Her Majesty's Quill by Mira Kanehl

Author:Mira Kanehl
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9783947722006
Publisher: Mira Kanehl

A CHILD'S LAUGHTER

As Delmar approached the shelters, it was as if he was crossing over to another continent. A crisp breeze swept up against him, and as he glanced around, he spotted black clouds rolling over the distant mountains.

“Delmar.” Bachelot called out. “I was expecting you last night.”

He confronted the thundering origin of the voice and lowered his head. “The patient was very ill, mon père.”

Bachelot waved a hand with an inner glow coming from his eyes. “Come now, mon fils, I must show you our new benches.” The missionaries had been productive in Delmar’s absence. When he entered the grass hut that served as their church, Delmar gaped at the scenery before him. Banks and a pulpit, half finished, stood waiting. Pieces of wood, shavings and splinters lay around everywhere.

Bachelot’s cheeks were shiny with pride. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

The missionaries’ enthusiasm spilled over and flooded the entire area. It infected everyone, bustling with projects. Delmar contracted the urge and began building his mobile surgery. One half in the sun and the other in the shade, his outdoor workshop had him sweating. He gave up on trying to protect the raggedy set of spare clothes he kept for such occasions and sat in the sand, wiping away the thin layers of muddy sweat from his forehead as they tickled his skin. In the afternoon, Bachelot appeared with beaming eyes, bringing Delmar fresh water to drink. With a simper, Bachelot mentioned the directions to a lagoon, well hidden, reachable by walking along the beach and forest. Bathing there in the ocean’s cool, alone in majestic nature while washing garments and hair sounded enticing.

Though his mobile surgery was smaller than the benches already standing, it contained many elements and foldable parts, which made its construction take longer and appear less spectacular than the work of the missionaries. Delmar hummed as he worked, spending the time needed on each part and working to the best of his abilities. Although he was capable with his hands, being used to cutting with precision, he was no carpenter. Sometimes, when components didn’t move as he had imagined, it frustrated him and he threw them in the sand, only to pick them up again later. When the sun receded, the missionaries called him to dinner. He left his project laying half open with pieces everywhere, and as he looked back on it, it reminded him of lessons with corpses.

The salty meal was simple, missionary-made vegetables cooked in seawater with a slice of bread. Attempts at catching fish had failed, again. Fortunate missionaries and priests sat in the comfort of crafted benches still smelling of fresh wood, less-lucky ones on wiggly logs or hard rocks. Laughter and passionate, religious talk accompanied the scent of fire and food and night choirs emerging from all sides.

Though the missionaries were amiable now, Delmar didn’t feel part of the group. Alone their differences in profession created hurdles. He often wondered at their ability to believe unquestioning. He was far more demanding and required proof from nature, being scientific at heart and in mind.

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