Strangers Like Me

It's been a week and a half since we arrived. I've helped approximately over fifteen people with each day. Most are mild cases. Fever, aching joints, the occasional cold. Those in more severe condition are sent to Dr. Farvis' tent. Every now and then I'm sent to him incase he gets overcrowded. Which is often.

Though I expected conditions to be poorer than those in America, the shock of difference in hygiene still continues to shake me. One little boy had come in with an intense and painful rash covering both of his hands. It's not an uncommon condition in third world countries as it comes from wiping ones nose with the side of the hand continuously, daily. It's easily avoided by using tissues and washing your hands with soap and water. But here, in one of the more secluded and significantly smaller clusters of Drokpa, such things aren't as accessible as they should be.
Today has been more of a slow day. I've seen maybe five people and it is nearly Rata Unis. Dinner time.

Then the flaps to my tent are pulled open, disturbing the dirt floor as a gust of wind blows through. A child. A young girl wearing a dress with bright patterns of red and purple. Her skin is dark, the color of cinnamon, and her wide eyes are set apart by a hooked nose. A common trait among her people.

"Hello little one,"

I'm somewhat apprehensive in the words I choose. Few outside of the medical camp understand English and though some of the Drokpa population has been educated in our native tongue, their understanding is often very limited.

Her hands are clasped behind her back and she shuffles her feet. Most of the people are timid when they come to us. Those on this side of the valley have seen very few Caucasians.
The girl wont look at me, so I lower myself and smile.

"What might be your name, hm?"

"Cilpa," Her voice comes soft, like a dove.

A sense of relief falls over me. She can speak and understand.

"That's a lovely name,"

She says nothing.

"Is there anything wrong, Cilpa? Do you hurt anywhere?"

She shakes her head, sending her braids swinging every which way.

"Brother," She says.

"And where is your brother?"

Silence.

"Cilpa, can you take me to your brother?"

Her eyes, two innocent brown pools, look up at me as she grasps my hand. Tugging me forward, I allow her to lead me out of the tent. We walk through the medical camp, into the village, passed the shopping district and homes, and for a moment I'm afraid. I should've brought someone with me. Anthony perhaps. Someone who looked scarier and more capable than a pale wisp of a girl who was no taller than 5' 5".

She takes me to the outskirts of the village near a ditch where a thin stream of water runs. Many of the children come here to play cause there's a thick fallen tree that acts as a bridge and they enjoy chasing the lizards that hide under rocks. There's a cluster of children near the fallen tree and a soft moan coming from the ditch. Cilpa stops just outside the circle of children and I ask them to move aside as I make my way towards the ditch.

A young boy, about 9 years old, lays sprawled out near the streams edge. A thin trickle of blood flows from his head into the water and a large rock that appeared to have given away from the ditches edge lays directly on top of his right foot. The last few nights have rained heavily and has caused the ground to be softer. We should've warned them to be careful. I lower myself into the ditch and lift the boys head. It looks as though another rock had caught him on the temporal side of his cranium. The cut isn't deep, but the fact that he appears dazed is worrying.

"Cilpa, what is your brothers name," I state more than ask.

"Lugu...Lugu okay?" Her voice cracks, she's scared.

I look down at the boy and try to get his attention, get him to speak. He just moans and stares at something in the sky that exists only for him.

"Go get a doctor from the camp, sweetheart," I say softly. "Dr. Farvis, get Dr. Farvis,"

"I'll go," another boy from the group says and runs off. I don't look up to see who.

I need to stanch the bleeding and get that rock off his foot to see what damage has been done. No doubt its broken, but if it's split open then infection is a very real possibility. Should he contract gangrene, he may lose a limb.

I go to remove the rock, but it's heavier than it looks. One of the boys that looked about 13 offered to help and we managed to roll it of Lugu's foot. His ankle was a sight to behold. Black and purple contusions covered the region from the top of his foot to just above his ankle and the swelling had made the limb appear twice it's size. Though definitely broken, there didn't appear to be any open wounds. I tell the 13 year old to elevate the boys foot gently and to hold it in the correcting position that I instruct. Turning my attention to the head, I rip the hem of my shirt off and use it to wrap the wound on his head. The fabric is drenched within seconds. Not a good sign. His bloods not clotting the way it should. Which means he's either a hemophiliac or he's damaged a major blood vessel. I tear another layer off of my shirt, turning it into a crop top, and use it to tie off my make-shift bandage. Some pressure, however small, is better than none.

All the children have left save for the 13 year old, Cilpa, and another girl who looked to either be Cilpa's sister or friend. It takes maybe 15 minutes minimum to get to here from the medical camp and this boy is losing blood fast. He needs fluids and antibiotics as well as stitches and a corrective ankle brace. All of that would have to wait for at least 40 minutes with combined travel and assessment time. The most I can do immediately is maintain pressure and keep Lugu awake.

"Lugu. Lugu, look at me. Stay with me sweetheart okay. Keep your eyes open,"
He moans in response, and his mouth forms the word "thang che," tired.

"I know, but you have to stay awake. Meyn nyi-ku. Meyn nyi-ku," No sleep. No sleep. I repeated the words in my limited Tibetan over and over again.

We remained this way for what felt like hours but was probably only a half hour in actuality. At some point I grew tired of speaking the same words over and over again, so I began to sing whatever song that came to mind. Though at the time it may have seemed morbid, I began to sing Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley. I had listened to it last night before going to bed.



Suddenly there was a movement in the leaves. All the children had left now. Cilpa ran home to her parents to tell them what had happened and I sent the 13 year old home to fetch someone from the village who was closer by and may have water. Lugu and I are alone. So what would be out here? An animal probably. Lizard, mouse, monkey, maybe a boar. I wait a few minutes for silence, then wait a few minutes more. Once there's no more sign of movement, I being the next verse.



There's a warm gust of hair on the back of my neck.
Thick and measured in sequence. Breathing.

I whip around and grasp the nape of my neck with my hand. Nothing. There's no one. But the leaves have been rustled. Something was there, then disappeared. Faster than anything I've ever seen. Just then, I hear foot steps from above the ditch. Dr. Farvis' voice calls out to me.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

"Here, Dr. Farvis! Here!"

I see his head peak over the side of the ditch as well as two more male nurses.

"Our Father in Heaven,...Take a break Nurse Shire. You've done well,"

I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding and step away from the boy. Relaying to Dr. Farvis what I've found thus far, the other two nurses lift him and we start on the long trek back to camp. I linger at the site for a moment. Someone's watching me. Has been watching me. Since Dr. Farvis came, through out our entire exchange, and I feel it now.

I scan the forest, look deep into the shadows, the bushes, the trees, then I see a shadow. My breath catches and my skin prickles. A tall shadow. Shaped like a man. Large hands, long hair, broad shoulders, and eyes. The eyes are the only clear things I see. Dark, but through the light filtering in the trees, I see blue. Maybe it's a reflection of something, maybe it's my imagination, or maybe I'm dehydrated. But the eyes are brooding, intense, and they scrutinize me. Watch me warily. As if unsure of the possible threat I may or may not pose. I take a step forward and the shadow disappears into the fading sunlight almost instantly. As if it was never there at all.
I turn and leave before the sunlight becomes too little to see.



That night, after dinner, I open my notebook and sketch multiple images of a man in shadows. Attempting to recreate his build from memory. But the eyes, I lose myself in the eyes. Every stroke, line, every shade, every detail, made to the exact likeness of the eyes that peered at me through the foliage.

In my images I notice his posture, the curl of his knuckles, and the way his knees were bent in a slight way. It reminded me of the charts in my science textbooks that covered evolution and the development of the human species from monkey to homo sapiens. His posture was similar to the monkeys I've seen here in the trees with their spines slightly crouched and shoulders pushed forward. At the top of the drawings I wrote three words before blowing out my candle. They'd be three words that would follow me for the next week or so.

The Ape Man.