Rosie and I were writing in our journals (that constant task
that never seemed to get caught up) when Tati came to our room and said, “We
have a problem.” She took me into the kitchen, showed me the stove, and said,
‘The gas is all out so I won’t be able to cook a meal for you before you go.”
She looked so disappointed, and I knew she had a special meal planned, so I
told her how sorry I was. “But it’s okay,” I added. “We can eat sandwiches.”
That didn’t seem to satisfy her much, but she said, “Okay,” and I went to write
in my journal again. Later, Rosie and I were out on the front porch, and Pastor
José came out to apologize for the same thing. He was SO embarrased about it,
and there didn’t seem to be any way to comfort him about it, though we tried to
assure him we didn’t mind. Just then, a truck pulled up to deliver two tanks of
gas! The problem was solved and we wouldn’t be eating sandwiches.
Rosie and I watched and took notes as Tati prepared the
meal, and I filled up a whole page at the back of my notebook on recipes and
typical foods. We planned to make some of this stuff when we got home for the
rest of the family to try.
After lunch the inevitable hour came—that of saying goodbye
to Tati and leaving on the bus. I wanted to cry, because these people had
become so special in my life, and I didn’t know when I would see them again. We
embraced and said farewell and then had to rush off in the taxi to the bus
station.
On the bus, I took a whole camera-full of pictures out the
window, and before long we were back in the hustle and bustle of Santo Domingo . I felt
like I was noticing more things and reading more signs this time, and the city
didn’t seem so huge and confusing and crowded as it did before.
A pastor picked us up from the bus station and took us back
to Pina’s house. Poor Pina! She was going through chemotherapy and all her hair
had fallen out. Notwithstanding, she had made a delicious dinner for us, and
after eating, Rosie and I went to bed relatively early, since we had missed our
nap.
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