Cutting for Stone - Abraham Verghese [80]
“The very same. As for Thomas Stone, he has left. Vanished. I am very worried about him. He is a distraught man.”
Harris had a pleasant face, but his overdeveloped upper lip and uneven front teeth left him just short of handsome. He fidgeted in his chair. He was doubtless yearning to ask how all this had happened, but he didn't. Matron understood he was the sort of man who, even when he had the upper hand, didn't know how to press for his rights. As he stood before her, his soft brown eyes reluctant to engage, her heart softened to him.
So Matron told Harris everything, a rush of simple sentences that were weighed down by what they conveyed. When she was finished, she said, “Your visit comes when we are at our worst.” She blew her nose. “So much of what we did at Missing revolved around Thomas Stone. He was the best surgeon in the city. He never knew that it was because of the people he operated on in the royal family, in the government, that we were allowed to go on. The government makes us pay a hefty annual fee for the privilege of serving here, can you imagine? They could if they want simply close us down. Mr. Harris, even your giving us money was because of his book … This might be the end of Missing.”
As Matron talked, Harris sank farther back in the chair, as if someone had a foot on his chest. He had a nervous habit of patting his cowlick, even though it was not in danger of falling.
There are people in the world who were cursed by bad timing, Matron thought. People whose cars break down on the way to their wedding, or whose Brighton holiday is invariably ruined by rain, or whose crowning day of private glory is overshadowed by and forever remembered as the day King George VI died. Such people vexed the spirit, and yet one was moved to pity because they were helpless. It wasn't Harris's fault that Sister had died or Stone had disappeared. Yet there he was.
If Harris wanted an accounting of money, she had nothing to show him. Matron submitted progress reports under duress, and since what donors wanted to spend on had no link to the reality of Missing's needs, her reports were a form of fiction. She'd always known a day like this would come.
Harris choked, then coughed. When he recovered, with much throat clearing and fumbling with his handkerchief, he came indirectly to his business with Matron. But it wasn't what Matron imagined it would be.
“You were right about our plan to fund a mission for the Oromo, Matron,” Harris said. Matron faintly recalled a mention of this in a letter. “The doctor in Wollo sent me a telegram. The police have occupied the building. The district governor will do nothing to evict them. The supplies are being sold. The local church has been preaching against us, saying we are the devils! I had to come to straighten things out.”
“Pardon me for being blunt, Mr. Harris, but how could you have funded it sight unseen?” She felt a pang of guilt as she said this, since Harris hadn't seen Missing till now. “If I recall, I wrote to say that it was unwise.”
“It's my fault,” Harris said, wringing his hands. “I prevailed on my church steering committee … I haven't told them yet,” Harris said, almost in a whisper. Clearing his throat and finding his voice he added, “My intentions …, I hope the committee will understand, were good. We … I hoped to bring knowledge of the Redeemer to those who do not have it.”
Matron let out an exasperated sigh. “Did you think they were all fire worshippers? Tree worshippers? Mr. Harris, they are Christians. They are no more in need of redemption than you are in need of a hair straightening cream.”
“But I feel it's not true Christianity. It's a pagan sort of …,” he said, and patted his forehead.
“Pagan! Mr. Harris, when our pagan ancestors back in Yorkshire and Saxony were using their enemies’ skulls as a plate to serve food, these Christians here were singing the psalms. They believe they have the Ark of the Covenant locked up in a church in Axum. Not a saint's finger or a pope's toe, but the Ark! Ethiopian believers put on the shirts of