bubbles, the same intricate patterns as were stitched into their stomachs.
“They’re from a part of the Nuba where the old customs haven’t died out,” the doctor said, noticing Fitzhugh’s stare. “They believe that certain tattoos prevent disease, and that is not pure superstition. It is done like so. First, a small cut with a knife, then the flesh is lifted with a thorn. Germs enter the cuts, and the system develops antibodies, creating immunities. Not that the Nubans know anything about antibodies and immunities, they only know what works. So that is how I explained vaccinating to these women. Their babies will be pricked by a special thorn filled with healing spirits that will make their babies strong against sickness. Those two walked here from their village, by the way. Four days.”
An infant’s cry came from inside.
“There, the first one. They think of us, the Nubans, as powerful kujurs—their word for witch doctors. I told the women that the healing spirits in the thorn were brought by you two from the sky.”
“You didn’t really,” Douglas said.
“Of course I did. As a favor to you. It will help you make a favorable impression on these people.”
“That’s incredibly condescending.” Douglas had found a way to retaliate for the doctor’s earlier remark. “These people aren’t children.”
“Certainly not. But what do you know about them? You’ve been in the Nuba all of what? Twenty-four hours?”
“Long enough to know that they aren’t children who need to be told that we brought spirits out of the sky. I’d think they know what an airplane is.”
“Most certainly! They have been bombed by airplanes, but you, my young friend, don’t know anything to make such a cheeky comment as you just now made to me.”
Douglas started to reply; Fitzhugh nudged him to keep quiet.
“Condescending indeed,” Manfred carried on, arms crossed over his chest. With another movement of his divided chin, he pointed at the breezeway’s screen, through which they saw one of the tattooed women, in all her six-foot beauty, standing in front of the nurse’s table while a Sudanese aide daubed her infant’s arm with cotton. “Look there. You have had a taste of what it’s like to walk in these mountains. Now imagine please walking in your bare feet, carrying a child for four days. I try to imagine some fat cow in my country—eine grosse Kuh, it sounds more like what it is in the German, nicht wahr? I try to imagine the grosse Kuh walking barefoot from Bonn to Berlin to have her child vaccinated, and I cannot imagine it. Condescending? I have for these women nothing but admiration, but I overlook your comment. I think you are perhaps too tired from your journey to remember your manners.”
Fitzhugh winced, fully expecting Douglas to say that Manfred was no one to lecture about manners. Instead, he switched on his charm, as quickly and effortlessly as someone turning an ignition key. The broad, guileless smile, the touch, the sincere gray eyes framing the doctor like a portrait lens, so that he, like everyone else upon whom Douglas bestowed that unique look, felt that he was the only one in the picture.
“You’re right. That was a stupid thing to say, and I’m damned sorry I said it.” This in his slow, calm drawl, the smile turning ever so slightly abashed as he let go of Manfred’s forearm and extended his hand. “I’ll feel like hell all day if you don’t accept my apology.”
“Not necessary. I said I overlook what you said.”
“If you don’t mind. I won’t feel right otherwise.”
“Very well.”
Douglas cupped his left hand over their clasped rights, as if sealing a solemn agreement.
“And you’re right about another thing.” His gaze held the other man as firmly as his grip. “I don’t know anything, except two things—how to fly planes, and that you’re gonna get your X-ray film and your fuel and your new sterilizer. The farmers will get their hoes. And anything else you need or they need. I’m gonna see to it. Don’t mean I’ll try. I mean I will see to it, count on it.”
An effective little touch, Fitzhugh thought, that folksy, cowboy gonna instead of going to.
“So this is American confidence?”
“Doesn’t have a nationality. This mission will work.”
“Ah, that.” His hand now free, Manfred slapped the air. “That was a stupid thing to say also. So you will please accept my apology.”
“No problem. Okay, Suleiman and I—” gesturing at Suleiman and the porters, resting in the shade of silver-barked trees—“are going to start