Slovene Sunday - The Time I Stabbed Two Guys

A somewhat sequel to the previous story.

*****

A year and a half later I was living in Maribor for the second time. I had been all over the country by now, living in Ljubljana, Kranj, Celje. I'd been homeless for two months, I'd seen 30 baptisms. I'd made friends with all my fellow missionaries, and knew members who I liked, and who liked me in many cities. I'd been through the very first McDonald's walk-thru, and visited a weird old woman in a nursing home for over two months, I'd been to a wedding and two funerals, and leaped off one train in Zidani Most with two large suitcases in my hands and five smaller bags around my neck and within 30 seconds carried all of my possessions by myself underground and up again, and leaped onto my connecting train just as it started moving.

I'd obtained and discarded a paralyzing fear of dogs, and though I didn't realize it, I'd already had my final dog attack experience. I'd irritated Jehovah's Witnesses by asking for extra copies of their literature, and irritated 7th day adventists by talking so much about nothing without taking a breath. I'd been underground in a cave, danced a jig on the Alps, and I'd crossed all four of Slovenija's borders, some on purpose, and some accidentally. I was the only person Jasmina would talk to, and the only person Mandy refused to talk to. I had been to 18 Missionary conferences and spoken at most of them, and I had enjoyed or endured about 70 district meetings. I had been interviewed on television, and also for the paper. I had been to more castles than I ever thought possible for my lifetime.

I'd spoken to drunks, and old people, college students and expatriates. By NOT speaking I caused one girl to become interested in the church and eventually join. I'd claimed over intercoms to be selling honey, and also to be a woman so people would let us into the building. I knew where all the best bookstores were, and which ones had the items I routinely needed (as they were not all equal). I had been about four blocks away from President Clinton when he visited Ljubljana but I didn't care, and I'd brought a plate of brownies to the very cheerful woman who worked in the photolab behind Nama because I wanted her to know I appreciated what she did. I felt like I was home.

It was July of 2000, and a preparation day, so we missionaries weren't out working, but in, resting a bit. We were supposed to be doing chores, but my current companion was of the mind that chores should be done every evening anyway, so we had some time on our hands. The other two elders were over at our place, and we were probably eating lunch and writing letters to our parents.

The phone rang and I answered it. It was Sister Hubbard from the mission office, calling for my companion Elder Wettstein; he would be going home in a month and she needed to go over some scheduling things with him since his mother was coming to pick him up. They talked for a while, and I continued to write my letters and talk to Elders Pierce and Baldwin at the kitchen table. After a few minutes Elder Wettstein said that Sister Hubbard wanted to speak to me again, and I went over to the phone. Sister Hubbard handed the phone off to her husband Elder Hubbard, and he said hello in his very genial way. "Elder Young, I've got some information for you," he said in his British accent. "We've got your scheduled release date now." I protested that I didn't want to know it, and if he never said it out loud than I wouldn't have to leave, would I?

"Sorry elder," he said. "I wish it worked that way."

"Can't you tell me later, please, when it's closer to the actual time?"

"Best if I tell you now, and get it over with," he replied, and told me I would be leaving Slovenija on December 20th, six months later.

I was subdued somewhat after getting off the phone, and when the other elders asked me what was wrong, I told them I had been told my death date - that's what we called a missionary's date of departure, and for me it felt every bit as ominous as knowing the actual date I would cease to live. "When is it?" Elders Baldwin and Pierce asked, delightedly. I didn't want to say, but they soon got it out of me, I shared so I could get some sympathy.

But no, they began to laugh, and have fun. If I weren't so sensitive I could probably have laughed along with them, but I wasn't in any mood to think about it. It was six months away - I still had LOTS to do as a missionary. Elder Wettstein knew how I felt about it, and told the other two to lay off me, but they didn't. They just kept going on and on about leaving and singing Christmas songs. Elder Wettstein warned them again, and I warned them, in the strongest way I knew how. "If you don't shut up," I said, "I will stick this pen in you both!" and I waved the pen I was writing home with. Ooh, threatening.

They went quiet, and we all went back to our letters. Then, after a few minutes Elder Pierce looked up and burst into song, "I'll Be Home For Christmas!!" Elder Baldwin joined in, "You Can Count On Me!" They laughed.

With a blank expression on my face I rose from my chair, walked over to Elder Baldwin clutching my pen, raised it and jammed the point into the back of his hand. "Ow!" he yelled, and Elder Pierce went to block me. With one swift motion I pulled the pen out of Elder Baldwin's hand and stabbed it into Elder Pierce's forearm, and yanked it out again. I returned to my chair, and looked at them, both frozen in disbelief, bleeding.

"I warned you, didn't I?" I said.

"That's right, he did," said Elder Wettstein.

By now Slovenia was my home - getting me out would involve a fight.