Just One Banana

(Part I) 

“Orang ini musti mati”

The words had been hastily written in chalk upon the solid door.  They had persistently remained there, and she had seen them every time she was forcibly and vindictively ushered through the door.  She had tried to forget them, but now, more than ever, they seemed to glare at her in a diabolically sinister and menacing way.  Interpreted in English, the words meant, “This person must die”.

The scribbled ominous phrase clarified the answer to the question that the Interrogator, just moments before, had hissed, “You know the penalty don’t you, for espionage work in war time?”

The male guard inserted a key into the door and opened it revealing the very tight but familiar six-foot square room.  In one corner, a rudely cut and jagged kerosene tin comprised the bathroom while in the other corner, two planks nailed to cross-beams served as the bed.  

Unceremoniously, he shoved her from behind sending her stumbling back into her cell of confinement.  For the last few months, the bleak room with white-plastered walls and ceramic tiled floors had been all she had known except for the frequent trips to the interrogation room.  The many concealed scratches underneath the barred and boarded-up window despairingly reminded her of the slow-passing days of imprisonment.

Her face was bruised.  Her body was beaten.  But a simple and natural beauty was hidden underneath the dirt, grime, and unkemptness.  Normally, a dark brunette with soft, fair skin— the harsh tropical sun, disease, malnourishment, and stress had lightened her cropped hair to an unappealing battleship-gray and mottled her skin.  Her disheveled appearance was further enhanced by her over worn and tattered skirt that hung two-sizes too large on her thin meager frame.  At only eighty-pounds, she had been starved into emaciated weakness.

She collapsed against the far wall and slid down to the floor, snuggling into the folds of her encircling skirt.  Tormented with fever and disease, her body trembled violently.  Exhaustion swooped low over her troubled mind.  As the door slammed shut and the keyed lock turned, she began to cry.  The tears flowed heavy clearing the dirt around her bruised cheeks.  So much pain and hurt.  Her heart was broken.  Her life was broken.  She had lost everything including her husband.  Torn apart and widowed at twenty-six years old, she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye.  Now, she was unjustly condemned, without a formal trial, as an American spy.  Her fate — to be beheaded by a sword.  

Her emotions threatened to drain her completely.  Like a breached dam, the copious tears flooded her hazel eyes and poured forth.  She succumbed to the tidal wave of emotions and sobbed hard between ragged breaths.  She cried until her skirt was saturated with salty wetness.  She wept until foreboding darkness invaded the room.

“But My child, My grace is sufficient for thee.  Not was nor shall be, but it IS sufficient.”  

The whispered words echoed  in her ears with warm familiarity.  She knew the Voice and felt the presence of her Blessed Savior.  The words filled the cracks in her broken heart and strengthened her soul.  She knew that the Almighty had wrapped His loving arms around Her.  She found solace and courage in His loving companionship.  She cuddled close.  Resting in His arms, she finally drifted off to sleep.

In the coming week, awaiting her execution, she found enough strength to pull herself up to the lintel above the door.  Using the window sill and the door knob as footrests, she precariously peered through the small opening out onto the open courtyard below.   

As she deeply inhaled the refreshing air blowing off the nearby Java Sea, she noticed several native female prisoners enjoying the open communal area.  One particular native woman caught her eye.  With darting eyes and suspicious movements, the native woman eased towards a vine-shrouded fence.  Soon, as the guard’s attention was diverted, an unknown hand holding a bunch of bananas mysteriously appeared from behind the vines.  The native woman snatched the bananas, and then quickly hid them in her sarong.  Nonchalant and casual finesse marked her movement away from the fence.  She had gotten away with it.  Better than gold or silver; a bunch of beautiful bananas were her’s to enjoy.  Ohhhh, what a reward — even just one banana!

Weakened from balancing and gripping the girder above the door, the condemned woman dropped from her perch to the tiled floor.  Visibly shaking from exhaustion, malnourishment, and insatiable desire, she kneeled down and prayed.  “Lord, I’m not asking You for a whole bunch like that woman has.  I just want one banana.”  In pleading and humbled sincerity, she cried, “Lord, just one banana.” 

(To be continued....)