The Adventures of Takako the Danger Librarian

4 November 2001: 
"Unexpected and Unprepared"

Well, I'm not sick yet. Considering what I have found out in the 
last few hours, it's good news that I appreciate. (More on this 
later.) If a week could be more eventful than the last two, well, 
this week would definitely qualify. I wasn't sure if I wanted to 
write, but from the feedback I'm getting, I have a feeling people
would worry if I didn't put up an update.

The week began quietly enough. Saturday (27 October) I was still 
feeling a little weird, although I was able to spend a bit of 
time in the office. My stomach was acting up, and I felt like I 
was running to the bathroom all the time. I wasn't sure whether 
it was some side effect of the anti-malaria pill (which I hadn't 
reacted to before) or something I ate/drank. Seeing that I'm not 
having this problem this weekend, I suspect it was the latter.

Sunday morning, one of the District Legal Officers (who shall 
remain nameless for reasons you'll find out below) happened to 
join me at table for breakfast. We made small talk as we ate, 
and as he was about to leave, he invited me to a movie on the 
Amos that evening.

I asked whether he knew what was playing, to which he replied 
with a laugh, "It's not important, it's a movie!" I laughed, too.
There does seem to be a dearth of things to do around here, and 
I can see how some would appreciate any diversion. I accepted his
invitation, and he said he would come to collect me at my hotel
in the evening.

I spent most of the day in my room, away from the heat, and close 
to the bathroom, as I was still not feeling my best. By dinner 
time I felt well enough to eat, which I took as a good sign. I 
changed into a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, and waited in the 
'lounge' area of the Resende for my 'date'.

He came around 7:45, and took me out to the car, which surprised 
me a bit. It was a very short walk to the Amos, after all, and I 
didn't see much need for a ride. On the other hand, it was 
perhaps not fair to depend on him for protection from whatever 
petty crime elements were on the prowl in the centre of Dili.

The ride was of course very short, and we got out of the car, 
proceeding past the security guard and across the bridge to the 
boat, then around the corner and down the side of the boat to 
the stairs that led to the Heli Bar, where the movie was.
There were quite a few people there already. My date took a 
couple chairs and insinuated himself close to the front and 
centre, which was a bit embarrassing (couldn't complain about 
the view, though). The TV was playing some portion of VH1's Diva
special, which cut off as soon as Celine Dion finished singing.

([Too late!] Hey, I heard that!)

It turned out they were showing The Patriot, which I hadn't seen
before. Mel Gibson is always fun to watch, and I knew Heath 
Ledger had made a well-reviewed debut in the film, so I was quite 
pleased at my luck. We settled into our chairs as the film 
started.

It became obvious soon after the film began that my date wasn't 
necessarily interested in (just) the movie. I suppose I should 
have suspected this as early as that morning, but I have never 
been known as astute when it comes to interacting with the 
opposite sex (see last week's installment). Perhaps I was also in
denial, or at least was trying to ignore the signs.

In any event, we did manage to get through the film. And I really 
mean that -- he asked me at one point whether I wanted to stay, 
and I said yes. (I'm a sucker for a good story pretty much any 
time. Besides, we're talking Mel Gibson here.) I think I was also 
hoping that by staying, I might discourage him from making 
further moves.

But it seemed it was a bit too much to hope for. The film 
finished, and we all started piling out of the bar. I knew I 
didn't want to go back to the car immediately; I had one of those 
prescient feelings about what might transpire if we went back 
just then. So I made a detour for my favourite corner of the boat
where I had spent a couple of weekend mornings, on the deck 
immediately below the bar, and when he realized I wasn't going 
back right then, he joined me there.

I looked out into the darkness of the sea and night sky. I felt 
his presence behind me, and in a moment his arms held me tightly.
I was in a state of full confusion. I thought I knew what he 
wanted, but I didn't want to make a fool of myself by assuming 
too much. So I turned, holding him back with my forearms on his 
chest, arms bent at right angles to maintain the distance, and 
asked him exactly that.

His honest and unadorned reply, made even more simple by his 
English skills, was unsurprising, considering what had happened.
His words were neither explicit, harsh, nor violent. His tone was
kind, and as I cried into his chest about missing my sweetheart, 
he held me and comforted me.

We went back to the car, but we didn't go back to my hotel, at 
least, not immediately. If my own feelings had been clear, things 
would have been much easier; I would simply have insisted on him 
taking me home immediately, and I know he would have done that.

The problem was, my feelings weren't clear. I had prepared in so 
many different ways for this mission -- my health, the climate, 
living and working conditions -- but this particular brand of 
problem had not been included. It had not even crossed my mind.
This was something that happened to other people. That I was 
dealing with a similar problem twice in as many weeks was not 
only unexpected, but near incredible. I felt myself reeling from 
one side to the other and back again as he drove along the beach 
road to the east, in the direction of the Christ statue.

We stopped twice on the way back to the hotel. He was determined, 
and so was I. Mostly. The temptation was great. He was dark, 
handsome, and very... interested. (I'm trying to keep this 
G-rated. My mother's reading this, too, you know.)

We finally made it back to the front of the hotel. The long 
conversation in the car was enlightening, though not in the usual 
sense of the word. He explained, as well as his English would 
allow, how being far away from family and loved ones, and working 
in hardship conditions, made some behaviors that may be 
unacceptable at home at least understandable. I knew it was only 
one perspective, and a male perspective, at that. But I could 
also see myself agreeing with him.

That was perhaps the most frightening of all. I could not, still 
cannot believe that I was even considering what he proposed. How 
would I be able to live with myself?

As much as I was tempted to give in, I held my ground to the end.
When he realized as much, he simply smiled, reassuring me that he 
was fine... just in need of a shower. "A cold one," he added, 
with a little laugh. I laughed, too. And he thanked me for my 
company.

I stepped out of the car, and into the hotel lobby. Before 
stepping into the corridor, I looked back to make sure this guy 
didn't try to follow me in the way that man had tried last week. 
He was a gentleman to the end -- out of the window, I saw the 
car turning the corner and disappearing past the building across 
the street.

I saw him in the office the next morning. He was pleasant, and we 
even joked a little as he stood in the doorway watching us put 
the books in order. He then disappeared for most of the morning; I 
knew he would be busy, as he was going home for a month, to 
return to mission in early December. I heard his voice from the 
other side of the partition as we worked.

About quarter past eleven, my mobile rang. He wanted to invite 
me out to lunch. Now, what harm was there in that? He was good 
company, and what girl wouldn't say yes to lunch with an 
attractive gentleman?

We went to a Portuguese restaurant down the street the Governor's 
Building was on, going east. It was a pleasant little oasis among 
the city ruins. It turned out he also spoke Spanish and French, 
both (he felt) better than English, so our conversation rolled 
from one language to another, speaking in whichever language 
seemed convenient in that moment. The food was quite good, too; 
I hadn't had properly cooked fish -- as opposed to the fried one 
in the fish-n-chips from the take-away -- in a while.

We parted ways outside the office, as he had other errands to run 
before the day was out. He was in and out all afternoon; as I 
left for the day, he was conferring with a couple of the other 
lawyers in the common room. He smiled briefly as I nodded, and 
I went back to my room.

Shortly before I went to dinner, he called again. He said he 
had to finish packing, and he was taking the early flight out the 
next morning, so would stay home for the evening, but would like 
to see me again when he returned in December. I had little reason 
to say 'no,' as he knew where I stood on things; even if I had 
said 'no,' I would have seen him around every so often anyway, 
and I did not relish the prospect of any unpleasantness between 
us. I enjoyed his company, and so I said I would see him when he
returned.

So, that is where that stands. I can put it aside for a month.
Please hope along with me that this kind of problem does not 
arise again.

I did speak to my sweetheart midweek. I learned that he had just 
returned from the Emergency Room. He had driven himself there 
when he started feeilng like he could not breathe. I knew he had 
been recovering from a nasty cold earlier, and the ER docs had 
told him it was probably acute bronchitis. He was sent home with 
some medication, and by the time I called, he felt better and was 
actually a bit wired from what he was taking.

With that little scare out of the way, we discussed what had 
transpired in the weekend. I will leave out the details; suffice 
it to say that I'm not sure what I did to deserve this man, but 
it must have been something really, really good. And I'll leave 
it at that for now.

I had planned on being in Darwin over this weekend, though that 
didn't work out. Because of the holiday, there was only one 
flight out on Friday instead of the usual two, and none of us 
made the manifest. All three of us (Yasmeen, Tahir, and I) were 
a bit disappointed, but as there is another holiday next week, 
I am considering going then. And, as you will see below, being 
unable to get on the plane was a blessing in disguise.

I had told Rich that I would be gone the weekend, but that he 
would be able to call me next Saturday. Now that I was stuck, 
I called him Friday morning (Thursday night US Eastern Time), 
and left a message for him.

I hadn't really expected him to call, although I thought he 
might get online at some point. When he totally failed to 
show, I called him again, and that was when I started to 
suspect something had gone wrong.

It was the long series of beeps following his answering machine 
message that concerned me. He sometimes didn't return calls 
promptly, but he always checked his messages. It was obvious 
from the number of beeps that he had not. I left another message, 
telling him of my worry, and even thought of calling his mother 
to find out whether something was wrong.

I spent Friday lounging about, going out into the restaurant and 
talking to Rob, the stand-in manager while Kaye and Allen were in 
Darwin for the weekend. I distracted myself with reading and 
writing. Muttaqi called, and we made arrangements to meet for 
something to eat after his duty shift the next day. I called 
Rich again; the beeps were now even longer. I was beginning to 
get sick with worry, but I didn't have his mother's phone number.

I did some more computer-y things on Saturday, had a quick bite 
to eat, then went back to the office to read the news and other 
things. I chatted with friends, and I shared my worries about 
what was going on back in Pittsburgh. I had dinner with Muttaqi, 
and had an otherwise pleasant evening, although there was a dark 
cloud over my head. I'm afraid I was not very good company, 
although he would never say that.

Finally, this morning, after several calls, I became determined 
to find out what was going on. It was incredibly unlike him not 
to check his messages. An online friend encouraged me to find 
some of his friends, to see if they knew anything.

I called his mother's line, but it was busy, which could have 
been a good or bad sign. I called two of his bandmates, but 
neither could be found. I finally thought I had found the number 
of his friend that he had been ferrying around the past few 
weeks, and tried that number.

It turned out it was his friend's parents. I explained who I was, 
and that I had no idea what was going on, and I was very worried.
I learned that Rich was in the hospital. I could feel myself 
entering into a sort of emotional panic. I wanted to cry and 
scream but I knew I couldn't. I managed not to lose it as his 
friend's mother gave me her son's number, and telling me to try 
it in about thirty minutes, as he would be home then.

The thirty minutes seemed interminable. At the stroke of the 
hour, I called the number I was given, and I was talking to 
Chuck, to whom I was just a stranger, explaining that I was 
Rich's friend, and that I was worried to death about what was 
going on.

Rich had suffered a heart attack. I thought I was going to have 
one myself when he said that. It is remarkable that I can 
remember most of the conversation I had with Chuck, as I am 
still in shock. Rich was in a hospital in downtown Pittsburgh, 
in ICU, still heavily sedated but in stable condition after 
triple bypass surgery. As Chuck was not immediate family, the 
ICU nurse would not tell him much more, but they thought he 
would be in ICU for at least a few more days, and he would be 
groggy even when he came out of sedation. It would be a while 
yet before he would be able to speak to someone on the phone.

We spoke for about fifteen minutes. Chuck tried to be reassuring, 
and he managed to calm me down some. As far as he knew, things 
looked as well as it could; one of Rich's brothers had flown in 
to be with him, and his mother was at home. He kindly asked me 
for a way to contact me, saying he would call me if anything 
came up. I gave him UNTAET's New York switchboard and my 
extention. He also said that I could call him should I have any 
questions or need an update on what was going on. I thanked him,
and we hung up.

I want to go there, even knowing that I would probably be more 
a hindrance than help. If I tried hard enough, I know I can 
visualize how he might be lying there, medical instruments 
beeping, tubes all around him, in him, keeping him alive, but I 
don't want to -- I can't bear it. I hear him in my mind as I 
listen again to our last conversation, his voice bringing me 
calm. I find myself wanting to deny that he isn't like that, 
even now, though I know otherwise; I see him full of silliness 
and humour and affection. In the ten months that I have known 
him, we had come to share the little details of our lives, and 
now every detail is even more precious than before.

Please -- if you're of the praying sort, please pray for this 
man. If you're not, please think good thoughts for him, wish and 
hope deeply for his recovery. I'm going to do my best from half 
way around the world not to go entirely out of my mind from being 
unable to be with him, near him, to hold his hand, in vigil as 
his body finds its way back.


Postscript: 6 November 2001

I heard great news today. I spoke to Rich's mother, and she 
said that when they went to visit him at the hospital Monday 
afternoon, he was already out of bed and was sitting in a chair, 
and was able to spend several hours with them. He should be moved
to a private room in the next couple days. I thought I wouldn't 
be able to speak to him for a few weeks, but I might be able to 
hear his voice before the week is out! Even if it's only for a 
few minutes, listening to him tell me of his experience would be 
so wonderful. Everything seems brighter now that I know he has 
come through the post-surgery recovery period. Now, I just have 
to hold my horses and wait until he's well enough to talk on 
the phone. And now I can concentrate better on my life and work 
here. Everyone here and at home has been so supportive, 
especially in the last few days, and I am still counting my 
blessings.

To be continued....