Loe raamatut: «A Long Way from Home: Part 1 of 3»

Chapter One

Lana

Although the children weren’t babies, they appeared as helpless as the day they were born. Dressed only in nappies and ragged T-shirts, they were sitting or lying on the hard floors, or incarcerated in their cots. Their large eyes stared out blankly from emaciated faces. Some children were obviously disabled, others not, but all were badly undernourished and clearly developmentally delayed. The four rooms in the orphanage were hot and airless in the middle of summer. Flies circled around the broken ceiling fans and buzzed against the grids covering the windows. The only toys in any of the rooms were a few balls and a handful of building bricks, but no child played with them. And the silence was deafening and unnatural. Not one of the thirty or so infants cried, let alone spoke.

‘This nice one,’ the care worker said in broken English, pausing at a cot containing a Down’s syndrome boy. ‘He no give you trouble.’

Elaine looked with renewed horror at the child rocking back and forth in the cot. A few wisps of fair hair covered his otherwise bald head, open sores bled on his lips and his face was so pale it was doubtful he had ever felt the sunlight. He stared blankly into the distance. Elaine went to speak to him but the care worker was already moving briskly to the next cot. ‘Or this one,’ she said, tapping the metal bars of the cot and ignoring the fact that the child had been sick.

Elaine fought back tears and looked to her husband to say something.

Ian cleared his throat. The care worker – a large, brusque woman – seemed to be in charge. He didn’t know what role she played and didn’t want to upset her and risk their chance of a child. ‘I’m sorry, we don’t understand,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘We were supposed to adopt a particular child. She’s called Lana. We have a photograph of her here in our paperwork.’ He went to unclip his briefcase.

The care worker tapped his arm. ‘No. No. Lana, that baby dead. You choose another baby. We have plenty.’

Elaine’s hand shot to her mouth. ‘Dead? When?’ she cried.

‘We weren’t told,’ Ian said.

The care worker shrugged. ‘You on plane.’

‘She died yesterday?’ Elaine asked, horrified.

‘Maybe too late to tell you. You choose another baby. Plenty. Over here.’ She led the way to another cot on the far side of the room.

‘I want to go,’ Elaine said, taking Ian’s arm.

‘We are leaving,’ he said to the care worker, who was waiting for them by the cot.

‘You come here and see baby. Talk to it.’

‘No!’ Elaine cried.

‘You no want baby?’ the care worker asked, a mixture of incredulity and impatience.

‘Not like this,’ Ian said. ‘We came here for Lana and you tell us she is dead. We are very upset.’

‘But you can choose another baby,’ she said, as though they were in the wrong.

‘No,’ Ian said firmly. ‘We can’t.’

‘Suit yourself,’ she said, clearly offended. Leaving the cot, she headed out of the room and towards the main door, a bunch of keys jangling at her hip. They followed. ‘Lots of other parents come here and take our babies,’ she snapped.

‘But not us,’ Ian said, annoyed.

They waited while she unlocked the door. Ian hung back as Elaine stepped outside. ‘Where’s the doctor we’ve been dealing with?’ he asked. ‘He was supposed to meet us here.’

The care worker shrugged, either not understanding or refusing to answer.

‘Dr Ciobanu,’ Ian tried again. ‘We spoke to him on the phone. Is he here?’

She shook her head. ‘You go now. I’m busy.’

‘You tell him we came?’ he said, but she pushed at his arm, signalling for him to leave.

Ian and Elaine stepped outside and the large metal door clanged shut behind them. A lone child screamed from inside.

Elaine burst into tears and Ian put his arm around her. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she sobbed. ‘All this time, working towards the adoption, and that heartless woman tells us our baby is dead.’ Although they’d never met little Lana, they’d felt a bond with her ever since they’d first received her details and photograph, and considered her their daughter. This was supposed to have been the final stage in the adoption process that had begun nearly two years before and had included a detailed social worker’s report, references, medicals, and endless form filling and expectation. Today they should have met Lana for the first time, given the doctor their paperwork and signed the forms for court. And while they waited for the court hearing they would have visited Lana each day, loving her more and more. But that had all come to an abrupt and distressing end. Their baby had died.

Ian gently guided his wife to the taxi they had waiting.

‘No baby?’ the taxi driver asked, seeing their faces as they got into the back.

‘No. The baby died,’ Ian replied, his voice shaking with emotion.

‘Oh dear. It happens in this country,’ the driver said matter-of-factly. ‘Many babies die here.’

Ian nodded as Elaine wiped her eyes. They knew about the high infant mortality rate and the shocking conditions in some of the state-run orphanages that had contributed to their decision to adopt from this country.

The driver glanced at them in the rear-view mirror, started the car and pulled away. ‘I find you a healthy baby,’ he said. ‘My cousin knows a lady who finds couples babies. You no worry. She find one for you, and she very cheap.’

‘That’s kind of you, but no thank you,’ Ian said politely. They’d been warned about these types of arrangements by other couples who had adopted from this country. There were many parents on the internet who were happy to share their experiences of international adoption to help others. While not always illegal, these private adoptions were fraught with problems, and money was demanded at each stage of the process. Yet ironically they’d followed the correct procedure and look where it had got them!

‘You think about it,’ the driver said. ‘I give you my telephone number when we stop.’

‘OK,’ Ian said, without the strength to protest.

The air conditioning in the reception of their three-star hotel was a welcome relief after the heat outside. Ian and Elaine, desperate to be alone, caught the lift straight up to their room on the third floor. The maid had been in and everything was clean and tidy and the bed made. It was such a stark contrast to the poverty outside that Elaine felt a familiar stab of guilt.

‘I don’t think we’re meant to have children,’ she said, utterly defeated and sitting on the bed.

Ian sighed and poured himself a glass of water from the flask that was refreshed daily. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, as dejected as his wife. ‘I expected to face some hurdles, most of those we’ve been talking to who adopted from here did, but I never imagined this. To arrive and be told our child is dead, and then be shown other children, is heartless beyond belief.’

‘Do you think what she’s doing is legal?’ Elaine asked.

‘Who knows?’

‘Those poor children. She kept calling them babies but they weren’t. Some of them could have been six or seven, and most of them were disabled.’

‘I suppose they are the ones no one wants to adopt,’ Ian said sadly. ‘That care worker probably thought as Lana had died we’d be desperate and grateful for any child.’