Flower of Heaven (2 page)

Mercenaries, Father Dick reflected as the bus bounced along the dirt road, are hired guns, not so much for good causes but, oftentimes to the highest bidder. What kind of person could Jack Bumpus be to sell himself to any government or rebel group making attempts to gain control of some underdeveloped country? Who was this man who sat next to him on the bus, where did he come from and why would he so easily admit to a stranger that he’s a mercenary? And yet, he was friendly and generous and American, a welcome relief to Father Dick in a country where Americans were scarce except at missions outside the main cities, missions like the one outside of Saint Marc. Bumpus’ charismatic approach puzzled Father Dick and he wasn’t sure that this generous man did not have more in mind than just a place to stay for a few days. No one offers that much money for a room, sight unseen, unless perhaps he himself wanted to remain unseen.

Father Dick seemed to want to overlook Jack Bumpus’ way of life in exchange for non-religious companionship, if only for a day or two. After all, he thought, this is supposed to be a vacation. And besides, pondered Father Dick, he would surely get a chance to know this man better in the next two days, so why prejudge him before he had his say. Priests were trained to be good listeners and Jack appeared, to Father Dick, to be an extrovert, very outspoken and likely to reveal himself at some point before his flight left Haiti.

At 3:00 p.m. the bus approached the outskirts of the town and stopped at the entrance to the mission compound. When Jack first laid eyes on the mission area, he probably thought about going back to Port-au-Prince and taking his chances at the hotel. Father Dick had told him that the facilities were primitive but that the mission was a paradise when compared to the native conditions in the area. But Jack had seen worse, Father Dick was certain, as the bus stopped to let them out.

Beyond the large wooden structure, similar to Army barracks, both men could see children gathered together listening to a white-haired, very tanned priest dressed in a long white robe.

“Father McNeil, I’d like you to meet Jack Bumpus. I met him in the city and he was helpful to me after I nearly was hit by a car,” shouted Father Dick. He shouted because Father McNeil was hard of hearing and hearing aids cost money, money that could be used to buy more food, clothing and tools for the local residents in need.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bumpus. Anyone who helps out a friend of mine is welcome here anytime. Are you hurt, Dicky?” asked Father McNeil with genuine concern for his friend’s well-being.

“No, no, I’m fine, Eddie, more embarrassed than anything. Jack wants to stay with us for a couple of days before his flight back to the States, if that’s okay with you? He’s even offered to pay a hundred dollars to the mission to help out.”

“One hundred dollars? Do you know what that kind of money can do over here?” gleamed Father McNeil, a man in his mid-fifties, whose years in the hot sun had added too many wrinkles to his appearance. “Let’s go inside to the kitchen and have some iced tea. I also have some wine and brandy if you’d rather have that,” motioned Father McNeil as they headed for the priest’s quarters in a small building adjacent to the wooden one.

The mission was small, three buildings in all, but it was clean. The left side of the main building served as a local clinic and was run by three nuns from the Presentation of Mary order. No major ailments were treated there but it took care of emergencies and infections that set in from time to time; and besides, it was free. The right side of the building was a chapel and part-time school during the day. Adjacent to the building, on each side, were two old Quonset huts, each with screened-in porches added to the front. One was used to house the nuns and to store food and supplies received from the States for distribution to the people in the district. The other was Father McNeil’s house and the kitchen for feeding needy people at evening meals. It was furnished with wooden tables and benches, assorted chairs, and counters where food was served cafeteria style. Electricity was restricted to a few overhead lighting fixtures and several extension cords connected to one or two outlets against a wall.

“Not the greatest accommodations for you, Mr. Bumpus, but we’re not here for a vacation or to live in luxury,” Father McNeil said as the three walked through the open kitchen area to reach the living quarters at the rear of the building. “We’re lucky, though. We’ve got some electricity and I’ve got a generator out back when the electricity goes out more often than not. That’s more than the other two missions on the island have; so, I’m more fortunate than they are.”

“What’ll it be folks, iced tea or spirits?” Jack Bumpus passed on the tea and settled for a brandy while the two others had iced tea. After several minutes of assurance that Father Dick was not hurt in any way, Father McNeil turned his attention to Jack Bumpus. “We don’t get too many visitors here, Mister Bumpus, except for fellow priests who spend a week or so down here to get a break from their rich parishes up North,” Father McNeil stated with curiosity in his voice. “What brings you to this tropical paradise you see before you?”

“I’m a representative from a textile manufacturer in North Carolina who’s been thinking of opening a plant in Haiti, Father, and I just came down to explore the possibilities. I’ve been meeting with local officials in Port-au-Prince.”

Father Dick’s face turned pale in amazement and he immediately turned away from Jack Bumpus and stood up to face Father McNeil. “Eddie, why don’t I show Jack where he’s going to sleep and he can put his luggage there and freshen up before we get ready for dinner.”

“Great idea, Dick,” chimed Father McNeil. “I’ve got to get back to the children anyway for a while, and then I want to check in on the clinic and see how the sisters are doing.” The nuns who prepared enough food for about two hundred people served dinner nightly at 7:00 p.m. Meals consisted mostly of the basic staples, rice and vegetables, the rice coming from supplies from the States and the vegetables, for the most part, grown in the fields nearby. Father McNeil was proud of what the mission had accomplished with the agricultural tools they had, allowing the natives to grow their own food and even selling some of it to hotels and restaurants in the city.

To allow time for meal preparation, the clinic closed at 4:00 p.m., enough time for the sisters to rest before beginning the chores to get dinner ready. “We’ll talk some more at dinner, Mr. Bumpus,” shouted Father McNeil as he headed out the kitchen.

Father Dick, however, was not finished with Jack Bumpus.

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CHAPTER 2

“Is there some explanation you’d care to share with me, Jack, on that little speech you just gave Father McNeil?” Father Dick posed with a very stern look of disgust on his face. “I don’t really know who you are and I get the distinct feeling that what you’re about to tell me isn’t going to help me know you any better.”

“Trust me, Dick,” echoed Jack, “I’ll tell you more later but not in front of Father McNeil. I’ll explain it to you tonight but I’d like to check this place out and, maybe, talk to the locals first.” With that, Jack got up from his chair and waited, with luggage in hand, for Father Dick to lead the way.

Jack could obviously see doubt written all over Father Dick’s face as they entered the bedroom area of the priest’s quarters. Father Dick was silent through this brief period other than to point the room out to Jack, an eight-by-ten-foot partitioned area next to his own similar room opposite Father McNeil’s slightly larger area. The room was plain: a twin bed, a bureau, a chair under a small-screened window and a table to be used as a closet or nightstand.

“That’s Jack, alright, biggest bullshit artist I’ve ever met,” Jim Howard blurted, as if somewhat disgusted and partly with a smile on his face. “I can imagine how he tried to talk his way out of that one with you, Father,” Jim continued, “but, what does a visit to Haiti, ten years ago, and Jack Bumpus have to do with me?”

“I’m getting to that, bear with me,” pleaded Father Dick who, by now, was trying to speed up the story to make his point before Jim Howard had a chance to get too uneasy about the whole conversation. The housekeeper appeared at the parlor door with a tray of cookies and a pot of fresh coffee, which she merely placed on a coffee table between Jim and Father Dick and quietly left the room, sliding the divider doors closed behind her as she left.

“I’m in trouble, Dick,” Jack Bumpus had told Father Dick. “Our group had to leave Cuba in a hurry three days ago and the Cuban authorities tracked us to Haiti. My other associates and I decided to split up and go it alone; we figured we had a better shot at making it back to the States alone and we wouldn’t draw as much attention from the local authorities that way. The Cubans merely buy off the locals here for information, and they’d turn their own mothers over to them for the right price.”

“I don’t have a passport, so I’ve got to lay low for a couple of days to try to figure out what I’m going to do. I’ll stay out of your hair and you won’t even know I’m here, Dick, just play along with me on this with Father McNeil. You’re a tourist and you’ll be out of Haiti in a couple of days yourself. Father McNeil lives here. If they find out I stayed here and he knew what I did for a living, they’d get it out of him. This way, all he knows is that I’m a guy working for a textile company here on a business trip.”

Father Dick was angry, his face and neck were as red as they could be, and it took all he had not to jump up and scream at this man who had used him and had now jeopardized what his long-time friend had worked for in Haiti for years by harboring a man wanted by the authorities without even knowing it.

“I do what I have to in my business, Dick, sometimes I hurt people I don’t mean to, but I always try to even it out, even if it takes me a long time to do it; I make it up to people who get caught up in my world, even when they don’t ask for it,” said Jack, almost apologizing for what he’d already done but, somehow in the same breath, implying that he’d do it again if he had to.

“I expect you gone from here, Mr. Bumpus,” Father Dick emphasized using the formality of his sudden terminated relationship with his new acquaintance, “and the sooner, the better. Father McNeil may begin to like you and I don’t think I want that to happen.”

“Dick, come quick, I need your help!” Father Dick could hear from outside the bedroom. As he headed through the kitchen area, there was a frantic Father McNeil, rushing in to announce an outbreak of fever at a nearby village. He had to leave at once with one of the nuns from the clinic to attend to the sick. Father Dick offered to go with him and, while they both gathered a few things needed for the short trip, Jack Bumpus asked if there was anything he could do to help.

“No, no, Mr. Bumpus, your kindness for the mission is more than enough. We should be back in a day or so. In the meantime, please make yourself as comfortable as possible. My house is your house,” uttered Father McNeil as he hurried out the door with Father Dick at his heels. The last glimpse from Father Dick toward Jack Bumpus was self-explanatory.

“Indeed, Mr. Bumpus, you’ve done enough.”

Two days later, the priests returned to the mission, both exhausted yet relieved that the fever in the village was under control. As a precaution, Father McNeil had asked a nun to stay behind for a few more days to tend to any new cases that might emerge. Medical supplies were adequate to handle this type of fever, common in countries with tropical climates and symptomatic of malaria, although curable with proper treatment and injections.