Notes from a Spinning Planet—Papua New Guinea by Melody Carlson Page B

around-his
eyes
darting down one hallway and then the other-that he doesn't want to be here.
    “Do you mind doing this?” I say as I begin to walk down the hall toward the patients' rooms.
    He takes a quick breath and looks like he's about to make a run for it. Perhaps he's as frightened of me as I was of him. Or maybe it's something else. I pause by one of the rooms, about to go in, but he hesitates in the hallway. “Do you want to come in?”
    He nods again, taking a careful step, then hesitating.
    “Does it bother you to be here?” I ask him in a quiet tone.
    “Yes. Alitde.”
    “I have an idea,” I say. “Lets go out to the courtyard and have a quick talk.” Then I lead him to the exit we used yesterday, going to the same bench where I thought I was going to lose my lunch. “Sit down,” I tell him.
    He does, and I sit down beside him. “Look,” I begin, “I was here yesterday, and it made me uncomfortable too.”
    He nods as if taking this in.
    “And I'm not used to being around sick people either. I think I was a little scared.”
    “Sick people are not so bad,” he begins in a quiet tone. “But AIDS…it is bad. Very bad.”
    “Oh.”
    “People with AIDS…they are not Christian people. Good people do not get this terrible disease. This is Gods judgment on these people because they chose sin and not God. It is bad…bad…”
    I consider this. For some reason his thinking rings a bell with me. And then it hits me. I remember something I read in Margaret Mead s book. Sure it happened long ago, but perhaps its still part of the culture here today. People used to believe that if someone did something wrong and refused to confess it, that person or someone close to him would get sick and maybe even die. They thought there was a direct correlation between sin and sickness. Time and again, Margaret Mead actually observed this very thing happening in the village she was visiting. Maybe that's what Peter was concerned about here.
    “Do you think that everyone who has AIDS has done something wrong?” I ask, just wanting to be sure that I'm clear.
    He nods eagerly. “Yes.”
    “And you think they have AIDS because they are bad people?”
    Again he nods. “Yes. We all know this to be true.”
    “Have you ever discussed this with Lydia?”
    “No.” He frowns down at his feet.
    I wish Lydia were here. I'm sure she could explain this better than I can. “But do you know that little children get AIDS?”
    He just keeps looking at his feet.
    “You think its because they sin?”
    “It s because of sin. “
    “Oh.”
    He looks at me nqw. “It is evil, this AIDS. God does not want his people to get this evil sickness. He does not want his people to be near this sin. I should not be here now.”
    “Do you believe in Jesus?” I ask.
    “Yes!” He nods his head firmly. “I do believe in Jesus.”
    “What do you think Jesus would do if he were here? What would he do if he saw these sick people?”
    Peter looks down at his feet again.
    “I can't make you come inside and talk with the patients,” I tell him. “But maybe you should ask Jesus what he would want you to do.”
    He lets out a long sigh but keeps looking down.
    “I don't speak pidgin English,” I tell him. “So without your help, I won't be able to hear their stories.”
    He's still looking at his feet. And suddenly I remember that I forgot to call Sid and tell her I'm here. I'm surprised she hasn't called me, but when I look, I see that the phone is turned off.
    “Excuse me,” I tell him. “I need to make a phone call.”
    I call Sid and explain the situation.
    “Maybe you should just come back,” she says, still sounding worried.
    I glance over to where Peter is still sitting on the bench,
hiβ
head hanging down. “Not yet,” I tell her. “Maybe Peter will come around.”
    “Keep me posted.”
    I hang up and wait a couple of minutes as I silently pray for God to open Peter s eyes right now. I pray that God will help this confused