A man beside me squeezed my shoulder, grasping it firmly. “We are all his servants, my friend. Only you serve a different master.”
When I looked over at him, I knew he wasn’t talking about God. “Will you allow us to immunize your children?” I asked, bringing the conversation back to why we were here.
The mullah contemplated me for a few moments, nodding ever so slightly. And the deal was done.
I immediately asked for assistance from my nurse and our two medical aides, as they were promptly labeled. We stood, and I made my way to the truck. The four of us unloaded the vials and the paperwork and moved to the building they had designated as a temporary clinic. Tentatively, the children were lined up. Mary Beth stood ready to assure that they received the full dosage. For the first time in two days, I saw her eyes light up again. With each name added to the list, her dark mood seemed merely to fade away.
Abraham marked the children’s small finger with indelible ink so that we didn’t miss any, and to assure no one came back for a second dose. Abdullah was in charge of handing each child a small toy or ball we had brought to give them as a gift for complying, though they were also used for bribes, as needed. Within three hours we had vaccinated over two hundred children, our largest group yet. The rest of the afternoon was spent treating some minor ailments and a few significant ones. Abdullah took care of crowd control, making sure we tended to people in the order in which they arrived, or according to the seriousness of their injuries, while Abraham helped with everything from taking temperatures to checking blood pressure and pulse rates. He even cleaned and dressed minor scrapes and scratches.
I triaged minor issues, while Mary Beth addressed those needing closer attention. All this took place under the watchful eyes of two men the tribal council instructed to help us—though we knew they were there more to watch us. I could only hope that they were ignorant as to the dynamic of our team, since Mary Beth was obviously more skilled than I. Every time a woman entered the room, I would ask the men to help me with equipment from the truck, or find some other way to distract them, allowing Mary Beth some privacy with her.
By evening, after having seen everyone needing attention, we were tired and hungry. The mullah’s family fed us once more and then Mary Beth slept in the home of two widowed sisters while the boys stayed with Abraham’s uncle. I retired once again to the truck.
The following morning, the three of us were invited to enjoy an extensive breakfast, while Mary Beth stayed hidden away behind curtains. I decided to steer the conversation away from myself and my team that morning by asking about the families of our hosts and their trades, and it worked beautifully. For the most part, I put on a smile and listened as I ate the meal they graciously shared with me. An American soldier eating with Taliban soldiers—if my commanding officer could see me now.
Then, just as we finished our meal, a young boy hurried in and immediately moved to the mullah, perceiving his position in the community by where he reclined at our feast, not to mention his sublime attire.
The religious leader listened, and slowly his eyes turned to me. I looked at the boy and recognized him immediately as one of the young men at the village where we were first turned away. The man’s eyes never left mine. Crap. They must have figured out what I’d done. But how?
The mullah stood and walked to me, looking down before stepping outside. When I looked around the room, all eyes were on me. Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted. How would I be able to explain that Mary Beth and the boys had nothing to do with my returning to their village? How right she had been. My selfishness had now put everyone else’s life in jeopardy. I felt like I wanted to vomit.
I stepped beyond the doorway to the mullah and the young boy, who were waiting for me. The town’s religious leader looked me in the eyes. “There have been tragic circumstances in this boy’s village, and he said that you are the only one that can help,” he said in his native tongue.
I tried not to look as confused as I felt. “I am at your service.”
“His brother has fallen ill, and with his father’s permission, he has come to retrieve you to assist. He traveled far to find you.”
Yeah, at least ten miles. I looked down at his attire. He must be freezing. I suggested they allow him to warm himself by the bukhari and then feed him. The mullah instantly agreed and rushed the boy inside his home.
Within thirty minutes, we had the truck loaded, had made room for one more passenger, and were on our way to a place where six days ago, men had threatened us if we ever came back.
What a difference six days makes.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
When we were a mile from the village, I felt myself becoming more anxious. I’d had two hours to think about this, and once again, my instinct told me something wasn’t quite right. When I glanced in Mary Beth’s direction, she must have sensed my uneasiness, so I pulled the truck to a stop. I stepped down, walked behind the vehicle and began pacing until Mary Beth joined me. I felt her eyes on me as I contemplated our situation. When I turned to her, she pulled her scarves from her face, and it rattled me. God, why did she have to be so damned beautiful?
“Put your scarves back on,” I found myself blurting out, then added, “it’s freezing out here.”
Slowly she arranged them over her nose and mouth. “what are we doing?” she asked, her voice muffled.
“Thinking.”
“You can’t think in the truck?” she added, pointing over her shoulder. “It’s warmer.”
“Not by much,” I threw in, a little sarcastically.
“You know we have to conserve fuel,” she reasoned.
“It’s okay.” I waved my hand at her. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Good, because I don’t want to argue with you anymore.”
I stopped and looked at her. “I’m glad you said that, because I think you and the boys should stay here, and I should go to the village alone.”
“What?” She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Versus, all of us going and possibly getting killed?”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I think it’s a trap.” I started pacing again. “I’ve had a bad feeling about this ever since the kid showed up.”
Mary Beth just stood there.
“If I go in, and it is a trap, I have a better chance of fighting my way out and at least taking a few of them with me.”
“And if it’s not a trap, then you won’t know how to diagnose what might be wrong with the boy. And if you can’t, they’ll figure out that you’re not a doctor.”
“There’s that.”
“Or we all go together and take our chances.”
Now I stopped and stared at her.
“I know you can’t seem to get it through that thick head of yours,” she said calmly. “But I’m not afraid.”
“It doesn’t mean you should make yourself a martyr.”
“I don’t plan on dying, if that’s where you’re headed with this.”
“Then don’t go, Mary Beth.” I pleaded. “Please.”
“Let’s not do this again,” she sighed.
I looked at her. “Mary Beth,” I began. “What I said before—.”
Her hand moved to my mouth. “No words,” she added, her eyes holding mine.
“But—.”
“Forgiven and forgotten.”
I growled, as her eyes glistened with tears. I promptly pulled her to my chest. “I’m such a fool.”
I felt her head nod against my chest.
“You could at least disagree with me. I mean, why stop now, right?” I teased, pushing her away from me.
Her gloved hands moved to wipe her face as she chuckled. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
I smiled. “That we are.” I looked around. “Well,” I exhaled dramatically. “I guess if we’re going to do this, we’d better go now. I don’t want to be stranded out here in the dark again.”
I l
ed her to the passenger side and helped her step up before closing her door and moving to the other side of the truck. I glanced upward once more and repeated what seemed to be my mantra since arriving in this backward country. “You got this, right?” Then I climbed into the driver’s seat and turned to the three boys in the back.
“Ready kids?” I asked in English. Abraham grinned and nodded; then Abdullah nodded with a blank stare. The other boy just looked at us as though we all were talking in, well, er, another language. “Okay kids, everyone buckle-up. No horsing around. And if you have to pee, well, it’s too late now. Dad’s not stopping.” A moment later I put the vehicle in drive, and we pulled forward. “Not unless they’ve got a bazooka aimed at us,” I said under my breath. When I side-glanced Mary Beth, her eyes showed surprise. I grinned and added, “Just kidding.” With all eyes forward, I drew in another deep breath and exhaled. “Piece of cake.”
Chapter Forty
We arrived back at the boy’s village in late afternoon. Once again, we were met with an escort of men from outside their town until we were inside it. I jerked the truck to a stop, and the young boy immediately jumped from the vehicle, falling to his knees and puking his guts out. I actually felt sorry for him.
After exiting the truck, we unloaded a medical kit and were escorted to the home beside the building I had entered a few days before. My eyes darted about as I scrutinized the town in the daylight. Several men stood by their homes, curious about the strangers and their giant truck. I entered the abode, one of the largest in the town, followed by the boys and Mary Beth. A young boy of about three lay curled up under a small blanket on a toshak by the wall. We immediately put on gloves and masks and knelt beside him. As she whispered to me, I asked questions of the father.
Apparently, he became ill the night we left. Feeling that it was something treatable, they began giving him some of the amoxicillin that they’d confiscated from us. Under normal circumstances, had it been the flu or something similar, it might have worked. It had been four days now. The little boy’s breathing was labored. He was frail and unresponsive, running a low-grade fever.
It seems they had done many things right, rubbing oils on his chest to help him breathe easier, putting cold rags on him to bring down his fever. It was obvious he’d had diarrhea, but hadn’t been cleaned up, so I insisted they bring clean blankets and clothes so that he wouldn’t have to lay in his own foul stink.
“Burn the clothes and the blanket,” I instructed after we’d cleaned him up and replaced them.
They looked at each other and then me, perplexed. The father waved them away with a nod.
“What do you think?” I asked her under my breath.
Mary Beth shook her head. “Could be one of a few things. Without being able to draw blood or to know how long he’s actually been like this…” she shrugged. “But if we can at least get him responsive, depending on his recovery, we’ll know if it’s just the flu. Or worse.”
I turned to the father. “Has anyone else been sick? Other children? Other members of the family?”
He shook his head.
I glanced at Mary Beth. Her eyes met mine, knowingly.
“Have you had any visitors from other villages?”
The men all looked at one another.
“Someone else who visited and was maybe sick when they came?”
Slowly, he nodded his head.
“We need to know who was here, who was sick, and from which village.” I stood by the father. “Was it another child?”
When the father didn’t respond, I repeated myself. “If they had this disease, they could be spreading it around to others.”
He turned and began to yell at another man in the room, apparently the culprit for having allowed a sick family member from another village to visit. I stood between them and put my hand on my heart. “I understand your frustration. But someone needs to go to the other village now and see how the sick child is. If the child is still alive, they need to keep it isolated from the rest of the community.”
The perpetrator hurried from the room as others followed, leaving only the boy’s father and brother with us. I looked up into the man’s wild eyes and began asking him a barrage of questions starting with who had contact with his son since he’d become ill. Abraham jotted down all the notes on a notepad that we carried with us for recordkeeping, and soon we had a clear history of the child until now. I proceeded to tell him that we needed immediately to immunize all the children of the village. If it was polio, we had to assure that no one else contracted it.
He angrily accused us of looking for an excuse to poison their children. Abraham immediately stood up and turned to the man. He bowed and held his hand over his heart before defending the woman he had worked with for three years detailing how she had saved many lives, explaining that the polio vaccine did, in fact, help, not hurt the children. Abraham then pointed out that the provincial leadership had approved over a year ago the immunization of all the children, proving that the vaccine had prevented many deaths.
The mullah insisted his child be immunized right then. Mary Beth and I looked at one another. I explained that his little boy was too ill to be vaccinated and that if we gave him the medicine while he was sick, it could make him worse. We needed to make sure his fever broke first and get him awake to know precisely with what we were dealing. I explained that only the adult members of his family could be near the boy, that everyone else should stay away until we knew what he had. He asked why we weren’t afraid to become ill, and I explained that we were immunized when we were children, so we were immune. He became pensive, as he grasped what I was telling him. Then he merely turned and walked from the room, taking his other son with him.
Mary Beth and I made the boy comfortable; she insisted she would stay the night with him. I was ready to argue, but she calmed me with a gentle touch on my arm. “I’ll be all right,” she assured me. I moved through the house and outside into the crisp, cold air. Abraham and Abdullah were talking with some of the other young men their ages, including the boy who had tracked us down. I began to walk his direction and saw Abraham slowly shake his head. I turned around and walked back toward the truck, slowing as I passed the building that I had sneaked into six nights ago. I continued to look around, taking in my surroundings. The streets were mostly empty, I guess for fear of whatever had stricken the young child.
When Abraham returned, his hands were full of foods that the mullah’s wife had prepared for me. Abdullah had taken Mary Beth her meal and would be staying in the mullah’s house, in case she needed anything until I returned. Abraham covertly indicated he needed to show me something but then climbed into the truck. My curiosity peaked as I crawled in after him.
He looked around to assure that no one was watching, though we were a good four feet in the air, before placing a small bundle in my hand. I furrowed my brow as I unwrapped the worn piece of camouflaged cloth until I arrived at the jewelry it held. My heart stopped. Tentatively I turned it with my fingers. I turned to Abraham incredulously before looking back at the metal in my hand.
Mikey’s dog tags.
Liberated
Chapter Forty-One
I couldn’t believe my eyes. These should have been a molten, mangled piece of the wreckage close to the river below. I looked at Abraham.
“Who gave you these?”
Abraham pointed toward the empty streets of the village.
“Where did they get them?”
“They found them in the woods, not long after we found you. There were many of us searching when we heard the explosion.”
I swallowed hard. “Someone else was found?”
Abraham’s eyes met mine, and slowly, he nodded.
I hesitated. “Alive?”
He nodded again.
I closed my eyes, gripping the metal tightly in my hand. “Mikey’s alive,” I breathed out. When I looked up, Abraham was still staring out the window. The young men he had been talking to were walking towar
d us, so, he lifted bread to his mouth and began to eat with one hand, giving me a piece with his other.
My eyes drifted to where his were. We were being watched. After they passed the end of the town they turned and walked in another direction, occasionally glancing in ours.
“Did they find anyone else?”
Looking down, he shook his head.
“Where are they keeping him?”
“They didn’t say, but somewhere here in the village.”
“Can you find out, without drawing attention to yourself? Maybe just wanting to see a soldier out of curiosity?”
Abraham nodded again, then he folded up the rest of his bread, slid it into the sack around his shoulder and climbed from the truck.
“Oh, my God!” I gasped, dropping my head to the steering wheel as I gripped it tightly. I wasn’t the only survivor. My mind immediately began working out how I was going to rescue him. Rescue? Rescued by someone who was waiting to be rescued. I scoffed. Four days. We still had four more days until my supposed pick-up. I needed to use the satphone again—to let them know I wasn’t the only survivor. I slid my finger into my pocket and pulled out the SIM card, staring at it before slipping it back.
I finished my bread and then stepped from the Unimog and walked confidently to the mullah’s home. Mary Beth was holding the child, rocking him in her arms. “Where’s the mother?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Probably afraid to come anywhere near.”
I nodded as I looked around.
Once again, she seemed to sense that something was on my mind, so she nodded upward.
“New development.”
She looked at me questioningly.
“Complicated. I’ll tell you when I deem it necessary,” I said matter-of-factly.
Mary Beth rolled her eyes.
“So,” I grinned, “did you eat?”
She nodded. “Abdullah will stay here tonight with me.” She wrinkled her brow. “Is everything okay?”
The Missionary Page 20