As the truck pulled into the drive of the offices of the Catholic diocese in Rumbek, Sister Marie Claire saw a young woman walking behind two men as they moved along the sidewalk near the building. She carried two large, overstuffed briefcases and a large white plastic cylinder under her right arm. The men carried nothing, puffing cigars and talking loud enough to be heard from inside the truck. The girl was small and dark, with a long dress and sandals. She looked exhausted, more than exhausted, she looked as sad as any person the nun had ever seen, as if she was a witness to the tragedy that was her life. Now Sister Marie Claire was also a witness to it. She became short of breath and snatched some air. Turning his head sharply at the sound, the doctor asked, “Is something the matter?” Sister Marie Claire cleared her throat and said, “Nothing is wrong, I just thought of something I meant to bring with me today and forgot.”
The doctor smiled and said he had done the same thing many times. He pulled on the door handle and when it opened, he rolled out and onto the graveled surface of the parking lot. Sister Marie Claire did not move. Watching the young woman struggle up the street, the nun’s jaw muscles bunched as she clenched her teeth and hissed, “Pigs” at the men walking and laughing before the girl, then said, “Forgive me Father.”
***
Paul Abimaje brought two cups of coffee to the round table next to the door in the back of his small restaurant. Servers, Paul’s own children, passed close by as they moved in and out of the kitchen door next to the nun’s shoulder. A name had been carved into the wood of the table where she sat; the carving was poorly done. Sister Marie Claire tried to read the name as she waited for her friend to return. When he did, she smiled and took in the smell of the coffee. It was strong, its warm richness reminding her of the coffee her father made each morning, a smell from her childhood. She wished for a return of the feelings she had then; contentment, comfort, an excitement for what the day would bring. Now her days were filled with fear and misgivings, a longing for peace and safety, for comfort. She missed her father and his hugs. Phillip Audebourg would have been proud of his daughter and her plan. Claire had always made him proud, even when she failed, he would commend her for her efforts, no matter how small or great. He only cared that she always tried.
Sister Marie Claire sipped the coffee while she looked around the restaurant. The room had only two other customers, old men sitting near the window to watch the street and its entertainment. They would grunt as something caught their attention, the loudest coming when young women would pass. Frowning as she watched, she said, “Hanley Martin gives this plan a real chance at succeeding. Without the plane, our ability to move that many children at once that distance would have been limited, if not impossible. If we can load them and depart in a small amount of time, the smallest possible, then we will be back to the mission before anyone can pursue us. Once there, I have arranged to disperse the children immediately, to scatter them across the countryside. Finding them will be difficult. Jumma has spent months locating relatives and devised a system for contacting them when we return. The relatives do not know of the plan. You are the only one.”
The man looked up and raised a palm to the nun to silence her. “You have not told the other relatives? How can that be? What if they will not accept the child? What happens then?” As he began to speak, coffee spilled from his lower lip and onto the table, where it pooled in a small hole that had been drilled by countless diners over the years. He wiped it up with the side of his hand and looked back to the nun for an answer.
“They will not refuse their own. Even if they do, the mission orphanage will take them, which is much better than the life they are living now, no? It was my decision not to tell the relatives. If only one told someone else and that person told someone else, in a week, too many people would know and the plan would have been compromised. No, it was the right thing to do. Jumma has worked to make certain we can contact these people quickly and move the children to safety. Some will be placed with people in the surrounding villages until they can be delivered to their families. We know that the plane will be recognized if seen. The American and I know the risks. We will deny that anyone else was involved. Jumma is to stay in the plane so he will not be seen. It is to be hoped that since we
