Lino's family did not leave their village. They didn't get the message, or chose to ignore it. Six months later, Sudanese army soldiers visited the village to clarify their suggestion. The Nuer were told to leave at once, to cross the river and move to the south. They were told that their names would be registered, and they would later receive compensation for their land, homes, crops, and whatever possessions they needed to abandon. So that day, Lino's family, and all those in the village, gave their names to the soldiers, and the soldiers left. But even then, Lino's family didn't leave. They were stubborn, Julian, as so many Sudanese are stubborn. You have no doubt heard of the thousand Sudanese in Cairo, those who were trampled? This was not long ago. A thousand Sudanese, squatting in a small park in Cairo, demanding citizenship or safe passage to other nations. Months pass, they will not leave, they cannot be appeased until their demands are met. The Egyptians don't see it as their problem, and the park where the Sudanese are squatting has become an eyesore, and unsanitary. Finally Egyptian troops move in to destroy the shantytown, killing twenty-seven Sudanese in the process, including eleven children. A stubborn people, the Sudanese.
So Lino's family remained. They and hundreds more decided to simply stay where they were. One month later, as might have been expected, a regiment of militiamen and army soldiers rolled into the village. They very calmly strolled into the town, as they had when they took the names. They said nothing to anyone; once positioned, they began to shoot. They shot nineteen people in the first minute. They nailed one man to a tree, and dropped an infant into a well. They killed thirty-two in all, and then climbed back onto their trucks and left. That day, the survivors of the village packed and fled, traveling south. By 1984, Lino's village and the villages near it, all of those sitting atop the oil, were all cleared of Nuer, and Chevron was free to drill.
'Hey sick man!'
Lino has arrived, wearing a blue pinstriped zoot suit, and three gold chains around his neck. There is a store in Atlanta, God help us, where too many Sudanese are buying their clothes. Julian looks up from his reading, amused by Lino's outfit, interested in the three of us speaking quickly in Dinka. I catch his eye and he returns to his book.
It is seven o'clock. We have been here well over three hours.
Lino throws himself onto one of the chairs next to us, and grabs the remote control. While speeding through the channels, he asks what is taking so long. We try to explain. He asks if I have insurance and I say no, but that I offered to pay with cash or credit card.
'That won't work,' Lino says. 'They don't trust you. Why would they? They don't think you can pay, and they'll wait till you leave, I think. Or you need to figure out a way to ensure that you'll pay.'
I don't know that Lino has any insight that might trump my own, but he has me again doubting Julian, this hospital, and my ability to receive treatment here.
'Call Phil. Or Deb,' Achor Achor says, referring to Deb Newmyer, Bobby's widow. I have been thinking the same thing. I could have called Phil, but calling Phil at night, with his small children, is not an option; I know the twins go to bed at seven, I have put them to bed myself. I could call Anne and Gerald Newton, but the thought gives me pause. They would over-worry. They would instantly appear at the hospital, bringing Allison, disrupting their lives, and I don't want that. I want only a phone call. I want someone who knows the rules in such situations to make a phone call and explain things to Julian and to me. Deb lives in California, and is likely at home. I dial her number; the Newmyers' youngest, Billi, answers.
'Valentine!' she says.
'Hello my young friend!' I say. I ask her about her swimming lessons. I drove her to the pool a few mornings, and sat on the concrete while she made her first attempt at freestyle. She was scared to put her face straight down, staring at the pool's refracted floor. I smiled at her, attempting to exude confidence, but it did not work. She cried all through the lessons and does not want to talk about them tonight.
Seconds later Deb is on the line. I tell her a longer version of the story. Deb, who has worked in Hollywood for many years and has been involved in a television series called Amazing Stories, is incredulous. I am, she says, like the boy who cries wolf, except that each time I cry wolf there is actually a wolf. Deb asks to speak to the man at the desk. I take a certain pride in handing the phone to Julian. He registers it with with a half-lidded glare.
'Who is this?' he asks me.
'She is one of my sponsors. She is calling from Los Angeles and would like to inquire about the care I am receiving.'
Julian grimaces and brings the phone to his ear. He and Deb talk for a few minutes, during which time his face contorts into many expressions of dissatisfaction and amusement. When they are finished talking, the phone is returned to me.
'He says they're short-staffed,' Deb says. 'I yelled at him, but I don't know what else to do. I wish I could come to you and fix this, Val.'
I ask her how long she feels that I should wait.
'Well, the guy says it should be any minute. How long have you been there?'
I tell her almost four hours.
'What? Is it busy? Is it some kind of madhouse there?'
I tell her it's been quiet, very quiet.
'Listen, call me in half an hour if you're not treated by then. If you haven't seen a doctor, I'll get serious with these guys. I know some tricks.'
I thank Deb, feeling that she has made a great difference. She sighs the weary sigh I have heard many times before. Deb is an energetic woman, but dealing with me has, she says, challenged her optimism.
'Valentine, I just don't know what God has against you,' she says.
We sit with that thought for a moment. We both know that there is a question there that has not yet been answered.
'Call me after you get a diagnosis,' she says. 'If it's anything serious we'll fly you out here and we can see my doctor. But I think you'll be okay. Call me soon.'
This is Deb's country, and if Deb says that I will be treated, that it is not about money or insurance, I believe her.
I return to the waiting room, to Lino and Achor Achor, who are on the phone again, talking to various attendees of the Manchester wedding. Between the loud chatter from them and his having to explain himself to Deb, Julian is now visibly unamused. I do not want to be a bother to him, to Deb, to anyone. I want to be independent and move through this world without having to ask questions. But for now I still have too many, and this is frustrating to one such as Julian, who feels he knows the answers and knows me. But Julian, you know nothing yet.
CHAPTER 17
The walk to Ethiopia, Julian, was only the beginning. Yes we had walked for months across deserts and wetlands, our ranks thinned daily. There was war all over southern Sudan but in Ethiopia, we were told, we would be safe and there would be food, dry beds, school. I admit that on the way, I allowed my imagination to flower. As we drew closer to the border, my expectations had come to include homes for each of us, new families, tall buildings, glass, waterfalls, bowls of bright oranges set upon clean tables. But when we reached Ethiopia, it was not that place.
— We are here, Dut said.
— This is not that place, I said.
— This is Ethiopia, Kur said.
It looked the same. There were no buildings, no glass. There were no bowls of oranges set upon clean tables. There was nothing. There was a river and little else.-This is not that place, I said again, and I said it many times over the coming days. The other boys tired of me. Some thought I had lost my mind.