Chapter 11
Novas ran outside and toward the back gate. She wanted to be as far away from him as possible, and the mission grounds simply didn’t provide enough space. He had crushed her with a single word. “Stefen.” How could he do that?
As long as he was nameless, he really wasn’t anyone. As she could not understand anything he said, she could consider him not a person. Well, not a man, anyway. But, he had ruined it. He had given himself substance. He was real.
She reached the gate, breathless, although the distance was not far and she had run much further without tiring. He did it to her. He was sucking the life from her, the energy. No, that wasn’t true.
He was energizing her. She touched her breast, where his head had lain. It had been a wonderful feeling, so natural, like a mother with her child after nursing, just relaxed and drifting.
Wait a minute! She had never nursed a child. No one had ever suckled her. Then why did she feel so fulfilled? And so hungry? She knew the answer. She had wanted him to. And it wasn’t as a child. And she knew what it meant without ever feeling it before. Sex. Her stomach verified her condition. No, it was lower than her stomach, and deep inside. Her body, for the first time ever in her recollection, had prepared itself for sex. This is what happened to women? Not that she had anyone to ask, or anyone with to even consider discussing it.
She opened the gate and stepped out into a world opposite of that beyond the front entrance. She could see a couple of huts and around them some goats trying to find something to eat. No people in sight, but smoke indicated their presence. Trees and grass, once green in August, now were shriveled leaves and blades in defense of the November heat. She felt just as shriveled in defense of…what?
She couldn’t go back to him, but she would have to. No one else could care for him, no one else knew enough about medical practice to assist.
She had been able to reset both broken bones in his hand without concern about permanent damage. The breaks were small, and recent enough. The feet had been another problem. The left foot set, she was OK about; the foot moved correctly even before she had placed the splint. The right foot had been far more difficult. The bone had broken and healed improperly. She had rebroken it, not that he had noticed, but without the proper equipment, she could only hope the set was correct. If it wasn’t, he might not walk, or if he could walk, might not walk correctly. He needed a real physician and a real hospital, not her.
She laughed, despite the situation. A real doctor resided less than a mile from the mission, closer than most people lived in relation to their physician. Yet, he might as well be a million miles away. What a crazy world, where one man riding around in the back of a pickup truck made life and death decisions for thousands.
Despite her misgivings, the ride to and from the hospital had been uneventful. The driver was far more afraid of her than she was of him. His sigh of relief when she climbed out at the mission confirmed her deduction.
The hospital had appeared in worse condition than some of the houses surrounding it, worse than her dental clinic, which was little more than a hut. The doctor had refused to leave, but she didn’t hold it against him. He was black, not African, and feared for his life. Of the fifty or so people she observed in the single room, two had died during their five-minute conversation. She had described the broken man’s symptoms and the breaks as best she could and the doctor had advised her as best he could.
“Sister,” he said. “You be careful with this man, understand? Dysentery is the second most prevalent disease here, but generally is not fatal. It’s not the one you need worry about.”
“Second most? What’s the first most?” she asked.
He nudged her away from the nearest patients and into one of the few corners not occupied with a cot. “You don’t tell anyone I said this, understand?”
She nodded, wondering what the secret was, and if it really was a secret.
He waved around the room. “Most people her have this, in one form or another; most people you see in your clinic have it to, or have been exposed. So, you be careful in what you do.”
“What’s the first most?” she repeated.
“Aids.”
The word had caught her by surprise, although she should have known it. Everything she did revolved around protection from blood, but then it had been so in the US, too. Living here, she had no room for error, even from the blood he coughed up. She had to be more careful.
“Why is it a secret? Everyone should know.”
“They all blame America for it. If they talk about it, the anger comes and lives are forfeit. Our lives. So, we do the best we can…and we stay silent. Understand?”
The doctor had provided her with what she requested, and without charge. Not that she would ever let Father MacClenny know. She had over one hundred dollars, the first money she had touched since entering Africa, and she wasn’t about to part with it.
The crackle behind her, someone stepping on a twig, stopped her reverie and almost her heart.
As long as he was nameless, he really wasn’t anyone. As she could not understand anything he said, she could consider him not a person. Well, not a man, anyway. But, he had ruined it. He had given himself substance. He was real.
She reached the gate, breathless, although the distance was not far and she had run much further without tiring. He did it to her. He was sucking the life from her, the energy. No, that wasn’t true.
He was energizing her. She touched her breast, where his head had lain. It had been a wonderful feeling, so natural, like a mother with her child after nursing, just relaxed and drifting.
Wait a minute! She had never nursed a child. No one had ever suckled her. Then why did she feel so fulfilled? And so hungry? She knew the answer. She had wanted him to. And it wasn’t as a child. And she knew what it meant without ever feeling it before. Sex. Her stomach verified her condition. No, it was lower than her stomach, and deep inside. Her body, for the first time ever in her recollection, had prepared itself for sex. This is what happened to women? Not that she had anyone to ask, or anyone with to even consider discussing it.
She opened the gate and stepped out into a world opposite of that beyond the front entrance. She could see a couple of huts and around them some goats trying to find something to eat. No people in sight, but smoke indicated their presence. Trees and grass, once green in August, now were shriveled leaves and blades in defense of the November heat. She felt just as shriveled in defense of…what?
She couldn’t go back to him, but she would have to. No one else could care for him, no one else knew enough about medical practice to assist.
She had been able to reset both broken bones in his hand without concern about permanent damage. The breaks were small, and recent enough. The feet had been another problem. The left foot set, she was OK about; the foot moved correctly even before she had placed the splint. The right foot had been far more difficult. The bone had broken and healed improperly. She had rebroken it, not that he had noticed, but without the proper equipment, she could only hope the set was correct. If it wasn’t, he might not walk, or if he could walk, might not walk correctly. He needed a real physician and a real hospital, not her.
She laughed, despite the situation. A real doctor resided less than a mile from the mission, closer than most people lived in relation to their physician. Yet, he might as well be a million miles away. What a crazy world, where one man riding around in the back of a pickup truck made life and death decisions for thousands.
Despite her misgivings, the ride to and from the hospital had been uneventful. The driver was far more afraid of her than she was of him. His sigh of relief when she climbed out at the mission confirmed her deduction.
The hospital had appeared in worse condition than some of the houses surrounding it, worse than her dental clinic, which was little more than a hut. The doctor had refused to leave, but she didn’t hold it against him. He was black, not African, and feared for his life. Of the fifty or so people she observed in the single room, two had died during their five-minute conversation. She had described the broken man’s symptoms and the breaks as best she could and the doctor had advised her as best he could.
“Sister,” he said. “You be careful with this man, understand? Dysentery is the second most prevalent disease here, but generally is not fatal. It’s not the one you need worry about.”
“Second most? What’s the first most?” she asked.
He nudged her away from the nearest patients and into one of the few corners not occupied with a cot. “You don’t tell anyone I said this, understand?”
She nodded, wondering what the secret was, and if it really was a secret.
He waved around the room. “Most people her have this, in one form or another; most people you see in your clinic have it to, or have been exposed. So, you be careful in what you do.”
“What’s the first most?” she repeated.
“Aids.”
The word had caught her by surprise, although she should have known it. Everything she did revolved around protection from blood, but then it had been so in the US, too. Living here, she had no room for error, even from the blood he coughed up. She had to be more careful.
“Why is it a secret? Everyone should know.”
“They all blame America for it. If they talk about it, the anger comes and lives are forfeit. Our lives. So, we do the best we can…and we stay silent. Understand?”
The doctor had provided her with what she requested, and without charge. Not that she would ever let Father MacClenny know. She had over one hundred dollars, the first money she had touched since entering Africa, and she wasn’t about to part with it.
The crackle behind her, someone stepping on a twig, stopped her reverie and almost her heart.
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