Found in Translation by Roger Bruner Page B

translate. I knew in my head how small Santa María is—”
    “And how uncivilized,” Charlie said.
    “So I should have realized I wasn’t going to find a capable bilingualist on every street corner.” He smiled tentatively. “But I didn’t even know Santa María had no street corners—and no streets. I don’t know when I was last so wrong about something so important.”
    Charlie took over. “You should’ve seen us trying to invite the villagers to breakfast this morning. We finally gathered them together, but—when we had the blessing—they didn’t realize we were praying. We even tried crossing ourselves, but that didn’t appear to mean anything to them. They just kept on talking amongst themselves.”
    Shock showed on everyone’s face. Even the take-no-prisoners questioner’s. He unfolded his arms, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.

chapter seventeen
    I t makes no sense,” Charlie said, “but the villagers seem to understand why we’re here. Our tools and building supplies didn’t appear to surprise them. Maybe whoever reported their dire circumstances promised to send helpers and supplies. Not knowing is frustrating, but we may not get an answer this side of heaven.”
    Rob leaned toward the handheld microphone. “They obviously want to help.”
    “Their involvement is imperative,” Charlie said. “Of course, after what they’ve been through, they may not be capable of strenuous work. So we won’t expect more from them than they’re able to do. Rob …?”
    “Charlie and I arose at dawn like we were all supposed to do, although I can’t fault anyone who couldn’t make it up then after such a long and trying day yesterday.”
    Rob, you’re okay. I’m liking you more all the time.
    “Tomorrow is another day, and we’ll all have a fresh chance to get up on time.”
    If Rob proved to be another
Gone with the Wind
fan, that would be a big point in his favor.
    “Come on, Rob, get to the point!” Charlie said with mock impatience.
    Although most of us knew Charlie was teasing and laughed at him, several kids looked terrified. They must have thought the two men were about to argue or maybe get into a fistfight.
    “Do you want to tell this?” Rob said, still laughing.
    Charlie shook his head. “You tell it. You’re the boss.”
    “The point—the bottom line, for those of you planning to be business majors—is we took a quick survey this morning. We confirmed the existence of thirty-eight villagers. Six are between the ages of five and ten. We didn’t see anyone younger than that. Twelve villagers are too old to do construction. Two others appear incapable of helping, even though their ages wouldn’t be prohibitive. We may be able to involve some of them in light tasks if we can find a way to explain our needs.”
    In early May, I’d taken a couple of better-than-average photos of some baby robins in a nest in the pyracantha bush beside our front porch. Watching Mom Robin feed her little ones mesmerized me. The babies appeared to eat with gusto, and they didn’t seem to object to being dependent on their mother.
    But suppose those babies had been adult birds that were unable to find food or feed themselves? How would they have felt about being dependent on stronger, healthier birds—if other birds were even willing to help care for them?
    Was that how the more helpless villagers would feel about not being able to share in the rebuilding?
    “In short,”—Charlie spoke without the microphone until Rob held it up in front of him—“eighteen villagers appear capable of helping. So, between you, them, and us, that makes, uh, 164 laborers.”
    “One hundred sixty-five! Don’t forget the Holy Spirit!”
    I wasn’t sure who’d said that, but she sounded amazingly like the ditsy venue girl. If so, she was a lot smarter than she’d let on.
    Yesses and amens filled the air, and the villagers glanced at one another with concerned faces about why we’d suddenly begun applauding,