Chapter 4
Coming Home

We set up a makeshift hut at the edge of the barrio, with the help of the townsfolk. It was a one storey affair, an uncomfortable division in the middle of the room, and nothing else. It had a single window looking out to the woods beyond, and the door to the barrio. I hung some paintings I made with me on my part of the wall, and he pictures of his wife and kids on his. As there was no electricity, God only knows how long the single burner we brought was going to last. By sun down, we have set up the little hovel we will call home for the next couple of months. I prayed electricity would find us soon. I have also left my mobile phone as there was no signal at all the first time I stayed here.

In the dark I could hear him fidgeting in his sleeping bag. I asked if he was awake and he said he was. He said he was finding it very hard to sleep. And so we talked. And finally, he introduced me to him.

His name is Mark Reyes, married for five years, with two kids. He had breezed through graduate school with flying colors on scholarship. He had been practicing for a little over six months now with three major surgeries and countless minor ones under his belt. Since his internship he has dreamt of setting up his own medical missions all over the country. This for him is a dream come true. On special days he goes golfing, target shooting, spelunking, diving, balling, or whatever fits his fancy. He loves to watch the sun setting, the moon rising, and believes that every star has already been chosen by any one lover out there wishing for something.

He has the most curious eyes, so dark they’re almost black, but in certain angles they’re almost gold.

He talked about his family, too. Wife, kids, marital issues. Most of the marital issues flew right past my head, as I have never been married. At this point, dawn was nearly upon us. A few birds have started to test their songs against the stillness of the night. I suggested sleep, even for a couple of hours, before we do our day’s duties. He agreed, and I turn to my side, facing the wall of paintings, and closed my eyes.

It must have been past ten in the morning when I got up. I fixed my bed. There was breakfast waiting on the low squat table we had, two fried eggs and a fried chicken leg. Mark was nowhere to be seen. I hurriedly ate and set out to do my daily tasks.

A blast of icy cold wind kissed my face when I stepped out of what would be our house for the next few months. It was early November, and the cold was unbelievable up here in the mountains. It almost felt the way the biting winters of New York felt, minus the snow. Wrapping a shawl around my shoulders, I proceeded to the middle of the town, a good ten minute walk from where I was staying, to set up the mini clinic. I found Mark already there, directing the towns people about. Eventually, the clinic was set up, with one bed against the wall which had the window, a table and chair at the far end, a wooden file cabinet across it, and some of the paintings I had. It looked cozy, and primitive.

By ten am on my watch, we were officially open. We had one of the towns men announce our opening, and by eleven am, the people started coming to the clinic. There wasn’t much to do, really. Just routinary check up, med prescription, and health advisory. But by two pm, I was exhausted. Mark had gone off for some food and I was left in the clinic.

I was reading through our log, when I chanced to look out the window. I let out a little yelp of surprise when I saw the old woman from before standing there, looking at me. When she saw me look up, she turned, and walked away, and never glanced back.