Authors: Kelly Kerney
He squinted at the thought, as if it were either very bright or very dim.
“If they make their own regular clothes, it won't feel like they're being forced to wear someone else's things. They can be proud.” The buzz from the coffee powder had turned from anxious to focused. She practically vibrated with purpose and excitement.
“So,” Dan said, nodding, “it'll give them new skills, break down their old ways, and teach them to take responsibility for their own needs. This,” he said, “sounds perfect. When can they do all that, though? Their schedule's full.”
“I was thinking the ones who want could take a few hours from the fields.”
“But there's still work to do out there. The weeding and irrigating. The crops are needed, Lenore.”
“Clothes are, too. They made such a big deal out of them at the conference.”
Dan nodded, cramming his dinner into his mouth ravenously, without tasting it. He looked thinner than just a week before, dirtier, almost sexy. “You know you're going to have to ask the General. Something like this must be approved.”
~~~~~
Their decision to go to Guatemala seemed to solve so many of their problems, so suddenly. At first Lenore only felt her own purpose taking shape, but soon Dan began to claim signs from God pointing him to Guatemala as well. Most significantly, he could now, with divine approval, justify his firing from his construction job. The never-ending shame of his demotion, and his inability to get a better job anywhere else because of his arrest record, had trapped him in a demoralizing situation. He'd been a foreman for eleven years before a buyout had transferred the construction company to a new, much larger owner. This owner and his HR department did not want a foreman without a college education. No matter Dan's experience, no matter that the new, young foreman, though he'd studied engineering, had no idea how to pour asphalt, had never seen a Ditch Witch, and feared the jackhammer. Dan was demoted, his pay cut to a sum meant to make him quit. But instead, he spent his workdays teaching the new foreman and instructing the workers anyway, so they could finish the job on time without a lawsuit. If he didn't do this, the new company might deem his crew (full of friends and a nephew) incompetent and lay them all off, as they'd done with half the employees of the old company. This had been going on for two years before they finally fired him for drinking on the job. During the last six months, Lenore had detected alcohol on Dan's breath as he slept. This, when he'd given up drinking a decade before.
Beyond Dan and Lenore, the lives of the entire church congregation became entwined with the Guatemala mission. Their unlucky congressman received hundreds of calls and letters daily. Pat Robertson met with Reagan himself on a few occasions to discuss the problem of the military sanctions. Then in December, Reagan visited RÃos Montt in Guatemala. By January, Congress approved some military funding, Open Arms had raised a million dollars to help build model villages, and the way was paved for Lenore and Dan.
Their church had always supported missionaries, but these missionaries
were people they had never met, photos on the “World Harvest” map displayed in the lobby. But then Lenore and Dan's photo went up on the wall with an arrow connecting them to Guatemala. Lenore studied this photo for a long time, during their farewell party. Their picture differed from the others. They had decided not to smile, because there was nothing to smile about when you thought of Guatemala's problems. But then she realized that everyone else on the wall was smilingâeven the African missionariesâwhich did not make Lenore and Dan look any more serious, just miserable.
“You see,” Pastor May said, coming up behind her, “God had a plan for you all along. Women are meant to be mothers, but there's more than one way. Instead of having your own, you can now be mother to a hundred children.”
She turned, held her iced tea in front of her, and smiled. The plastic cup cracked as she squeezed. Had Dan really talked to Pastor May about their efforts to have a child?
“You're spilling,” Pastor May announced, handing Lenore a napkin. “Are you having doubts?”
She smiled then, with the same look of confidence the other missionaries had. She was peeved at Pastor May for his deciding vote on the dynamic of the mission. The entire thing had been her idea. She knew the Bible better, she had known it longer. But Pastor May and Dan had agreed that Dan should be the one to do the preaching. These native cultures are sexist, Pastor May had said, and they wouldn't listen to a woman preacher.
“No, no doubts.” She could not tell what she felt, other than the ice melting in her cup, freezing her fingers.
“Can you believe the fight in Congress over funding Montt?” Someone behind them blew through his lips in disbelief. “Of course because Montt's a Christian.”
Thankfully, Pastor May shifted away from Lenore, just a tilt of the hips, but it was enough to allow her to breathe. “They're so obsessed with the supposed separation of church and state,” he said to a gathered group, “they'd rather have people killing each other than worshipping God.”
“It takes money to win a war. How can Montt save Guatemala if there's no cash? How will he get the money?”
“The Ladies of Vision will miss you,” someone said to Lenore's back. Lenore, grateful, turned. “You know,” Dorothy Smalls confided, “Pat Robertson put out a call for adoptions. There are so many orphaned babies down there. Brian and I were looking into it for you, but the fee's too expensive.
You wouldn't believe! So I thought the entire church could chip in. Maybe you could pick one out when you go down there.”
Lenore blushed, but managed to smile through her embarrassment. Did everyone know that they couldn't get pregnant? Had Dan called the Prayer Chain hotline at some point, to get everyone praying for them to conceive?
The church rec room became crowded with people and their suggestions for Guatemala. In the corner, Pastor May's wife distributed the farewell cake, decorated to look like a Guatemalan flag, limp and overburdened with icing that stained everyone's lips a deathly blue.
Pastor May approached again, accompanied by Dan, who was on his second piece of cake. “I've been waiting to catch you two together,” he said. “I just wanted to give some last-minute advice. I know you've gotten a lot, but I've worked with so many missionaries and I know the strain this can put on a marriage.”
Dan took Lenore's hand and squeezed it dramatically, as if they were about to jump off a bridge together.
“A mission takes up all your time,” Pastor May told them. “You'll often be doing separate projects. Stress and lack of supplies will cause you to blame each other for shortcomings. I know you don't see it now, but it can quickly get out of control. I've talked to several missionaries and I've given this advice. They've come back later to tell me how well it worked, so this is a proven help.”
“What?” Dan asked. “Remembering our roles?”
“Oh yes, that, but there's something much simpler. A small exercise that will make all the difference. Whenever one of you is upset with the other, whenever doubts creep in about the mission or each other, just write down whatever is bothering you and mail it home, to Kentucky. Don't fight, don't let doubts take over in such a volatile environment. Once the mission is over, once you have seen the larger picture and are back here, you can go through your mail and read about all your doubts and frustrations. They will seem so little, like nothing, in comparison to what you accomplished.”
“That's great advice,” Lenore admitted.
“And when you are happy with one another, many times you'll be apart or too tired to share it. In those times, when you are proud of each other, write a small note and leave it on the bed. When the other finds it, it will be a great source of encouragement.”
“That seems simple,” Dan said, though Lenore knew he was a terrible letter-writer. Her notes, she knew right away, would be more and better than his.
“Yes,” Pastor May agreed, “it's simple, but the hardest part will be maintaining a balanced marriage. Don't forget your roles.” It would be the hardest part, they both knew. “Your roles as husband and wife balance each other out. If you forget them, everything will go wrong.”
He did not have to remind them of their rolesâthe backbone of all their marriage counseling with him. Dan, as the husband, was in charge. He made decisions, but remained obligated to Lenore as his advisor. Wives were advisors, very important advisors. If a husband recognized that, if he listened to his wife, he would make good decisions. If he ignored her, things would quickly sour. Likewise, it was Lenore's responsibility to advise, but also to defer to Dan's decisions. If she forgot her role, if she tried to be the decision maker, they would be thrown into discord. In a marriage, to avoid strife, there always must be one person in charge. Countries, classrooms, any kind of productive entity follows this model, Pastor May said. God put the man in charge. He had to choose one, and He just chose. It's not because the man is better than the woman, the choice had to be made and He did it.
“What,” Lenore had asked, “if a husband and wife agreed to switch roles? They would still balance out, wouldn't they?” She had asked this during their discussion weeks ago on who would preach. It had been her calling, after all, not Dan's.
“God could have just as easily chosen the woman as the decision maker,” Pastor May repeated, nodding. “You're right.”
“Right,” Lenore said.
“But He didn't.”
~~~~~
After three weeks, the uphill road to the military base no longer looked new, but as if it had always been there. Lenore and Dan walked, escorted by one of the boy soldiers, for their first status meeting with the General. In the fields on either side of this road, bright green sprouts pulled free of the earth. Lenore had never asked what the women were planting this whole time and she could not tell now. She had the idea it would be several different things, to help round out the Mayan diet.
So many things to talk about with the General, and Lenore tried to calm herself as they navigated the halls of the base. Somewhere nearby a baby screamed, making her tense. She had not heard back from the General about her sewing class idea, and was preparing herself to confront him about it. Not confront, actually. She would simply let him know that communication
was important if the model village was to be a success. But once they entered his office, fragrant with cooking smells, the energy for arguments left her.
“You are in time for dinner!” the General said as a greeting. “I thought you two soldiers would like something other than corn mix and dried beans. I'm sorry it has to be that way, but if we fed you steak every day, it wouldn't seem very fair. Not a model village at all!”
They both sat and stared down at steaks, accompanied by sides of creamed potatoes and cooked, buttered corn shaved from the cob. Next to the full plates, silverware reflected the room back up at Lenore in bright, distorted shapes. She didn't think she had ever experienced real hunger until this moment. Three weeks of the same dish: cornmeal and beans. Lenore had yet to figure out how to cook it properly, but she found out that all the women had a hard time getting it to firm up on the hot plate.
“Please,” the General said, “eat!”
Dan did not eat. Lenore sipped her water, clean and cold and free of iodine. She drank, noting the matted and framed diploma behind his desk: Harvard, class of 1969.
The General did not touch his food, either, but allowed his face to collapse under the weight of the serious issues before them. He began by updating them on the national crisis: more Maya were flooding from the mountains, fleeing the guerrillas for amnesty. In retaliation, the guerrillas had started massacring innocent villagers, for fear that they would go to the military and betray their whereabouts. He went on, but Lenore could no longer resist. She began to eat. Dan followed a few seconds later. The steak was cooked rare, the potatoes exquisiteâcreamed to a fine fluff and crusted with salt. The corn tasted like home. Fresh and simple, giving slight resistance before popping with a burst of butter between her teeth.
“With the guerrillas, it is a very sticky situation,” he continued. “It is very hard sometimes to tell innocent Indians from the guerrillas, so we must use all our resources to watch for guerrilla infiltration of the village.”
“Guerrilla infiltration?” Dan asked. “What would guerrillas do if they got here?”
“They may kill surrendered Indians, or they may try to organize a revolt from the inside. What's important is you two are there all the time, you can be my eyes. If anyone stands out, if anyone seems suspicious, you must tell me. And do not think it will only be men. Most spies in Guatemala end up being women and children.”
“What's suspicious?” Lenore asked with her mouth full.
“Anyone who is trying to talk to the Indians, anyone who stands out or tries to ruin the programs we have.”
“Like the sermons?” Lenore asked. “If they disrespect the sermons?”
“Yes, exactly! Has anyone been disrupting the sermons?” the General asked with intense interest, his eyebrows crammed down.
“Oh no!” Lenore regretted this tactic. She wanted to be honest with the General, but in that moment she realized that reporting small instances like this made them sound bigger, more significant than they actually were. Since she had yet to even see the General enter the camp, he had no context. Just be quiet and listen, she told herself. Don't cause trouble where there is none.
“These programs,” he continued, “are our best weapons against Communist lies. Because guerrillas love ignorance. They take advantage of the Indians' ignorance to convince them of things that are not true. They can easily start a revolt in the camp with their lies.” He waved his napkin to dispel Lenore's visible alarm. A revolt from the inside? Orchestrated by women and children? “Education is good,” the General continued. “It makes people see things in better ways. When I was at Harvard, I read
Pride and Prejudice
!”