers, and just talk. He told me that when the pass opened up, he planned on going to Kabul with the money his family had been saving to buy more sheep and goats, or maybe even a camel. They owned a small flock, breeding them and then selling the goats for meat ,and the wool to a linen purveyor.

  I had already decided that I wanted to help Abraham and his family, in appreciation for their kindness. I had plenty of money since I didn’t own a home, and paid cash for everything I bought—a lesson I learned from my stepfather that has served me well through my adult life. Though I wasn’t sure what I would do, or how the gift would look, I was determined to help their family as they had helped me.

  Antsy once more, I began to whittle, something else my grandfather had taught me, from almost the first moment I was old enough to hold a knife. He is the last full-blooded Chickasaw in my family, and an elder in our tribe. It was from him that I have learned some of our native language, the traditions, and his many talents
; one of them being how to carve. I smiled, remembering stories Grandfather told of his own childhood as he showed me how to chisel tiny figures from wood we had found or cut to heat our homes.

  I started to chip away at the piece of wood in my hand, shaping it with each notch I made; trimming and delicately sculpting the features I desired. If nothing else, it helped pass the time. When two hours had come and gone, and she hadn’t arrived, I contemplated going to look for her, but talked myself out of it. When three hours passed, I got concerned. When four hours passed, I merely felt foolish. I looked down at the wood shavings scattered around me. At least I had put my time to good use. I eyed the piece in my hand and smiled. Then I gathered each piece and carefully placed them under my toshak. I wanted to do something special for Abraham now, and it was the only thing I could think to do.

  By the time Abraham returned, it was dark. And I was hungry. I had some nuts and berries from my breakfast that I hadn’t finished, so they became my dinner. He didn’t say anything about Mary Beth, and I didn’t ask. For the umpteenth time in so many days, I went to bed frustrated, though for a different reason than all the other nights.

  When morning came, I was served hot naan and boiled eggs and tomatoes. Though the combination didn’t look very appetizing, I was starving and ate every bite. By noon, when Mary Beth didn’t come by to check my dressing, I crutched over to the clinic. The room was filled with women and children. The women immediately became silent. I smiled, meekly, at no one, since they had all averted their eyes the moment I stepped into the room.

  I sighed and kept moving deeper into the building; her voice drawing me nearer. Mary Beth was in the smallest exam room, with a patient. So, I leaned against the wall by the closed curtain, eavesdropping. Suddenly, my irritation from being stood up the night before, melted away as I listened to her very sweetly tell a young woman how beautiful and smart she was, even though her husband was beating her and calling her a lazy, fat animal. My eyes darted about, looking for the offender; quickly remembering that there were no men in the building, except for me.

  Moments later, the curtain was pulled aside, and she and a female, in full traditional garb, stepped from behind it. I startled both of them. The young woman quickly looked down, hurriedly walking away. When Mary Beth’s eyes met mine, I smiled.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I have this pain.”

  She glanced down at my leg. “Where?” she asked, concerned.

  I tapped my chest, not taking my eyes off her.

  “I don’t have time for this now,” she sighed, exasperated.

  “I missed seeing you last night.”

  “Well,” she drew in another deep breath before continuing. “I needed to finish up here, and it took longer than I expected.” She glanced down at the clipboard in her hand.

  I raised her chin with my finger. “I would have come to you. I could have helped,” I offered.

  “No.” Mary Beth shook her head. “What I…” she began, then looked down again. “It was something I had to do on my own.”

  I furrowed my brow, confused.

  “Look,” she sighed. “I just think, maybe, it’s better if…” she stammered. “That we keep this—,” she motioned between us with her hand, “—on a professional basis.” She still avoided my eyes. “You are leaving soon, and I think it would be foolish if we… if I...” Somehow, she couldn’t find the words. But, I knew where this was going.

  “Of course,” I said, feeling the anger welling inside—at myself, not Mary Beth, necessarily. “You’re right. I am leaving,” I said emphatically.

  “What I meant to say was—.”

  “In fact, spring can’t come soon enough for me,” I interrupted.

  When she did look up at me, I couldn’t tell if it was relief or hurt I saw. And frankly, I didn’t care. “The sooner I get out of this hell-hole, the better.” Yes, that was a shot. A tasteless, tacky shot. And I regretted it the moment it left my mouth. Remember, I suffer from foot-in-mouth disease.

  Mary Beth grimaced and nodded, resolved, her eyes never leaving mine. “Excuse me, Soldier. I have patients to see.”

  I held out my crutch, motioning for her to step past, then I hobbled out the back door, across the clinic yard, across the street—if you could call it that—into her courtyard and her home.

  I crutched around the living area angrily. What was I thinking? How could I possibly have thought this would have turned out differently? When I stopped, I dropped a crutch and then swung the other one, like a golf club, against the wall before tossing it across the room. I turned to walk away when I suddenly felt a cold breeze. I glanced back and then dropped my head to my chest. Now I’d gone and done it. I sighed and shook my head. I’d just knocked a hole in my—or rather her—wall, the size of a football. Furious at my own stupidity, I did something even dumber. I kicked the hole out of frustration and made it bigger.

  A moment later I collapsed onto my toshak and lay back against the opposite wall, staring at the result of my ignorance, shaking my head. Slowly, I began to smile. Then my smile became a chuckle. Instantly, I saw Abraham’s eyes staring back at me through the hole. He pointed, perplexed, shrugging, his silent question asking what could possibly have caused the wall to fall apart. Without explaining, I merely asked him how we could fix it. He shrugged again, alluding to waiting for the rains to come—in the spring. I chuckled and dropped my head into my hands.

  God, I was an idiot.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  That night I suffered for my stupidity. It being too late to do anything about the hole, I merely put a BAND-AID on the situation, by stuffing my jacket into the crater in the wall. So, not only was cool air seeping in, but I’d just given up half of my blanket for the evening. That was just part of the reason I couldn’t sleep. The other was the memory of the hurt I had seen in Mary Beth’s eyes before walking away. I’d been such a jerk.

  The next morning, I was up early and one-crutching it around town, looking for anything I could use to patch a hole the size of a basketball in a mud wall. When I returned for the tenth time, carrying a variety of trash, thin sticks, and discarded wire mesh, dropping it by the exterior of the house, Mary Beth and Denice were standing by the hole, looking down at it. They glanced up as I arrived, expressionless.

  “Ladies.” I nodded. I didn’t know what else to say, so I said nothing. Abraham knelt beside me staring at the same hole he had the night before. I leaned over, whispered something to him, and then he hurried away. We had much to do if we were going to rebuild before it started snowing again. But we needed help.

  Between tours three and four, Amanda had moved on to greener pastures, and I was left pondering the reality of starting over at thirty-two. I remember my two best friends in the whole world sitting there on the floor of my empty apartment, me in my recliner—the only piece of furniture she didn’t take—contemplating what was next? And then before you knew it, I was building bottle schools in Honduras. Funny what you’ll say yes to when Crown and Seven is involved. And yet, building schools in remote poverty-stricken areas, using only trash, mud, and chicken wire, was one of the most educational, enlightening and rewarding times in my life. So, I kind of got what Denice and Mary Beth and their husbands were doing here, except, that the schools we built weren’t direct neighbors with suicide bombers.

  I took an empty plastic bottle and, using the stick, began stuffing it with as much trash as I could. One by one, the children came. They watched me, perplexed by what I was doing. When Abraham returned, I showed him what to do, and then he instructed each of the children to do the same. So, every child began stuffing as much trash as they could into each of the glass and plastic bottles until they were overflowing. Then we sealed them up and set them aside.

  After a morning spent deconstructing and reconstructing, albeit rudimentarily, using wire and sticks and bottles stuffed with trash and mud, we had a wall. Now, if the weather and my luck held, it would dry by spring. We all stood ba
ck, eyeing our masterpiece proudly. And when we were done, I could feel several sets of eyes on me. When I turned, at least a dozen men were standing and sitting, watching us. Mullah Akhssey stood just to my right. His hand slid along the wall, where the old and new met. Then he turned to me and smiled, his hand on his chest, bowing slightly before patting my sore shoulder. A moment later he left, taking the rest of the town with him.

  Abraham picked up the tools that I had used, disappearing to return them to their rightful owners. I took a bottle of water and began washing my hands off when the hem of a flowing robe appeared in front of me. I glanced up, squinting in the late afternoon sun. She motioned with her head and, after drying my hands on whatever clean spot I could find on my tunic, I followed her to the clinic. Without a word, I was led to one of the rooms in the back that was I had yet to see. Then she pulled a flashlight from her hidden pocket and shone it under the debris. One of the walls had collapsed along with part of the roof. Underneath all of the rubble, was a generator.

  “This happened just after Teddy left. It’s the only one in town, and no one has ever known how to repair it, except him—and Henry,” Denice said meekly, turning to me. “Can you fix it?”

  I drew in a deep breath and then exhaled before taking the flashlight from her and inspecting more closely. “Will I have help?”

  “Absolutely,” Denice nodded.

  “Sure,” I replied. “I’ll look at it first thing in the morning.”

  Denice looked up through the hole in the roof. “Yeah,” she sighed. “Darn these short days.”

  “Darn the long nights,” I added. “Last night I nearly froze.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured. “Odd how the wall just fell apart like that.”

  “Yeah, weird, huh?” I said, turning away. I needed to check the building’s exterior damage before the sun set. When I turned the corner, I saw Mary Beth sitting with a young mother and her son, tending to his finger, which was bleeding. She glanced up as I passed by and smiled a sad smile before returning her attention to the child. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.