Chapter 6
They placed the broken man on a pallet in the storage room. Novas wanted to put him on the Father’s bed, but the others balked. In the end, they decided on the storage room, as it was the coolest location in the mission and close to the kitchen. As someone was often in the kitchen, they could watch him from there with the least effort.
“The clothes have to come off,” Novas declared.
“Nyeayea can do it.”
Nyeayea was the only other male in the mission, their assigned local for what could be joking called a liaison. Like the broken man, Nyeayea faced death every time he left, as his tribe was from the north and he was not accepted in the refugee-laden town. Nyeayea was also a bigger coward than the Father was, and as usual when trouble happened, he was nowhere to be found.
“We must wait for Father MacClenny.” One of the sisters waved in the direction of the departed Father. No one did anything in the small mission without everyone else knowing almost immediately. Novas hoped he would have the courage to reach the hospital and bring back what she had bidden him.
“I’ll do it.” She dared the rest to either say no or volunteer to assist. Instead, they all left. “Well, at least bring me something to put on him…anything. Make it wool; in addition to staying warm, he needs air to reach him.”
She debated what to do first, and settled for his boots, or what was left of them. They looked like military issue, but were open in front and very beat up. One lace broke as she tried to untie them. She realized the broken man had not removed them for a very long time, which meant he had not bathed. The smell confirmed her theory, as his feet had almost as great a stench as the rest of him.
As with the shoes, the shirt came apart as she tried to unbutton it. In the end, she just ripped it off his arms and shoulders. It was so threadbare; she had no hope of it ever being worn again. She wondered about people in the movies ripping the clothes off each other. Only their circumstance was usually different. She had never ripped clothes off another for that reason, or any other before.
A robe sailing though the air interrupted her. No one was in sight; they had actually thrown it around the corner without looking.
“Get me some water; I’m going to bathe him. Yes, that means you will have to bring it in here. I’ll leave his pants on.”
The water came in a bucket carried by two of her fellow nuns. They had their eyes closed, and almost spilled it when they bumped the door. They set it down and beat a hasty retreat. Novas almost laughed at their clumsy effort not to be corrupted by the sight of a half-naked man. Some cloths followed in the same manner as the robe came.
“See on evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.” In their case, think no evil. Novas almost broke all four rules as she studied the man. Although shrunken and emaciated, his bone structure hinted at would have been described as a hunk. Maybe he could be one again. Not that she would ever care. He was nothing.
She undid his belt and zipper, and rolled him on his back, trying to give him a little dignity as she started on his pants. The sight of his back stopped her cold. He had been beaten so many times, the scars just ran into each other. Some were so old, they were white; some so new they barely had lost their scabs. All had recreated his back into a mass of ridges and valleys, where skin and flesh had been torn and not healed correctly. How could she ever cure this man? If he were half as broken mentally as he was physically, he would never be a dentist again, or anything else. How could people do this? She caught herself starting to cry.
She rolled him back over, hearing a groan from the pain she must be causing him. Suddenly, it dawned on her that he was conscious, and probably could figure out what she was doing. As if to answer, he started pulling on the seam of his pants with his one good hand. She shuddered. What if his front had been treated as badly as his back? She threw a cloth over him to cover him and allow some modesty. And to prolong the sight. Either torn or whole, it was something she had never seen in person, what a man looked like.
The pants removed, he returned to being immobile, and she began washing him. She planned to clean his head to his waist first, his legs next, and worry about the middle last. He didn’t flinch, even when she cleaned out some open wounds in his hair and on his feet.
She was trying to decide what to do next, when a cry echoed through the mission. Someone started yelling from around the corner
“Sister Mary Sarah, come quick. Outside in the town, the Father. He has been shot. They think he is dead. Please sister, we must go and see.”
Novas caught the man looking at her; his eyes met hers, and she froze.
“The clothes have to come off,” Novas declared.
“Nyeayea can do it.”
Nyeayea was the only other male in the mission, their assigned local for what could be joking called a liaison. Like the broken man, Nyeayea faced death every time he left, as his tribe was from the north and he was not accepted in the refugee-laden town. Nyeayea was also a bigger coward than the Father was, and as usual when trouble happened, he was nowhere to be found.
“We must wait for Father MacClenny.” One of the sisters waved in the direction of the departed Father. No one did anything in the small mission without everyone else knowing almost immediately. Novas hoped he would have the courage to reach the hospital and bring back what she had bidden him.
“I’ll do it.” She dared the rest to either say no or volunteer to assist. Instead, they all left. “Well, at least bring me something to put on him…anything. Make it wool; in addition to staying warm, he needs air to reach him.”
She debated what to do first, and settled for his boots, or what was left of them. They looked like military issue, but were open in front and very beat up. One lace broke as she tried to untie them. She realized the broken man had not removed them for a very long time, which meant he had not bathed. The smell confirmed her theory, as his feet had almost as great a stench as the rest of him.
As with the shoes, the shirt came apart as she tried to unbutton it. In the end, she just ripped it off his arms and shoulders. It was so threadbare; she had no hope of it ever being worn again. She wondered about people in the movies ripping the clothes off each other. Only their circumstance was usually different. She had never ripped clothes off another for that reason, or any other before.
A robe sailing though the air interrupted her. No one was in sight; they had actually thrown it around the corner without looking.
“Get me some water; I’m going to bathe him. Yes, that means you will have to bring it in here. I’ll leave his pants on.”
The water came in a bucket carried by two of her fellow nuns. They had their eyes closed, and almost spilled it when they bumped the door. They set it down and beat a hasty retreat. Novas almost laughed at their clumsy effort not to be corrupted by the sight of a half-naked man. Some cloths followed in the same manner as the robe came.
“See on evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.” In their case, think no evil. Novas almost broke all four rules as she studied the man. Although shrunken and emaciated, his bone structure hinted at would have been described as a hunk. Maybe he could be one again. Not that she would ever care. He was nothing.
She undid his belt and zipper, and rolled him on his back, trying to give him a little dignity as she started on his pants. The sight of his back stopped her cold. He had been beaten so many times, the scars just ran into each other. Some were so old, they were white; some so new they barely had lost their scabs. All had recreated his back into a mass of ridges and valleys, where skin and flesh had been torn and not healed correctly. How could she ever cure this man? If he were half as broken mentally as he was physically, he would never be a dentist again, or anything else. How could people do this? She caught herself starting to cry.
She rolled him back over, hearing a groan from the pain she must be causing him. Suddenly, it dawned on her that he was conscious, and probably could figure out what she was doing. As if to answer, he started pulling on the seam of his pants with his one good hand. She shuddered. What if his front had been treated as badly as his back? She threw a cloth over him to cover him and allow some modesty. And to prolong the sight. Either torn or whole, it was something she had never seen in person, what a man looked like.
The pants removed, he returned to being immobile, and she began washing him. She planned to clean his head to his waist first, his legs next, and worry about the middle last. He didn’t flinch, even when she cleaned out some open wounds in his hair and on his feet.
She was trying to decide what to do next, when a cry echoed through the mission. Someone started yelling from around the corner
“Sister Mary Sarah, come quick. Outside in the town, the Father. He has been shot. They think he is dead. Please sister, we must go and see.”
Novas caught the man looking at her; his eyes met hers, and she froze.
posted by John | 7:29 PM
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