The Missionary

by Margaret Ferguson

  While Abdullah was on his knees in the snow, I re-conned the area around us. It had taken us several hours to cover the measly ten miles we’d traveled. However, considering the terrain, we had come a long way. It wasn’t snowing, but the sky was deep gray, and the bulbous clouds hung heavy, pregnant with ice crystals that begged to spill onto the landscape below.

  Mary Beth coaxed Abdullah into taking something to ease his queasiness and then insisted he lay down for the rest of the trip. Most Afghans living in rural areas weren’t used to traveling in automobiles. Some never stepped foot into one their entire lives. I remember seeing only two cars in the village, and many of them looked like they wouldn’t start if someone tried. Most of the villagers got around by bicycle, horse, camel or foot. Few had needs other than what their own town provided. So, the local merchants that traveled to Kabul or Herat or other major metropolitan cities would stock up for months at a time to sell what they purchased, with a reasonable markup, to the rest of the village.

  I looked over my shoulder at Abdullah who rested on one of the cushioned seats. When I turned to Mary Beth, she had both hands firmly gripped on the wheel.

  “Nervous?” I asked curiously.

  She hesitated, then sighed, “Maybe a little.” When she glanced at me, she added, “Last year Henry, Teddy, Abraham and I went. This year Teddy was supposed to go. So, I don’t know how well we will be accepted there without them.”

  “What am I, chopped liver?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “Despite what you think of me, I’m actually pretty good at my job. I’ve even done minor surgery in the field.”

  “I don’t doubt your skills. It’s just that sometimes, it takes a little while to be accepted up here, especially in some of the more remote villages.” Her eyes met mine, if only for a second. “It’s the leadership I’m concerned about.”

  “No sweat,” I grinned. “I’ll have them eating out of my hand.”

  “Just be careful they don’t take it off at the elbow.”

  “Do you trust me?” When she didn’t say anything right away, I tried again. “Okay. Let me put it another way. Will you trust me?” Nothing. “Ouch!” I exclaimed.

  She glanced my direction. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or can’t trust you. It’s a matter of them trusting you.”

  I turned to her and smiled. “Piece of cake.”

  When we slowly made our way around the curve of the mountain, I could see trampled snow leading to a small town built into the hill. The houses were in worse shape than the little borough where I’d been staying. Some of them looked like no more than lean-tos or shanties against the mountain. Animals wandered muddy pathways untethered. I saw a head or two pop out before retreating back into their abodes. It angered me knowing that many of the Taliban hid out in these remote villages with their families, subjecting them to extremely dire conditions, merely to elude capture or worse.

  Mary Beth pulled to a stop before we got too close. When she turned to me, her eyes didn’t convey fear or concern, but a sense of peace that I couldn’t quite understand. This place was one of the most dangerous in the world, the place where her husband had died. And yet, she was still here.

  “Can you drive from here?” she asked. “I need to take a back seat from now on if you know what I mean.”

  I moved so that she could squeeze into the other seat. As she passed over me, I playfully pulled her into my lap. She cut her eyes to the back of the vehicle to see if we were being watched, then back at me. As I looked at her, I wanted to say so many things. She was the bravest woman I knew, and yet, she always seemed to leave me speechless. I could see the smile slowly creeping into her eyes.

  “Everything will be okay,” she whispered, before moving to where I had been sitting as her fingers delicately wrapped colorful scarves around her face.

  I adjusted my seat for the last fifty feet of our journey and then continued forward. When we stepped from the truck, Mary Beth stood several feet behind us. Abraham and Abdullah did most of the speaking, though I interjected when approached or asked. He introduced me as the WHO designated immunizer. The mullah must have come up with that one. Sly dog.

  We were welcomed into the local religious leader’s residence, where we enjoyed nuts, berries, sweets and tea. His wife escorted Mary Beth into another room where they shared similar treats. After we explained our intentions, the man sent word to every home within their little berg to come to be immunized. Many of the tribal leaders squeezed into his abode, most of them with their eyes on me, curiously sizing me up. Mary Beth had shown me, in advance, what to do. Hard to believe that only a few drops could save a life. One by one I squeezed a small plastic vial of polio vaccine onto the tongues of each child, while Abraham marked their children’s families off in our record book and Abdullah marked their fingers.

  Within two hours we had vaccinated every child in the village—over sixty-five children. And then we were done. The town’s religious leader nodded to me, and I to him, as we completed our mission. Then food was brought in, and we feasted until full. The three of us slept in the truck, while Mary Beth stayed in their village; I presumed in the company of the mullah’s family. Nothing was more nerve-wracking than not knowing. I thought of what she would have told me. Trust.

  So, I did.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  At first light, I was up and out of the truck. It was a beautiful sunny day, so many of the townspeople were outside, though it was still friggin’ freezing. I waited for Abraham and Abdullah, knowing it was better that we stayed together. I didn’t see anything suspicious, nor did I see anything that might have doubled as an enemy base, although nowadays they operated out of even the most remote sites. I discounted the town itself as a threat, or as one that could help facilitate my getting out of this place sooner. They treated us to strong, hot tea, an extensive breakfast, and conversation. They poured out their generosity and their gratitude upon us until we tore ourselves away to leave.

  After breakfast, Mary Beth joined us as we said our goodbyes. Everyone in the town came out to see us off. And I can’t even begin to tell you how that felt. I’d come to this place to kill the enemy, and instead, I was healing his children. Somehow, I understood, if even in the simplest terms, what Mary Beth, Denice, and their husbands felt by coming here. And my heart was suddenly conflicted. I knew that in mere months, the Taliban and their offshoots would begin to crawl from their caves or wherever they had hunkered down for the winter and begin their reign of terror again. Hey, I get it. It’s definitely more challenging to fight in biting cold weather and knee-deep snows carrying guns or grenades or the weapon of the month, whatever they had to use against us.

  I remembered looking into those young, frightened eyes as they peered up at us, mouths held open, some forcefully. I couldn’t help but wonder if the children we were saving would one day take up arms against us. I shook my head. It was still so hard to reconcile the terror and the timidity of the country; of its people.

  We rode in silence, mostly, to the next town, which was just a few hours and a few miles away. Now, I’m a noise person, so if I don’t have music playing or a television on, I’m singing in my head. I had serenaded Abraham many a night with a Johnny Cash or Alan Jackson or Randy Travis song. And now, somehow, the melody that kept playing on a loop in my brain since I fell from that helicopter was Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying. I must have been humming louder than I thought because I caught Mary Beth looking at me oddly. So, I began to sing out loud, at the top of my lungs, startling everyone. When I quit, they all laughed at me.

  After we stopped to stretch our legs and wet the snow, I walked to the edge of the hill on which we were traveling. Since we’d climbed higher than I had first thought, it was a little dizzying looking down. I glanced out over the valley at the incredible view. As I stepped back to the Unimog, I looked up. Snow-laden trees hung over us like a Christmas card, untouched and perfect. The scenes could
n’t have been staged better in a Hollywood movie.

  Mary Beth and I switched seats again whenever we drew close to a village, and I would drive the rest of the way. The customs were the same. The three of us were invited in. She wasn’t. Mary Beth was the reason we were here, and yet, she was shuffled away like a second-class citizen, without an acknowledging glance. But she wasn’t hurt or disheartened or the least bit discouraged. As long as we accomplished what we’d come for, she was pleased.

  In village after village over the next five days, the routine was the same. And in each one, I took a few more liberties, walking around like I belonged. The more comfortable I became, the braver I felt. I studied faces, vehicles, buildings—or at least what they considered buildings. Everything. I grew more attuned to the surroundings as I sought a structure that might house a radio of some kind. So far, no one seemed to question my authority or my ulterior motives, including Mary Beth. Though I couldn’t help but wonder if she suspected.

  But, as we neared the sixth village on the sixth day, I started getting that uncomfortable feeling that I usually get when something’s not right. It began when I saw men dressed all in black, a half mile from the village. Sentries. I eyed them as they watched us pass. The closer we got, the more men we saw. Their faces didn’t show pleasure in our presence, but suspicion and caution. When we neared, we could see that the village was small, but the buildings in better structural shape. Mostly. And everyone we encountered held a rifle. I spied Mary Beth wringing her hands beneath her garment, so I reached across the seat in a calming gesture, without touching her. Hopefully, no one would decide to use us as target practice; one lucky shot and we’d be lit up like the Fourth of July.

  By the time we pulled to a stop, at least a dozen men were approaching the truck. The boys leaned forward as they looked out the window. Sensing the tension as well, Abdullah calmed a nervous Abraham and told him he would make the introductions. We were barely out of the vehicle when several men began to holler, their guns trained on us. Immediately my hands went into the air. Abraham and Abdullah followed my lead and raised theirs slightly, speaking the whole time calmly, explaining that we came in peace.

  Though some guns were pointed at Mary Beth, she continued to look down. She didn’t dare face them since it was forbidden. When one of the gunmen moved closer to her, I inserted myself between them. Immediately, many arms jerked me aside and away from her. Voices yelled around us, angry and unclear.

  Surprisingly, Abdullah stepped between the gunman and me, motioning with his arms for them to lower their weapons. He explained why we were there, that we had come with hearts of compassion. Then he chastised them for being so inhospitable before demanding to see the mullah. They argued for many minutes, our own mullah’s son not backing down in his insistence that we meet the town’s religious leaders. More men and more guns arrived, standing around us, thrusting rifles in our faces. About ten minutes later, a large man with a long dark beard approached us. He ordered his men to lower their guns and demanded to know why we were there.

  Abdullah and Abraham immediately began to explain, again, talking over one another until the man held up his hand to silence them. He eyed me suspiciously as he walked toward me, holding my gaze. The mullah’s eyes searched mine, as though he could see the truth, despite what I might say. He nodded in my direction and I nodded in his. When I placed my hand over my heart, bowing again, everyone seemed to relax. He asked who I was. I hesitated, glancing at Abraham, then turned to the town’s religious leader and replied in Pashto.

  “I am here to help save your children.”

  Now, let me take a step back, for a moment, here. Remember—I am Chickasaw, with a mix of everything else from Mexican to Irish to you-name-it thrown in. In America, when I have a good tan, I have been mistaken for being of anything from Mexican to almost anyone of European descent. That, mixed with extensive language and immersion training, made me ideal for this country. Almost.

  Immediately, all guns rose again; every single one of them pointed at me. It didn’t matter how much I dressed like them or tried to look or sound like them. Clearly, I was not. Darn that Texas accent! In the end, it didn’t matter what my ancestral history was, I was an American.

  The mullah narrowed his eyes, motioning with his hands for his men to lower their guns. As he stepped around me, much like the tribal council had that first morning they came to see me, I kept my breathing steady. If I was going to get shot, this wasn’t exactly the worst way to go. Only, if they killed me, what would happen to Mary Beth? To the boys? I glanced in her direction, then down, as he continued to scrutinize me.

  “What is your name?”

  “Edward.”

  “Who are you with?”

  “World Health Organization.” What was he going to do, call to check up on me?

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you here?”

  Abdullah began to speak, but the mullah held up his hand, nodding again at me.

  “To immunize the children from polio,” I said, trying not to butcher the translation Mary Beth and I had rehearsed, should this very scenario arise.

  He then nodded to his men who moved to the truck and began to take out the boxes in the back. They tossed one onto the ground.

  “Hey!” I yelled. I looked back at the mullah. “Those are fragile. They will save your children’s lives.”

  He motioned for them to be careful as they carried them over. “And why would you care about our children?”

  “Because, no matter where you are in the world, our children are our future. Allah blesses us with children, and in the end, they are all we have to leave the world.”

  I could tell he was contemplating my words; contemplating me cautiously as his men began rooting through the boxes. It was evident they had no clue as to what they were finding. Mary Beth had been very careful when packing and loading to leave a few things exposed and in the open. Almost like an offering. A bribe. Everything else she had hidden in secret compartments to assure that if we were accosted like this, that we wouldn’t lose everything in one search.

  The mullah lifted up a bottle of amoxicillin and turned it in his hand.

  “That helps you when you are very, very sick.”

  He held up another bottle, then another, as I clarified what each one was. And when I was through explaining, he handed them to one of his men to hold, apparently with no intention of returning them to us. When he came across the vials of polio vaccine and held one up, I told him what it could do. He immediately broke it in front of us and then dropped it into the snow.

  “You are poisoning our children with your vaccine. Other villages have told us how their children have died after taking it.”

  “That’s not true,” I said flatly. “Children live because they take it. Children walk because they take it.”

  The mullah poured the vials into the snow and then tossed the empty box on top of them. Abraham and Abdullah lunged to save the vaccine, but the local men stepped on the vials, crushing them into the white powder under our feet. When they looked up at me, I shook my head. It wasn’t worth getting shot over.

  “Leave this place and never return,” he instructed me. “My generosity extends from this place once. If I see you again, I will not be so gracious.”

  Abdullah angrily pointed out that it was dark, and that the mountain road would be treacherous at night.

  Without saying a word, the mullah turned along with several of his men, their backs to us, and walked away.

  I nodded, reluctantly placing my hand over my heart, feeling it was the wisest course of action for the remaining men. We all backed away slowly to the truck, and then climbed in and started it up. None of us said a word as we turned the vehicle around and made the short trip back down the mountain path. It was dark now, and I didn't expect to get very far. Once we were past where the first sentries were spotted, we pulled over. When we climbed into the back of the truck, I looked at Abraham and Abdullah and smiled. “You did good,” I told t
hem.

  I carried more blankets to Mary Beth, who would be sleeping in the cab tonight. “You okay?” I asked as I handed them to her.

  “My knees are knocking, and it’s not from the cold.”

  “Do you think they’ll come after us?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied honestly.

  I drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Then it’s going to be a long night.” I reached under the seat cushion, removed my knife and set it in her hands. Her eyes showed her surprise.

  “What were you thinking, bringing this?”

  “I was thinking that something just like this might happen and that if it did, we might need some protection.”

  “Why are you giving it to me?”

  I gave her a scolding look. “You and I both know, what the enemy will probably do if they get a hold of you. I want you to be able to defend yourself, or…” my voice trailed off.

  Her eyes moved to the knife as she contemplated what I was saying, or rather not saying. Without a word, she slid it under the mat beside her as she lay down. “Get some rest.” I stepped down from the cab. “And lock the doors,” I added, before closing her in.

  Then I moved to the back of the truck, climbed in, retrieved the canvas bag I had hidden and the knife I’d taped under a shelf. Under the watchful eyes of Abdullah and Abraham, I turned, giving them the same instructions as I had given Mary Beth before stepping into the darkness beyond the truck.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I timed myself as I crept back toward the town from which we’d left just an hour ago, walking in the tracks we’d made in the snow with the truck, avoiding three sentries who didn't appear overly concerned about whether they were spotted or not. I now wore my heavy army jacket and my night vision goggles. I paced my breathing as it was still freezing, knowing I had to get in and out before first light. We had to be gone before they realized that I’d been there. It took me an hour to walk the mile, but there was no one on the path to slow me down. When I arrived, all was quiet—other than an occasional yap from the local mutt or the bleating of sheep nearby. Stealthily, I walked to the edge of the little berg.