Chapter 27

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Chapter 27: Home Improvement

The three of us went back to the Quispe estate and packed up our things. Huayna called Pilar and the rest of the kids back. I didn't stick around to watch Isabel cry about her boss being dead. We just took our money and clothes, gave Huayna our goodbyes, and got a taxi to the airport. Our first flight--from Trujillo to Lima--went without incident.

Paul didn't know it, though, but I wasn't going to be on that connecting flight back to New York.

"What do you mean, you're not going back with me?" he asked indignantly, when I told him. This was while he waited for his plane to arrive for boarding, so we didn't have a lot of time.

I showed him my own tickets. Two tickets, departing tomorrow, from Lima to New York. "I'm heading to Morococha as soon as you leave. There's someone there I want to see."

"Oh, this is about a woman, isn't it? And you already bought an extra ticket, I see." Gee, he didn't have to sound so derisive about it.

"Like that's a bad thing."

"This is the one-night stand, right? Are you insane?"

"Probably, but I figure it's worth a shot. I don't know, Paul. My life's not making a lot of sense at the moment, and I don't have a lot of attachments. I'm just looking for some closure, one way or another."

"She's not going to come back with you," he predicted.

"You never know."

"She won't," he promised. "I'm telling you. This is a waste of your time--and money. It's bad enough you blew God-knows-how-much on a second ticket."

"Then you can say 'I told you so' when I get back to New York, all alone."

"Don't think I won't."

I probably make him sound like a bit of a party pooper, and I suppose he was, but he also tended to be right about things, and he did have a sense of fun. He just had issues with women. But hey, who doesn't?

We exchanged a firm handshake and some serious eye contact just before he boarded his plane. "Look me up when you get back," he ordered. "Girl or no girl."

"Yeah, yeah," I teased. "You'll see me again. I'm not that easy to get rid of. Plus, half that investment money is mine, remember? I hope your broker's been staying on top of those trades I suggested."

"Who knows, maybe I'll be a rich man by the time I get home. Move out of that nasty apartment." He seemed pleased by the thought. I was glad to be of help.

We parted ways and I strolled to the airport entrance, suitcase in hand, to catch a cab to Morococha.

In a couple hours, I pulled into a dusty little mining town situated at the base of a mountain. The roads were paved, and that's pretty much where the town's amenities seemed to end. The "houses," if you could call them that, consisted of slapped-together slabs of wood, painted bright colors perhaps to cover up how primitive and impoverished they looked. Roofs were corrugated--often rusty--iron.

The driver asked me why I was even here. I started to wonder that, myself. "Just keep driving," I replied in his tongue.

We eventually came across one building that appeared slightly nicer than the others, marked "Médecins Sans Frontières," and I had a feeling we'd hit paydirt. "Stop here," I ordered.

The dingy cab halted and I popped out, walking into the MSF office like I knew what I was doing. A young brunette sat just a few feet away from the entrance, at one of those tables where the legs could fold inward, with stacks of papers and photographs surrounding her. She didn't appear local, and I took her to be their receptionist, or at least the nearest equivalent under the circumstances.

"You aren't from around here," she noted immediately.

"Yeah, neither are you. Does Martie Etrheim work here?"

She sighed and raised her voice. "Martie! There's some guy here for you!" She then went back to one of the papers on the table, scrawling information into forms. I glanced around the "office" as I waited, noticing five skinny kids of varying ages, both boys and girls. sitting on folding chairs to my right, swinging their legs in unison, with two women that I assumed to be parents. I didn't need enhanced vision to know they were malnourished and sick. Eyes sunk in, coughing, thinning hair. They weren't in good shape. I suddenly felt bad for coming.

The snapping of latex pulled my attention forward, and I saw Martie removing a pair of gloves. I expected at least a halfway-friendly greeting, but that's not what I got. Instead, she enunciated with a severely annoyed tone, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Um, can we talk somewhere more private?" I suggested.

She turned around and walked away, which I took as kind of an invitation, and I got to see the rest of the little clinic. Drab curtains were suspended in tracks along the ceiling, allowing some measure of privacy for each bed, of which I counted six. Three were occupied by small children. She took me to one of the empty beds and yanked the curtain around us. Then, she put herself right into my personal space, her eyes boring into mine.

"You've got some nerve coming here, Robert. Explain yourself."

"Well, um..." Okay, I hadn't expected her to be angry. I really hadn't. I should have thought it through. Maybe she really did just want it to be a one-nighter. Or she only wanted letters, so she could arrange a future visit on her terms. Either way, I'd blown it. This was my chance--my one chance--to salvage the situation. "Things, um, didn't work out so well with my job in Trujillo."

She folded her arms and kept a very straight face. Oh, shit. I could tell it was one of those "this better be good" moments.

"I'm heading back to the US, and I just thought I would ask you to come with me. I mean, if you want." God, I was hopeless.

"Oh, is that all? You thought you could come down here, sweep me off my feet, and I'll just leave my work behind? Is that what you thought?"

"Jesus, why are you so pissed? I thought you'd be glad to see me."

I heard her gritting her teeth a little before she squeezed out more words, slowly and deliberately. "I appreciate the thought, but this is so inappropriate I don't even know where to begin. We had one night, Robert. One. Do you think that's the basis for a relationship? Do you really think that means we have a future?"

"Well, to be honest... yes. I hadn't felt that way in a long time. A very, very long time. And I just had to come here and see you. I get it, you don't want to leave your work."

"No, I don't think you do get it, Robert. Do you want to know why I'm here? These kids are poorer than dirt. For that matter, the dirt they play in is filled with the byproducts of the copper mines here. Rashes, asthma, diarrhea, malnutrition. Hell, half these kids are probably suffering from lead poisoning but we can't scrape together the money to test them all. The houses here have no plumbing. Everyone uses water contaminated with copper because they have no other choice. I'm not even sure this town can survive for the long term, but people still live here and their government is too busy kissing the backsides of the mining companies that operate here to give a damn about these people. And you? Dammit, I like you, Robert, but you rank way below these kids. They need me a hell of a lot more than you do. And what really bothers me is that I don't think you really understand that."

Maybe she was right. I was here for fifteen minutes and all I saw was hopelessness. Futility. What future did any of these people have? Why did she come here to fight for them, when they wouldn't even take up for themselves? I mean, if they cared so much about having clean water and adequate food, why did they just sit here and wait for the inevitable?

I had to remind myself that I came from a very different time, and it started to sink in just how different. In my time, everyone here would be packed up and moved to a safer location. Then again, we had much better technology, more resources, and the help of the Oolians. Allowing something like this to go on would have been simply unconscionable.

But as a man of action, I couldn't wrap my head around sitting around and doing nothing. If you know you are living in a town covered with toxic dust, why would you stay? I could admire Martie for her advocacy and dedication, but I wondered if her efforts were for nothing. Would any of these people really be better off in the long run? Or would she leave, moving on to the next impoverished town, and everything here would remain status quo?

All of these things ran through my head as I tried to formulate a response. "I think you're right. I don't 'get it.' I can understand, in a way, but I can't help thinking you're wasting your time here. What will you accomplish? Get a handful of kids an extra six months, or a year or two? I mean, what's the point?"

She didn't like me questioning her job. Not at all. That she didn't punch me square in the jaw is a testament to her incredible restraint. Really. "That's what being a doctor is: buying time. You're right, all of these people will eventually die. I'll go around the world and treat thousands, and in the end, they'll all die. Maybe I'll have given them a little more time, or maybe it will make no difference at all, but I have to try. I have no other choice."

"But what's the point? You just admitted you might not make any difference at all. Doesn't it bother you that you'll go through your life never knowing if you really changed anything?"

"No, because I already know what I've changed. If you were telling the truth about how you felt--that's the difference, right there. I could tell from the moment I met you you're a very broken man, and what little time we spent together apparently had a great impact on you. Take that impact and multiply it by a thousand people, or ten thousand. My patients don't have to tell me I made them feel better. Even if they have only days to live, if those last days are less miserable because of me, that's the point. That's what my life is. And if that's all it ever is--just fleeting moments where the world isn't such a horrible place--then that's fine with me."

I noticed by now that she was shaking, really worked up, but not exactly angry. More desperate for me to understand, I think. And I did, sort of. I never thought about the world that way before, seeing it in those terms. I concluded right then that I was not nearly a good enough man to deserve her. Too cynical, too jaded. Too stone-hearted. She was right. Those kids deserved her a hell of a lot more than I ever could. And she deserved every bit of what she got out of it--not the clumsy affection of a man who'd spent most of his life avoiding any kind of intimacy.

She surprised me with a peck on the cheek, but neither of us had much else to say at that point. I went back to my cab and chewed the driver out for letting the meter run the whole time.

The drive back to the airport seemed a lot shorter this time. I thought about Martie for most of it. I'll admit I didn't dwell on her too much after that first night, but somehow she'd gotten under my skin even more now. She was like a mirror, reflecting my flaws right back at me.

What kind of man was I? What kind of man did I want to be? I made a good soldier. Not a very good mercenary or bodyguard, apparently. A pretty lousy friend, when it came right down to it. Surrogate father? Peter wouldn't say so. I'd perfected keeping them all at arm's length, even when they were centimeters away from me, physically.

I stared out the window of the 747 as Lima faded into the distance. There had to be a better Robert Maxwell in here somewhere. There had to be.