“You fashioned an excellent splint and cast for him. He’ll be much better off.”
“I know, and it’ll probably be able to bear his weight, eventually. He won’t be a hundred percent, though.”
“You did what you could.”
“People need to domore.”
“Right, they should. We should. They don’t even have the most basic necessities. Alfonso, you boiled the drinking water, right?”
Alfonso glanced at him just as the campfire popped. Sparks soared into the air. “Of course, I did. When I was making the fire, I boiled the water first. Why, do we not need to boil the drinking water here?”
“Yes, we should boil the drinking water here.”
“We have on all the other trips like this one. I just assumed—”
“When in doubt, it’s safest.”
Alfonso leaned back on his arms, shaking his head. “This is not my first rodeo, as you say.”
Dree cracked up at him. “Yep, not your first rodeo.”
Alfonso smiled at Dree. “I would not let the intestinal parasites get to you, Andrea Catherine.”
“Oh, well, thank you. I’m glad you’re running interference between me and the intestinal parasites. Thank you for your concern about my colon.”
Alfonso continued, “Access to clean water is very much a problem for the communities on charity missions like the onesDeacon Father Maxencetakes us on.”
Maxence noted Alfonso’s subtle emphasis on his religious title and stuffed bread and lentils into his face before he could say something stupid.
From across the campfire, Father Booker watched him and ate steadily.
Maxence lowered his head and concentrated on his food.
Dree turned back to him. “So, why are weonlydoing micro-NICUs here? Why aren’t we airlifting in supplies and medical personnel and doing some sort of a village make-over right now?”
Maxence swallowed. “That’s the age-old question, isn’t it? Why are some people poor, what can be done for the poor, and with the riches of certain geographical areas, social strata, and the Church, why aren’t we doing more to help the poor?”
“Right!” Dree exclaimed, bobbling her plate but recovering before it spilled.
Alfonso reached toward her leg in case he could help.
Max wanted to slap his hand away but did not move.
Dree said, “I may have mentioned that I went to Catholic school all my life—”
Maxence smiled at her. “It’s come up.”
“—so, the sisters and teachers told us that on the Day of Judgment, God will ask each person what they did to help the poor and needy. It’s that whole Matthew twenty-five thing, ‘whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’”
Father Booker stretched his legs. “See, Deacon Maxence? American Catholic schools aren’t entirely in disarray.”
“Oh, jeez, the sisters hit us with that atleastevery year,” Dree told him. “When Sister Ann taught catechism class in junior high and high school, it was once amonth.There was always a chapter on social justice in the textbook, and she hit themhard.”
Max just bet that Sister Annunciata did hit the social justice chaptershard,and he smiled as he ate.
Father Booker said from across the campfire, “Yes, as Christians and other people of beliefs, we have apersonalresponsibility to help the poor.”
Maxence heard the challenge in Father Booker’s voice and met his insistent stare over the fire. That was the Church’s official stance on the matter, that helping the poor is apersonalmandate for Christians.
