Hard Red Spring (35 page)

“I was hoping you'd say that.” Lenore beamed. She trusted him, she did. He knew what she'd advise without her even saying it.

And with that, a hearty boom thumped them each on the chest. An explosion, followed by spats of gunfire in the distance. A battle, their first. A spotlight swept periodically through the village, showing the gaps in their church. Dan and Lenore huddled on their small bed and held each other, though the fighting was too far away to threaten the village.

~~~~~

Lenore didn't even know where Guatemala was until the graphic came on the television screen. So close to the United States. She had thought it farther, but on the television map, Guatemala and the United States were only an inch distant. President José Efraín Ríos Montt had taken power in Guatemala just weeks before, and this would be his first television interview. On
The 700 Club
, of all shows! After listening for a minute about the situation down there, Lenore woke Dan and pulled him into the living room to watch.

“The Lord,” Pat Robertson said, “has a plan for Guatemala. This plan was put in motion in 1954, with the ousting of the Communist leader, Jacobo Arbenz. The Guatemalan people, inspired by Christian principles, rose up in civil war themselves and defeated him. But the Communists who brought him to power have not yet been defeated. They moved to the mountains to fight, and have been fighting for the past twenty-five years, to bring communism back to Guatemala. Tens of thousands have been killed by these guerrillas, even more are being brainwashed to believe that the government is doing the killing. Mostly uneducated, impoverished, pagan natives, who have joined the fight out of ignorance, for revenge, or Communist promises of free land. But now Guatemala has a new leader, who will put an end to the civil war that has been raging for decades. President Ríos Montt is aware of God's plan. He is a born-again Christian.”

Ríos Montt's black, oiled hair could not quite hide his large ears, which burned red with divine purpose. His thick mustache shaped his entire mouth into a frown. Lenore studied the man, amazed to see a born-again president at all, let alone one in a third world country. “The Lord,” he said with
impressive gravity, “showed me in a dream what I could accomplish in my country.”

Pat Robertson sipped his coffee. “Some people might be skeptical that you assumed power through a coup, but you have the backing of Reagan. In a country filled with pagans and Communist guerrillas, electing a righteous leader democratically is impossible.” Which made sense, Lenore decided. “Sometimes democracy will not work. The Lord knows when to use force, and He is not afraid to wield His power through military means.” He paused a moment, in reverence of this power, and then asked, “What did God show you in your dream?”

The new President of Guatemala took his time. He closed his eyes, his lids trembling, the dream coming all over again. “In my dream, there was a war waged on a large map that I held in my hands.” He raised two fists to hold up this invisible map. Lenore strained forward, not wanting to miss a word. “The government was fighting the Communist guerrillas, the Communist guerrillas were killing the Mayan peasants, and the peasants were fighting the government. There was blood and killing everywhere.” Then the camera zoomed in so slowly that his face grew bigger with the revelation. “And then, one by one, the warriors laid down their weapons and raised their hands to heaven, with fighting still going on all around them. One by one, they began to recognize God.” Tears welled in Lenore's eyes. She dabbed at them with her sleeve, realizing how small her problems really were. At least she did not live in a war-torn nation. “These people laid down their weapons and became oblivious to everything else. This continued, until exactly half of the people were praising God. When that one person who made it half laid down his weapon and lifted his hands to heaven, all the fighting stopped.”

Right there on the show, Pat Robertson began fund-raising to help Ríos Montt repair his nation. He called for donations to a charity called Operation Open Arms, which would send food, along with housing and medical supplies, to Guatemalans. A number flashed on the screen. Lenore wrote it down and Dan rubbed his eyes, while Pat Robertson said, “More than anything, to help fulfill God's plan for Guatemala, we need every one of you to write your congressman, demanding that the Guatemalan military sanctions be lifted. No supplies can make it down there unless we convince our lawmakers that President Ríos Montt is a righteous man who can save his country. First we need the law, then we need the money and supplies, but most importantly, if our efforts succeed, we need missionaries to help spread the
word of God in this suffering nation. The Lord is calling on all of you to help in any way possible. If you can only send a few dollars, that's fine. If you can send more, send more. But if you want to dedicate yourself to this cause, please talk to your local pastor. We are going to lobby our lawmakers and coordinate with churches all over the country, sending our own warriors down there to help fulfill God's plan for Guatemala. Only when half the population has been born again will the nightmare stop. You could be the person who reaches the one who makes it all stop. The Lord is putting out a call, and we need to assemble our army of love.”

Lenore stared at the screen, feeling very peculiar.

“I know there are some of you out there who've been seeking a larger role in God's plan.” Pat Robertson placed a finger on his temple. “God's telling me
right now
that there is someone out there, someone who has been struggling with despair. Someone in Kentucky.” Lenore's mouth fell open. “Who wants to do more, but has not been able to find a purpose.” He pointed right through the screen, at her. “God wants me to tell
you
that this is
your
opportunity to do God's work. Do you feel Him moving through you right now? Do you feel Him putting the Call in your heart?”

She did, she felt it, like adrenaline. It began in her heart, which quickly pumped it through her body, out to her limbs. She stood up, with her hands in the air. Dan had fallen asleep again, but the movement woke him, and he blinked at her.

That night, the larger picture became clear to Lenore. She pictured it just as Ríos Montt had said, a large map in her hands. She and Dan had never discussed joining a foreign mission before, as they'd been trying for years to have children. But for some reason, God had withheld that blessing from them. As had the state adoption agency, after seeing Dan's record. And now Lenore finally understood why God had kept them childless. She had been waiting for some more subtle signs about her purpose, but this one was all color and lights, playing on the television and spoken in clear English. Guatemala was the reason; Guatemala was the larger picture Pastor May had been speaking of.

~~~~~

They had to use their iodine in everything, to soak beans, to brush their teeth. It tinted their fingers reddish orange. The drops spread through water like red smoke. It tasted too awful by itself, so they added the Folgers instant powder to everything they drank and Lenore kept a constant supply of warm, weak coffee on the hot plate.

After the pledge and song the next morning, after the road crew marched off into the forest, the Civil Patrol gathered the women for their first day of work in the surrounding fields. The only difficulty in coordinating the women was the children, many clinging to their mothers' skirts and refusing to let go. The children had to be extracted at the gate and Lenore watched the unfortunate effect of the wooden machetes, which the children feared even when lowered.

In the distance, columns of smoke rose from the mountains, from where helicopters had flown thirty minutes before. One, two, three columns of smoke, perfectly spaced and orchestrated.

The women knelt in the dirt, just outside the fence, digging with plastic spades. Their children lingered at the fence with their fingers curled in the links, watching. Lenore eyed these kids, knowing what she had to do. She didn't have an interpreter, but she did have the pamphlet on ministering to children and her phrase book. The day before, Dan had come home exhausted from working the Civil Patrol; the road crew had cut fifty yards of road, and Lenore hadn't even changed out of her pajamas.

The children that Lenore could lure away from the fence were coaxed with offerings of saltwater taffy, held out at arm's length. Some took the candy and remained, while others followed her distantly for more.

Once in the carpeted clean cool of the education building, Lenore felt a bit of freedom from everyone's expectations. She was usually so good with children, though these kids seemed nothing like her nieces and nephews. She remembered Pastor May's proclamation that as a missionary she could be mother to a hundred children, instead of just a few of her own. It had inspired her then, but did nothing for her now.

She and the children eyed each other. She counted forty-three, with no pushing or chatter, not a sound, except for the same openmouthed cough that circulated through the group. Mostly emaciated, they struggled with the taffy. They chewed and chewed with pained expressions, pink foam pushing out of their mouths.

Lenore closed the pamphlet. Waving puppets at these children suddenly struck her as demented. She had two, both with cut felt smiles, one with green hair and earrings to illustrate that you could still be cool and love the Lord. They stared up at her from the bottom of the supply box, smiling and dead.

Lenore could have wept for relief at the sight of the television in the corner. With nothing else to do, she found the power switch and coasted the
channels until she found a Spanish-language cartoon. She turned the volume up to drown out the battle sounds in the distance and the shoveling nearby. The children sat on the floor and remained, transfixed in various poses of wonder, for four hours.

—

The battle went on into the night, closer than the night before. Lenore and Dan, exhausted but jittery from too much Folgers powder, could not sleep. They ate their gritty soup of corn mix and beans and lay in bed, talking.

“How was your time with the children?”

Lenore had prepared herself for this question. The television, she knew, was only meant for the formal lessons. The cartoons appeared moral enough, but then they had ended, and for an hour they had watched something called a telenovela, which seemed to Lenore to be a soap opera. The children accepted it, openmouthed, just the same as they had the cartoons.

“Good,” she said. “They're so good. They don't really act like children.”

“What did you end up doing? The puppets?”

“No, we worked on our Spanish.” It was not a lie.

“But you don't speak Spanish, Lenore.”

“I know. We're all learning together.”

At some point, Dan fell asleep. Lenore listened to his strangled, weak snore. How could anyone sleep through this? Smelling smoke, feeling an intense heat, she sat up. But no, it was Dan, burning up. She put a hand on his arm, feeling his sunburn, like a dry fever.

~~~~~

The clothing donations from Open Arms arrived at the end of the week. About half of the clothes proved useless, missing zippers or ripped. Other clothing Lenore deemed impractical, like the electric-pink prom dress with a vomit stain down the front. By the light of the open church door she sorted through them all, while the Civil Patrol marched by every fifteen minutes, doing their rounds. Lenore heard Dan counting their steps aloud by fives as they circled the church, then cut through the square to circle the education building, where the women and children were having a Spanish lesson.

How many hours of TV had the kids watched this week? At least thirty, Lenore knew, feeling terrible. The Spanish lessons, democracy lessons, the sermons from Ríos Montt, and then their time with her. They emerged each day from a supposed Bible lesson with their faces sticky with taffy, their eyes
glazed with too much sugar and television. She'd run out of candy already and had to write the church for more.

Lenore paused to watch the patrol disassemble, attempting something. Two Indian men crouched below a window with their wooden machetes, and two others stationed themselves at the door. Mincho waved a signal. Dan then repeated Mincho's signal to the others. The two men under the window leapt up and yelled, “Ha!” just as the two at the front door ran away. Dan shook his head, with his machete still raised for something.

—

By late morning, Lenore succeeded in sorting the donation clothing. One by one, the women approached the altar and Lenore would eye them and any children clinging to them. She'd select a size, and hold an outfit up against their ravaged frames. Sometimes, wanting to be generous, she'd go through a few outfits to find one that was flattering.

They were passive, accepting, not hostile at all, not even the ones at the end of the line who received tie-dye and muumuus. And when she finished, Lenore felt she deserved a small rest, some leisure, and the end of her project just so happened to coincide with the beginning of the soap opera. It really was silly, but also just the thing to reward herself for her success. The conference teachers had warned them that the women would be difficult about the clothes, so she had not expected it to be so easy.

But an hour later, when Lenore emerged from the education building, she saw the women shuffling about in their old clothes. The day that had been so promising now was wasted. Lenore had three hours until Dan came home and asked her what she'd done with her day.

She would go door-to-door with the phrase book, Lenore decided, to try to recruit baptisms. And in doing that, she would also investigate what had happened to the clothes.

She sounded out the Quiché translation for,
Hello. I'm here to tell you that Jesus loves you and that He wants you to accept Him as your savior. Would you like to be baptized and born again as a Christian?
She repeated this over and over, trying to memorize it.