When Ron breathed in the aroma of freshly baked bread, he almost drowned. “Ve have not been properly introduced,” the doctor said as they sat down around the table. “I am Dr. Hans Greinschaft.” He nodded his head toward his wife and smiled. “And this is my lovely wife, Helena. Ve are Christian missionaries and ve work for the Sviss Medical Society.” The doctor and his wife were small, chubby, cheerful people with hair as white as strands of cloud. They reminded Ron of Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus. The doctor had no beard, but he did sport a thick-as-a-broom white mustache and wire-rimmed spectacles. When they went to check on the young tribal they’d brought into the clinic, Dr. Greinschaft’s assistant said that the boy’s fever had broken during the night. “Ze boy will be fine,” the doctor said. “Tank goodness for antibiotics. He will be unconscious, I tink, for the rest of the day.”
