Karen Baldwin - Rubys World

apocryphile press

www.apocryphile.org

BERKELEY, CA

APOCRYPHILE PRESS

In the US: 1700 Shattuck Ave #81

Berkeley, CA 94709

2011 by Karen Baldwin

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-937002-10-7

eISBN 978-1-937002-12-1 (Kindle)

eISBN 978-1-937002-37-4 (ePub)

Ebook version 3

Library of Congress Registration

TXu 1-746-396

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

This story took place in the foothills of the Drakensburg Mountains in the province of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. Pietermaritzburg and Durban are actual cities in KwaZulu-Natal. I have created fictional names for the rural villages and the school where I taught. Except for my own, all of the characters names have been changed.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I owe a debt of gratitude to every person who has listened to my stories, encouraged me to trust myself, and supported my desire to write. I am especially grateful for my mentorsTania Casselle, Phaedra Greenwood and Sean Murphywho taught me about butt glue and coached me through the process of writing this book. I also received invaluable guidance and fortification from my Boundary Crossers writing groupLaura Lynch, Kristin Martinez, Sally Sontheimer and Kelli Williamson.

Many friends and colleagues read portions of the manuscript, made brilliant contributions, and nudged me forward. I offer my sincere thanks to Roy Armstrong, Abbie Conant, Debra Diamond, Beth Goldman, Dorothy Lampl, Suzanne Lampl, Bruce Marshall, Jamie Miceli, Susan Paulus, Jan Smith, Emily Warren, Ed Westley, Sarah Wilder, and my fabulous Saturday morning knitting committee at the Turquoise Teapot in Taos.

I send big hugs to my seminary peeps: Reverends Suzanne Nichols, Nancy Schluntz, and Kathy Westley, who answered the phone at all hours, held my heart while I relived painful memories, propped me up through moments of doubt, and taught me how to laugh at myself.

Kathie McClellan, my editor and a gifted sociologist, was a blessing. Im grateful that she trusted my desire to share this story from the point of view I occupied while on the ground in Africa. Her innate talent for uncovering and explaining subtle human behaviorsboth Zulu and Americanwas invaluable to my process of making peace with this experience.

This journey took place because of the generous donations of funds and supplies from many individuals and businesses in the San Francisco Bay Area. Thank you for believing in me.

My deepest gratitude is offered to Jesus in Amsterdam. Thank you for reminding me what kind of person I want to be.

PREFACE

Its not supposed to end this wayexpelled from Ezimolo Village, drenched with rain and nervous sweat, grateful just to be alive. Sitting on my suitcase at dawn, my back against the locked door of a small South African airport, I tremble with the emotions Ive suppressed for the past thirty-six hours: rage at being torn away from the Zinti children, betrayal by the ones who invited me, shame that I failed, terror that I would be killed and my remains never found.

As the events of the past forty-five days replay over and over in my mind, I search for clues to what went wrong. How did I slide from being the eagerly-awaited first white teacher in this rural Zulu schoolto a reviled outcast? I feel myself tumble into a dark tunnel, unsure if I will ever calm the anger that eats at my heart. Will I ever know what really happened?

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

After four days in my local hospital Im loaded into a critical care ambulance, headed to San Francisco for open heart surgery. As the ambulance pulls away I catch a glimpse of my son on the sidewalk. Kevin tries to smile through his tears. I feel sorry for him. Its easier to be the one who dies.

Why, at age forty-seven, has my heart crapped out? No mystery there. Ive lost my passion for life. My relationship is troubled and Im tired of struggling. Kevin left for college in September. I miss him. A lot. For eighteen years Ive devoted myself to being his mother. Now what? I have a successful career, but engineering doesnt satisfy my soul. Ministry has tugged on me forever. Ive been a fool to think I could escape it.

Thirty-five minutes into the trip, stalled in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Bay Bridge, the EKG alarm screeches as my heart slams against my ribcage in irregular beats. My two attendants hurry to silence the alarm. They inflate the blood pressure cuff and wiggle a stethoscope between the EKG wires. The cold metal presses against my chest. Like the hundred other times this week, we wait for the sound of a normal heartbeat to return to the monitor. Nothing. Forever.

They glance across me at each other. Their faces say it all.

The handsome, chatty nurse lays his hand on my shoulder and smiles. Houston, he says, we have a problem.

The other nurse pulls tubes and syringes from the overhead cabinets. The paddles have been lying on my legs the entire time.

Whats happening? I ask.

Your heart is being stubborn this time. We can only wait a few more seconds before we intervene.

What will you do?

Well give you an injection to stop your heart. Let it rest for a minute. Then well give you another injection to jump-start it. If that doesnt work, well use the paddles.

Do I have another choice?

No. Dont worry, Karen. We wont let you die on our watch. We have a perfect record.

They nod at each other.

Are you ready? nurse Chatty asks.

Terror pierces me. Will you do me a favor?

Name it.

Keep your hand on me so I stay connected to life.

Thats easy. He lays his hand on my leg. Here we go.

The drug enters my vein like molten lava. Within seconds my bones are on fire. Immense weight flattens my chest. I cant move. My entire body feels thick. Dense. I hear voices in the distance. The machine lights overhead fade from vibrant colors to shades of gray.

I close my eyes. Tears burn my face. My life has been hard. Ive made mistakes, but none I havent tried to make right. Im grateful for my son. Hes taught me what love is all about. I hope Ive raised him well enough to go on without me.

Maybe I should let it be over. It would be easier to die than face another failed relationship. But I want to see Kevin marry someday. I want to be a grandma. Become the woman Ive dreamed about. As I drift into unconsciousness its time to choose. I can stay. Or I can go. What do you want, Karen? The easy out? Or more life?