Given New Worlds Page 14

  “This group seems to be very efficient. They do not require much assistance. Mama Zawadi has asked them to repair the roof and they have already begun the task.”

  “Really?” Abby was shocked. Usually it took a whole day of instruction and guidance to get the group to do even the most menial task, but now the roof was being repaired, within a matter of hours.

  “Several of them are attending to the children, of course. The crippled man surely cannot be expected to work. He is with Nathan.”

  Abby smiled when she thought of little Nathan. He’d been brought in two months ago recovering from severe burns he’d received almost a year prior. His right hand had been amputated, so pain and fear continued to affect him on a daily basis. Abby had cuddled with him many days, trying to soothe his angry spirit. She understood. She knew that he had a thorn in his side as well. He had yet to come around, but Abby knew that God worked in his own timing. It was so appropriate that a man with a handicap had arrived only months after Nathan. It was truly one of God’s miracles.

  She finished straightening paperwork and walked to the open-air classroom around the corner of the building. As she approached, she could hear American voices yelling to each other. Usually the familiar accents unnerved her, and she had to build up her mental strength to deal with the loud, boisterous language. But this time she felt a peace urging her on, providing the strength she needed to deal with this particular group.

  She approached the classroom and watched them, wanting to get a feel for their personalities before interrupting their work. It was a group of men, maybe in their twenties and thirties. Abby felt her skin tingle as she watched handsome bodies angle plywood onto the roof and lift beams like they were only twenty pounds. She would have thought they were some college youth group, but they were older. Maybe military? No. The military wouldn’t send a bunch of their guys out on a mission trip to a little hospital on the outskirts of Nairobi. They had bigger fish to fry than a leaky roof at a small private hospital and orphanage. Maybe they were a soccer team on break, hoping to do some good before pounding the field again. Abby laughed. These men were surely not soccer players. But she could imagine.

  She glanced over at the play area near the far gate. Nathan was there looking determinedly at the man the ladies had mentioned; the cripple, as they called him. The little boy’s expression was a contrast to the silly shorts he was wearing that hung on by a thread, repaired repeatedly by Abby’s stitching. He refused to wear any other pants, only the shorts in which he’d arrived. She allowed emotion to take hold of her as the little boy’s face set into a determined expression, clearly focused on the person in front of him, thread-bare shorts and all.

  She then looked at the man. He didn’t seem handicapped. He appeared strong and able, playing with Nathan, making him laugh. Making him laugh? Abby felt a rush of joy in her heart. Nathan hadn’t laughed since he’d been at the orphanage. He hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t shown anything but fear and anger. And here he was, the controlled expression changing in milliseconds to a laugh brought on by this man, tossing what appeared to be a Koosh ball back and forth with one arm. Abby looked closer and saw that the man was only using one arm as well. Perhaps his hand was impaired.

  She slid quietly through the gate, so as not to disturb the pair, but even when she did catch Nathan’s eye, he continued to laugh and play with the ball. It was a struggle for the boy. He dropped it frequently, but so did the man. She saw that his sleeve was rolled up and he was missing two fingers on his right hand. The other fingers seemed to be bent at odd angles and didn’t move properly. She could tell that he was a handsome man from the back, and clearly, he was having a tough time throwing the ball with his left hand. He must have been right handed before the accident. It was definitely some sort of accident, because as Abby approached, she could see fresh scarring and redness on the forearm. It matched very closely in the timing of healing to the same scars she had on her own body.

  When Nathan finally decided to acknowledge Abby’s presence, the little boy tossed the ball towards her. Of course, it flew right past her head towards the picnic tables at the back of the courtyard, but she ran to fetch it for him. Lifting the ball with a smile of joy, she turned and started to walk back. But then the world stopped.

  She didn’t know that breathing could be so complicated. How did it work again? In, then out. In, then out. And walking? One step, then another. One step, then another. Nathan ran up and grabbed the ball out of her hand, running away to play with it as Abby stared at the man with the damaged arm. It was Sean.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  “HI Jamie.”

  Abby opened her mouth, but sound refused to materialize. Dizzy spots danced through her vision and she tripped over herself trying to reach a bench only several feet away. Then, dropping her head between her legs, she searched past the chasm of shock that loomed in front of her for the reality on the other side.

  Was this Sean? Or was it someone that just looked like him? Was she still dreaming? Had she not woken from the nightmares of the previous evening? Was her mind playing tricks on her?

  “Jamie,” the voice said. It was closing in on her, now only a few feet away. She could see the shadow of his legs on the concrete. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

  Did she know who he was? No. Because, he couldn’t be Sean, the only man she’d loved. The man she’d given her heart to over and over. The man who had saved her from herself. The man whom she had been trying to drive out of her mind for over a year. This wasn’t him.

  The shadow didn’t move. Abby could hear Nathan’s delighted voice as he continued to play with the ball. She could hear the men continue to shout out directions about nails, paneling, and protein bars. She could hear a motorcycle drive away from the hospital, and even the sound of a boy herding cattle past the classroom. It was surreal. The Americans were here. That was what it was. She always fell apart when the Americans came. This was only due to her stress.

  “Miss Jamie!” Mama Zawadi’s voice filled the classroom as Abby continued to stare at the jagged cracks running through the concrete floor. “Are you well? Have you taken with the fever?” Abby felt large arms surround her in concern, patting at her back and pressing a thick hand against her forehead. “I should call Dr. Otieno. You are not well. No fever. But this is not good for you to be fainted.”

  Abby slowly lifted her head and Mama Zawadi brushed the hair out of her face. Abby’s eyes were closed, not wanting to see, not wanting to know if he wasn’t real - or if he was. It was too much.

  “Open your eyes, Miss Jamie. Let me see that you are okay.” Mama Zawadi was speaking in Swahili. Abby had picked up much of the language. She wasn’t sure if the man with the damaged arm could understand it, but surely, he could comprehend what was going on as Mama Zawadi prodded at her eyelids, forcing Abby to open them.

  And when she did, there he was. His black hair, his strong jawline, his arched eyebrow. But no dimple, no smile, only sadness. She didn’t recognize this Sean. His shoulders no longer held the joviality that he’d once sported, his lips didn’t curve into a smile, and his eyes didn’t have the fire of the man that she’d known a lifetime ago.

  Mama Zawadi checked and mumbled while Abby could only stare, her gaze moving from his eyes, to his chest, to his arm, and to the damaged hand, and then back again to his lips. The lips that over a year ago had gently caressed her cheek.

  “So then, you are fine,” Mama Zawadi proclaimed. “Drink more water. Eat the meat today. I will make sure you have some on your plate.” Abby rarely had meat anymore. She saved the protein for the children. They were still growing. They needed it more than she did.

  “You,” Mama Zawadi growled in her typical halted English, reserved for ordering the visiting missionaries around. “Make sure she is not sick. You make sure she get water. I take the boy.” She waddled over to Nathan and took his hand, pulling him away from the play area to help her wash dishes in the kitchen. From the week Nathan had arrived, Ma
ma Zawadi had been delighted to have found out that even with one hand, the boy could organize pans in the cabinet like a professional. So, from his first week at the orphanage, that had been his job.

  With Mama Zawadi’s departure, the breeze that drifted through the open sides of the classroom was the only thing between Abby and the man that used to be Sean.

  “You look different,” the man in front of her spoke, once again using Sean’s voice, but without the smile, without a hint of the love that they used to share.

  Abby didn’t reply. She could only sit and watch, not sure that he wasn’t just a figment of her imagination.

  “But, you’re still beautiful.” His eyes scanned her slowly. She felt his vision pulsate over the hair that tumbled in greasy waves over her face, now grown out slightly past her shoulders. She could feel him taking in her clothing, tattered and dirty. The tan, button-up shirt very similar to the one he was wearing, and faded, green scrub pants that were a size too big, but could be cinched tighter with the shoestring she was using as a belt. She was a far cry from the Abby he used to know. Scratch that. She was no longer that woman. She was Jamie. Jamie Poser.

  He took a step forward and Abby flinched.

  “May I have a seat?” he asked, before taking another step.

  Abby nodded, and he walked to the bench across from her, moving slowly to sit. It must not be his hand alone. He moved with a stiff, uneasy motion.

  They sat for a long time. Silent, unmoving, watching. Minutes that seemed like hours passed. Mama Zawadi peeked out twice and frowned, clearly irritated that Abby hadn’t consumed the water as prescribed.

  “Yo! Barrage,” a voice yelled from behind the kitchen building towards Sean. “Get your pack out of the back. We’ll stay here tonight.”

  The endless stare down ended as Sean stood slowly walked over to the truck by the kitchen building. She wondered if he’d told the men who she was. The other man eyed Abby, then gave her a wink and a smile. Nothing scandalous. Just a friendly, American wink. No. He didn’t know who she was. Or if he did, he was unimpressed enough not to run to his buddies exclaiming about who he’d found in the middle of Africa.

  “I’m going to be here at the hospital for a week,” Sean said as he struggled to lift his backpack onto the picnic table next to her. “…maybe more. I don’t want to get in your space, invade your new life. I just…”

  She watched him breathe as thoughts visibly tumbled through his head, his eyes shifting in a hundred emotions at once while Abby sat mindless, dumb, unable to move one muscle in her face to anything but a blank stare.

  “I just wanted you to know I was here.”

  Then he walked away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  ABBY left the hospital early that day. The only other time she’d left early was the day she’d been threatened at gunpoint, and even then, it had only been due to the concern of Dr. Otieno.

  The apartment was alone and empty without Oyana and the other women in it. Abby felt claustrophobic and trapped, so instead of sitting around, she went to a local market and walked through the stalls, picking through fruit, testing out new shoes, and wasting time until Oyana got home and would be able to take Abby’s mind off the earthquake that had just cracked her soul open.

  She wanted to pray, but the words wouldn’t come. She tried to think of bible verses that would fit the situation, but her mind was still. The Holy Spirit had once again stepped back and allowed Abby to be silent. To settle her mind before allowing emotion to enter her body again.

  Several of the men from the mission group had ended up at the same market as she, and Abby found herself ducking out of sight. She watched them joke and smile with the vendors along the street, then waited for Sean’s somber face to appear as well. But it had only been the two younger men, looking for toys for the children. She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed, as emotion seemed to take the same route as her voice and was not ready to make an appearance. She could have sworn their eyes met hers, but they didn’t acknowledge her presence, as if they understood her need to stay aloof and silent.

  When Abby returned to the apartment, Oyana was already home and pushed a plate towards her. It was covered with a towel and Abby could smell the potato and vegetable dish that Mama Zawadi would often ply her to eat with.

  “You must eat. You are not well,” Oyana said, lifting the towel and pointing to the meal as if Abby’s life depended on it.

  Abby settled herself in a chair and saw that there were also large pieces of chicken in the dish. It was clear that Mama Zawadi wanted to make sure that Abby was full and rested before returning tomorrow.

  “You have no fever,” Oyana pointed out.

  Abby shook her head and lifted a forkful to her mouth. The meal was delicious, but her stomach was as still and silent as her heart. Surely, it didn’t have the ambition to carve nutrients from the food that sat in front of her. It would have been better if the children had been given the chicken.

  “It is that man,” Oyana said, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Am I correct?”

  Abby didn’t say a word.

  “He is very handsome. It’s too bad that his hand is lame.” Oyana didn’t push for details, only sat patiently watching Abby, probably under strict instructions that she ensure Abby finished the entire meal. “He asked for you.”

  Abby shivered and set her fork down. Without an appetite, it was like torture trying to get the food down her throat. Oyana would have to force feed her if push came to shove.

  “My sister has a husband,” Oyana began. She must have realized that Abby wouldn’t be finishing the meal, so she pulled the plate towards her on the rough wood of the table and lifted Abby’s fork. She took a bite and smiled. “You will not tell Mama Zawadi if I eat the rest of this, will you?”

  Abby once again shook her head.

  Oyana continued with her story. “My sister’s husband went to Mozambique. He returned two years later. Things were different. The children had grown older. My sister had become hard, strong. The husband, he was tired, angry.”

  She finished off the meal and brought the plate to the sink and washed it. Abby only sat, quietly tracing the grain of the table with her finger, knowing that Oyana had a purpose for her story, and appreciating the fact that she wasn’t drilling her about Sean.

  “They were once again together. Yet, they were not together. They had different worlds. Different thoughts.”

  Oyana set the plate on the counter and sat back down next to Abby. “You may correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that you and this man… you are together now. But you are not together. Am I correct?”

  Abby nodded.

  A sympathetic smile played over Oyana’s face and she patted Abby’s hand. “My sister and her husband. It was a long time, but they built a new world together. They learned about each other’s new thoughts. They found out what they could build together in their new worlds.”

  Abby shook her head. It wasn’t like that. She and Sean weren’t building new worlds. He was only passing through. On a mission trip from only God knew where, passing through to another God knew where place. Abby didn’t need to know. She’d gone so long without knowing. It wasn’t about learning each other’s new thoughts or new worlds. It was about realization that they were different people now, on their own course - apart.

  “My sister and her husband have another son,” Oyana said. “He was born last month. His name is Umoja. Do you know what that means?”

  Abby had heard it before, but she couldn’t remember.

  “It means unity. My sister and her husband. They are different now, but they are united. It was not easy, they were angry, and they were sad, but sometimes they were happy. And then the happy became more and more. Now they have Umoja, Unity.”

  Abby looked at her hands, not wanting to have to tell Oyana that her words were for naught. Nothing would come of Sean’s visit to the hospital. Only memories and pain.

  “I will have the shower first,
” Oyana said, lifting herself off the chair and walking towards the bathroom, pretending that it had only been light conversation. But Abby knew better.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  IT rained that night. Abby had never seen so much rain since she’d lived in Florida. Perhaps the Americans had brought it with them. While Oyana and the other women worried and complained about the precipitation, Abby found it cleansing. She sat on the front porch of the apartment building and watched the streets run with streams in the black of the evening. Even the drifters that frequented the night seemed to be few and far between.

  Abby didn’t bother going to bed. She knew it would be fruitless. Oyana had already lectured her twice about the lack of safety on the front porch, but Abby hadn’t responded. The dams of her heart hadn’t broken yet, tears had to be shed, her silence was not yet complete.

  Tears flowed from the heavens, but not her eyes. No tears for the worlds that had been torn apart. No tears for the anger, pain, guilt, and hate that continued to consume her. No tears for the desire to truly be free from the past, but knowing that it was part of her, never to be vanquished. No tears for Sean, the man who had stolen her heart and ran with it. Away, away, away. And now, here he was, but where was her heart?

  By two o’clock the rains had subsided, and the moon and stars glistened in the reflection of the water in the streets. Abby stepped off the porch and onto the curb, watching small rivers drift away from her gutter to the main street.

  The hospital was two miles from her apartment, but Abby walked the distance in a detached trance, only realizing that she’d arrived at its glowing windows when she saw the South Mission Hospital sign shedding rivulets of rain from its worn letters. The hospital was quiet and empty. One of the night nurses recognized Abby and smiled as she passed by the check-in desk and made her way towards the rear of the hospital.

  She went to the clerical office and rifled through some paperwork that had been placed on her desk while she was gone. Trying to translate, process, and collaborate was too much for her muddled mind, so after twenty minutes of attempting a communication, Abby gave up and set the paperwork down for tomorrow, but then, it wasn’t tomorrow at all. It was today. She looked at her watch and saw that it was already four o’clock. She wouldn’t make it back in time to start the coffee. Oyana was going to be mad that Abby hadn’t come back in from the porch, and then scared, and then mad again when she found out that Abby had walked to the hospital in the middle of the night. But it didn’t matter. Abby was thoughtless, unable to consider the ramifications of her actions. Only able to put one foot in front of the other. To breath in, then out again.