The Long Night
By Verna P. Stutzman
"Hey, this picture is perfect for the story I’m doing tomorrow." I held up the picture for Robert to see. I was preparing my lesson for the next day’s reading class in the community school. Fifty eager children were learning to read in their own language for the very first time.
Robert and I were volunteer workers with the Summer Institute of Linguistics (2). Stationed in the remote mountain village of Sopu (3) in Papua New Guinea, our main work was Bible translation. Included in that assignment were countless tasks, such as the cultural study of the village people, the linguistic analysis of their language, and literacy - teaching them to read in their mother tongue language.
"Honey! Don’t you like this picture?" I turned to see why Robert wasn’t responding to my question, but he wasn’t there. Just then I heard a noise at the front door. I watched, as Robert opened the door. Two gunmen shoved guns in his face and said, "Hands up."
Robert grabbed one of the gun barrels and began pushing on the door. I rushed to his side, yelling, "In the Name of Jesus, you have to leave." I grabbed the other gun barrel and began pushing with all my might. Neither Robert nor I knew that a third man lurked in the shadows with a machete.
This tug-of-war lasted for only a few minutes but seemed to go on forever. Robert and I were alternately in the house and out on the veranda. I felt a blow to the side of my head that almost threw me to the ground. Then I heard Robert scream, "Help! Will someone please come help us." The quality of his voice was so eerie that I lost my nerve.
Back inside, again we pushed on the door to get it closed. A shotgun blast ripped through the air. I heard the shot raining down on the plywood kitchen floor. Robert screamed, "Oh! My God! I’ve been shot!"
Suddenly, Robert noticed the throw rug crumpled up in the doorway, keeping the door from closing. He motioned to me to remove the rug. I thought, "If I expose myself in the open doorway, they’ll shoot me for sure." Screwing up my courage, I made a dash for the doorway, snatching up the rug. Robert and I breathed a sigh of relief as we finally got the door closed and locked.
The 12-volt solar powered kitchen light cast dim shadows as I looked around in relief. Then I saw it. Blood. There was blood everywhere! Where was it coming from? At the same time, Robert began to moan in pain. I took one look at his shoulder and almost fainted. There was a gash about six inches long and two inches deep. The bone was sticking out, blood spewing everywhere.
"Quick, lie down," I ordered as I dragged out a foam mattress. I helped Robert lie down and then I dashed to our two-way radio. The two-way radio was our only means of communication, connecting us to the outside world. Sopu had neither roads, telephones, nor electricity.
"Break, break! Break, break! This is 24 Bravo Zulu. Do you copy?" I paused to listen. What if there was no one attending the radio at this hour?
"Breaker go ahead. This is 72 Charlie Uniform standing by."
"We’ve been attacked by gunmen and Robert is badly wounded." I sobbed as I began to realize the enormity of our predicament. It was 7:30 at night and no one would be able to come to our rescue until morning. There were no medical facilities in Sopu and no police protection. At the back of my mind was a nagging thought, "What if the gunmen decide to come back and finish the job they started? We have no weapons for self-defense."
72 Charlie Uniform was the radio code name for Ukarumpa, the headquarters of the Summer Institute of Linguistics in Papua New Guinea. Loren Baughman, the fifth grade teacher was having a scheduled visit with his students in their various remote locations. He tried to calm me. "I’ll call the director and the doctor to come to the radio to talk with you. Just hang on."
"Okay, but hurry." My voice edged with panic.
A minute later, his voice came back. "The telephone line is busy. I’ll have to drive to their houses. I’ll just be a few minutes."
I rushed back to Robert’s side, then to the bathroom to get supplies, then back to Robert, then back to the bathroom. "I just can’t think clearly. What do I need to do?" I groaned to myself. I filled a bucket with water, thinking that I’d have to wash up the blood. I tied a tourniquet around Robert’s elbow.
Finally, I heard the director’s voice on the radio. "Tell me what happened."
I explained the whole story. Then Dr. Helen spoke. "First of all check Robert’s pulse."
I tried and then reported, "His pulse is too erratic to count. I can’t get a reading."
"You’ll have to apply constant pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding."
"On the wound? Oh, no." I groaned. "I put the tourniquet around his elbow, but it’s supposed to be up on the wound?" I quickly removed the incorrect tourniquet.
"Make sure that Robert gets plenty of water with sugar in it to prevent dehydration from such severe blood loss."
"We’re completely out of sugar." I lamented.
"Then mix salt in the water."
"You won’t believe this, but we’re out of salt as well. We’re expecting our supply flight tomorrow morning."
"Well, just make sure that he gets plenty of water. And keep constant pressure on the wound until the bleeding stops. You can do it," Dr. Helen urged.
"What happens if the bleeding doesn’t stop?" I inquired. Somehow I felt that Dr. Helen dodged my question as she informed me that they would be standing by during the night in case I needed help. "We’ll be in Sopu at first light," she promised.
I fought the urge to go lie down myself. I had to figure out a way to put constant pressure on the wound.
*********
In Ukarumpa that night, the news of what had happened to Robert and Verna in Sopu, spread quickly as the telephone emergency system clicked into operation. At Townsend Children’s Home (4), Jason Stutzman, fifteen-year-old son of Robert and Verna took the news calmly. He had visited his parents in Sopu many times and had seen the violent nature of the people. He was not surprised. He prayed, "Dear God, don’t let my dad die."
His younger brother, Jeremy was not at home when the news came, so Tom, the house parent, drove to the Teen Center (5), where he was playing soccer. Jeremy was afraid that his dad might not live through the night. He muttered, "Wish my mom and dad had a gun, so they could shoot those gunmen."
Laurinda, Verna’s best friend, tossed and turned all night. She remembered what Verna had shared with her, just before they had left Ukarumpa for Sopu this last time. Verna had confessed her fear about going to Sopu again.
"The violence in that area has increased so much," Verna trembled. Reluctantly she had told Laurinda about a dream several months earlier. "Two men came to our house in Sopu and shot at us and one of us died, but I woke up before I knew which one of us died." Laurinda shuddered as she remembered Verna’s dream and thought about her friend battling for her husband’s life.
Throughout the Ukarumpa community that night, many prayed for Robert and Verna and their sons. There was nothing else anyone could do, but pray and wait for dawn. At night, it was impossible to land a plane in Sopu.
*********
In Sopu, I was struggling with putting pressure on the wound. The gash was in such an awkward place. I tried one way and then another way, but the blood just continued to trickle down Robert’s arm. I made sure that he drank plenty of water and I gave him some pain pills every few hours. Nonetheless, Robert alternately paled deathly white or shook with great spasms. "Are you going to die?" I fearfully asked him.
But Robert’s voice rang strong and clear, "No way. Those gunmen can’t kill me!" During that long night I read some scripture verses out loud and we prayed together, "God, please don’t let this situation be wasted. Save the men who attacked us and please make the bleeding stop."
In desperation to stop the bleeding, I finally lay down beside Robert. I propped up my aching jaw with my right arm. With my left arm, I pulled his shoulder against my chest to put pressure on the wound. I lay absolutely still in this position for several hours. During those long hours I thought about the first time I had heard about Bible translation. I was ten years old when a Wycliffe representative had come to my church and talked about people who did not have a Bible in their language. That thought was inconceivable to me. I thought, "When I grow up I will translate the Bible for people who have no Bible." Here we were just on the verge of beginning to translate the scriptures and now this. What would it mean for the future of Bible translation for these people?
Finally after six hours of continual bleeding, I noticed that the bleeding had stopped. I sent up a prayer of thanksgiving and breathed. "Maybe now I can get some rest."
*********
At 4 am, Dick Miller, the pilot, Sigmond Evenson, the director of the Institute, and Dr. Helen boarded the airport van in Ukarumpa for the bumpy ride out to the hangar. As Dick was preparing the single engine Cessna aircraft for the flight, Dr. Helen was still grappling with the decision that had kept her awake all night. Should she make arrangements to have Robert airlifted to Cairns, Australia, for medical help? Or were the medical facilities sufficient at the General Hospital in Port Moresby, capitol of Papua New Guinea? Much would depend on Robert’s condition when they arrived in Sopu after the eighty-minute flight.
*********
At seven o’clock in the morning, I flipped on the two-way radio. A few minutes later the radio begin to crackle. Suddenly it burst into life, "24 Bravo Zulu, this is Sierra Romeo. We’ll be landing in Sopu in fifteen minutes." I wept for joy. The long night was finally over.
A few minutes later, I threw open the door to Dr. Helen, Sigmond, and Dick, gasping the words, "Welcome here."
Dr. Helen immediately knelt down to examine Robert. She gave him a shot that put him to sleep for the rest of the day. "Robert has lost between a liter and two liters of blood. In my estimation, Verna, you saved his life," Dr. Helen reassured me. "But we’re going to have to fly him to the General Hospital in Port Moresby for surgery. The front and side deltoid muscles have been completely severed and the rear deltoid muscle partially severed. Also, the ball of the humerus bone is cracked and will need to be wired together."
Hastily, Dick prepared a stretcher for Robert. As the village men carried him to the plane, I assured the people that we’d be back. Amid hurried good-byes, I boarded the plane. As I settled into my seat and fastened my seatbelt, I wiped the tears from my eyes. The long night was finally over. God had answered my prayer. He had stopped the bleeding. Now I was among friends and I could relax. Everything was going to be all right I thought as the plane lifted into the air.
*********
Back in Ukarumpa, everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the news came over the telephone emergency system that Robert was going to be all right. "Thank you God, for sparing my parents’ lives," Jason prayed.
Epilogue
After surgery in the Port Moresby hospital, Robert underwent several months of physiotherapy to regain use of his left arm. Today Robert has use of his arm, but frequently experiences pain if he over-exerts it with heavy lifting. Robert and Verna stayed in Papua New Guinea for another four years helping the Lou people of Manus Province in Bible translation work and as consultants to their co-workers.
Today Robert and Verna serve with Wycliffe Bible Translators at the International Linguistics Center in Dallas, Texas. Robert works in the International Translation Department preparing Exegetical Helps. These tools are included in the Translator’s Workplace, a CD ROM which contains translation aids, exegetical resources, several versions of the Bible, Greek and Hebrew Lexicons, and many other resources.
Verna works with Wycliffe Counseling Ministries. She counsels missionaries and missionary applicants.;
Footnotes:
1 This incident happened June 5, 1991. 2 Wycliffe Bible Translators is the home country organization which seconds its members to field organizations incorporated under the Summer Institute of Linguistics. 3 Sopu is a village in Central Province, inhabited by people of the Tauade language group. 4 It is customary for missionary kids to live in children’s homes near their school, when their parents are working in remote villages. 5 The Teen Center is a recreational facility for missionary kids at Ukarumpa.