CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Hammer and the Fickle


Roger apprehensively considered Sister Ambrose’s offer. Although he was homesick and disillusioned with his faith, he decided to sleep on it and decide in the morning. He slept fitfully and experienced a foreboding dream. In his dream he was fishing at a river. It was a beautiful summer afternoon and the fish were jumping. He noticed dogs barking at the water. He looked to the river and his missionary partner, Haglund was struggling to stay afloat. Haglund was thrashing his arms in a dire attempt to save himself. Before he submerged, he cried out.
"Praise not the saints, they are fair weather friends, nor a woman that is fickle.
She descends along a path cut by hammer and sickle. Save yourself, before it's too late"

Roger awoke to the sound of the dogs barking in the churchyard. He rubbed his eyes and peered out the small leaded window. Wild peccaries had wandered into the churchyard and Sanchez, the grounds keeper, was attempting to corral them with a large fishing net. It was a hilarious sight as Sanchez managed to shoo away the obnoxious animals through the front gate and out to the street.
Gazing out the window he ruminated upon the strange dream. Was it a warning from his departed partner? What was he trying to tell him? Who were the saints? The latter-day saints or the saints of Catholicism?
He heard a knock on his door, and he opened it, only to see a diminutive nun standing in the doorway with pressed black garments. The nun placed the clothes on the bed and left as quickly and quietly as she came. He peered out the door and shouted down the narrow hallway.
"These are the vestments of a priest!”
What is that crazy Nun up to? I won’t wear these!
Roger came to breakfast with the clothes that he had worn when he arrived. To his astonishment Conchita was clothed in a Nun's habit.
“What going on here? First she wants me to become a priest and now you’re dressed like a Nun?”
"Roger please don’t be angry. It’s one of the Sister’s conditions of our arrangement. Sister Ambrose explained to me, if we travel as clergy, the FARC will leave us alone. Many of the clergy support the rebels."
“Fark?” he queried
Yes. The revolutionaries. the Marxists.” She replied.
“Why?” he asked.
Sister Ambrose entered the room and responded to Roger’s question.
"It's complicated. Some of my brethren see the FARC as a people’s army, but really, they are no different than a band of lawless thugs.
“And you trust them?” Roger asked.
“I have too, if we sisters are to live in peace, it’s better to befriend an enemy of the enemy.
“Why is the military your enemy? Roger asked.
“Why? For one, they kidnap young ones to fund their activities. And now they are in the employ of the growers. You could say it’s an unholy alliance, but that would be an understatement.”
“Then why should we put our trust in these FARC people if these people are just as violent?”
The local FARC leader and I have a strained, yet amicable relationship. He knows I don't give a fig about politics. It’s the right-wing Paramilitaries that worry me. They are mercenaries for the highest bidder, politics aside.
"So, if I put on this priest’s collar it will keep me safe?" Roger asked.
“Only the saints in heaven can protect you. That collar makes you appear more a sycophantic cleric, and less a naive American, poking his gringo nose into where it shouldn’t be!”
This woman talks more like a college professor, than a nun! Roger mused.
"What will we have to protect ourselves with?” asked Conchita.
“Have faith dear girl. The lord will protect us.”
“And if he doesn’t?” asked Roger.
“We’ll have my staff of Aaron as our protection!”
"The biblical staff of Aaron?"
Sister Ambrose moved to her office and returned with a baseball bat. It was signed by the great Hank Aaron; more career home runs than any other outfielder in his time. She swung it like a it was second nature and proclaimed.

“Then we will just have to convince them ourselves. Won’t we?”