“Auri, hand me two more packets of gauze, will you?

” Alfonso commanded, enjoying the rush of

adrenaline that always came along with the stress from having the health of someone upon his
shoulders—and broad shoulders were those. The young girl fetched the filmy and sterile textile to his
father and tried desperately not to let the yells of the British man get to her. She was more than used to
see the pain in which some people entered the small mobile clinic, but she still hadn’t the stomach to
see most of the serious injuries his father took care of. Nothing too serious; she remembered. She
wouldn’t see the man die in this little hut, of that she was sure. If the case had been too serious, his
father would have called for an ambulance in the city, they would have taken care of him in their
hospital there. Though the closest one was a good three and a half hours away.

But still, with every scream, whimper and groan the man let out, she was sure he was a little closer to
unconsciousness. When in the world is that morphine going to kick in? She wondered. Her father had
managed to—if not stop the bleeding—at least control it. That was good; at least the gentleman hadn’t
busted an artery; that would have been a slight complication. Once Alfonso had made sure that the man
was not going into shock anytime soon, he called for his daughter’s help again. It was a week day, and
barley after noon, so most of the people would still be working at the plantations, the crowd only
thickened in the early morning or the late afternoon. The day had been running very slow, so Doctor
Barrios had taken the liberty to send his partner home, as she had—very ironically—been sick herself.
So now he was left only with an eleven year-old girl (though a clever one), only the most basic of
medical equipments, and a grown man with a major leg fracture; in which his shin had cracked in half
and was now painfully straining against the broken skin, that showed a generous part of his bone.

“Honey, I need some help here again.” He said with patience that only years had given him.

“What can I do, Papi?” she answered in a heartbeat.

“I need you to take his knee with both hands and pull it gently towards you. We need to set this bone
straight.” He muttered the last part almost to himself.

Aurora shivered at the idea, but swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat and with the valiant will
of a warrior, tugged at the knee of the cursing man at the same time his father pulled at his foot. In a
matter of seconds the bone had been put together just like a kids puzzle; a morbid one at that. His
father set everything to start sewing at the open wound and instructed his daughter to bring the
necessary materials to begin setting the cast. She searched for the chemical thick cloth and started filling
a large tub of water. She finally returned when his father was putting the proper antibiotics on the
wound. The wise doctor covered the men’s leg in sterile cotton, and then dunked the cast’s fabric into
the tub of water; after squeezing the excess he proceeded to wrap the gentleman’s leg, form the top of
his calf, all the way to his foot. As if by magic, the cast had dried in less than fifteen minutes and the man
was fast asleep.

The doctor sighed in relief and closed the faucet after washing his hands thoroughly.

“Thank you sweetie, I couldn’t have done that without you.” He said, kissing the top of her daughter’s
head.
“You’re very welcome, Papi.” She answered in her innocent, slightly squeaky, voice. “The men that
brought him are still waiting out there.” Aurora pointed to the front of the clinic.

Just outside the door, in the Colombian sun, stood three men, all of them with darkly tanned skin; one in
a tailored suit, the other two in dirty loose jeans and sweaty shirts.

“Is he goin’ to be okay?” the one in the suit asked; his accent very heavy.

“He’ll be just fine.” Her father answered in Spanish, fact that put the rest of the men at ease instantly.
Not only because of the good news, but also because they knew now that they weren’t dealing with a
‘gringo’, as happened to be the case when one went to this sort of clinics. He explained the diagnosis of
the injury and the process that he had to go through with the patient.

“If he’ll be fine, then we need to keep going.” The suit, which Alfonso presumed was the leader, said.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t just leave him here. He’ll wake up anytime soon and there is no knowing if he’ll
be able to fend for himself or not.”

“Well, I have a meeting in...” the suit looked at his wrist clock “two hours, and these men have to go
back to the crops. I’m sure he’ll find a way to make it to his hotel.” He finished arrogantly.

Doctor Barrios opened his mouth to repeat his previous statement, but all three men were already on
their way to the coffee crops and didn’t even look back as they walked into the green bushes. So Alfonso
simply hummphed and entered the clinic.

Aurora was looking intently at the sleeping man’s face and she felt as if she could almost put together
the pieces of the puzzle that he was. His tall frame reached fully to six feet of height and his blond hair,
though sleeked back, was clearly one of the lightest shades of blonde she had ever seen, with only a few
gray strands to prove his age. The man was obviously a foreigner to the country. Even at her the tender
age of eleven, Auri was sure that no local would be found on six-hundred dollar shoes walking through
coffee plantations.

He groaned softly and the sound only made the inquisitive girl lean closer to his face; which was a tough
fit, since she was already sitting beside him on his stretcher and hovering over his upper torso. When he
finally opened his eyes, he awoke to find himself, first, with a horrible headache, second, with a
throbbing leg. And third, with a curious little girl with the biggest, brightest brown eyes he had ever
seen.

His eyes opened wide at how close she was sitting and a small crease formed in the forehead of the now
frowning child’s face; she cocked her head to the left and said:

“Who are you?”

“I think I’m entitled to ask the exact same question.” The man looked curiously up at her.

At his reply she leaned away slightly and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You might be, sir, but that still
doesn’t answer my question and as I asked first I should receive a response first as well.”

The man’s lips twitched in a failed attempt to cover a smile. “Joseph Alcott at your service, princess,” he
grinned.

“Well, Mr. Alcott, my name is Aurora Salome Barrios Mendoza, and I fixed your leg.” She stated proudly,
her little hands firmly placed on her hips.

Joseph looked at the little girl dubiously.

“Well my father helped a little.” She allowed, dismissing the statement with a shake of her hand.

As if a spell had been broken, the injured man suddenly felt the full force of the pain he was in, and
couldn’t help but let a small groan escape from his lips.

“Papi might have something for that.” The girl whispered almost to herself.

Almost like a bell had been rung, doctor Barrios appeared next to them with a small cup graced with
pain killers that would most certainly kill someone if they didn’t manage to stop their pain; that’s how
strong they were. But to Joseph they seemed absolutely godsend. The doctor handed the two white
capsules to the injured man who didn’t even wait for his water before he downed them both. Auri
flinched at the sight. How much pain was he in? She though warily.

“How is that leg feeling?” The doctor asked. His answer was a very sarcastic how-the-hell-do- you-think
look, which spoke much more than words ever could.

“I should believe you’re Aurora’s assistant?” Alcott finally replied, feeling dreadfully rude at his past
glare.

“Oh, yes, well, she has never been uncomplaining enough to put stitches on anyone, so I take care of it
sometimes. But she is otherwise absolutely in charge.” The doctor smiled lovingly at his daughter, who
only glared at the sarcasm in his voice. “I’m doctor Alfonso Barrios, and you sir, will have some serious
trouble getting home.”

And just as Alfonso had predicted, Alcott’s leg would not resist the long walk through the coffee crops
that connected them to the city.

“Blast, what in the world will I do now?” he cried.

“We do have an extra room, Pa?” Auri had whispered. She had put on a big show of enormous eyes and
pouty lips, but the fight had already been won, doctor Barrios would not allow a grown man to stay on a
small stretcher for God only knew how long. He was much beyond that. The small clinic was no more
than an old abandoned hut that had been put into the right conditions for its purpose. And if it wasn’t
exactly sterile, then doctor Barrios went out of his way to keep it tidy.
The DBW (Doctors without Borders) had found the small village a few months ago, and since then they
had been living on a relatively spacious house located across from the clinic. Not even five minutes on
foot. But Alcott’s lack of crutches proved to be a true challenge as he limped his way to the Barrios’
home, leaning against the doctor’s shoulder. If he could barely make it there—being it a flat surface, he
would have found it very difficult to walk the twenty minutes it took to reach the nearest landing, from
an otherwise steep —almost vertical—mountain.

The village was small, not even two hundred people lived in it. Mostly they were workers that had
dedicated their whole lives to the harvest of coffee. But in its simplicity, it was beautiful. Being at the top
of a mountain didn’t only guarantee a much fresher air, but also a breathtaking view of what Auri liked
to call ‘The Promised Land’. It seemed they could see all of Colombia stretched under them. Their
location was ideal, though, because it was much easier for people of adjoining villages to reach them
than to reach the closest nonprofit hospital. They had spent the last three weeks administrating
vaccines (for both children and adults), and giving laxatives to get rid of parasites.

When they finally reached Auri’s home the sun had already gone down and only the last touches of
twilight graced the night sky.

“Why don’t you show Alcott to his room, Auri? I’ll start on dinner.”

He had been right when he thought the house small. Alcott knew he could not compare his house to this
one. But the guest room—he calculated—was about the same size of half of his master bathroom. He
was thankful nonetheless, and just as the clinic, the cottage had been clean and cozy. Alfonso had never
had the patience for a messy existence.

“Alcott, please don’t think me rude, but… why do you speak funny?” Auri had inquired during dinner.
The poor man had chocked on his food and even had to be wacked in the back by the good doctor, who
reserved to glare at his daughter.

“What?” she looked innocently, “I said, ‘please don’t think me rude’.”

“And the purpose of the phrase is completely lost if you say something completely rude afterwards.”

But his words were nearly lost within Alcott’s booming laughter. When he could finally control himself,
he looked warmly into the little girl’s eyes.

“That’s because I’m British, flower. I was born in London, England and have always lived there. We have
a different way to pronounce words in English.”

She looked at him even more curiously than she had all night. His hair was fair, almost white, and his
eyes were gray and shimmering. His skin was paler than she’d seen in years and his features were much
softer than her father’s and her own.

“Hmmm, I guess that’s a believable story,” Auri muttered. Alfonso simply rolled his eyes, but a smile was
at his lips.
“What brings you to Colombia, then?” The doctor asked.

“I’ve been buying coffee stocks for years, but never had I planned on investing such a large sum of
money as I’ve been calculating lately. So I decided to come here and see everything for myself and if I
was thoroughly convinced with the results of my investigations, then I would sign all kinds of paperwork
in person. I was being shown one of the coffee crops when this happened.” He pointed to the leg that
was resting in the empty chair of the squared table for four.

“Are you going to buy the coffee now?” asked a very curious little girl.

“I suppose I will have to think much about it. It’s difficult to see how their working ethics are, if they are
willing to leave a major client to fend for himself at the top of a mountain.”

Auri looked at him and nodded her head slowly, as in deep in thought. It was all that he could do not to
laugh at her pretty face pinched in concentration. He had liked the girl since he saw her. She had
something about her that made her easy to love. She wasn’t angelically beautiful. She was pretty; with
shinny brown hair that went to her hips and big brown eyes framed with long dark lashes. But she was
small for her age, looking more as if she were eight than eleven and though she was obviously smart,
she was somehow still awkward and shy.

“Do you have a family in London?” she continued the interrogation.

“Yes, I do actually. I have a wife and two kids, one is a bit older than you, he’s fourteen now. But my
daughter is about your age.” She smiled at the mention of other children.

“Does she speak funny too?” she asked, sending the injured man into another round of chuckles.

After the table was cleared the books were put in the place of plates and Alcott watched with great
amusement as Alfonso started Auri’s lessons for the day. What Aurora lacked in patience, Alfonso was
blessed additionally with understanding, making their odd pair, one extremely functional.

By ten O’clock the little girl had braided her hair and was knocked out cold.

Alcott had been sitting in his bed when Alfonso entered carrying two tall glasses filled with an Amber
colored liquid. He handed one to him, Alcott ventured a quick sniff, it smelled dangerously like alcohol,
and a strong one at that.

“So what’s your story? Are you from Colombia? Because you have an American accent.” He still would
not dare take a sip from his drink.

“No, we’re from Puerto Rico, but DWB has been sending us to different parts of Colombia for the past
four years.”

There was a moment of silence before Alcott collected the nerve to ask. “What about her mother?”

The silence stretched for so long that he thought Alfonso would ignore the question completely.
“You should drink some of it.” He finally said, pointing at the untouched glass in Alcott’s hand. “It helps
with the pain.”

Alcott raised a single eyebrow at the glass in the doctor’s grasp.

“All kinds of pain.” He replied at the unasked question before taking a long swig from his drink. “She
died when Auri was seven.” He exhaled.

“I’m sorry,” Alcott whispered, thinking about his own wife, safely home.

“It’s funny how everyone says that.” He laughed humorlessly. And that was the begging of a very long
story and a very long night.