it resembles the world he left behind?'
'We had a young priest from Holland here once. Courageous
and strong, self-sacrificing. But one day, with no warning, he got
up from the dinner table and walked straight out into the bush.
Purposefully, as if he knew where he was going.'
'What happened?'
'He was never seen again. His goal must have been to be swallowed
up, never to return. Something in him snapped.'
Olofson thinks of Joseph and his sisters and brothers. 'What
do the blacks really think?' he asks.
'They get to know us through the God we give them.'
'Don't they have their own gods? What do you do with them?'
'Let them disappear on their own.'
Wrong, Olofson thinks. But maybe a missionary has to ignore
certain things in order to endure.
'I'll find someone who can show you around,' says LeMarque.
'Unfortunately almost everyone who works here is out in the
bush right now. They're visiting the remote villages. I'll ask
Amanda to show you around.'
Not until evening is Olofson shown the infirmary. The pale
man, whose name is Dieter, informs him that Amanda Reinhardt,
who LeMarque thought would show him around, is busy and
asks his forgiveness.
When he returns from Johanson's grave Joseph is sitting by
his door. He notices at once that Joseph is frightened.
'I won't say anything,' he says.
' Bwana is a good bwana ,' says Joseph.
'Stop calling me Bwana !'
'Yes, Bwana .'
They walk down to the river and search for crocodiles without
seeing any. Joseph shows him Mutshatsha's extensive maize cultivation.
Everywhere he sees women with hoes in their hands, bent
over the earth.
'Where are all the men?' he asks.
'The men are making important decisions, Bwana . Maybe they
are also busy preparing the African whisky.'
'Important decisions?'
'Important decisions, Bwana .'
After eating the food served to him by the lame man, he sits
down in the shade of Harry Johanson's tree. He doesn't understand
the emptiness that pervades the mission station. He tries
to imagine that through him Janine really has accomplished her
long journey. The inactivity makes him restless. I have to return
home, he thinks. Return to what I'm supposed to do, whatever
that might be ...
In the twilight, Amanda Reinhardt suddenly appears in his
doorway. He had been lying on top of his bed and dozed off. She
has a kerosene lamp in her hand, and he sees that she is short and
chubby. From her broken English he gathers that she is German.
'I am sorry you are left alone,' she says. 'But we are so few here
just now. There is so much to do.'
'I've been lying here thinking of Harry Johanson's tree,' Olofson
says.
'Who?' she asks.
At that moment an excited African appears from the shadows.
He exchanges a few sentences with the German woman in the
language Olofson doesn't understand.
'A child is about to die,' she says. 'I must go.'
In the doorway she stops short and turns around. 'Come with
me,' she says. 'Come with me to Africa.'
He gets up from the bed and they hurry towards the infirmary,
which lies at the foot of Johanson's hill. Olofson shrinks back
as he steps into a room full of iron beds. A few kerosene lamps
cast a dim light over the room. Olofson sees that there are sick
people lying everywhere. On the beds, between the beds, under
the beds. In several beds lie mothers intertwined with their sick
children. Cooking vessels and bundles of clothing make the room
almost impassable, and the intense smell of sweat and urine and
excrement is stupefying. In a bed made of bent iron pipes tied
together with steel wire lies a child of three or four years old.
Around the bed women are squatting.
Olofson sees that even a black face can radiate pallor.
Amanda Reinhardt bends over the child, touches his forehead,
talking all the while with the women.
The anteroom of death, he thinks. The kerosene lamps are
the flames of life ...
Suddenly a shriek breaks out from all the women squatting
around the bed. One of the women, hardly more than eighteen
years old,
'We had a young priest from Holland here once. Courageous
and strong, self-sacrificing. But one day, with no warning, he got
up from the dinner table and walked straight out into the bush.
Purposefully, as if he knew where he was going.'
'What happened?'
'He was never seen again. His goal must have been to be swallowed
up, never to return. Something in him snapped.'
Olofson thinks of Joseph and his sisters and brothers. 'What
do the blacks really think?' he asks.
'They get to know us through the God we give them.'
'Don't they have their own gods? What do you do with them?'
'Let them disappear on their own.'
Wrong, Olofson thinks. But maybe a missionary has to ignore
certain things in order to endure.
'I'll find someone who can show you around,' says LeMarque.
'Unfortunately almost everyone who works here is out in the
bush right now. They're visiting the remote villages. I'll ask
Amanda to show you around.'
Not until evening is Olofson shown the infirmary. The pale
man, whose name is Dieter, informs him that Amanda Reinhardt,
who LeMarque thought would show him around, is busy and
asks his forgiveness.
When he returns from Johanson's grave Joseph is sitting by
his door. He notices at once that Joseph is frightened.
'I won't say anything,' he says.
' Bwana is a good bwana ,' says Joseph.
'Stop calling me Bwana !'
'Yes, Bwana .'
They walk down to the river and search for crocodiles without
seeing any. Joseph shows him Mutshatsha's extensive maize cultivation.
Everywhere he sees women with hoes in their hands, bent
over the earth.
'Where are all the men?' he asks.
'The men are making important decisions, Bwana . Maybe they
are also busy preparing the African whisky.'
'Important decisions?'
'Important decisions, Bwana .'
After eating the food served to him by the lame man, he sits
down in the shade of Harry Johanson's tree. He doesn't understand
the emptiness that pervades the mission station. He tries
to imagine that through him Janine really has accomplished her
long journey. The inactivity makes him restless. I have to return
home, he thinks. Return to what I'm supposed to do, whatever
that might be ...
In the twilight, Amanda Reinhardt suddenly appears in his
doorway. He had been lying on top of his bed and dozed off. She
has a kerosene lamp in her hand, and he sees that she is short and
chubby. From her broken English he gathers that she is German.
'I am sorry you are left alone,' she says. 'But we are so few here
just now. There is so much to do.'
'I've been lying here thinking of Harry Johanson's tree,' Olofson
says.
'Who?' she asks.
At that moment an excited African appears from the shadows.
He exchanges a few sentences with the German woman in the
language Olofson doesn't understand.
'A child is about to die,' she says. 'I must go.'
In the doorway she stops short and turns around. 'Come with
me,' she says. 'Come with me to Africa.'
He gets up from the bed and they hurry towards the infirmary,
which lies at the foot of Johanson's hill. Olofson shrinks back
as he steps into a room full of iron beds. A few kerosene lamps
cast a dim light over the room. Olofson sees that there are sick
people lying everywhere. On the beds, between the beds, under
the beds. In several beds lie mothers intertwined with their sick
children. Cooking vessels and bundles of clothing make the room
almost impassable, and the intense smell of sweat and urine and
excrement is stupefying. In a bed made of bent iron pipes tied
together with steel wire lies a child of three or four years old.
Around the bed women are squatting.
Olofson sees that even a black face can radiate pallor.
Amanda Reinhardt bends over the child, touches his forehead,
talking all the while with the women.
The anteroom of death, he thinks. The kerosene lamps are
the flames of life ...
Suddenly a shriek breaks out from all the women squatting
around the bed. One of the women, hardly more than eighteen
years old,
Similar Books
