“Dr O’Connell, your brother Tim said that you need to write a letter to your mother. It seems she is unhappy with your poor communication skills.” The look on the young doctor’s face was what Hanley expected it would be. Dr O’Connell was dumbstruck.
“What the hell. How do you know that?” the Irish doctor asked. Hanley explained his layover in Galway and the chance meeting with his brother. “By God, that’s amazing,” was all Dr O’Connell could say.
Hanley sat in the only vacant chair and looked at the food. He was even hungrier than he expected. The meal looked to be some sort of roasted meat, with vegetables, including ears of corn. There was a plate of flat bread and small cakes. One of the other doctors, about the same age as the first, but taller and not as dark, retrieved a glass from a smaller table off to one side and placed it in front of Hanley. The glass was mostly clean. Since no one apologized for its condition, Hanley assumed this was an accepted level of sanitation.
After pouring some wine and spooning some meat and vegetables onto a plate, the American answered the barrage of questions that came his way. Everyone seemed to speak English moderately well.
“Tell us, Mr Martin, what do you think of our airport?” one of the doctors asked.
“I’ve seen worse. Believe it or not, there are a few airports in America that make yours look good,” Hanley said. He dipped a piece of flatbread in the broth and began to eat, thankful for the food and his safe arrival.
“Really? I thought all airports in America were paved. Where is there not paved airports in your country?”
“They’re everywhere, really, many are out west, some in the Midwest. Anyway, yours is not bad, as long as approaches are made during daylight hours. What kind of meat is this?” Hanley asked.
“Local beef. We don’t have it often, as it’s very scarce. It’s Sunday and we thought you might arrive so we had something a bit nicer than normal,” Father Robineau explained.
“Well, I really appreciate this. I must admit I am hungry. I ate last night and have had nothing since. My stop in Port Sudan didn’t allow me time to eat. I thought I might be spending the night there, but things worked out and customs let me leave.”
“You’re fortunate,” one of the Slovakian doctors observed. “We’ve been told when the customs inspector there is in a bad mood, say when his wife has refused him her love, he makes people wait for days before he lets them leave. You’re a lucky man, Mr Martin; his wife must have been agreeable, no?”
“I’ll try to remember to drop her a note of thanks,” Hanley said.
A nurse sitting across from Hanley smiled and sipped from a tall glass filled a third of the way with the same wine Hanley was drinking. Watching her drink, Hanley was reminded of how Rocky sipped ice tea from a tall glass sitting at her patio table. He chewed his food a little faster and tried to focus on what was around him now.
The rest of the evening was taken up with more questions about Hanley, his past, why he came and American politics. Hanley asked few questions. As his exhaustion became too much for him, he apologized for his frequent yawns. He was taken back to the sleeping quarters. On the way, they stopped to see the building housing the showers, another large, unpainted wooden building, the interior divided with thin plywood sheets into rooms. One room was larger and contained sinks and a long table, the rest stalls with showers or toilets, amenities Hanley would soon come to appreciate. Long sheets of heavy, white cotton cloth were tacked to the rafters, creating a ceiling for the rooms and some small amount of privacy. Two white lightbulbs hung from cords attached to the rafters.
“We are fortunate to have electricity. It often fails and so we provide a candle and holder,” the priest explained. “I have not had a chance to ask about Sophie; is she well?” he asked the American.
“Yes, she is very well. When I left them, they were both well and happy. She sends her love. She is a lovely, decent woman, Father.”
“Yes, she is. Thank you,” the priest said. “Tomorrow is a busy day here. It will be especially busy for you. We wake very early at Mapuordit. So, take your sleep while you can. There is one more thing which I will begin to explain tonight and continue to explain tomorrow. Monsieur, nothing could possibly have prepared you for what you will see here in Sudan. It is unlike anything you have ever known. You will need to control yourself because what you will see will both anger and sadden you in ways you did not know were possible. This country is in a terrible way. Terrible things are happening now. Everything you do must be done with care. When these things begin to affect you, then you must allow God to care for you. Good night.”
5
Sand colored but a bit redder, the wall radiated heat, not like the welcoming warmth of toasted bread but the alarm raising heat of a large bonfire or a blast furnace full of molten iron, a tub holding the drippings from a careless and sloppy sun hanging overhead. Fear took hold of Hanley, a deep and instantly recognizable fear, the kind he’d known for as long as he could remember, a significant part of his memory album, conjured-up, an
