In the Middle of Somewhere: An Adventure in the Arizona Desert pt. 3

by Joe Barnes

By this time, I had been at the house for five hours. It was 3 p.m. We got in the Jeep and drove away, glad to be moving on. We pulled up to the auto store 30 minutes later, shocked that a Napa existed out here in the middle of nowhere. We went in, and Luke called Dad to explain what had happened. I bought a soda and took a seat on the bar stool at the long checkout counter.
As the two middle-aged women standing behind the counter listened to Luke, they showed a growing curiosity as to how we had arrived there with car trouble. Noticing this, I began to satisfy them with the story. After hearing everything I said, one of the ladies brought a man from the warehouse to take a look at the car. Luke hung up the phone and followed us to the Jeep. The big fat guy lay on the cement and looked at the engine. “Your water pump is shot. You see it leaking here?” He pointed up into the engine and then to the ground where the drips of water fell. “You need a new water pump. There’s not enough water getting to your engine to keep it cool.” “Are you sure?” Luke asked. “Positive,” the man replied.
Luke went back in the store and got on the phone to tell Dad the real problem. As Luke and Dad spoke, it became apparent that we needed to find a mechanic to put the pump on. One of the women interrupted Luke. “My husband is a part-time mechanic. He can do it. We live right down the street.” She had thin, light brown hair reaching to her waist. Her face was round with a double chin and a sincere smile. Luke paused from his conversation. We stared silently at her. The other woman chimed in, sensing our hesitation. “He’s a good mechanic — and a preacher. He won’t overcharge you. You can trust him.”
Luke ran it by my dad and got the okay. We bought two new hoses and a water pump. It was 4 p.m. as we followed the woman to her house. The medium-sized, tan and brown brick houses were much nicer than those in Greg’s town. We turned off the main road. The woman parked along the curb in front of a house, got out and ran to the edge of the driveway, motioning like an air-traffic controller. We parked under the carport over the driveway and got out of the car.
The woman, Shirley James, introduced us to her husband, Hosea James. Hosea stood just short of six feet. He was fit for a man in his 50s and had bristly brown hair cut high-top style. His tan skin showed the effects of long, blue-collar days in the sun. We also met an older couple, Dan and Marie, in the yard. When we pulled up, they were complimenting “Preacher James” on the message he had delivered the day before. Marie had shoulder-length, white hair. Dan’s head was bald with short white hair around the sides. It seemed that his age had caused his posture to slump.
Luke handed the water pump to Hosea. He immediately opened the hood and began to work. Shirley and Marie conversed while Luke and I petted the Black Labrador Dan held on a leash. “So Dan, what do you do out here? Are you retired?” I asked. “Well, I did work, until I fell off the ladder on the job and hurt myself real bad. I spent three months in the hospital. I’m still recovering. I got out in March.” His voice shook, and his words came out slowly.
Though his head slanted towards the ground, he made sure to look me in the eyes while he spoke. “Tell them Dan! Tell them what happened!” Marie said. Luke took a step closer to Dan and folded his arms to show interest. “Like I said, I hurt myself real bad. I broke three ribs, punctured my kidney, dislocated my hip and shoulder, and I had stitches all over my head.” He touched the side of his head. “I haven’t always stood this way, just since the accident.” “He’s always been real healthy,” his wife interjected.
Dan continued. “I was in a coma for two and a half months. While I was lying there one day, two tall young men dressed in black striped suits came in. They said, ‘Do you want to live through this, Dan?’ ‘Yes,’ I said. They told me they would only let me live if I denied Christ. If not, I would die.” By this time, Shirley and Marie had moved closer to Luke and me, listening as if it was the first time they had heard the story. “Now I gotta tell you, I had never been a Christian. She always wanted me to be, but I just didn’t care.” He pointed at Marie. “I’d been praying for him for 30 years,” she said. “For some reason, I knew this was not the time to deny Christ. So I said, ‘No, get out of here!’ They left. Then they came again. They said the same thing. I said no again, only this time, I got real mad and cursed and yelled at them. One of the men walked towards me, and I started swinging at him.”
Astonished, Luke and I looked over at the ladies. “It’s true!” Marie said. “The nurses had to strap his legs and arms to the bed. They even called me in to see.” I thought it peculiar that an injured man could be so rambunctious while he was unconscious. We looked back at Dan. “Right when I swung at him, a lion’s head lunged at me roaring.” He spread his hand wide and quickly moved it toward us to show the thrust. “It came out of his arm. I swung at it. Then it ended, and they were gone.” “It came out of his arm?” I asked, grabbing my arm and furrowing my brow. “Yes.” Dan raised his right forearm and touched the middle of it. “It came out right here.” “Wow,” I said, turning my head to Luke. We looked at each other wide-eyed. “Anyway, they came back a couple more times. When they were there, I felt like I was in hell. It smelled bad — and the heat. I could hear cries.” Dan paused to gather himself. “It put the fear of God in me,” he said in a severe tone. “I got out of there and gave my life to the Lord. I’ve read my Bible every day since.” “Thanks for telling us about that,” Luke said. I nodded my head to agree.
“We better get going!” Marie said to Shirley. “Nice to meet you boys. If you need a place to stay tonight, we have an extra bedroom.” “We’d appreciate that, but we should be out of here pretty soon,” Luke said. The old couple walked away. Shirley pulled out some chairs and began to tell us how Hosea and she had met, got married, become Christians and gotten very involved in their charismatic church. “The real preacher died, and they asked Hosea to fill in. He just kinda never stopped. He’s only been doing it a couple of years. Everyone loves him.”
Hosea walked over with the water pump and interrupted, telling us we had bought the wrong kind of pump. He said he had ordered the right one from Napa, but it wouldn’t be in until tomorrow morning. Also, he had found a crack in one of our cylinders, which he said he would fill with liquid glass. “I’m guessing you won’t be out of here until three or four tomorrow,” he said. Luke and I walked down the sidewalk towards Dan and Marie’s around 6 p.m., Luke with a duffle bag on his shoulder and me rolling a small suitcase. We laughed as people stared and gave us strange looks. Dan and Marie were happy to have us. Marie insisted on cooking us dinner. She made chicken and vegetable stir-fry with egg rolls.
After cleaning up, Luke and I walked through the living room and peered out the glass door. There Dan sat, shoulders hunched over and head down, holding a book very close to his face. Marie walked up behind us. “He reads his Bible there every evening,” she said. Luke slid the door open, and the four of us talked on the patio for a couple of hours. We headed back to the Jeep about 11 the next morning. Hosea had been working on it since nine. “I got the water pump on and the crack filled,” he said. “It needs another three or four hours to dry. It’s risky, but I think it should get you home.”
Once again, we sat underneath the carport and talked to Hosea and Shirley for three hours. They captivated us with interesting stories, telling us about the 10 years they had spent ministering on Indian reservations in northern Arizona. Time went by unnoticed. “Can we pray for ya’ll before you leave?” Shirley asked. “Of course,” Luke said. Holding hands, we formed a circle in the driveway. It was a solid, five-minute prayer. They agreed with each other’s requests and repeatedly said, “Yes, Jesus.” Their body movement caused Luke and me to open our eyes and watch them. They nodded and looked up to the sky and shook their heads. I looked at Luke, turned my nose up, and raised my eyebrows. He smiled.
We gave hugs and got into the Jeep. I drove out of Carney, Arizona on Tuesday afternoon at 4 p.m. I constantly checked the engine temperature, knowing that the engine could die at any moment. The mental video of driving down my street and pulling into my driveway played over and over. Luke asked if I wanted to listen to Mere Christianity on CD. Normally I’d say no, but I wanted distraction from looking at the clock every 20 minutes. I listened for 10 minutes.
My mind switched from dreading the remaining length of time in the car to worrying about the problems I would face at home. Milling them over, I began to speed. “Joe, did you hear that?” “No! What?” “What he just said.” “Yeah, I did. What was it, though?” He explained C.S. Lewis’ breakdown on the issue of hypocrisy in Christianity and then posed the same simple question Lewis asked. “Joe, are you a hypocrite? Think about it. Don’t be.” I drove in silence. Naturally, I wanted to ignore the difficult question. However, I fought my tendency and began to evaluate. Clearly, for me the question was not, “Are you a hypocrite?” but, “Will you be a hypocrite?” The only way to find authenticity at home would be the same way I had found it in Carney: by relying on and trusting in God. I drove until stopping for gas around 1 a.m. We were finally in Texas: time for Luke’s shift and my sleep.
Two hours later, I jolted up at a loud noise. It sounded and felt like we had just hit a car. “What in the —” I didn’t have a chance to finish. “I just ran over a deer!” Luke said. “He ran out in front of me, and I ran straight over him!” “Did it do any damage?” I asked. Luke leaned forward in the seat, trying to get a look at the front end. “I don’t know. I think it’s all right. I’m not stopping. I don’t care!” “You’re not gonna stop?” I said. “Whatever, just don’t hit any more deer.” I laughed and went back to sleep.
Thirty minutes later, I woke to the sounds of sirens. “Oh great, Luke! A cop! First the deer, now--” “Shut up, Joe!” Luke yelled. The Texas Highway Patrolman came to the window, giving the by-the-book statement. “Officer, I hit a deer a little bit ago. Can I get out and check the front?” “Sure, sure,” the officer answered. Luke and I got out and met him at the bumper. He shined his flashlight on it. “Yup, looks like it,” he said. “You can see some of the hair and the blood.” Luke gripped part of the plastic bumper, trying to force it back to the right position. Then he squatted to inspect the damage. “Is there any reason you were speeding back there, son?” Luke stood up and slowly turned to face him. “Actually, yeah, there is. I just graduated college, my car broke down in the middle of nowhere in Arizona for two days, and I just want to get home.” He pushed out a deep breath. “Be careful out there,” the officer said. He walked away.
We looked at each other, shocked. “Nice Luke!” I said. “Your tact worked!” We arrived home at 5 a.m. on Wednesday morning. I failed miserably that summer at being a Christian, and at the end, I was shamefully aware of it. Only now can I look back and see what God taught me through that experience and know that Hosea, Shirley, Dan and Marie would be proud of who I am today.