Right of Thirst by Frank Huyler Read Free Book Online

about yourself,” he said.
    â€œWhat would you like to know?”
    â€œWhat kind of doctor you are, for one. And why you’re interested in this.”
    â€œI’ve been practicing cardiology for almost thirty years. I’m on the faculty here at the medical school. I’m taking a few months off. I’d like to do something useful.”
    â€œHow much time do you have?”
    â€œAt least three months, possibly more.”
    â€œGood,” he said. “A week or two is pointless. It’s tourism.”
    He looked at me.
    â€œThere won’t be much cardiology up there,” he said. “You’d be dealing with problems like diarrhea and malnutrition andskin infections. Nothing fancy like cardiology.”
    â€œI realize that.”
    He nodded.
    â€œSo why don’t you tell me,” I said, “why I should volunteer with you and not a more established organization?”
    â€œA good question,” he said. “The best answer is that while we are small, we are much more efficient than some other groups, and you would have a lot of autonomy. We keep things simple and pure. We keep staffing to a minimum. We don’t waste anything. We empower our employees and volunteers to make decisions as they see fit. Individual initiative matters and we value it. That’s why we need to screen people so carefully.”
    He took another sip of wine.
    â€œIt’s an astonishing place, it really is,” he continued. “It’s beautiful and wild. It’s like going to another world. It’s about as far away from this”—he swept his hand across the room—“as it’s possible to get.”
    The meal arrived. He curtly thanked the waiter, lifted his knife and fork, and started in on the fillet. We were quiet for a while as he ate. I picked at my salad.
    â€œIt’s nothing personal,” he said, finally. “But we need people who are serious and come to work. We’ve already had one or two bad experiences.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    He swallowed.
    â€œPeople who like the idea of relief work more than actually doing it. People who think it’s a vacation. It’s not a vacation. It’s a reduction to the essentials. You see exactly what is important and what isn’t. It’s deeply satisfying to dig a well for a village that hasn’t ever had one before. Or build a school. It really is like nothing else.”
    He wiped his mouth with his napkin, took another swallowof wine. He jerked his chin toward the other tables.
    â€œThese people here,” he said. “They have no idea. They have no idea how big the world really is. They’re thinking only about themselves—their own lives and careers. Maybe they’re thinking about their children’s lives and careers. They’re telling their kids to become lawyers and bankers and stockbrokers. They’re telling them to compete and win and get rich, that’s it. They’re oblivious, they really are. They don’t know what’s important. They think you get a prize at the end, and you don’t. But saving people from hunger and disease, that’s important. That actually matters.”
    He had a look in his eye again, and hadn’t finished chewing, and I could see the red meat and wine in his mouth. The profusion of individual gray hairs on his head stood out in the dim lighting against the youthful black of the rest.
    â€œHow old are you?” he asked, bluntly.
    â€œI’m fifty-eight.”
    â€œDo you have any health problems?”
    â€œNothing significant.”
    â€œConditions are rough. You should understand that. You’d be living out of a tent. There won’t be any modern conveniences.”
    I took another sip of wine.
    â€œDo you have a family? Even three months is a long time up there.”
    â€œI’ve had some personal issues recently. I’m alone now. My son lives in New