Chapter 3

Pieces of Redemption: Price of Knwledge Chapter 3

Warm wisps of wind tickled the blades of grass that surrounded the village as it swept through the sea of greens and browns making a beautiful rippling effect. The blazing tropical heat of the Ugandan weather beat down on the children playing soccer along the dirt thoroughfare. The homes here were built with only the most basic of needs in mind. They were covered in a fine layer of dust complementing the all-around simple earthen look that was indicative of the local dwellings.

It was hard, the people that lived here did not have access to the numerous luxuries found in the more developed areas but the locals, especially the children, had an innate sense of joy that could only come from those learning to do more with less. This love of life radiated off of their actions as they moved about the area creating a sense of peace and connectedness that temporarily rooted itself in this particular village. One of their recent visitors soaked this up as he neared the end of his own tasks for the day inside one of those balmy huts.

Seated on a small wooden stool that seemed to be dwarfed by his massive frame was Dr. Diego Chanca. He was dressed in a rugged outfit that consisted primarily of khaki and denim, one that some wardrobe designer on a Hollywood set would definitely whine about the ideas being stolen, so cliche was the garb.

Being the most fashionable person in any setting was not a concern for him, his mission and purpose always took precedence over something as mundane as style choices. Looking so intently that it threatened to bore through him was a young male child, thin from malnutrition and dressed in his own ridiculous outfit. Worn blue shorts did not compliment the slightly torn t-shirt, which had the logo of the losing championship team from the Super Bowl four years prior and was a ghost of its former self from continuous use.

A gentle hand lifted the boy’s chin to get a better glance at his eyes, noting any possible discoloration as well as conducting a much more in-depth investigation. Dr. Chanca, or Chance to those who knew him for more than a few minutes, was capable of far greater abilities surrounding perception than just the mundane skills that could be gained through years of medical school.

He had lived more than his share of lifetimes, a student of both medicine and of the eT. It had been many years ago now that he had been approached and offered a glimpse behind the veil of mortality, allowed to see the true patterns of life, to see the energy that not only linked all of existence but that which extended beyond primitive perception.

Spanning the entirety of his years, it had become his actual course of study, and through investigation, he would learn that infinite connection. It was awe-inspiring understanding the processes of the natural world and marrying them to the wonders of the supernatural to aid the beautiful tapestry that was humanity. It helped him discover new avenues in regards to medicine and treatment, but it had also allowed him to be an even more faithful servant to the eT. It was a part of him, and he would serve his role with undaunting focus.

Staring into that child's eyes and through the contact with his flesh, Chance was able to Delve into the boy’s system. To all outward appearances it would look like a routine checkup, but for Chance, he knew that the actual treatment given would only be known to himself.

He pushed a bit of eT from his own body into the boys and directed it into a Healing to rejuvenate some of the damage that an impoverished lifestyle would inevitably cause. After a few moments, he knew that there was little more he could do on such a subtle level and that the boy was healthy enough for the immediate future. He did not need to stretch that veil of secrecy past its limits. Chance gave him a pat on the head saying, “Alright little dude, you should be good to go for at least three soccer games and a round or two of girl chasing.”

A gigantic toothy smile was his only response. Chance knew that an unspoken question begged to fly free from the boy's lips, but he was able to keep it at bay, knowing that asking would be a breach of etiquette and possibly deny him the very thing he sought.

An open pouch to the side of the stool swallowed Chance’s hand as he reached to pull two pieces of treasure from inside.  A wink preceded the toss, and with great ease and dexterity, the boy snatched them out of the air.

“Thanks, Doctor Dude!” He chimed as he scampered out of the hut to show his friends that he had earned his pieces of Bazooka Joe bubble gum.

Chance reached into the bag once more and grabbed a small handful of gum and stuff them into his pants pocket for later.

Another figure strode into the hut at the same moment the young child exited. She was in her mid-twenties, fresh out of med school and there to earn valuable field experience before she fully immersed herself in her Residency program. Her flame-red hair was a shade lighter than its usual hue from exposure to the elements and a lack of more modern facilities to maintain its upkeep.

A thin sheet of dust covered every inch of her. Still, she had a sense of elegance in the way she carried herself. Chance knew that given time she would bloom into a fantastic physician, but first, her work ethic and heart needed to be sowed with the proper care. She waved at him to get his attention, not realizing that she already had it. “Dr. Chanca?” Her soft voice called out.

He shook his head at the formality and stubbornness she displayed. All week and she still won't break. Is that a good or a bad thing? He thought and then said, “Chance. Please, just call me Chance.”

She paused, trying to digest that and then, forced it down for a moment. “The elders want to meet with you.”

An imperceptible smile peeked out from the corner of his mouth. He had been here enough times that such expectations had become routines now. Still, he would allow her the pleasure of delivering the news to him, “Thank you, Dr. Willis. I'll be right there.”

She smiled, nodded, and exited the hut to wait for him outside. Chance dusted himself off and followed.

The change in light gave him pause as he adjusted to the bright day, but the warmth of the sun and the laughter of the playing children seemed to revitalize him with every step. Together they walked to the center of the village where the elders would be discussing any number of things. Chance was happy for the distance and time as it gave him an opportunity to connect with the young woman at his side.

He did not need to initiate a discussion since out of nowhere she piped, “Sometimes I don't even know why we are here. I mean I get the big picture, but what is the overall point?”

Puzzled and a bit taken aback, Chance asked, “What do you mean? Can you possibly imagine the lives that would be affected if we weren't here? We have the knowledge and ability and therefore a duty.”

She cut him off at the last, “Look at their water. It doesn't matter how many of them that we provide care to or how many diseases we prevent when at the end of the day they're still drinking their own dirty laundry.”

He nodded and raised a calming hand as he countered, “I get the frustration, I do, but that does not give us license to ignore the things we CAN change, and we can only attack one thing at a time. We get them grounded in a stable place medically, and then we can attack sanitation and the more corrosive practices that are around their life. But, if we lose sight of the bigger picture,” he stopped talking, and his hand snapped up beside her face, just in time to intercept an incoming soccer ball, “then everything falls apart.” He tossed the ball back to the kids and turned to enter the hut where the elders were meeting.

“Just please, PLEASE mention the water to them,” she begged.

He nodded, turned and said to her as he passed the threshold, “I will. Make sure you put another coat of sunscreen on and get a hat, the sun can be killer this time of day.” A series of horns honking in the distance and the roar of engines from large trucks permeated the air as he disappeared into the confines of the hut.

A group of nine men sat in their thin robes on a series of small stools, a few of them smoked wooden pipes while the aroma of burning leaves dominated the air of the room. Voices clashed in a native tongue over issues that concerned the future of the village.

Chance strode over to a large column on one side of the open space and perched on its side waiting to be recognized by the gentlemen. One of the older men of the group lost interest in their conversation and focused steadily on Chance. A broad smile accompanied those ancient attentive eyes. After a minute, the head of the Council spoke up loudly, “Erinle, thank you again for coming to our family.”

The title carried with it deep respect and no little reverence, but it was one that he did not wish to hold. He shook his head and stepped toward them. His hand pulled out the gum from his pocket and tossed a couple pieces at the one who had focused so intently on him as he entered.

Even after so many years the treat that flew across the gap between them still carried a great deal of meaning. It warmed Chance’s heart that a token so small could bring someone such joy. It was heart-warming that those eyes that looked at him now, the same eyes that had stared up at him so many years prior, still held that connection. “I have told you Elder, my name is Chance, I need no other title than that of your friend.”

“Friend certainly. But, you may run your little charade and play hide the stick with those out there Erinle but we here know the truth so do not lower us,” the Elder called back in a level tone, a hint of a fondness coloring the edges of the statement.

Chance accepted the light-hearted rebuke, yielding with a simple nod and continued, “So what do you need of me?” Inside, Chance was wondering if the Elder was about to spout colored smoke rings and ask, “Whooo…arrrre…youuuu..?” but suppressed the rising giggle in favor of a serious demeanor.

A long drag was followed with an attempt at severity as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. The Elder pointed the end of the pipe at him and asked matter-of-factly, “When do you leave?”

The blunt nature of the question cut Chance for a moment turning the moment awkward. However, he could tell that his presence in the room was not met with any negative emotions, nor was his current stay in the village. Where is this coming from? He wondered. “A week or so? Why do you ask?”

The older man could tell by the way Chance responded that he was apprehensive and possibly offended, which of course was not his intent, so with his arms up, he placated, “No, no, no. We are grateful for you here Enrile. We do not wish YOU to ever leave.”

“I sense a but attached to that.”

Looking at each other the men exchanged silent looks heavy with meaning obviously communicating something before the Elder continued, “It is the lady.”

Chance relaxed a bit seeing the communal nods of affirmation from the room and questioned, “Dr. Willis?” He could not imagine she had done anything that would cause such an offense as being asked to leave.

“No!” The Elder laughed at the response, “Not the young one. The other...female.”

Now he understood. Dr. Milstat was a brash woman. What she lacked in bedside manner and empathy she more than made up for with her commitment to her craft. Her knowledge base was extensive and was only equalled by a determination to annihilate any ailment she encountered.

He would keep a watchful eye on her and perhaps peel back the veil for her one day if she developed an aptitude with people. Here today though, that sharp tongue had possibly carried a slightly higher cost than just ruffled feathers. “Dare I ask?” he ventured, not genuinely wanting an answer to the question.

“Children!” He blurted and rolled his eyes. The rest of the council muttered something under their breath and then he started again, “Yes exactly! You are right, not a child. She treats us like we are a broken,” he pointed to his head, “like we are Bwire.” Bwire, now chomping and smacking his gum contentedly stopped chewing abruptly, blinked owlishly, and then pointed to himself with an exaggerated look of confusion on his face.

This got a laugh from everyone, including Chance. He tried to smooth things out, and his hands punctuated the words in concert with his mouth, “She does not think you are slow… well Bwire maybe, but the rest of you, no. She simply wants you to understand what she says. Care with her words is not her strength.”
“She must treat us with respect Enrile. Being old does not make us un-smart, and our lives used up, you know that best,” he demanded as the others agreed. “She speaks louder as if by doing this I can better accept the words she throws. My ears are good, it is HER words I wish not to hear.”

“I will speak with her about it. I assure you she doesn't mean any offense, that's just who she is.”

“Thank you. Thank you. There is more though. There has been a new sickness growing. In Ekallot they have been run through, and some of our own people have got sick. We have moved them near the river. You need to fix them Enrile. They are sick. They will die without you.”

Chance nodded, “Of course. I have one thing to mention though.”

Before the water question could be formed a small girl, no more than nine years old, came rushing into the room. She seemed concerned, but not overly afraid. “The bad men, they are here,” her finger pointed to the door as the last words left her mouth.

He hurried from the room, the rest of the aged men following behind like a row of ducklings.

As sunlight kissed his skin and eyes acclimated to the daylight once more, Chance could see a majority of the people moving away from the apparent chaos that was engulfing the far end of the village. This was an unfortunate routine for them but witnessing the concerned acceptance on passing faces made it even more upsetting to him.

Dr. Willis came running up to him, the reality of the situation sending her spiraling into a panic. She began to speak, but every word came out as a shrill question of sorts. “Is the? They? Are they...guns…oh, my…Is this really happ…what are we going to do?”

Two fingers touched the spot between her eyebrows and Chance whispered, “Sleep.”

In the time it took her to draw breath, she went limp falling unconscious in his arms. Chance laid her cautiously away from the impending rush of chaos. As he let go of her, his eyes caught Bwire blowing a bubble and shaking his head knowingly.

In answer, Chance shrugged his shoulders, knowing that the contradictions of his previous words and actions provided at least one person some entertainment. He walked in the direction of where they stored the majority of the medical supplies. He knew this was where the commotion originated from as that lure had brought armed men before and he would be damned if any lives would be lost because of it this day.

 

Seated on top of one of the medical storage containers was Dr. Milstat red-faced and obviously brimming with anger and outrage, and her eyes contained little fear in the face of that deadly situation. Hands and knuckles were white from the pressure exerted by the death-grip on the container. She spat at the young men standing in front of her, “You are not taking one Goddamn item from this case.”

The young man nearest to her held an assault rifle at his side, but his current weapon of choice was a fully loaded sense of bravado. He was young, as were most in these gangs, barely sixteen, and the way he carried himself spoke volumes as to how he felt.

The boy thought that he was far more mature than those few years of life afforded him, and his posture communicated his attempt at dominance, but upon detailed examination, a slight trembling of digits, furtive eyes, and scattered facial tics screamed of fear and uncertainty. “Are you stupid, lady? We need those. You want to die or something?” He asked in desperation while trying to up the bass in his voice after it cracked with the first few words.

“These people WILL die if you take those. THEY need them,” she screamed back.

“Lady! We need them. They going to die if you don't get off that case. You understand? Understand?!”

“No! Absolutely NOT! What gives you the right to take what is not yours!?” she pressed.

“The right? THE RIGHT!” He laughed and looked at his friends behind him then raised the gun up in the air as he continued, “THIS, Lady. This give me the f*****g right to take what I want!” He fired a few shots into the air to punctuate his words causing a few scattered screams from up the street. “All your medicines worth so many lives? They worth your life?” He pointed the gun in her direction, his finger nervously caressing the trigger.

Chance’s hand locked onto the warm metal of the barrel and yanked it back around to be pointed in his direction. So lost in his diatribe was the young man that he did not notice his approach. The surprise nearly cost the boy his perceived position of dominance in that scenario, but Chance decided to let him keep some power and help diffuse the situation by allowing the weapon to remain in his possession. The other gang members slowly backed away leaving him to contend with this new threat alone.

The silence was broken by Chance, he was stone-faced as he ordered him, “These are MY people, you point that gun at ME.”

It all happened so fast and unexpectedly that the boy had little else to do other than to follow the directive. Chance had paradoxically taken the dominant position in the situation by placing himself in an entirely vulnerable and endangered spot. Beads of sweat ran from the young man's skin, seeking escape all along the sides of his face.

He licked his lips anxiously as his eyes darted back and forth between Chance and Dr. Milstat. Sensing his waning control, the boy realized that he was losing his hold on the situation quickly, so the young man made a brash decision to attempt yanking the gun away. Chance’s grip was too firm, and the barrel hardly moved remaining pointed directly at him. And then, sensing a wave of rising desperation in the man, he let go.

Dr. Milstat growled, “They're trying to take all of the supplies! Without them all these…”

The interruption gave the boy a jolt and reminded him again that he had an audience, so he turned his attention back toward her. The futility that he felt facing Chance was now finding an outlet and an easier target as he redirected a rising rage back toward the woman. He swung the gun her way but, before he could position it fully in her direction, Chance ordered in an even more, commanding tone, “Keep. It. On. Me!”

He could have laced those words in the eT, forced them into the young man's mind to facilitate the proper rush of emotion that would elicit compliance from one so simple-minded, but Chance did not need to. His own force of character was enough to demand obedience and get the young man do as he was told. He pressed himself closer to the weapon, putting it an inch from his face. His voice shifted to a much more chilling tone, and the words glided out, “What do you need?”

“You know what I need!? This,” he pointed at the container, over exaggerating the motion as he continued, “This is mine! MY STUFF! I take what I want, or you all die. ‘Kay, Big Man?”

Not moving or backing down Chance answered him in the same level tone, hopeful to diffuse the situation. “You don't need to do this. I can help you. You don't need that medicine, whatever you need, I can help. Take me, and I’ll give you what you need, but you can't have that.”

“You don't tell me what to do, Big Man,” He barked as he slammed the gun into Chance’s forehead. “On your knees. ON YOUR KNEES! NOW!”

The taps against Chance’s flesh increased in force until the last of them actually caused a small cut along his eyebrow.

Chance stood tall and did not bend his knee. Instead, he reached up, wiped the blood from his face and held the crimson stain up for inspection.

In the distance, a much older member of the group approached with such a cocksure attitude that made it clear to any who saw that he was their leader. He called out, “Little Brother, why do you make so much noise? I send you over to complete ONE simple task, and you let this white man piece of s**t steal your power, and his old dried-up w***e take your manhood? Maybe I overestimated how useful you…” He stopped talking and simply let his mouth hang as his eyes focused on Chance and his mind processed the now terrible situation. Then, he spoke with reverence and a hint of fear, “Erinle! My friend! I did not know that this was YOUR cargo. Deep apologies my friend. It is good to see you Erinle!”

The leader ripped the gun from the younger man’s arms and smashed the stock over the bridge of his nose creating a sickening crunch and an explosion of blood. “Do you know who this is?” the leader screamed as his feet continued the assault on the boy, striking hard at his ribs with each statement, “How can you be so stupid? You must show him respect. You embarrass me. You stupid dog.”

“STOP!”  Chance roared, and the beating ceased.

The Angry leader stepped away from the nearly broken body that lay in the wake of his fury and with arms wide seeking forgiveness he addressed Chance, “I am sorry my friend. I am so sorry for his ignorance. I do not know how these kids cannot know anything anymore.”

“There was no need for that,” came the reply as he moved to the fallen boy.

The apologetic obeisance was quickly replaced by genuine mirth as the leader began laughing at Chance’s back. The laughter was more a commentary on his disbelief of Chance’s seeming naiveté, bordering on disrespect but never quite crossing the line. “You still have the heart that bleeds Enrile.  Look around here, there is nothing BUT need for this. Savagery is the law of the land, cargo is its enforcer, and I am but a humble servant of necessity my friend.”

Strong hands lifted the boy up, and at that moment he was nearly identical to any of the other children in that village, especially when looked at through the time-worn lenses of suppression. It was another tortured soul and a broken body. Chance would only be able to heal one of those sadly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a huge swath of gauze. “Your words have gotten prettier, but I see that you are still full of s**t. There are other ways to teach Kabonesa,” was the reply though his focus never left the boy.

“Possibly true. But, none are as quick and as effective as pain.”

As the gauze touched the boy’s nose Chance Delved into his sinus cavity. It was broken with substantial damage to the surrounding soft tissue. The dressing served two purposes. First, it staunched the flow of blood that poured forth from the barely recognizable remains of the boy's nose.

Secondly, it masked the real healing that he was able to induce using the eT as cartilage moved back into place and repaired itself within a few breaths. It was almost as if the injury had never occurred. However, before the boy could shout out the miracle, Chances eyes and subtle shake of the head carried instructions for silence. “Keep it there for the next few minutes until the bleeding stops. Go now.”

A steady hand took hold of his shoulder with far too much familiarity.  Chance turned and met Kabonesa’s gaze. “Why do you care so much Erinle?  He disrespect you, but you help him. It makes you look weak. These people are not even your people why do you care?”

“All people are my people, and there is nothing weak about having compassion, especially against those that wrong you. That is where true strength is found. To make an enemy a friend shows many types of strength.”

“We will have to disagree on this I think.”

Chance patted him squarely in the chest, directly over the man's heart and said, “You still have much to learn boy.”

“I am too OLD for such indulgences.”  He took some steps near the medical supplies, pointing at the older woman, “She has some spirit! Whoo!  Apologies again Enrile, had I known these were your supplies I would not have come for them.”

“It should not matter whose they are, other than the fact that they are not yours.”

“I know, I know. But, my men are sick and hurt as well. I must think of them. Protect them. What do the white companies care if I take? These people are just blips on the TV, they do not care. I have seen your sad commercials of pennies a day…HA!”

A stiff finger shot out to punctuate the stern words, “YOU should care. You are a leader! You could change lives here, but you choose the easy way. Imagine the things you could change if you made different choices.”

Kabonesa salted the thoughts so they would not grow and motioned to the landscape around them. “This place does not leave me with choices. I must act. Here. Now! Or, everyone dies. Is that what you wish of me?”

“You always have a choice,” he answered as his phone rang. “It's simply whether you want to see the truth that the best way is unlikely to be the easiest. Your own insecurities and weakness colors your vision, robbing others of choices that can change this place and all you care for.”

“Perhaps,” the leader conceded.

Chance pulled out his phone and saw that it was one of his oldest and dearest friends that was calling. “What the hell do you want this time?”  He muttered under his breath in an almost reflexive response to the call before answering.

“What was that?” Kabonesa asked.

A hand came up at the question, “Excuse me, I have to take this.”  On the screen was an image of Dora the Explorer, instantly bringing a smile to his face as he answered the call.