บท 6: Part 1: Chapter 6: Is this really my wife?
Iraqi desert.
Emotionally drained Curt stared out the window. It took two days to become sane again, days from which the owner of the tearoom profited.
How Clark got him into his room unnoticed, he did not know. Alcohol obscured these days in a haze of oblivion.
His aid needed a raise for what he had put him through. Between him and Phillip's visits, he cleared his head. In the end the lifestyle was not him. His stern religious upbringing told him as much. The anger remained, and now he drowned himself in work.
"Contact Vivian," Phillip said.
"I fear what I will say to her."
"No matter. Get this over."
The chaplain was correct. With a deep sigh, he dialled the number. When she did not answer, he left a message. In the afternoon he tried again and left another message. On day three she finally answered.
"Hello, Love."
"Vivian, why don't you answer your phone?"
"I am busy."
"I can only guess. Did you receive the divorce papers?"
"Yes, I don't understand. Why?"
Stay calm, he cautioned himself. "Because you don't honour your vows," he breathed out. He wants out, now!
"That is your word against mine. The answer is no."
He looked at the phone, not sure he heard her. "Vivian?" The line was dead.
DAMMIT, Vivian! He dialled her number, but a busy tone greeted him.
***
"Dad, i have sent you the letters I have found."
"What letters?"
"Love letters. It spanned over a long time between her and several men." After a deep breath he composed himself. Just the ammunition he needed to solve the problem, he thought with a smirk.
Something was off with Jillian, her cheery self, subdued.
"How are you?"
"Good. Just busy."
"How are your studies?"
"Good, thanks, Dad," she clipped. Doug appeared. "I have to go, sweetheart. Speak soon."
"Speak soon." So soft he had to strain his ear, then she was gone.
Leaning back Curt took a large gulp of water. The discussion with Jillian muddled.
***
"Sir, you need a break." Doug studied his superior officer. The strain of life was visible.
"Permission to talk, Sir?" Though the colonel did not give him his attention, he went ahead.
"I won a holiday to Malta." That had the result as the commander stirred.
"Did you say something, Sergeant Clark?"
"Yes, Sir." He smiled at the motionless face staring at him.
"I won a break away. It is not much. I want to give it to you, Sir." The bemused look on the colonel's face gave away his surprise as he leaned back in the chair. The late afternoon sun coloured his hair in taints of gold.
"You want to send me away?"
"You need it, Sir. The men complained you drive them too hard."
"When is this break away supposed to be?"
"This weekend, Sir, in Malta," a sacrifice he made gladly. The colonel needed it more.
"Malta …" He stopped for a while. "Small island south of Italy," he murmured.
"Yes, Sir, that's the place."
"How do I get there?"
"The ticket covers a round trip to Rome where you will board the plane, heading out at 11h00 am on Friday."
"That means?"
"You leave at 21h00, Thursday, to catch the flight at midnight."
"The red-eye?"
"Yes, Sir. You need this, Sir."
"I will think about it." He turned to his paperwork. A haggard face filled with doubts and worries.
That was Doug's cue to leave. He did not understand the urgency about the trip, but obedience was better than sacrifice. He had learned this at the foster home back in the States.
Behind the workshops he found a quiet spot and prayed. The colonel needed a Saviour … now more than ever.
Once done, a sense of peace settled in his spirit. He broke out in a joyful whistle on his way to the mess.
God will make a way.
***
25 April, Bentiu, South Sudan.
"I don't poke my nose where it doesn't belong, but do you know the major?"
Last night Sonia handed the report to Nyanath and dashed to her room without a word. She needed time alone. The last three days were brutal. Brady's presence tired her more than her work.
She could not avoid the conversation, even if she tried, and placed a bag in its compartment.
"Yes, it's a long story."
"This will not influence your work?" came the question as she touched her shoulder.
"No, never, I assure you." Sonia met her gaze before she busied herself and stacked the blankets in the compartment. Her eyes burned from tiredness.
"Do you want to talk?"
"No," she said and closed the door, meeting the soft mocha eyes. A tear materialised.
"When last did you enjoy a weekend?" The sudden change in topic took her unawares and she fingered her hair, her mind blank and blushed.
"That long!" She laughed. "Well, I think it's time for you to take a break. Let me see what I can do for this weekend and inform you of the details when you return." Dumbfounded Sonia stared at her.
"It's time to go!" Dr Wek broke her trance.
Sonia placed her shoulder bag in the van.
"Get this behind you. Whatever troubles you, you must get through it."
It was true. She had to deal with Brady and rethink her life. The baby's death would not be in vain.
"Thank you, Matron. I can make my own arrangements."
"No dear, let me. You have worked hard these last couple of months. Every person on the team enjoyed a restful time away. And yes, I have checked. Since you came to us, you never took a holiday or a weekend." Sonia smiled. She could not argue with that.
Voices reached them and Haleema cut the conversation short: "When last did you eat?" Sonia could not remember.
"Get food in you. You are no good to me sick." She touched her arm in encouragement.
"Sure," she replied.
"I have to run."
"Make it quick!" David said.
While washing hands she realised what a mess she looked. Her normal tan was pale, even with the makeup. From her pocket she removed a lipstick, applied it and left.
Once she turned the corner, she walked into an unmovable wall. She yelped in surprise as firm hands grabbed her and pinned her against the wall in one quick movement. She gasped at the sudden intrusion. Brady Scott's warm breath tickled her cheek.
Their gazes locked and her senses went into overdrive. He smelled great. Clean and … no. She stopped herself and anger replaced the infatuation.
Her feelings for him died a long time ago. Firing eyes returned his stare, and he let go of her arms.
"You are ignoring me for three days now. You don't give me time to explain."
"I hate you," she hissed out.
She fought against him, but he was too strong for her to move him even a fraction. Steal arms had caged her.
"Let me go, Major," she spat out.
"No, they can wait a few minutes."
Then she punched him. Immediately he backed away.
"Please listen," he insisted, but she hissed out: "Let me go, Major," and then he did something unexpected.
He kissed her - hard. With all the strength she possessed, she pushed him back, then slapped him.
"You will never touch me again, is that understood, Brady," she whispered through clenched teeth. "Never!"
"I am so sorry. Please let me explain."
"You said you loved me, and then you left me." This time a sob developed. "You felt nothing for me. Not for me or our son. You left." She stepped away.
Brady stepped closer and repeated his apology. "I am sorry, sweetheart."
She scowled. "You have no business calling me sweetheart. Leave me alone!"
This time he stepped back. In her rush she wiped away the traces of her turmoil, straightened her clothes and add more lipstick to her bruised ego.
***
He did her a great injustice. The news floored him. He and his wife struggled to have children. He had hoped to meet the child one day.
He remembered the day he heard the news. He was ecstatic. For hours he proclaimed his love to her as they made love. He declared his devotion to her.
Seeing her he realised he still did. He loved Christa, but theirs was a comfortable relationship, their love a quiet stream with no currents. Sonia's love was passionate, and she gave unconditionally. Just a slight brush against her skin would kindle her desire. It saddened him to learn she had not found love. The man she commits to would be one lucky person.
Quietly he trailed her through the camp. Her sweetness towards the refugees moved him.
He remembered the day he saw his father. The shock on their faces brought him back to reality. His father used his influence and shipped him off to an army camp at Upington, Northern Cape. He had no means to contact her, and after three months of basic training she had disappeared. He had just turned twenty-one.
The landlord removed her. Sick to the stomach he could only guess her whereabouts. He had searched everywhere with no success. He could not blame her for acting as she did.
"Please Lord, soften her heart."
God forgive me, but I still love her. How can I go back to Christa? His thoughts dipped in sorrow. He knew he had to continue with his own farce. He could not turn his back on another woman. Not now, no matter his feelings.
Dark shades masked his distress. With a notebook in his hand, he approached the crowd. He volunteered to come, his ever-growing resume: his motivation to excel. He never expected to find her here.
Brady kicked at a loose stone and dust veneered his boot. He grimaced. His life stretched before him as a dust cloud with no change.
Concentrate man, he chastised himself. To dwell on this will not help. Rather pour your energy into the work.
The enormity of this country's plight was horrendous. The shortage of food and water great, the pitiable living condition of the people worse.
Security, another importance, particularly for the staff. They did miracles every day, but with the added danger it was a risk that exposed them even more.
He looked towards the small posture of the nurse, bended over a patient. A wretched cry from the woman filled the air, the weight thereof immediate as Sonia walked away. He noticed how she wiped her face.
"What happened?" he asked Alice.
"The woman lost her baby." The simple comment punched him in the gut.
He found her inclined against a leafless tree; her back turned to the camp. Standing behind her he waited till the shoulders relaxed.
"I am sorry for your loss; I never meant to hurt you."
She kept quiet, then moved. An arm brushed against him.
"I am sorry for that woman who lost her baby," he continued. This time she looked at him.
"Really? You are sorry. What part will you understand?" Her tone low and dangerous.
"My wife had lost a baby. Ever since we struggle to conceive again."
She gasped: "You are married?"
"Yes, seven years - without success of a child." Turning towards her, he continued: "You must believe me, my father tricked me. I was helpless back then."
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