A Southern Girl (24 page)

“Have you been outside? Your ears are crimson.”

“Soo Yun must be allowed to leave today. I will take full responsibility when I sign her certification this afternoon.”

“If it were that simple,” said Faith, leaning forward, “I would let you. But the call will come to me. What explanation can I give? That I was unaware? That would plainly be false.”

“Tell them you investigated thoroughly. That you consulted the doctor and the child’s nurse. Tell them you relied on my assurance, as you will be for the other matches leaving my ward today.”

Faith sighed, a signal of controlled provocation. “But I have a duty to my agency and to the parents who have agreed to take this baby. You are placing us both in a terrible spot. Why?”

“Because I have a duty to the children on my ward … even the ones who cannot speak.”

“Of course,” agreed Faith. “And you’ve always performed that duty in a professional manner. Which is one reason I’m having so much trouble understanding your judgment where this particular child is concerned.”

I leaned forward, resting my hands on the leading edge of her desk. When I remembered the rash, I returned my hands to my lap. Without
intending it, I lowered my voice as though at risk of being overheard, although we were quite alone. “That is a question I ask myself. The child came to us in the usual way, abandoned at a police station.” I related finding the name pinned to the linen, the mirror, and the subsequent visit from Jong Sim.

Faith nodded in recollection. “You said you thought the mother had changed her mind.”

“Perhaps not changed her mind. Perhaps regrets …” My voice trailed off as my eyes fell to the surface of Faith’s desk. Then, as if remembering my purpose in coming, I resumed. “I do not feel Soo Yun belongs here. She has not done well at the home. Some children adapt better than others. That has been my experience. This child is not content. She needs a mother very much like her own, but one able to care for her always.”

“That’s true for all of the children here.”

“Yes,” I acknowledged. “But Soo Yun now has a family ready to take her, at an age so young she will have no recollection of any other life or family. I do not want to see her lose this chance.”

“And I don’t want to see us lose our reputation, not to mention our jobs.”

“As I said, I am prepared to take full responsibility with your agency. I do this now, perhaps more than you recognize.”

Faith’s face clouded. “What do you mean?”

“Suk Non is one of the seven matches scheduled to leave my ward tonight. His fear of automobiles is extreme. He lost his parents in an accident in which he survived.”

“I know that child,” said Faith. “That accident is in his history. The adopting family knows of it and should be prepared to deal with his fear, which is very natural for one who went through such an ordeal.”

“But they do not know that he feels responsible for their deaths, nor of his fear that any new parents he finds are also likely to die and thus be taken from him. I learn of such fears by talks with the children, but I do not report such things. I learn of so many fears, so many angers, so many distrusts. But I tell no one, as I have told no one for years. If all these things were known, many of these children would be rejected. All parents want perfect children. Soo Yun’s scars are only on the surface, and are of far less consequence than others I could relate to you.”

Faith gazed away. “When you visited recently, I showed you Sohn’s photograph.” Faith extended her arm to the frame, turning it to me. “I was not directly responsible for what happened to that child. A doctor made a very human if perhaps careless mistake. Like this one. But I felt responsible, and I have carried the burden of that sadness for seven years now. I don’t wallow in it; it has not ruined my life for all time, but the thought of the poor Saunders … I feel a little like the taster at a food factory: everything that goes out the door must pass my inspection. A child is not a product, of course, but I owe a duty to those parents. If I advise them of a problem, I have done all I can do. It’s their judgment, and my conscience is clear. But not to tell them, to have them blindsided—”

I shook my head. “Sohn was a child who seemed perfect but was flawed. Soo Yun is the opposite. All of the pain her family will feel will be felt at once, like an immunization. When they have her, they will not let her go. I know it. They will learn almost immediately that what at first appeared serious is nothing. It is such a small price to pay.”

“Whether small or large, you are taking it upon yourself to impose it. That troubles me.”

“It no longer troubles me. The new parents will handle it. If I am mistaken, we are indeed sending her to the wrong family. Besides, those parents are, at this very moment, preparing to receive the child. They must have planned her arrival. They must be traveling to New York. An Alert now can only confuse and mar what will otherwise be an exciting day in their lives. I will dictate a note to accompany her. If you will translate it for me, the parents will be reassured at the same moment they discover the scars.”

Faith stared at me in silence, no doubt thinking of how demanding Americans could be in even the smallest deviations where their expectations were concerned. I understood her fear of repercussions. Perhaps her experience with Sohn had left her scarred, as had her divorce. We all have scars eventually. When she brought her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers, I felt sure she would turn me down, but she said, “I’m warning you now,” from behind the screen of her hands. “When they come looking for scalps—that’s an American expression for big trouble—I’m going to tell them I relied on your judgment and if pressed I’m going to agree with them that your judgment was very bad in not notifying the agency.”

“I understand,” I said. “Thank you. Now, I need to go back to my ward for the remainder of Open House.”

As I predicted, the weather held down attendance. The regulars were present, as always. I saw the Parks shuffling along in their usual pattern, staying a few moments at each cot so as to have sufficient time to visit them all. Conspicuous by absence were the six matches spending their last day at the home. For these children, a special day had been arranged which included a church service at one of the home’s principal sponsors followed by a luncheon and movie. They would return after Open House ended, in time to collect the travel bags on their cots and to say their final farewells to the staff and their friends on the ward. Buses would be waiting in the cold to ferry them to the airport.

I surveyed 3E for prospects. I spied an Army Major and his wife. They were older than most Americans who came in search of children, and not all military couples who attended Open House were in the market for adoptions, so I was uncertain of their purpose. I watched them for a time before approaching them, introducing myself and signaling for the interpreter.

A few exchanges established them as visitors, with children of their own and no interest in acquiring more. But they asked many questions, engaging me on a variety of subjects related to my duties. I found them charming, and had fully immersed myself in the conversation when, over the shoulder of the Major’s wife, I saw, through the plate glass window separating us from the nursery, a sight that stopped me in mid-sentence. Over Soo Yun’s crib stood a woman, her back to me and her features concealed by the bulk of her coat and hat.

The interpreter paused, looking at me expectantly for the completion of my thought. When I said nothing, the interpreter prompted. “You were telling them about the field trips the children take into the countryside.”

“Yes,” I said absently, my eyes fixed on the woman in the nursery. “Field trips.”

I watched as the woman bent over the crib and lifted the child into her arms. She drew back the front fold of her coat as she looked furtively around. It was Jong Sim.

So intently did I now stare at the drama unfolding in the nursery that the collective gaze of the Major, his wife and the interpreter all turned to
follow mine. In that instant I grasped the meaning of Jong Sim’s movements.

“Excuse me,” I said as I brushed by the Major’s wife. I charged through the double doors into the nursery. I came up behind the woman, placed my hand firmly on her shoulder, and spun her around. Jong Sim’s mouth gaped open in surprise.

“You were going to take her,” I rasped, reaching into her coat and pulling Soo Yun to me. The child squawked in protest of rude handling.

“No!” Jong Sim stammered, falling back a step.

“Then why are you concealing her in your coat?”

She looked at Soo Yun, then at me. “I only wanted to feel her against me. My coat is so thick I …” She stopped, staring plaintively. “Please, I only meant to be near her.” Her head dropped, and through the thickness of her coat I could see her shoulders begin to shake.

Still holding Soo Yun, I placed a softer hand on the younger woman’s shoulder, still shaking. “Come with me,” I instructed, and Jong Sim, her head still declined, fell into my wake as I pushed through the nursery doors and entered the hallway leading to my office. I beckoned her inside.

“Hold her while I look for something.” I sorted through folders on the desk. “I am forbidden to show you this,” I said, “but I will do it anyway. You see this picture? This is the American family that has agreed to take her. She leaves tonight.”

Jong Sim took her eyes from the infant long enough to stare at the picture, then up at me. “Thank you. Was there a mirror with her at Jongam? It was my mother’s and now hers.”

“I packed it in her travel bag. I will send a note with her explaining the mirror, as you sent a note to me introducing her. It will comfort her as she grows older.”

Jong Sim looked down and managed a smile. The child, fully alert, returned her stare with infant curiosity. She gathered her child to her chest, and I assumed she kissed her, but at that moment I turned away, unable to look.

That day, that hour, with the mother clasping the child and the photo of the Carter family resting face-up on the desk, is unlike any I experienced in my many years at the home. No other mother came back for her child. Not one.

15

Elizabeth

We flew to New York, and if I die tomorrow that day will rank among the most memorable of my life, because you cannot imagine the drama of all those children coming off a plane into new families, a new country, new lives. I get emotional just thinking about it, and that afternoon at Kennedy Airport the combination of nerves, anticipation and wonder threatened to overwhelm me. Coleman was just as anxious, I think, but he hid it better by flirting with the flight attendants and cracking jokes, like asking me if, when she grew older, she might apply to RuCLA for college. I can’t believe I actually laughed at that, but stress affects us all differently.

We landed at La Guardia and took a cab to Kennedy, where a representative of Open Arms convened a briefing on do’s and dont’s. She spoke from a portable dais, an older woman who reminded me of photographs I’d seen of Margaret Mead. “Please do not cry,” she instructed, “as Korean culture does not associate tears with happiness, so if you cry the children will think you are disappointed or sad.”

Coleman couldn’t resist another joke. “Great,” he whispered in my ear. “You’ve been crying since we left New Hampton,” which was not literally true, although the excitement of it all did cause me to dab my eyes a few times. I asked him to please shut up so I could listen.

“We want you to stay in touch with the agency as your child grows up,” continued the representative. “Send us pictures or notices of special events in your child’s life.”

I looked around at the faces of those who, like us, were about to be matched with a stranger, a “pig in a poke,” as Sarah put it, and I thought about the fact that regardless of who stepped off the plane, the lives of every person present for the briefing, and every orphan currently nearing the airspace over Columbus, Ohio on Northwest Orient Flight 451, would be altered beyond recall in the next two hours, and for a lifetime thereafter. Talk about pressure.

The briefing ended at 5:00, leaving a whole, endless forty-five minutes until arrival. The greeting families gathered in a special reception area set aside by the airline. Clusters of parents, children and grandparents huddled together at the fringes. We mingled in the crowd, finding ourselves at one point standing next to a young couple who gazed about with the uneasiness of two people who wanted to talk but were too shy to introduce themselves. I introduced myself to the man.