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(3 years later)

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The jungle heat was oppressive. As Ji-hoo bent over his patient, a boy about ten years old whose foot had been sliced open by a piece of corrugated tin, a bead of sweat escaped from the nape of his neck and ran between his shoulder blades, traveling downwards to collect at the small of his back and soak into the waistband of his scrubs. The bandana he wore around his head to keep his hair out of his eyes was already soaked with perspiration, but he paid it no heed, his attention fully focused on the tiny stitches he was using to close up the freshly disinfected wound.

Every so often, a precious breeze would spring up, rippling the simple sheets that had been strung up on lines between the trees to form the walls of the makeshift field clinic. This tiny village outside of the Colombian township of Zapotal hadn’t seen a medical professional in months, and the line of villagers waiting to see “el doctor” seemed endless. Ji-hoo suspected that many of the people were from surrounding areas. News of MSF’s temporary clinic here had spread in the few days since they’d arrived, and men, women, and children had poured in, more every day. Injuries like the one this boy, Diego, had were by far the most straightforward to treat. Ji-hoo finished with the stitches, bandaged the foot cleanly, and smiled at his young patient. “Go with my nurse,” he said carefully in his broken Spanish. “She will get you the medicine you need, and then you can have a piece of candy!” A grin split the boy’s face as Jane Abrams, the British-born nurse who was assisting Ji-hoo today, stepped forward to help him hobble to the tent next door, where he would receive a shot of strong antibiotics and a full set of vaccination boosters. Ji-hoo washed his hands thoroughly and then turned to meet a new patient.

Unfortunately, the next case was more difficult. An examination showed that the forty-something woman was in the last stages of full-blown AIDS. She was gaunt, with a high fever and swollen lymph glands in her armpits and neck. Her skin was blotchy and there were open sores around the edges of . Her breathing was shallow and labored. Ji-hoo’s heart twisted with pity; he knew there was very little he could do. She didn’t have much time left. Her teenage son had brought her in. Turning to the boy, he saw the small spark of hope in his eyes flicker and die as he read Ji-hoo’s expression. “Here are some pain pills,” he said to the teenager, passing him a handful of samples that had been donated by a drug company back in South Korea. “Give her one every four hours. They will make her more comfortable.” The boy nodded once, quickly, the effort to keep from releasing the tears collecting in his eyes costing his ability to speak. Ji-hoo reached out and squeezed his shoulder, then helped him walk his mother to the gap in the curtained walls.

Darkness was falling now, and Ji-hoo felt the weariness he had been holding at bay seep heavily into his bones. He signaled the admitting nurse to tell the rest of the patients to go home. He would start seeing them again in the morning.

Rubbing his neck with one hand to work out some of the tension there, he walked across the medical compound toward the staff living quarters, a cluster of canvas tents ringing a long wooden table and a stone-lined fire pit dug into the cleared ground. Entering his sleeping tent, Ji-hoo poured purified water from a plastic jug into the large basin next to his bed and added flakes of powdered soap to it, using his hand to whip it into a thin lather. He stripped off the damp, soiled clothes he had been wearing all day, piling them by the tent flap. Later, he would carry them to edge of camp where the laundry tubs were set up and wash them by hand, hanging them to dry slowly in the humid jungle air. For now, though, he left them in a sodden heap and focused on using the soapy water in the basin to clean the sweat and grime of the day’s labors from his body. The lukewarm water felt wonderful as it ran down his well-muscled frame and onto the dirt floor of the tent. The thirsty ground soaked it up instantly. Ji-hoo ran a hand over his abdomen, where hard work and the physicality of life in the field had done what no amount of golf, basketball, or fencing practice ever had, creating a bronze washboard of lean muscle. He scrubbed at his skin with a rough sponge that he kept for the purpose, making it sting a little. Satisfied, he dropped the sponge into the basin and used more water from the jug to wash the soap away. Leaning over, he poured water over his head, then shampooed the dark locks of his hair until they, too, were clean. He used the last of the water in the jug to rinse out the shampoo, then briskly towel dried himself before slipping into a cool, clean blue t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts.

Some of the weariness he felt had been rinsed away with the dirt, and he turned eagerly toward the mess tent, suddenly aware of the delicious scent of dinner being prepared. Beef stew, by the smell of it. His hunger flared to life, and he followed the scent to the rows of tables that had been set up outside the kitchen unit. No sooner had he sat down than 5 feet 2 inches of enthusiastic womanhood zoomed up and plopped onto the bench across the table from him. He grinned at her. “Hello, Min-ah.”

“I just finished with that little boy you sent over to us at the end of the day,” she said with a smile. Min-ah worked in the vaccination station, making sure that patients were matched up with the immunizations that they needed.

“Diego?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s him. What an adorable kid! He reminded me so much of my cousin Woo-tan. I just wanted to scoop him up and put him in my pocket!” Ji-hoo laughed at her description. He had a feeling that not many males, young or old, would object to being scooped up by Kwon Min-ah. She was a pretty girl, and her sweet smile drew people to her everywhere she went. She had not had Ji-hoo’s difficulties in adjusting to the more demonstrative Colombian culture. She seemed at ease with the relaxed manners and open way of talking that characterized personal interactions in this part of the world. He knew that many of their exploratory forays into new villages would not have gone nearly as smoothly as they had without her easy way with people.

Almost shyly, Min-ah reached across the table and slipped her hand into his. Ji-hoo squeezed it reassuringly, but deep inside he felt a little twinge of uneasiness. He and Min-ah had been dating for a few months now. Of course, as busy as they were, “dating” was something of an exaggeration; there wasn’t a lot of time for personal pursuits out here where the people’s need was so large and their resources seemed so small. But since arriving in Colombia, they had taken to spending their rare days off together; hiking to the top of tree-covered mountains, zip lining over the tree cover, traveling into the city to enjoy a once-in-a-blue-moon restaurant meal. It was, perhaps, only natural that the two of them had drifted into a romantic relationship.

He remembered the day Min-ah had confessed to him. They had been hiking to a settlement fifteen miles south of their permanent clinic in Tumaco to establish initial contact. After an hour of hiking, they had just crested a ridge bristling with yopo trees and bright orange marmalade bushes. An amazing vista opened up at their feet, bursting with color and echoing with the sound of tanagers calling to each other across the treetops. After taking a long swig of water, Ji-hoo hoisted his pack higher on his back and turned to set off down the path into the valley. A tremulous voice stopped him. “Ji-hoo sunbae, I wanted to tell you that I… I like you.”

He had been blindsided. Turning around, he faced her. Now that she had taken the plunge and spoken the words aloud, she had gained courage. Her face blazed with emotion as she looked at him, head up, small fists clenched by her sides. Her boldness reminded him of another young woman who had stood like that, facing down fear and standing proudly before the firing squad. Something moved in him. Surprising even himself, Ji-hoo had crossed the short distance between them and caught her up in an embrace. He could almost feel the flutter of her heartbeat as she grasped his shirt in her hands. Slowly, gently, he had placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face, looking into her eyes for perhaps the first time. His heart gave a groan. It’s not her, he thought. The familiar pain of unfulfilled longing pierced him in the same place as always. Min-ah trembled beneath his gaze. He forced himself to remember the truth. It will never be her. It’s not fair to Jan-di to keep holding onto her like this. It’s not fair to Min-ah. He clenched his jaw. It’s not fair to me.

Closing his eyes, he had lowered his lips to hers.

…

“Ji-hoo,” Min-ah said again, calling him back to the present, “dinner is ready. Let’s go line up.” He stood, and together they joined the string of people queuing up at the end of the serving table. “Where do you go when you’re gazing off into space like that?” she asked him curiously.

He considered her question for a moment before answering, “Lots of places, I guess. The past, the future. Worries. The people I care about. I’m… sorry if it bothers you. Since my parents died when I was young, I’ve spent a lot of my life alone, living in my own head. It’s sort of a habit.”

“It doesn’t bother me, exactly,” she said. “At least, it doesn’t most of the time.”  She struggled to find the words to tell him what she meant. She didn’t want to sound insecure and clingy. “But there are moments when your eyes seem to be looking through me, at something I can’t see.” Ji-hoo opened his mouth to speak, but paused uncertainly. Suddenly, she was afraid of what he might say. She forced a laugh. “That sounds melodramatic, doesn’t it? Nevermind. Let’s just eat. I’m starving!”

Later, as they sat finishing their meal with the rest of the staff, sharing the day’s observations and blowing off steam, Jane approached carrying a handful of letters and packages. “Mail call!” she announced, and the mood around the table suddenly took on the feeling of a holiday. Though they all enjoyed the work and shared a passion for the people they served, news from home was always a treat.

“David Madison,” Jane said, handing a large manila envelope to a white haired man in a floppy hat. David whooped with joy. “It’s from my son and his wife,” he crowed. “I bet it’s pictures of my new grandson!”

Jane continued to hand around parcels and letters while the doctors, nurses, and support staff waited in anticipation, each hoping to hear his or her name. As the pile in her arms dwindled, those who had received word from home grew quiet, reading.

Finally she was down to the last item, a small box sealed with blue packing tape, a Pororo sticker plastered in one corner. “Yoon Ji-hoo,” she called, and he raised his hands to receive the package. He glanced at the address label, his eyes lighting up as he read the name written there.

Min-ah watched him closely. “It’s from her, isn’t it? Geum Jan-di?” She smiled crookedly, trying to appear unaffected, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” he said, scooping up the box and kissing her on top of the head before heading back across camp to his tent.

“Okay,” she said quietly to his retreating back.

…

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