abandoned his studies and enlisted in the army where he also underwent specialist medical training. He served with the U.S. Rangers for ten years, the career path he had chosen providing the independence and recognition he had so desperately sought from childhood.
During ‘Operation Urgent Fury’ in 1983 when a Marxist coup resulted in the overthrow of the Grenada government, U.S. forces were ordered to the Caribbean island to seek the release of some 1,000 American medical students. Jack had been amongst those who had jumped with the 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, securing the airstrip at Salines on the southern coast where Cuban paramilitary forces lay in wait – the young McBride earning the Silver Star for gallantry during the subsequent engagement. With the exception of a near miss whilst undergoing helicopter flight training Jack’s military career over next ten years had been without incident. Then the United States became embroiled in the Somalia conflict.
He gazed back into the mirror, slowly ran a finger over the hairline scar, evidence of his near-death experience in Mogad-ishu just eighteen months before in October 1993. The Rangers were part of the mission ‘ Operation Restore Hope’ – their task, to hunt down the Somali warlord, Mohamed Farah Aideed. Unbeknown to the Americans, Osama bin Laden’s second-in-command, Egyptian-born Mohammed Atef had relocated to Khartoum from where they orchestrated an attack on U.S. forces. When it came, the lightning assault had turned into a prolonged and desperate battle for the U.S. soldiers to escape the hostile city. McBride had received a head wound when the al-Qaeda-trained troops attacked and killed eighteen of his fellow Rangers, leaving ninety wounded.
It was during his convalescence that Jack had succumbed to the bottle, his alcoholism resulting in hospital rehabilitation and, finally, a new career path when he was discharged from the army and returned home to Tennessee. With his mother’s support he managed his drinking problem and was soon on the road to a full recovery. It was at this time, while rummaging through his father’s papers that he happened across a newsletter which promoted ‘vacations with a purpose’, encouraging members of his congregation to consider stretching their personal and spiritual horizons by accepting short-term missions with the Church. The following month he volunteered to assist the Church establish a field medical clinic in Tentena, a small town near the northern tip of Lake Poso in Indonesia’s Central Sulawesi – and he was now halfway through the two-year commitment.
Jack stared back into the mirror and rubbed a palm against the overnight stubble then commenced shaving – his thoughts returning to the family lawyer’s letter advising that his mother had been diagnosed with an inoperative tumor, and pleading that he call. There was no phone connection to his quarters. Jack intended calling from the Church offices on the other side of town and, as it was only 0330 in Tennessee, he sat alone watching the clock anxiously, taunted by the possibility that his mother might have died in the weeks it had taken for the letter to arrive. An hour passed – then another, Jack’s rekindled thirst drawing him to a bottle of locally produced arak that had remained sitting on the shelf unopened these past months, a gift from a grateful patient.
The first shot brought disappointment that he had broken his vow – the second, an air of resignation and surrender to a third. Within the hour he had consumed the entire bottle then collapsed into bed, missing his call.
Naked, Jack stepped into rubber thongs and entered the bathroom, confident that the footwear would protect him from the ever-present hookworm. A huge cockroach of prehistoric proportions took flight in his direction and he ducked, eyeing the creature as it crawled around the moss-stained ceiling out of reach. He dipped a plastic scoop into the concrete water tank then braced, paling cold water over his body until some semblance of his normal self was restored.
* * * *
McBride’s assistant, Netty Tangali heard Jack splashing around in the kamar mandi and instructed the housemaid to commence cooking his breakfast, hopeful that Bapak Jack, the title respectfully accorded the missionary, would be in higher spirits than that of the evening before. Netty had seen the postmark, aware that Nashville was his home town. She had waited eagerly for him to read the letter out loud as he had in the past – crushed when he had so brusquely dismissed her and retreated to his room.
Amongst her many attributes Netty Tangali was a trained nurse and fluent in English. When Jack first arrived in Poso it was Netty who had taught him Bahasa Indonesia and the essentials regarding local cultures. She had introduced Jack to the Saluopa waterfalls and the Pamona caves, journeyed with him to the Bada Valley where they examined the ancient and mysterious megaliths, and even sailed Lake Poso’s enchanting setting together. ‘Net’, as Jack had come to call her, became his constant companion. Before their first year together as a team, Netty had become deeply attracted to the unsuspecting American.
* * * *
‘Selamat pagi, Net,’ Jack bade Netty good morning, glanced over at the housemaid then decided to speak English. ‘Would you mind looking after the clinic by yourself, today?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ she responded, surprised, ‘are you ill?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No, Net. I just need some time to myself.’ The housemaid placed a steaming bowl of bubur under his nose, Jack staring at the dish before waving the porridge away. ‘I’ll have something later.’ Miffed, the maid raised her eyebrows at Netty.
The nurse noted his casual attire and frowned. ‘Are you going out?’
Jack remained evasive. ‘I have a few things to sort out. I’ll be back before five.’
Concerned eyes followed as he strolled outside and unlocked a bicycle from its rack, then disappeared from view as he peddled across the Pamona Bridge to the Church’s operational centre for Central Sulawesi. There he placed a call to his mother through the U.S. operator and, when the phone rang unanswered, he pleaded with the operator and was connected to the family lawyer’s home.
‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ the foreboding words spilled down the line preparing him for the worst, ‘your mother passed away more than a month ago.’ Then, ‘She was buried alongside your father.’
Jack struggled for words. ‘Your letter arrived… only yesterday.’‘Don’t blame yourself, Jack. There was nothing that you could have done – even if you’d returned in time.’
‘I can arrange a flight and be back by the weekend?’
‘That’s up to you, Jack. There’s no need to rush back unless you feel it necessary.’
‘Have you attended to her will?’ He was aware that his mother had appointed the law firm as executors.
‘Yes. The estate is just about finalized. Apart from a number of personal items your mother bequeathed to you, her estate will pass to the Church.’
‘I know,’ he recalled the discussion, ‘there wasn’t much to leave.’
‘We can store your mother’s other personal effects if you wish, pending your return?’
Jack considered the offer. ‘Thanks. I’d appreciate that.’
‘Is there anything more we can do for you, Jack?’ A weary note had crept into the lawyer’s voice.
‘No. Thanks. I’ll write if something comes to mind.’
With the call completed Jack McBride walked his bicycle slowly back down the street to the bridge that connected the two parts of Tentena. There he stood, gazing over the four-hundred-metre-deep lake contemplating the news of his mother’s
