***
He saw her coming from across the road, from where the lepers received treatment, a white cloth in her hand, her face rigid, showing stress, he thought. He was beginning to understand. There was now a mission for her beyond the administration of medicine, beyond the simple act of healing those fortunate enough to reach Mapuordit. Hanley wondered if her commitment to the children was now stronger than her commitment to the order she served. He wondered if Sudan was now the alter she stood before, the violence its sin, its children the souls to be saved.
Hanley saw his first group of small souls the day before. Children, some barely older than his granddaughter, led by two adults, a part of Sister Marie Claire’s network, he supposed. There was a quiet tension that surrounded them as they were guided to tents, the care for the children beginning immediately. The young Irish doctor and a nurse examined the children while the nun spoke with the adults. He also saw Jumma, standing at some distance, watching the group and those tending to them. He did not appear to be involved, but watched intently as the examinations continued and the children were fed. Jumma sat watching and then writing in his notebook. What is he writing, Hanley wondered.
As the nun approached, Hanley waited by a small bush near the edge of the roadway. Nearing the bush, Sister Marie Claire looked up, saw the American and smiled. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she asked, “Have you been waiting long?”
“No, not really. You’ve been working early enough. The sun’s just rising,” he said.
“If we see the sun in the morning, then we are the fortunate ones, no?” she asked
Each day at the mission started at dawn. By the time the sun had crawled above the hills enough to be seen, the compound was up and moving, fires in the outlying camps glowing brighter as the chilled people added wood, the children huddled near the heat, hoping for something to eat. The mission’s kitchen fed as many people as it had food with which to feed.
“Have you had breakfast?” he asked.
“No, I’m not hungry,” she said.
“Where are you going now?”
“It’s a bit early to be so inquisitive, is it not?” she asked. Her head was down, the look on her face unchanged. He noticed her grip on the white cloth caused the knuckles on her hand to whiten, the tendons visible through her thin skin, the hand shook. She was trembling.
“Are you all right? Let’s stop for a second. We can sit here and talk,” he said.
They stopped, Hanley looking for a spot, dry with enough grass to be comfortable. He offered his hand to help her sit.
She said, “Are you worried I might collapse or do you want to draw me into another conversation about you and your cosmic obligations?”
Hanley, now more prepared for his conversations with the nun, smiled and said, “I was a boy scout, you know. Helping old ladies cross the street was beat into us as a thing we must always do. So, it may surprise you, I still have the urge to help whenever the occasion presents itself.”
She smiled, took his hand and sat, her movements fluid, like a dancer. Hanley sat beside her, legs bent at the knee, wrapping his arms around them. He wore an old faded khaki-colored jacket, a field coat, adorned with pockets of various sizes and purpose. His boots bore a mosaic of scratches from walking through the bush, covered by a thin layer of dust. He looked at the boots, trying to remember the day he bought them, where it had been. He couldn’t.
“I saw Jumma yesterday, watching a group of children who had just arrived at the mission. He was taking notes as he watched them. Why would he do that?” Hanley asked.
“I don’t know. Did you ask him?”
Hanley looked at her, at her face, now more relaxed, the cloth hanging loosely in her hand. So, it will be like this, he thought. Always like this. “No, I just thought it was curious, you know. Maybe he is conducting a study of sorts, noting their condition, how they behaved. I just wondered why he did it from a distance and not closer where he could observe more, talk to them. It just seemed odd,” he said.
They sat for a moment more, then the nun stood, brushing grass and dirt from the back of her skirt. She raised a hand to her brow to block the rising sun, turned to the American and said, “Jumma believes the mission helps the people of this country and it’s his desire to help. Perhaps he is writing their stories so that the world will remember a country it has already forgotten.” She walked away, leaving the American sitting alone.
“I don’t think so,” Hanley said to her as she walked toward the mission.
13
The ride to Juba took a long two hours. The road was graveled and relatively smooth, mostly straight, occasionally rough. As they were about to leave that morning, Hanley asked to drive, telling Sister Marie Claire he needed to learn the routes and the terrain. Looking at the Land Rover, she said, “You should do well, this is the easiest of all the vehicles to drive. If you show promise, we will teach you to drive the big truck.” Getting in, she smiled and said, “Jumma said you do not watch where you’re going when you fly.
