Excavation

It was even possible that Philip’s estimation of two days to dig the others free might not turn out to be too far off the mark.

But would that be soon enough?

A sudden commotion rose from farther back in the jungle, where a few of the Indians were taking a break in the shade of the trees. Philip stood straighter, as if an extra inch of height would pierce the shadows of the forest. He held his breath.

An Indian, one of the workers, burst from the tree line. He waved an arm at Philip in the universal gesture to come. Philip refused to move; he even took a step back. As he hesitated, the Indians’ voices grew more distinct as other workers gathered beyond the forest’s edge. From the happy and relieved noises, Philip gathered that whatever new discovery had been made must not be a threat.

Philip girded himself with a firm breath, then stomped down from the height of the campsite toward the forest. Even the short exertion of crossing the clearing soon had Philip sucking for breath through his teeth. Tension and exhaustion had weakened his ability to handle the thin air. A seed of a headache bloomed behind his right temple by the time he neared the forest’s edge.

Before he reached the eaves, a flow of excited Indians flocked into the clearing from the trees. They roiled around, grinning wide, teeth bright in the late afternoon sunshine. Soon the press of workers broke around Philip, like a rock in a stream. The way finally parted enough for Philip to see who the Indians were leading into camp.

Six figures, robed in mud brown attire and leather sandals, stepped from the trees, faces warm and open as they threw back the cowls from their heads. They too wore smiles upon their faces, but not the toothy grins of the crude Indians, only simple, kind countenances.

One of the robed men was clearly the leader. He stood a bit taller than the others and was the only one with a prominent silver pectoral cross.

“Monks…” Philip muttered in amazement.

Some of the Indians dropped to their knees at the feet of these religious men and bowed for a blessing. While the other monks placed palms atop heads and whispered prayers in Spanish, the head of this group approached Philip.

The man shrugged back his own cowl to reveal a strong handsome face framed by black hair. “We have heard of your time of need, my son,” he said simply. “My name is Friar Dominic Otera, and we’ve come to offer what aid we can.”

Philip blinked. English! The man had spoken English! He suppressed an urge to step over and hug the friar. Instead, he tried to compose himself enough to speak. “How…how did you-?”

The monk held up a hand. “On our journey among the small nearby villages, we came upon the Indians you sent for help. I’ve sent them on to Villacuacha to alert the authorities, but in the meantime, we’ve come to offer prayers and consolation in the tragedy here.”

Philip felt himself sag as his burden was finally eased. There were now others-others who spoke English-who could share his anxiety. Philip found himself blathering, unable to form a clear thought, blurting out a mixture of heartfelt thanks interspersed with his own worries. None of it made sense.

Friar Otera crossed to Philip and placed a cool palm upon his cheek. “Calm yourself, my son.”

His touch centered Philip. “Yes…yes…where are my manners? You’ve all traveled far and must be thirsty and famished.”

The monk lowered his face. “The Lord is all the sustenance we need, but as travelers we would be remiss in refusing your hospitality.”

Philip bobbed his head like a fool; he could not help himself, so giddy with relief was he. “Then, please, come to my tent. I have juice, water, and can put together some quick sandwiches.”

“That is most gracious. Then perhaps, out of the harsh sun, you can tell me what has befallen your group.”

Philip led the monks toward the cluster of tents, though he noticed that three lagged behind, continuing their ministrations among the workers.

The friar noticed that Philip had paused. “They will join us later. The Lord’s work must always come first.”

Swinging back around, Philip nodded. “Of course.” In short order, Philip and the friar were ensconced in his personal tent upon camp chairs. Resting between them was a platter of hard cheeses and sliced meats. The other two monks had shyly accepted glasses of fresh guava juice and had retired outside in the shadow of the tent, leaving Friar Otera and Philip in peace.

After sampling what Philip offered, the friar leaned back in the canvas chair with a sigh of gratitude. “Most delicious and kind.” He placed both palms upon his knees, studying Philip. “Now tell me, my son, what has happened here? How can we help?”