Written in early 2013, this is the little fun, goofy (as opposed to dark, cynical) story of Myles Webb, a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who gets stuck on the most miserable tropical island ever with a companion that he finds insufferable. It was meant to be cheesy and ridiculous, and it is, but I think it actually came out much better than I planned. A bit of Spanish language understanding is helpful but hopefully not necessary.
Edit: Half the story seems to be somehow missing after all the work I put into it, which pisses me off. I apologize for the inconvenience that isn't my fault.
Edit: Half the story seems to be somehow missing after all the work I put into it, which pisses me off. I apologize for the inconvenience that isn't my fault.
Mission to San Marcos
By C. Randall Nicholson
“We’re making our final approach into Puerto Bolivar,” said the pilot of the eight-person aircraft. “Please keep your seatbelts fastened until the plane has landed and come to a complete stop.”
“No problem,” muttered Myles Webb. “I’m in no hurry to get off.”
The young man in the next seat nudged him. “Hey, what kind of attitude is that, Elder?”
“That’s my ‘two-years-of-not-making-out-with-Natalie’ attitude,” Myles snapped. He’d already had about enough of Gilbert Sykes, and they’d only known each other for a few hours. His fresh-faced, eighteen-year-old junior companion from Provo was way too perky, way too enthusiastic, and way too odd. He seemed to have Asperger’s or something.
“Pah, making out is overrated,” said Elder Sykes. “Real communication, real connections with people, that’s what’s important. I’ve never even kissed a girl.”
“What a surprise,” said Myles, turning to stare out the window.
Elder Sykes looked hurt, but he fell silent.
Myles could see the small island of San Marcos as they approached. Near the coastal strip of wet sand and foaming waves glistening in the sunlight was a cluster of buildings that had to be the capital city, Puerto Bolivar, nestled in thick rainforest that hadn’t yet been depleted by man’s insatiable greed, which spread outward from the large active volcano rising in the center. It looked like a tropical paradise, and gave no indication of its sordid past.
The island was in the Pacific, off the coast of Chile, and had first been colonized by Spaniards in the mid-sixteenth century. The Spaniards quickly decided they didn’t want it and “gifted” it to the Portuguese. From there it had switched hands to the British, the Dutch, and the French before ending up with the Spaniards again, at which point the nations of Europe reached a mutual agreement to leave it alone and pretend it didn’t exist.
They had pretended so well, in fact, that it remained isolated and unknown to most of the world until the early twenty-first century, when satellite photographs and newly discovered records of the aforementioned transactions brought it to light. The president of San Marcos, Luis Gonzalez, had then urged the other nations of the world to come spend their vacations here, promising that it wasn’t nearly so bad anymore.
But Elders Webb and Sykes weren’t here on vacation. They were here as representatives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, assigned to preach the gospel to the natives. Myles had just been transferred from the Chile Santiago North Mission, and Elder Sykes had just gotten out of the MTC. They would be among the first missionaries on the island, along with the senior couple that had preceded them and given them the go-ahead to come. It was the first time in a long time that the Church had reached an area before the Seventh-day Adventists or Jehovah’s Witnesses.
“You know,” said Elder Sykes, “the cool thing about this island is that it has the same name as the town in Mexico where Rafael Monroy and Vicente Morales were executed by the Zapatistas during the Revolution for refusing to renounce the Church.”
“You’ve told me that twice already,” said Myles impatiently. “I didn’t want to burst your bubble, but that’s just a faith-promoting myth. They were killed because they had relations with American citizens and the other townspeople accused them of being in league with Carranza.”
“Touché, Elder,” said his companion. “That may be so, but then the soldiers offered them a chance to go free if they would renounce the Church. I’ve read the source documents.”
“Good for you.”
“I just hope I would have that kind of courage under that kind of pressure. When the going gets tough, that’s when you see what you’re really made of, and that’s when God separates the wheat from the chaff. I hope that I –”
“Elder,” said Myles, still staring at the island, “just let me think for a while.”
“Suit yourself,” said Elder Sykes, falling silent again.
Myles contemplated the people he would meet and wondered how much of a cultural shift from Chile they would represent. Though of Polynesian descent, they had reportedly adapted Spanish and other European culture much like the Native Americans on the mainland. Spanish was the official language, but most of them preferred English and spoke Spanglish. That was fine with him. He’d never gotten particularly good at Spanish anyway.
“Hey, Elder,” said Elder Sykes, leaning over his shoulder and also looking out the window. “Hey, Elder –”
“I said give it a rest, will you?”
“I’m sorry, but I just was thinking – I don’t see a runway, do you?”
“It’s behind the trees or something.”
“We’re pretty low. Shouldn’t we be able to see it by now?”
Myles sighed. This kid was getting on his nerves, but for a different reason than usual – this time, because he had a point. Myles fought back a twinge of worry. It had to be behind the trees or something. Having no runway would just be ridiculous.
The pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker again. “Hey, we’ve got some clergy on board, right?”
“Here!” said Elder Sykes, jumping to his feet, but another voice spoke at the same time.
The missionaries turned to see William Ostling, an evangelical preacher that Elder Sykes had tried to talk to earlier with little success. He scowled and glared daggers at them across the aisle.
“Great,” said the pilot. “Well, if one of you wouldn’t mind saying a prayer for our safe arrival –”
“I’ll do it,” said Ostling. “There’s a wall between them and God.” Elder Sykes looked hurt again. Myles just rolled his eyes.
“I’m going to attempt a water landing,” said the pilot. “Remember, your seat cushions can be used as flotation devices. We might experience a little turbulence, but everything should be fine.”
At that moment a seagull flew into the starboard engine, which coughed, sputtered and exploded. Myles sighed. He only had two months left to serve. It figured something like this would happen now.
***
“That was exhilarating!” said Elder Sykes, wiping the seawater off his glasses as he stumbled ashore. “I guess I shouldn’t have enjoyed it, because swimming is against mission rules, but –”
Myles rubbed the sting out of his eyes and crawled out onto the sand, which was much more abrasive than it looked. The sun beat down mercilessly, feeling much too hot despite the wet clothing against his skin. His muscles ached from swimming so hard; he’d been in no particular hurry at first but had then spotted what appeared to be a shark fin.
He struggled to his feet, then jumped back a bit as he realized the beach was no longer deserted.
“Mis amigos!” said Luis Gonzalez, a swarthy Polynesian man in his late thirties, his arms outstretched as the bodyguards at his sides remained stone-faced and motionless. “Bienvenidos a San Marcos! I’m so pleased you’re not dead!”
“Really?” muttered Myles. “Me too.”
The pilot declined the offered hug but extended a hand to the island nation’s president. “Gracias,” he said, “but this is most irregular. I was led to believe there would be a runway, or at least a suitable place to land.”
“Oh, did our public relations firm neglect to mention that? Most regrettable.” Gonzalez turned to the bodyguard next to him. “José, see to it that Pedro is put to death.”
“Si, Señor Presidente,” said José, saluting.
“Uh, well, that won’t be necessary,” said the pilot quickly. “I only meant that –”
“Ah,” said Gonzalez, ignoring him and turning his attention to the missionaries, “and you must be the representatives from La Iglesia de Jesucristo de los Santos de los Ultimos Días. You have much appreciation de mi corazón, and you are free to proselyte whenever and wherever you wish.”
“Gracias, Señor Presidente,” said Elder Sykes, bowing. “We will strive to be worthy of your hospitality.”
“And you,” the president continued, looking at Ostling, “you’re some kind of Protestant, right? We’re all good Catholics here, so don’t hold your breath for a warm welcome.”
“Of course not,” the preacher said with a tight-lipped smile, casting another glare at the missionaries. “Thank you anyway, Mr. President.”
“Now, you Santos,” said Gonzalez. “Antonio here will show you to your quarters.” Out from behind him stepped a man they’d not noticed, probably owing to his incredible scrawniness and small stature. He wore nothing more than a loincloth and a lopsided grin full of missing teeth.
“Begging your pardon,” said Elder Sykes, looking nervously at Antonio, “but Elder and Sister Green were supposed to be here to meet us.”
“Ah, yes,” said Gonzalez, casting his eyes furtively away. “Elder Verde, ah, has come down with a muy terrible case of dysentery. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No, but my phone was off for the entire flight, and then it got ruined in the, er, landing.” Elder Sykes glanced at the ocean, where the plane was slowly sinking from view. “What about Sister Green?”
“Botulism.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Don’t worry,” said the president, “Antonio knows the way. He’ll get you there muy pronto.” It could have been their imaginations, but there seemed to be an implicit threat in his voice if they didn’t cooperate.
Elder Sykes looked helplessly at Myles, who rolled his eyes again. There were no other options. “All right then,” he told the president.
“Excelente,” said Antonio in a raspy voice. “Right this way, amigos. Do you have any equipaje for me to carry?”
“Not anymore,” said Myles, jerking his head back at the half-submerged plane.
“Good,” said Antonio. “I hate carrying equipaje.”
***
They followed a dirt trail into the rainforest and around the edge of the capital city, to a cluster of small thatched-roof wooden shacks arranged apparently at random in a clearing. “Small”, in the sense that each had about enough room for five people to squeeze in and stand upright, and that was it.
Antonio pointed to one. “Tuyas, señores,” he said.
“Does it have a baño?” asked Myles.
Antonio blinked. “A what?”
“Okay, fair enough.” This was a third world country, after all, or even a fourth world country if there was such a thing. “Is there an outhouse somewhere?”
“No comprendo.”
“A latrine?”
“Stop making up words.”
“A hole in the ground?”
“Señor, I don’t know what you’re trying to ask for.”
Myles fought to contain his exasperation. “The call of nature. I need to answer it.”
“Oh, por supuesto!” The light of recognition dawned in Antonio’s eyes. “Si, if you’re self-conscious for some razón just go into the jungle. Don’t use the pale hojas verdes that grow in clusters, or you’ll get a nasty rash and possibly permanent scarring.”
“You’re joking,” said Myles, but the serious look on Antonio’s face suggested otherwise.
Elder Sykes, looking uncomfortable, cleared his throat. “Thank you, Antonio,” he said, “but we really must speak with Elder and Sister Green. Can you take us to where they’re staying?”
Antonio nodded. “Only Presidente Gonzalez knows where they are, but I can take you to speak with him and I’m sure he’ll be glad to help you.”
“Great.” Elder Sykes looked a bit disturbed, but didn't voice any misgivings.
“I’ll be back in unos minutos,” said Antonio.
Before Myles could protest, their host had gone. He muttered something unfriendly under his breath, then went into the hut that had been designated as theirs, ducking through the low entrance. What he saw displeased him – nothing, literally nothing, but a floor of dirt and a window cut into the other side. The respite its roof offered from the blazing sun was the only item in its favor as far as he was concerned.
Elder Sykes followed. “Don’t worry about our stuff,” he said. “I have all the discussions and relevant scriptures memorized.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” said Myles. “Look at this. We’re supposed to sleep here?”
“I guess so. Relax, it will be like camping. But don’t enjoy it too much because camping is against mission rules. Just –”
“Camping? Elder, we’re next door to the capital city. ‘Camping’ is not what I had in mind.” He opened his wallet and pulled from it a photograph that had providentially escaped the worst of the soaking in the ocean. “The things I do for you,” he muttered to it.
A whistle from the doorway made them both look up. There, in a skirt made from the same material as the roof and a top made of coconut shells, stood the scrawniest woman they’d ever seen. Myles imagined that he could reach around her waist with his thumbs and forefingers.
“Hola, caballeros,” she said in a sultry yet nasally voice, batting her eyelashes. “You new in town?”
“Yes we are, actually,” said Elder Sykes. “Could you –”
“Elder.” Myles gave his junior companion a warning look.
“What?” Elder Sykes was sincerely confused.
The woman winked at them. “Let me give you chicos a taste of San Marcosian hospitality.”
“Thanks, we’d appreciate that,” said Elder Sykes. “Everyone’s been real friendly so far, and –”
“Elder!” said Myles. “Don’t talk to her. She’s going to get us into trouble.”
“What? Why?” Elder Sykes was sincerely confused. “Because she’s immodestly dressed? She’s still a child of God, Elder.”
Myles was incredulous. “Were you raised under a rock? This woman is a –”
“Callate,” she said, gliding across the dirt floor over to him and putting a spindly finger to his lips. “You’re so tense. Let me calm you down.”
“Beat it, hermana,” said Myles, recoiling. His revulsion had less to do with her intentions than with the smell at this proximity, indicating that she hadn’t bathed in months.
Her gaze fell to the picture still clutched in his hand, of a young white woman with deep brown eyes and golden tresses cascading over her shoulders. “Ah, tienes novia. Lo siento. I understand.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.”
“Cual es su nombre?”
“Natalie Draper.”
“Natalie. That’s a nice name.”
“Thanks.”
The native woman turned to Elder Sykes again. “How about you, big boy? Estás soltero?”
“Rosita!” Antonio’s voice boomed as he rushed in, leaving room in the hut for only one more person. “These are misionaros! Holy men! No les moleste!”
Rosita pouted at him. “No sabía. I just thought they were businessmen or CIA agents.”
“Well, they’re not, so leave them alone. Get out.”
“Hey, wait,” said Elder Sykes. “Maybe she’d like to hear our message.”
She perked up. “Message?”
“Ah, señores, you are too kind,” said Antonio. “But surely you do not think una mujer is fit to hear la palabra de Dios?”
There was an awkward silence. “Er, yes,” said Elder Sykes. “La palabra de Dios is for everybody.”
Antonio looked at them, then at Rosita, and shrugged. “Pues, suit yourselves. I’ll get something to eat and we can discuss things over cena.” He turned to leave and pointed a warning finger at Rosito. “Ven conmigo. I don’t trust you.”
As soon as they’d gone, Myles demanded, “What was that about? ‘A woman is unfit to hear the word of God’? What is this, Afghanistan?”
“Look at the bright side, Elder,” said Elder Sykes. “We’ve been here less than an hour and already gotten our first teaching appointment! And once they learn the gospel, they’ll know that all are alike unto God!”
“Yeah, great,” said Myles.
“You seem tense, Elder.” Elder Sykes cocked his head and peered quizzically through his glasses. “Aren’t you happy to be here?”
“You’re very perceptive, and no,” said Myles. “Chile was tolerable, but this place is hotter than outer darkness and we have to sleep in the dirt. That’s not my idea of a swell time.”
Elder Sykes put a thoughtful hand on his chin. “Why are you here, Elder?”
“Why am I here? I’ll tell you why I’m here.” He held up the picture still in his hand and waved it in his junior companion’s face. “This wonderful, precious girl wouldn’t marry me if I didn’t serve a mission like her. Oh, and small detail, my parents would disown me too.”
“I see. So you wouldn’t have come otherwise?”
“I don’t know. Not to this craphole, I can tell you that much.” Myles put the picture back in his wallet and began to pace back and forth, not an easy task in the small hut. “To Fiji, maybe, or Tonga, or Samoa. You know, an island paradise that actually is an island paradise.”
“Hmmm.” Elder Sykes scratched his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m surprised you made it this far into your mission.”
“Me too. I thought that whole ‘raising the bar’ thing in ‘04 was supposed to filter out guys like me. Oh well.” He sighed. “Only two more months.”
***
Two more months seemed like eternity when Myles Webb saw what was for dinner. “Cockroaches,” he said. “You actually eat cockroaches.”
“Por supuesto,” said Antonio. “Las cucarachas multiply like, well, like cucarachas. They’re the most plentiful food source on the island.”
Myles stared at his plate with a certain amount of skepticism.
“No te preocupes,” said Antonio, “I cooked them to get rid of any diseases. What do you think we are, primitives?”
“No, of course not,” said Elder Sykes before Myles could open his mouth again. “My companion didn’t mean to offend you. He’s just not used to gourmet fare.” He popped one into his mouth and crunched on it, smiling. “Mmm! Just like Mamá used to make!”
They were sitting cross-legged in a circle in the hut, with plastic plates and cups. Rosita went around and filled all their cups with water from an earthenware jug.
“Gracias,” Antonio told her. “Now beat it.” She gave him a curt nod and turned to leave.
“Wait, hold on,” said Elder Sykes. “Can’t she eat with us?”
Antonio laughed. “Oh, you americanos have such a sense of humor.” Then he realized the missionary was serious, and his jaw dropped. “Good grief, señor, has the sun fried your cabeza? She is una mujer. She eats outside.”
“But why?”
“Porqué? I just told you, señor, she is una mujer. Do I need to draw you a diagram?”
“My companion lied,” said Myles. “I do think you’re primitives. What if I told you that women are actually a kind of human beings?”
“No es necesario to patronize me,” said Antonio, rapidly growing annoyed. “I’ll have you know that I’m muy progresivo about women’s rights. Pues, I don’t even flog her when she speaks out of turn.”
“Oh, I stand corrected. You’re a prince.”
“Look,” said Elder Sykes, trying to defuse the situation, “can we just let her eat with us? We’re going to discuss the gospel, and this message is so important that even a woman – er, I mean everyone should hear it.”
“Bien. Lo que sea.” Antonio gestured at the ground. “Sientate, Rosita.”
“Gracias,” she said. Having stood by patiently through the whole argument, she joined the circle as if nothing had happened.
Myles rolled his eyes and raised his cup to take a swig. His throat had been parched all day and by now was actually beginning to hurt. But as his gaze focused on the water he realized that what he’d thought, had hoped, was a trick of the lighting was all too real. “Antonio,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady, “this water is brown.”
“Felicitaciones, señor,” the native responded, still annoyed. “You’re not colorblind.”
“And there’s crud floating in it. A thousand little pieces of crud. You guys drink it like this?”
“Yes, señor, that’s generally what one does with agua. Hay problema?”
“Oh, not really,” said Myles. “I just have this odd preference of not becoming violently ill and dying, but hey, I’m open to new experiences.”
“Relax,” said Antonio. “Only uno in fifty people get gonorrhea from it.”
Elder Sykes had raised his own cup to his lips, willing to give the water a try as he had the cockroaches. Hearing this, however, he turned green and quickly set it back down. “Er,” he said, “maybe we could start the lesson now. That all right?”
“Si, por favor,” said Antonio. “If you’re sure una mujer is fit to hear it.”
“I’m sure. All right, so what do you guys know about God?”
“Oh, mucho," Antonio said. "We’re all good Catholics here. I would read la Biblia cover to cover if I had one. And if I could read.”
“We can help you! We can get you a Bible and teach you to read!” Elder Sykes almost fell over with excitement. “But first things first. God is our loving Padre Celestial, and we are His children. We were sent to Earth to learn and progress so that we can return to heaven and become like Him. Bien?”
“Si, bien.”
“There was a grand council in heaven, and all of God’s spirit children were there. Billions of people. He announced His plan. But there was a problem! Once we, the spirits, had taken bodies and come to Earth, we would sin and become unclean, and then we couldn’t dwell with God anymore. Our sins would need to be punished, but God didn’t want to punish us. He asked for a volunteer to make un expiación for our sins so that we could become clean again. Bien?”
“Si, bien.”
“Jesus Christ, His firstborn spirit child, stepped forward and said ‘Here am I, send me’. Lucifer stepped forward and said the same thing. The Father chose Jesus, because Lucifer wanted the glory for himself, and he wanted to use his own version of the plan that would take away our freedom of choice so we couldn’t sin at all. We would never learn or grow that way. So there was a war in heaven, and when it was over, a third of God’s spirit children were cast out with Lucifer. The rest came to Earth.”
“Increible. I never heard that in Mass.”
Elder Sykes turned to Myles expectantly, waiting for him to continue the lesson. Myles wasn’t in the mood, but it was his calling, after all, so with a silent groan he continued. “I know what you guys are wondering now,” he said. “You’re wondering, what did we do during that war in heaven to deserve getting sent to a place like San Marcos?”
“Si!” said Rosita, speaking up for the first time since dinner started. “Si, that’s exactly what I was thinking!”
“Yo tambien,” Antonio admitted. “Oh, see? She just spoke out of turn and I’m not flogging her. I told you.”
“Your egalitarianism is a beacon to all of us.” Myles decided not to press the issue. “So, Rosita, what are your thoughts about getting sent here?”
“Oh, I think about it all the time,” she said, eager to keep talking now. “Every día y noche I pray to Dios and express my gratitude for living on this island.”
Myles blinked. “Beg pardon?”
“Si, es verdad! I marvel at the beauty of the ocean, of the jungle, of the volcano that stands over us. The plants, the birds, the animals – everything is a masterpiece, and everything testifies of Dios. Es un milagro.”
Myles shook his head in stupefaction. “No comprendo.”
“It is beautiful,” agreed Elder Sykes, ecstatic about her positive attitude that matched his so well. “And then there’s family and friends, right?”
“Si! Antonio es el mejor amigo en el mundo.” Rosita gave him a hug. He was skinny enough that her arms could have gone around him twice. He patted her on the back, looking embarrassed.
The lesson continued smoothly despite Myles’ confusion and reluctance to participate. When it came time to wrap up, Elder Sykes asked the investigators, “As the Lord answers your prayers and you feel that our message is true, will you follow the example of Jesus Christ and be baptized by one having authority from God?”
“Si!” said Rosita, clapping her hands with joy.
“Eh, posiblemente,” said Antonio. “Vamos a ver.”
After making a return appointment for the next day, the two natives left. Myles stood in the doorway and watched the sun falling beneath the horizon. He glanced at his watch, which had turned out to be less waterproof than advertised. “What time do you think it is?”
“I don’t know,” said Elder Sykes. “But Elder and Sister Green said it’s not safe to go out after sundown. I think we should just do some scripture study and call it a day.”
“Scripture study? My standard works are enlightening some blessed fish right now, Elder.”
“Scripture masteries. Don’t you remember them from seminary? We can go over those.”
Myles sighed. “Knock yourself out, Elder. I’m going to bed. Or going to ground, I should say. I may as well start trying to get used to it.”
“But scripture study is –”
“Don’t push me, Elder. This hasn’t been a fantastic day.” Myles lay down in the dirt and winced. He could feel pointy rocks just beneath the surface, and shifted a bit in a vain attempt to get comfortable.
“Come on,” said Elder Sykes, “don’t be so down about it. So this isn’t Costa Rica. You saw how happy Rosita and Antonio manage to be, right? Don’t tell me their positive attitude isn’t contagious.”
“Fine then, I won’t tell you.”
“Elder, listen to me. We’re here for a reason. If we look on the bright side and count our blessings, we just might be able to enjoy our stay.”
Before Myles could think of a snarky reply, Antonio reappeared in the doorway. “Lo siento, señores, I almost forgot,” he said. “Try to toss and turn while you sleep, so los gusanos don’t nibble on your flesh too much.”
***
“Oh, what a beautiful morning!” said Elder Sykes, standing and stretching. He winced at the aches where the worms had nibbled him.
“Somewhere else, maybe,” said Myles, rolling over with a moan.
“Let’s go tracting, Elder, as soon as we’ve had our scripture study and exercise. If the rest of the natives are anything like Antonio and Rosita, we’ll have more appointments than we can teach.”
Myles mumbled something under his breath.
“Beg pardon, Elder?”
“I said, my toothbrush. My flipping toothbrush is in the ocean. How am I supposed to brush my flipping teeth?”
“We’ll ask Elder and Sister Green about it when we see them. Don’t worry about that now, Elder. We’ve got some proselytizing to do.” Elder Sykes rubbed his chin. “Aw, fetch, I have stubble. That’s against mission rules.”
They did their scripture study and exercise, Myles with considerable reluctance. As they emerged squinting into the blazing sunlight and oppressive heat, Antonio came walking up to greet them. “Hola, Santos,” he said. “How are you esta mañana?”
“Bien, gracias,” said Elder Sykes.
“Eh,” said Myles.
“Excelente,” said Antonio. “What are your plans for today?”
“We’re going to see if we can find anyone else who’ll listen to our message,” said Elder Sykes. “I figured first we’d check these other huts around here.”
“Ah, maybe luego would be better,” said Antonio, looking nervous. “There’s something going on en la ciudad I think you should see.”
Elder Sykes looked at Myles, the senior companion, for guidance. Myles shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Vamanos,” said Antonio. “Por alli.”
As they walked, Elder Sykes asked their guide, “Dondé está Rosita?”
“Oh,” Antonio said, looking straight ahead, “she’s, ah, working.”
“This early?” asked Myles.
“She likes to get a head start.”
“I see,” said Elder Sykes. “What’s her job?”
Antonio and Myles both stared at him incredulously.
Elder Sykes frowned back at them. “Okay, yeah, I’m missing something obvious, ha ha, I’m so naïve,” he said. “Come on, just tell me.”
“She is una abogada,” Antonio explained, rolling his eyes.
Elder Sykes swallowed. “A lawyer. Oh. I see why you don’t like to talk about it.”
They entered the city proper of Puerto Bolivar and could immediately tell something was going on. The air was charged with a palpable electric fervor. The unpaved streets were empty aside from litter, human waste, and crippled beggars, but carried distant shouts from somewhere up ahead. Antonio quickened his pace and they followed him, followed the noise, to the town square where a dais had been set up and William Ostling stood preaching.
“Oh, great,” said Myles.
The crowd was in a frenzy. They hung on to the preacher’s every word and cheered whenever he made a particularly scathing point.
“They’ve come to preach a different gospel,” Ostling yelled, shaking his fist. “The Bible says that whoever preaches a different gospel, let him be accursed! They’ve come to tell you of a different Jesus, a Jesus who is the brother of Satan, a Jesus who lacks the power to save you! The Mormon Jesus demands works! The true Jesus extends grace!”
The crowd went wild.
“Can a man work his way to heaven? No! My friends, we are all sinners! Only the blood of Christ can save us from the damnation we so richly deserve! Only his grace is sufficient!”
The crowd went wilder.
“That slimy snake,” said Myles. “He’s misrepresenting our beliefs.”
“You tell him!” said Antonio.
“I think I will,” said Myles, starting forward, but Elder Sykes pulled him back.
“Wait, Elder!” he said. “Nothing good can come of that. Contention is of the devil.”
Myles glared at him, but realized that an argument might indeed by giving Ostling exactly what he wanted. They continued listening helplessly.
“They’ve come to establish their cult of legalism on the beautiful shores of San Marcos!” Ostling continued. “They’ve come to convert you, to take ten percent of your income, to fill your days with endless meetings and unreachable expectations! They’ve come to build a temple to their unholy Jesus, to perform secret ceremonies and indoctrinate you!”
The crowd cheered, sounding angrier this time. “He’s hit a sore spot,” Antonio confided in the missionaries. “Most of our citizens don’t even have income.”
“Do not let them fool you!” said Ostling, shaking his fist and practically foaming at the mouth. “They will preach the sanctity of marriage, yet they once sanctioned the matrimony of one man to as many as fifty women! They will preach love and brotherhood, yet their priesthood caste and temples barred Africans from admission until as recently as 1978! They will preach humanitarianism and service, yet they tithe their followers to support an oligarchy of old men, to build their precious temples and even a shopping mall!”
The crowd cheered with less enthusiasm, and many of the citizens began mumbling to one another in confusion. Antonio nudged Myles. “What’s a shopping mall?”
Myles’ response was drowned out by Ostling’s raised voice, which could surely be heard throughout the entire city. “You are just another batch of numbers for their statistics, just one more nation to check off their list! They will baptize you en masse with no thought for your individuality, for your rich heritage as a people! Are you going to let them?”
The crowd’s former enthusiasm returned tenfold. “No!” they chorused.
“Oh, jeez,” said Myles. “We can’t let that creep get away with this. Let me at him.”
“No, Elder!” said Elder Sykes. “Remember, contention is of –”
“Then you go up there! Bear your testimony at him or something!”
“Now, look, if we just take a deep breath and –”
“There they are!” said Ostling, pointing at them. “Hello, Mormons! Have you anything to say for yourselves?”
Myles opened his mouth to say something unbecoming of a Latter-day Saint, but never got the chance because in an instant the angry crowd was upon him. He turned and ran for his life as he was assailed by dozens of fists and feet, and in the corner of his eye he saw Elder Sykes doing the same, as in the corner of his other eye Antonio tried to hold them off by himself.
“No, wait!” Ostling yelled, sounding panicked. “Don’t hurt them! What would Jesus do?” But it was too late; his words fell on deaf ears.
Myles was able to easily outpace the malnourished natives, and their blows lacked much strength, but they had the advantage of numbers. He couldn’t keep running forever, especially not in this heat, especially when he hadn’t had anything to drink for so long. His lungs and throat screamed for relief, but none appeared to be forthcoming.
Suddenly Rosita came running around the street corner toward them, waving her arms. “Muchachos!” she cried. “Presidente Gonzalez is on his way!”
Ten seconds later the streets were empty aside from the litter, human waste, and crippled beggars.
“Gracias,” said Myles, fighting to catch his breath. “I don’t know how you did that, but thanks.”
“El presidente runs a tight ship,” she said.
“And you tried to protect us,” said Elder Sykes to Antonio. “You could have just blended into the crowd. Why’d you do that?”
“Porqué? Señores, I will tell you porque,” he said. “When you taught me last night, I felt something warm en mi pecho, something burning como un fuego. It was a feeling I’ve never felt before, and I want more of it.”
“Me, too,” said Rosita. “I felt it tambien.”
“Great,” said Elder Sykes. “So you want to keep learning?”
“Si, señor,” they said in unison.
“Awesome. Um, I think we’re done tracting for today, so if you want to come back to our place we can teach you, um, all the rest of the discussions.” He turned to Myles. “Is that all right, Elder?”
Myles shrugged. “I don’t care what we do,” he said. “Just get me away from those freaks back there.”
***
They taught and discussed well into the evening. Myles made a trip to the beach and collected some salt water, which wouldn’t sustain him long-term but would at least be preferable to what the natives drank. He even tried a cockroach. It was a little bitter, but not as bad as some of the things he’d had to eat in Chile. Still, he’d scream if he had to eat it every day.
As the sun went down again and Antonio and Rosita prepared to leave, he remembered to ask, “Oh, Antonio, can I get a new toothbrush somewhere around here?”
The native blinked. “A toothbrush, señor?”
“Yeah, that’s what I usually use to brush my teeth.”
Antonio looked stupefied. Rosita nudged him. “It’s an American custom, I think,” she whispered.
“Ah. I’ll see what I can do, señor. Buenas noches. Don’t let los gusanos bite too much.” Antonio gave the missionaries a polite bow and left with Rosita.
“Well, Elder,” said Elder Sykes, stretching and yawning, “today was a definite improvement over yesterday, don’t you think?”
Myles gaped at him. “Are you out of your flipping mind? That evangelical creep made the entire city hate us, we almost got killed by an angry mob, and we’re still eating cockroaches and sleeping on dirt full of rocks and hungry worms. The plane crash is already looking like a happy memory.”
“Come on, Elder,” said Elder Sykes. “We have two sincere investigators hanging on to our every word! Tomorrow I think we should try again to commit them to baptism.”
“Tomorrow, Elder, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” said Myles. “We’re going to make Antonio take us right to Señor Presidente’s office, and we’re going to give him a piece of our mind. This place isn’t safe. Our health is in danger, my sanity is in danger, and now our lives are in danger. And where are Elder and Sister Green?”
At their mention, Elder Sykes looked a bit concerned. “I don’t know,” he said. “They probably need to stay away. They’re probably contagious.”
“We’ll catch something whether we see them or not,” said Myles. “Unless I can stay in this hut and not eat or drink anything for two months.” He turned away, shook his head and sighed. He pulled out his picture of Natalie and gazed into her eyes. “Just gotta keep thinking – if I survive, this will all be worth it. Right?”
Elder Sykes glanced uncomfortably at the ground, then cleared his throat. “Erm. If you don’t mind me saying so, Elder, I was impressed by your reaction to that preacher today. I mean, not by the reaction itself, per se, because contention is of the devil, but I was impressed by the fire in your spirit, by your eagerness to defend our faith.”
Myles shrugged. “Yeah, so? I’m not gonna stand by and let someone slander my beliefs like that.”
Elder Sykes’ eyes widened; then he beamed. “So you do have a testimony.”
Myles glared at him. “Yeah, of course I have a testimony. Why’s that a surprise?”
“Er, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just – you’ve just been so grouchy the whole time I’ve known you, and you said you were here because of your girlfriend and your parents, so...”
“Well, mostly.” Myles stared at the ground as he wracked his mind and wrestled with his emotions. “It’s not that I didn’t want to go on a mission, as such, it’s just that... I don’t know. It was such a big commitment. I’m so inadequate. I don’t think I should be here.”
“I see.” Elder Sykes stroked his chin, wincing slightly at the stubble. “Why are you here, Elder?”
“Because one of the Apostles had an off day and accidentally approved my application. Buenas noches, Elder, I’m going to bed.” Myles had had quite enough touchy-feely stuff for one evening. He put Natalie’s picture away, laid on the ground and tried not to think about the worms that would soon be keeping him up all night.
“But –” protested Elder Sykes. “Scripture study –”
“Fine. ‘And my father dwelt in a tent.’ I memorized that one all by myself. Good night.”
Elder Sykes nodded to himself. “I see... and what’s the reference?”
“First Leave Me Alone, Chapter Or I’ll Punch You, Verse in the Face. Good night.”
Elder Sykes took the subtle hint. “Well, good night. When you wake up, remember to start the day with a positive attitude. Antonio and Rosita always have a positive attitude, and they’re happy regardless of their circumstances. Count your blessings, name them uno by uno.”
“Meh.”
That night a tropical storm blew the roof off their little hut and soaked them to the bone. On the plus side, it drowned the worms.
“No problem,” muttered Myles Webb. “I’m in no hurry to get off.”
The young man in the next seat nudged him. “Hey, what kind of attitude is that, Elder?”
“That’s my ‘two-years-of-not-making-out-with-Natalie’ attitude,” Myles snapped. He’d already had about enough of Gilbert Sykes, and they’d only known each other for a few hours. His fresh-faced, eighteen-year-old junior companion from Provo was way too perky, way too enthusiastic, and way too odd. He seemed to have Asperger’s or something.
“Pah, making out is overrated,” said Elder Sykes. “Real communication, real connections with people, that’s what’s important. I’ve never even kissed a girl.”
“What a surprise,” said Myles, turning to stare out the window.
Elder Sykes looked hurt, but he fell silent.
Myles could see the small island of San Marcos as they approached. Near the coastal strip of wet sand and foaming waves glistening in the sunlight was a cluster of buildings that had to be the capital city, Puerto Bolivar, nestled in thick rainforest that hadn’t yet been depleted by man’s insatiable greed, which spread outward from the large active volcano rising in the center. It looked like a tropical paradise, and gave no indication of its sordid past.
The island was in the Pacific, off the coast of Chile, and had first been colonized by Spaniards in the mid-sixteenth century. The Spaniards quickly decided they didn’t want it and “gifted” it to the Portuguese. From there it had switched hands to the British, the Dutch, and the French before ending up with the Spaniards again, at which point the nations of Europe reached a mutual agreement to leave it alone and pretend it didn’t exist.
They had pretended so well, in fact, that it remained isolated and unknown to most of the world until the early twenty-first century, when satellite photographs and newly discovered records of the aforementioned transactions brought it to light. The president of San Marcos, Luis Gonzalez, had then urged the other nations of the world to come spend their vacations here, promising that it wasn’t nearly so bad anymore.
But Elders Webb and Sykes weren’t here on vacation. They were here as representatives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, assigned to preach the gospel to the natives. Myles had just been transferred from the Chile Santiago North Mission, and Elder Sykes had just gotten out of the MTC. They would be among the first missionaries on the island, along with the senior couple that had preceded them and given them the go-ahead to come. It was the first time in a long time that the Church had reached an area before the Seventh-day Adventists or Jehovah’s Witnesses.
“You know,” said Elder Sykes, “the cool thing about this island is that it has the same name as the town in Mexico where Rafael Monroy and Vicente Morales were executed by the Zapatistas during the Revolution for refusing to renounce the Church.”
“You’ve told me that twice already,” said Myles impatiently. “I didn’t want to burst your bubble, but that’s just a faith-promoting myth. They were killed because they had relations with American citizens and the other townspeople accused them of being in league with Carranza.”
“Touché, Elder,” said his companion. “That may be so, but then the soldiers offered them a chance to go free if they would renounce the Church. I’ve read the source documents.”
“Good for you.”
“I just hope I would have that kind of courage under that kind of pressure. When the going gets tough, that’s when you see what you’re really made of, and that’s when God separates the wheat from the chaff. I hope that I –”
“Elder,” said Myles, still staring at the island, “just let me think for a while.”
“Suit yourself,” said Elder Sykes, falling silent again.
Myles contemplated the people he would meet and wondered how much of a cultural shift from Chile they would represent. Though of Polynesian descent, they had reportedly adapted Spanish and other European culture much like the Native Americans on the mainland. Spanish was the official language, but most of them preferred English and spoke Spanglish. That was fine with him. He’d never gotten particularly good at Spanish anyway.
“Hey, Elder,” said Elder Sykes, leaning over his shoulder and also looking out the window. “Hey, Elder –”
“I said give it a rest, will you?”
“I’m sorry, but I just was thinking – I don’t see a runway, do you?”
“It’s behind the trees or something.”
“We’re pretty low. Shouldn’t we be able to see it by now?”
Myles sighed. This kid was getting on his nerves, but for a different reason than usual – this time, because he had a point. Myles fought back a twinge of worry. It had to be behind the trees or something. Having no runway would just be ridiculous.
The pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker again. “Hey, we’ve got some clergy on board, right?”
“Here!” said Elder Sykes, jumping to his feet, but another voice spoke at the same time.
The missionaries turned to see William Ostling, an evangelical preacher that Elder Sykes had tried to talk to earlier with little success. He scowled and glared daggers at them across the aisle.
“Great,” said the pilot. “Well, if one of you wouldn’t mind saying a prayer for our safe arrival –”
“I’ll do it,” said Ostling. “There’s a wall between them and God.” Elder Sykes looked hurt again. Myles just rolled his eyes.
“I’m going to attempt a water landing,” said the pilot. “Remember, your seat cushions can be used as flotation devices. We might experience a little turbulence, but everything should be fine.”
At that moment a seagull flew into the starboard engine, which coughed, sputtered and exploded. Myles sighed. He only had two months left to serve. It figured something like this would happen now.
***
“That was exhilarating!” said Elder Sykes, wiping the seawater off his glasses as he stumbled ashore. “I guess I shouldn’t have enjoyed it, because swimming is against mission rules, but –”
Myles rubbed the sting out of his eyes and crawled out onto the sand, which was much more abrasive than it looked. The sun beat down mercilessly, feeling much too hot despite the wet clothing against his skin. His muscles ached from swimming so hard; he’d been in no particular hurry at first but had then spotted what appeared to be a shark fin.
He struggled to his feet, then jumped back a bit as he realized the beach was no longer deserted.
“Mis amigos!” said Luis Gonzalez, a swarthy Polynesian man in his late thirties, his arms outstretched as the bodyguards at his sides remained stone-faced and motionless. “Bienvenidos a San Marcos! I’m so pleased you’re not dead!”
“Really?” muttered Myles. “Me too.”
The pilot declined the offered hug but extended a hand to the island nation’s president. “Gracias,” he said, “but this is most irregular. I was led to believe there would be a runway, or at least a suitable place to land.”
“Oh, did our public relations firm neglect to mention that? Most regrettable.” Gonzalez turned to the bodyguard next to him. “José, see to it that Pedro is put to death.”
“Si, Señor Presidente,” said José, saluting.
“Uh, well, that won’t be necessary,” said the pilot quickly. “I only meant that –”
“Ah,” said Gonzalez, ignoring him and turning his attention to the missionaries, “and you must be the representatives from La Iglesia de Jesucristo de los Santos de los Ultimos Días. You have much appreciation de mi corazón, and you are free to proselyte whenever and wherever you wish.”
“Gracias, Señor Presidente,” said Elder Sykes, bowing. “We will strive to be worthy of your hospitality.”
“And you,” the president continued, looking at Ostling, “you’re some kind of Protestant, right? We’re all good Catholics here, so don’t hold your breath for a warm welcome.”
“Of course not,” the preacher said with a tight-lipped smile, casting another glare at the missionaries. “Thank you anyway, Mr. President.”
“Now, you Santos,” said Gonzalez. “Antonio here will show you to your quarters.” Out from behind him stepped a man they’d not noticed, probably owing to his incredible scrawniness and small stature. He wore nothing more than a loincloth and a lopsided grin full of missing teeth.
“Begging your pardon,” said Elder Sykes, looking nervously at Antonio, “but Elder and Sister Green were supposed to be here to meet us.”
“Ah, yes,” said Gonzalez, casting his eyes furtively away. “Elder Verde, ah, has come down with a muy terrible case of dysentery. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No, but my phone was off for the entire flight, and then it got ruined in the, er, landing.” Elder Sykes glanced at the ocean, where the plane was slowly sinking from view. “What about Sister Green?”
“Botulism.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Don’t worry,” said the president, “Antonio knows the way. He’ll get you there muy pronto.” It could have been their imaginations, but there seemed to be an implicit threat in his voice if they didn’t cooperate.
Elder Sykes looked helplessly at Myles, who rolled his eyes again. There were no other options. “All right then,” he told the president.
“Excelente,” said Antonio in a raspy voice. “Right this way, amigos. Do you have any equipaje for me to carry?”
“Not anymore,” said Myles, jerking his head back at the half-submerged plane.
“Good,” said Antonio. “I hate carrying equipaje.”
***
They followed a dirt trail into the rainforest and around the edge of the capital city, to a cluster of small thatched-roof wooden shacks arranged apparently at random in a clearing. “Small”, in the sense that each had about enough room for five people to squeeze in and stand upright, and that was it.
Antonio pointed to one. “Tuyas, señores,” he said.
“Does it have a baño?” asked Myles.
Antonio blinked. “A what?”
“Okay, fair enough.” This was a third world country, after all, or even a fourth world country if there was such a thing. “Is there an outhouse somewhere?”
“No comprendo.”
“A latrine?”
“Stop making up words.”
“A hole in the ground?”
“Señor, I don’t know what you’re trying to ask for.”
Myles fought to contain his exasperation. “The call of nature. I need to answer it.”
“Oh, por supuesto!” The light of recognition dawned in Antonio’s eyes. “Si, if you’re self-conscious for some razón just go into the jungle. Don’t use the pale hojas verdes that grow in clusters, or you’ll get a nasty rash and possibly permanent scarring.”
“You’re joking,” said Myles, but the serious look on Antonio’s face suggested otherwise.
Elder Sykes, looking uncomfortable, cleared his throat. “Thank you, Antonio,” he said, “but we really must speak with Elder and Sister Green. Can you take us to where they’re staying?”
Antonio nodded. “Only Presidente Gonzalez knows where they are, but I can take you to speak with him and I’m sure he’ll be glad to help you.”
“Great.” Elder Sykes looked a bit disturbed, but didn't voice any misgivings.
“I’ll be back in unos minutos,” said Antonio.
Before Myles could protest, their host had gone. He muttered something unfriendly under his breath, then went into the hut that had been designated as theirs, ducking through the low entrance. What he saw displeased him – nothing, literally nothing, but a floor of dirt and a window cut into the other side. The respite its roof offered from the blazing sun was the only item in its favor as far as he was concerned.
Elder Sykes followed. “Don’t worry about our stuff,” he said. “I have all the discussions and relevant scriptures memorized.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” said Myles. “Look at this. We’re supposed to sleep here?”
“I guess so. Relax, it will be like camping. But don’t enjoy it too much because camping is against mission rules. Just –”
“Camping? Elder, we’re next door to the capital city. ‘Camping’ is not what I had in mind.” He opened his wallet and pulled from it a photograph that had providentially escaped the worst of the soaking in the ocean. “The things I do for you,” he muttered to it.
A whistle from the doorway made them both look up. There, in a skirt made from the same material as the roof and a top made of coconut shells, stood the scrawniest woman they’d ever seen. Myles imagined that he could reach around her waist with his thumbs and forefingers.
“Hola, caballeros,” she said in a sultry yet nasally voice, batting her eyelashes. “You new in town?”
“Yes we are, actually,” said Elder Sykes. “Could you –”
“Elder.” Myles gave his junior companion a warning look.
“What?” Elder Sykes was sincerely confused.
The woman winked at them. “Let me give you chicos a taste of San Marcosian hospitality.”
“Thanks, we’d appreciate that,” said Elder Sykes. “Everyone’s been real friendly so far, and –”
“Elder!” said Myles. “Don’t talk to her. She’s going to get us into trouble.”
“What? Why?” Elder Sykes was sincerely confused. “Because she’s immodestly dressed? She’s still a child of God, Elder.”
Myles was incredulous. “Were you raised under a rock? This woman is a –”
“Callate,” she said, gliding across the dirt floor over to him and putting a spindly finger to his lips. “You’re so tense. Let me calm you down.”
“Beat it, hermana,” said Myles, recoiling. His revulsion had less to do with her intentions than with the smell at this proximity, indicating that she hadn’t bathed in months.
Her gaze fell to the picture still clutched in his hand, of a young white woman with deep brown eyes and golden tresses cascading over her shoulders. “Ah, tienes novia. Lo siento. I understand.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.”
“Cual es su nombre?”
“Natalie Draper.”
“Natalie. That’s a nice name.”
“Thanks.”
The native woman turned to Elder Sykes again. “How about you, big boy? Estás soltero?”
“Rosita!” Antonio’s voice boomed as he rushed in, leaving room in the hut for only one more person. “These are misionaros! Holy men! No les moleste!”
Rosita pouted at him. “No sabía. I just thought they were businessmen or CIA agents.”
“Well, they’re not, so leave them alone. Get out.”
“Hey, wait,” said Elder Sykes. “Maybe she’d like to hear our message.”
She perked up. “Message?”
“Ah, señores, you are too kind,” said Antonio. “But surely you do not think una mujer is fit to hear la palabra de Dios?”
There was an awkward silence. “Er, yes,” said Elder Sykes. “La palabra de Dios is for everybody.”
Antonio looked at them, then at Rosita, and shrugged. “Pues, suit yourselves. I’ll get something to eat and we can discuss things over cena.” He turned to leave and pointed a warning finger at Rosito. “Ven conmigo. I don’t trust you.”
As soon as they’d gone, Myles demanded, “What was that about? ‘A woman is unfit to hear the word of God’? What is this, Afghanistan?”
“Look at the bright side, Elder,” said Elder Sykes. “We’ve been here less than an hour and already gotten our first teaching appointment! And once they learn the gospel, they’ll know that all are alike unto God!”
“Yeah, great,” said Myles.
“You seem tense, Elder.” Elder Sykes cocked his head and peered quizzically through his glasses. “Aren’t you happy to be here?”
“You’re very perceptive, and no,” said Myles. “Chile was tolerable, but this place is hotter than outer darkness and we have to sleep in the dirt. That’s not my idea of a swell time.”
Elder Sykes put a thoughtful hand on his chin. “Why are you here, Elder?”
“Why am I here? I’ll tell you why I’m here.” He held up the picture still in his hand and waved it in his junior companion’s face. “This wonderful, precious girl wouldn’t marry me if I didn’t serve a mission like her. Oh, and small detail, my parents would disown me too.”
“I see. So you wouldn’t have come otherwise?”
“I don’t know. Not to this craphole, I can tell you that much.” Myles put the picture back in his wallet and began to pace back and forth, not an easy task in the small hut. “To Fiji, maybe, or Tonga, or Samoa. You know, an island paradise that actually is an island paradise.”
“Hmmm.” Elder Sykes scratched his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m surprised you made it this far into your mission.”
“Me too. I thought that whole ‘raising the bar’ thing in ‘04 was supposed to filter out guys like me. Oh well.” He sighed. “Only two more months.”
***
Two more months seemed like eternity when Myles Webb saw what was for dinner. “Cockroaches,” he said. “You actually eat cockroaches.”
“Por supuesto,” said Antonio. “Las cucarachas multiply like, well, like cucarachas. They’re the most plentiful food source on the island.”
Myles stared at his plate with a certain amount of skepticism.
“No te preocupes,” said Antonio, “I cooked them to get rid of any diseases. What do you think we are, primitives?”
“No, of course not,” said Elder Sykes before Myles could open his mouth again. “My companion didn’t mean to offend you. He’s just not used to gourmet fare.” He popped one into his mouth and crunched on it, smiling. “Mmm! Just like Mamá used to make!”
They were sitting cross-legged in a circle in the hut, with plastic plates and cups. Rosita went around and filled all their cups with water from an earthenware jug.
“Gracias,” Antonio told her. “Now beat it.” She gave him a curt nod and turned to leave.
“Wait, hold on,” said Elder Sykes. “Can’t she eat with us?”
Antonio laughed. “Oh, you americanos have such a sense of humor.” Then he realized the missionary was serious, and his jaw dropped. “Good grief, señor, has the sun fried your cabeza? She is una mujer. She eats outside.”
“But why?”
“Porqué? I just told you, señor, she is una mujer. Do I need to draw you a diagram?”
“My companion lied,” said Myles. “I do think you’re primitives. What if I told you that women are actually a kind of human beings?”
“No es necesario to patronize me,” said Antonio, rapidly growing annoyed. “I’ll have you know that I’m muy progresivo about women’s rights. Pues, I don’t even flog her when she speaks out of turn.”
“Oh, I stand corrected. You’re a prince.”
“Look,” said Elder Sykes, trying to defuse the situation, “can we just let her eat with us? We’re going to discuss the gospel, and this message is so important that even a woman – er, I mean everyone should hear it.”
“Bien. Lo que sea.” Antonio gestured at the ground. “Sientate, Rosita.”
“Gracias,” she said. Having stood by patiently through the whole argument, she joined the circle as if nothing had happened.
Myles rolled his eyes and raised his cup to take a swig. His throat had been parched all day and by now was actually beginning to hurt. But as his gaze focused on the water he realized that what he’d thought, had hoped, was a trick of the lighting was all too real. “Antonio,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady, “this water is brown.”
“Felicitaciones, señor,” the native responded, still annoyed. “You’re not colorblind.”
“And there’s crud floating in it. A thousand little pieces of crud. You guys drink it like this?”
“Yes, señor, that’s generally what one does with agua. Hay problema?”
“Oh, not really,” said Myles. “I just have this odd preference of not becoming violently ill and dying, but hey, I’m open to new experiences.”
“Relax,” said Antonio. “Only uno in fifty people get gonorrhea from it.”
Elder Sykes had raised his own cup to his lips, willing to give the water a try as he had the cockroaches. Hearing this, however, he turned green and quickly set it back down. “Er,” he said, “maybe we could start the lesson now. That all right?”
“Si, por favor,” said Antonio. “If you’re sure una mujer is fit to hear it.”
“I’m sure. All right, so what do you guys know about God?”
“Oh, mucho," Antonio said. "We’re all good Catholics here. I would read la Biblia cover to cover if I had one. And if I could read.”
“We can help you! We can get you a Bible and teach you to read!” Elder Sykes almost fell over with excitement. “But first things first. God is our loving Padre Celestial, and we are His children. We were sent to Earth to learn and progress so that we can return to heaven and become like Him. Bien?”
“Si, bien.”
“There was a grand council in heaven, and all of God’s spirit children were there. Billions of people. He announced His plan. But there was a problem! Once we, the spirits, had taken bodies and come to Earth, we would sin and become unclean, and then we couldn’t dwell with God anymore. Our sins would need to be punished, but God didn’t want to punish us. He asked for a volunteer to make un expiación for our sins so that we could become clean again. Bien?”
“Si, bien.”
“Jesus Christ, His firstborn spirit child, stepped forward and said ‘Here am I, send me’. Lucifer stepped forward and said the same thing. The Father chose Jesus, because Lucifer wanted the glory for himself, and he wanted to use his own version of the plan that would take away our freedom of choice so we couldn’t sin at all. We would never learn or grow that way. So there was a war in heaven, and when it was over, a third of God’s spirit children were cast out with Lucifer. The rest came to Earth.”
“Increible. I never heard that in Mass.”
Elder Sykes turned to Myles expectantly, waiting for him to continue the lesson. Myles wasn’t in the mood, but it was his calling, after all, so with a silent groan he continued. “I know what you guys are wondering now,” he said. “You’re wondering, what did we do during that war in heaven to deserve getting sent to a place like San Marcos?”
“Si!” said Rosita, speaking up for the first time since dinner started. “Si, that’s exactly what I was thinking!”
“Yo tambien,” Antonio admitted. “Oh, see? She just spoke out of turn and I’m not flogging her. I told you.”
“Your egalitarianism is a beacon to all of us.” Myles decided not to press the issue. “So, Rosita, what are your thoughts about getting sent here?”
“Oh, I think about it all the time,” she said, eager to keep talking now. “Every día y noche I pray to Dios and express my gratitude for living on this island.”
Myles blinked. “Beg pardon?”
“Si, es verdad! I marvel at the beauty of the ocean, of the jungle, of the volcano that stands over us. The plants, the birds, the animals – everything is a masterpiece, and everything testifies of Dios. Es un milagro.”
Myles shook his head in stupefaction. “No comprendo.”
“It is beautiful,” agreed Elder Sykes, ecstatic about her positive attitude that matched his so well. “And then there’s family and friends, right?”
“Si! Antonio es el mejor amigo en el mundo.” Rosita gave him a hug. He was skinny enough that her arms could have gone around him twice. He patted her on the back, looking embarrassed.
The lesson continued smoothly despite Myles’ confusion and reluctance to participate. When it came time to wrap up, Elder Sykes asked the investigators, “As the Lord answers your prayers and you feel that our message is true, will you follow the example of Jesus Christ and be baptized by one having authority from God?”
“Si!” said Rosita, clapping her hands with joy.
“Eh, posiblemente,” said Antonio. “Vamos a ver.”
After making a return appointment for the next day, the two natives left. Myles stood in the doorway and watched the sun falling beneath the horizon. He glanced at his watch, which had turned out to be less waterproof than advertised. “What time do you think it is?”
“I don’t know,” said Elder Sykes. “But Elder and Sister Green said it’s not safe to go out after sundown. I think we should just do some scripture study and call it a day.”
“Scripture study? My standard works are enlightening some blessed fish right now, Elder.”
“Scripture masteries. Don’t you remember them from seminary? We can go over those.”
Myles sighed. “Knock yourself out, Elder. I’m going to bed. Or going to ground, I should say. I may as well start trying to get used to it.”
“But scripture study is –”
“Don’t push me, Elder. This hasn’t been a fantastic day.” Myles lay down in the dirt and winced. He could feel pointy rocks just beneath the surface, and shifted a bit in a vain attempt to get comfortable.
“Come on,” said Elder Sykes, “don’t be so down about it. So this isn’t Costa Rica. You saw how happy Rosita and Antonio manage to be, right? Don’t tell me their positive attitude isn’t contagious.”
“Fine then, I won’t tell you.”
“Elder, listen to me. We’re here for a reason. If we look on the bright side and count our blessings, we just might be able to enjoy our stay.”
Before Myles could think of a snarky reply, Antonio reappeared in the doorway. “Lo siento, señores, I almost forgot,” he said. “Try to toss and turn while you sleep, so los gusanos don’t nibble on your flesh too much.”
***
“Oh, what a beautiful morning!” said Elder Sykes, standing and stretching. He winced at the aches where the worms had nibbled him.
“Somewhere else, maybe,” said Myles, rolling over with a moan.
“Let’s go tracting, Elder, as soon as we’ve had our scripture study and exercise. If the rest of the natives are anything like Antonio and Rosita, we’ll have more appointments than we can teach.”
Myles mumbled something under his breath.
“Beg pardon, Elder?”
“I said, my toothbrush. My flipping toothbrush is in the ocean. How am I supposed to brush my flipping teeth?”
“We’ll ask Elder and Sister Green about it when we see them. Don’t worry about that now, Elder. We’ve got some proselytizing to do.” Elder Sykes rubbed his chin. “Aw, fetch, I have stubble. That’s against mission rules.”
They did their scripture study and exercise, Myles with considerable reluctance. As they emerged squinting into the blazing sunlight and oppressive heat, Antonio came walking up to greet them. “Hola, Santos,” he said. “How are you esta mañana?”
“Bien, gracias,” said Elder Sykes.
“Eh,” said Myles.
“Excelente,” said Antonio. “What are your plans for today?”
“We’re going to see if we can find anyone else who’ll listen to our message,” said Elder Sykes. “I figured first we’d check these other huts around here.”
“Ah, maybe luego would be better,” said Antonio, looking nervous. “There’s something going on en la ciudad I think you should see.”
Elder Sykes looked at Myles, the senior companion, for guidance. Myles shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Vamanos,” said Antonio. “Por alli.”
As they walked, Elder Sykes asked their guide, “Dondé está Rosita?”
“Oh,” Antonio said, looking straight ahead, “she’s, ah, working.”
“This early?” asked Myles.
“She likes to get a head start.”
“I see,” said Elder Sykes. “What’s her job?”
Antonio and Myles both stared at him incredulously.
Elder Sykes frowned back at them. “Okay, yeah, I’m missing something obvious, ha ha, I’m so naïve,” he said. “Come on, just tell me.”
“She is una abogada,” Antonio explained, rolling his eyes.
Elder Sykes swallowed. “A lawyer. Oh. I see why you don’t like to talk about it.”
They entered the city proper of Puerto Bolivar and could immediately tell something was going on. The air was charged with a palpable electric fervor. The unpaved streets were empty aside from litter, human waste, and crippled beggars, but carried distant shouts from somewhere up ahead. Antonio quickened his pace and they followed him, followed the noise, to the town square where a dais had been set up and William Ostling stood preaching.
“Oh, great,” said Myles.
The crowd was in a frenzy. They hung on to the preacher’s every word and cheered whenever he made a particularly scathing point.
“They’ve come to preach a different gospel,” Ostling yelled, shaking his fist. “The Bible says that whoever preaches a different gospel, let him be accursed! They’ve come to tell you of a different Jesus, a Jesus who is the brother of Satan, a Jesus who lacks the power to save you! The Mormon Jesus demands works! The true Jesus extends grace!”
The crowd went wild.
“Can a man work his way to heaven? No! My friends, we are all sinners! Only the blood of Christ can save us from the damnation we so richly deserve! Only his grace is sufficient!”
The crowd went wilder.
“That slimy snake,” said Myles. “He’s misrepresenting our beliefs.”
“You tell him!” said Antonio.
“I think I will,” said Myles, starting forward, but Elder Sykes pulled him back.
“Wait, Elder!” he said. “Nothing good can come of that. Contention is of the devil.”
Myles glared at him, but realized that an argument might indeed by giving Ostling exactly what he wanted. They continued listening helplessly.
“They’ve come to establish their cult of legalism on the beautiful shores of San Marcos!” Ostling continued. “They’ve come to convert you, to take ten percent of your income, to fill your days with endless meetings and unreachable expectations! They’ve come to build a temple to their unholy Jesus, to perform secret ceremonies and indoctrinate you!”
The crowd cheered, sounding angrier this time. “He’s hit a sore spot,” Antonio confided in the missionaries. “Most of our citizens don’t even have income.”
“Do not let them fool you!” said Ostling, shaking his fist and practically foaming at the mouth. “They will preach the sanctity of marriage, yet they once sanctioned the matrimony of one man to as many as fifty women! They will preach love and brotherhood, yet their priesthood caste and temples barred Africans from admission until as recently as 1978! They will preach humanitarianism and service, yet they tithe their followers to support an oligarchy of old men, to build their precious temples and even a shopping mall!”
The crowd cheered with less enthusiasm, and many of the citizens began mumbling to one another in confusion. Antonio nudged Myles. “What’s a shopping mall?”
Myles’ response was drowned out by Ostling’s raised voice, which could surely be heard throughout the entire city. “You are just another batch of numbers for their statistics, just one more nation to check off their list! They will baptize you en masse with no thought for your individuality, for your rich heritage as a people! Are you going to let them?”
The crowd’s former enthusiasm returned tenfold. “No!” they chorused.
“Oh, jeez,” said Myles. “We can’t let that creep get away with this. Let me at him.”
“No, Elder!” said Elder Sykes. “Remember, contention is of –”
“Then you go up there! Bear your testimony at him or something!”
“Now, look, if we just take a deep breath and –”
“There they are!” said Ostling, pointing at them. “Hello, Mormons! Have you anything to say for yourselves?”
Myles opened his mouth to say something unbecoming of a Latter-day Saint, but never got the chance because in an instant the angry crowd was upon him. He turned and ran for his life as he was assailed by dozens of fists and feet, and in the corner of his eye he saw Elder Sykes doing the same, as in the corner of his other eye Antonio tried to hold them off by himself.
“No, wait!” Ostling yelled, sounding panicked. “Don’t hurt them! What would Jesus do?” But it was too late; his words fell on deaf ears.
Myles was able to easily outpace the malnourished natives, and their blows lacked much strength, but they had the advantage of numbers. He couldn’t keep running forever, especially not in this heat, especially when he hadn’t had anything to drink for so long. His lungs and throat screamed for relief, but none appeared to be forthcoming.
Suddenly Rosita came running around the street corner toward them, waving her arms. “Muchachos!” she cried. “Presidente Gonzalez is on his way!”
Ten seconds later the streets were empty aside from the litter, human waste, and crippled beggars.
“Gracias,” said Myles, fighting to catch his breath. “I don’t know how you did that, but thanks.”
“El presidente runs a tight ship,” she said.
“And you tried to protect us,” said Elder Sykes to Antonio. “You could have just blended into the crowd. Why’d you do that?”
“Porqué? Señores, I will tell you porque,” he said. “When you taught me last night, I felt something warm en mi pecho, something burning como un fuego. It was a feeling I’ve never felt before, and I want more of it.”
“Me, too,” said Rosita. “I felt it tambien.”
“Great,” said Elder Sykes. “So you want to keep learning?”
“Si, señor,” they said in unison.
“Awesome. Um, I think we’re done tracting for today, so if you want to come back to our place we can teach you, um, all the rest of the discussions.” He turned to Myles. “Is that all right, Elder?”
Myles shrugged. “I don’t care what we do,” he said. “Just get me away from those freaks back there.”
***
They taught and discussed well into the evening. Myles made a trip to the beach and collected some salt water, which wouldn’t sustain him long-term but would at least be preferable to what the natives drank. He even tried a cockroach. It was a little bitter, but not as bad as some of the things he’d had to eat in Chile. Still, he’d scream if he had to eat it every day.
As the sun went down again and Antonio and Rosita prepared to leave, he remembered to ask, “Oh, Antonio, can I get a new toothbrush somewhere around here?”
The native blinked. “A toothbrush, señor?”
“Yeah, that’s what I usually use to brush my teeth.”
Antonio looked stupefied. Rosita nudged him. “It’s an American custom, I think,” she whispered.
“Ah. I’ll see what I can do, señor. Buenas noches. Don’t let los gusanos bite too much.” Antonio gave the missionaries a polite bow and left with Rosita.
“Well, Elder,” said Elder Sykes, stretching and yawning, “today was a definite improvement over yesterday, don’t you think?”
Myles gaped at him. “Are you out of your flipping mind? That evangelical creep made the entire city hate us, we almost got killed by an angry mob, and we’re still eating cockroaches and sleeping on dirt full of rocks and hungry worms. The plane crash is already looking like a happy memory.”
“Come on, Elder,” said Elder Sykes. “We have two sincere investigators hanging on to our every word! Tomorrow I think we should try again to commit them to baptism.”
“Tomorrow, Elder, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” said Myles. “We’re going to make Antonio take us right to Señor Presidente’s office, and we’re going to give him a piece of our mind. This place isn’t safe. Our health is in danger, my sanity is in danger, and now our lives are in danger. And where are Elder and Sister Green?”
At their mention, Elder Sykes looked a bit concerned. “I don’t know,” he said. “They probably need to stay away. They’re probably contagious.”
“We’ll catch something whether we see them or not,” said Myles. “Unless I can stay in this hut and not eat or drink anything for two months.” He turned away, shook his head and sighed. He pulled out his picture of Natalie and gazed into her eyes. “Just gotta keep thinking – if I survive, this will all be worth it. Right?”
Elder Sykes glanced uncomfortably at the ground, then cleared his throat. “Erm. If you don’t mind me saying so, Elder, I was impressed by your reaction to that preacher today. I mean, not by the reaction itself, per se, because contention is of the devil, but I was impressed by the fire in your spirit, by your eagerness to defend our faith.”
Myles shrugged. “Yeah, so? I’m not gonna stand by and let someone slander my beliefs like that.”
Elder Sykes’ eyes widened; then he beamed. “So you do have a testimony.”
Myles glared at him. “Yeah, of course I have a testimony. Why’s that a surprise?”
“Er, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just – you’ve just been so grouchy the whole time I’ve known you, and you said you were here because of your girlfriend and your parents, so...”
“Well, mostly.” Myles stared at the ground as he wracked his mind and wrestled with his emotions. “It’s not that I didn’t want to go on a mission, as such, it’s just that... I don’t know. It was such a big commitment. I’m so inadequate. I don’t think I should be here.”
“I see.” Elder Sykes stroked his chin, wincing slightly at the stubble. “Why are you here, Elder?”
“Because one of the Apostles had an off day and accidentally approved my application. Buenas noches, Elder, I’m going to bed.” Myles had had quite enough touchy-feely stuff for one evening. He put Natalie’s picture away, laid on the ground and tried not to think about the worms that would soon be keeping him up all night.
“But –” protested Elder Sykes. “Scripture study –”
“Fine. ‘And my father dwelt in a tent.’ I memorized that one all by myself. Good night.”
Elder Sykes nodded to himself. “I see... and what’s the reference?”
“First Leave Me Alone, Chapter Or I’ll Punch You, Verse in the Face. Good night.”
Elder Sykes took the subtle hint. “Well, good night. When you wake up, remember to start the day with a positive attitude. Antonio and Rosita always have a positive attitude, and they’re happy regardless of their circumstances. Count your blessings, name them uno by uno.”
“Meh.”
That night a tropical storm blew the roof off their little hut and soaked them to the bone. On the plus side, it drowned the worms.
