Where is the Baby? (6 page)

Connie saw that the staff had had the wits to leave a night light burning, and as she approached the bed she saw that the child was curled up facing the door, wide awake.

Slipping into the chair next to the bed, Connie said, ‘Hi, sweetie.'

‘I thought you wasn't coming, Miss Connie.'

‘If I say I'm going to do something, I always do it. Okay?'

‘Okay.'

‘I thought you'd be asleep by now.'

‘I don't like it here. Too many strange noises, and it's so big in here.'

‘It is a pretty big room,' Connie agreed, looking around the room that was barely large enough to contain the bed, chair and bedside stand.

‘You smell like cigrets, Miss Connie.'

‘I was at a party, taking pictures. A lot of people were smoking. The smoke got into my clothes and my hair. I'm sorry.'

‘You don't smoke cigrets, Miss Connie?'

‘Now and then I'll have one but, no, not really.'

‘You drink beer?'

‘God, no! It's disgusting,' Connie said truthfully. ‘It tastes like a mistake, as if they meant to make something else but got it wrong.'

‘That's funny,' the child said, without the trace of a smile.

‘I have an idea,' Connie said, opening the package. ‘Why don't I read to you until you fall asleep?'

‘Read what?'

‘A story. I brought some story books for you. This' – she held up an oversized volume – ‘was one of my favorite books when I was little. It's called
The Stories of Beatrix Potter
. Since you have a bunny there, I thought we'd do
The Tale of Peter Rabbit
. Would you like me to read to you?'

‘Okay.'

Connie turned on the bedside light and pulled it over toward her, positioning it so the light didn't fall into the child's eyes. ‘I'll show you the pictures when I come to them,' she said, then began. ‘“Once upon a time . . .”'

‘Rabbits have names, Miss Connie?' Humaby asked after a minute or so.

‘Well, some children give their toys names. But these are pretend rabbits. The lady who wrote the stories and painted the pictures gave all the animals names. These are very special stories, from a long, long time ago.'

Confused, Humaby said, ‘Oh. Okay.'

Connie continued reading.

‘The rabbits live in trees and they talk?' Humaby asked after another minute.

Connie smiled. ‘Only in stories. In stories, anything can happen. This one is about a mother and her children who happen to be rabbits.'

‘So in stories animals pretend to be people?'

‘In a way,' Connie answered. ‘It's about pretending, really. Shall I continue reading?'

‘Okay.'

‘Are you sure? I don't want to make you too confused.'

‘I've never heard a story before, but I think I like it.'

‘All right. I'll go on.' She paused a moment, then picked up where she'd left off.

Captivated, the child listened intently, now and then lifting her bunny to take a closer look at it, as if expecting it to start moving or speaking. She managed to stay awake to the end of the story, her eyelids at last slowly closing.

Moving quietly, Connie turned off the light. Leaving the three books she'd brought on the bedside table, she tenderly adjusted the covers over the girl, then tiptoed away.

Driving home, she felt better.

When Humaby awakened in the morning she didn't know where she was. She had to look around, remembering all the things that had happened. Sitting up, she rubbed at the bandages on the insides of her elbows. She was itchy underneath, and itchy under the bandage on her stomach, too. Her bottom still hurt but not as badly as before.

A new white lady – a nurse – came in, saw her, and said, ‘Don't do that, cupcake. If you're itchy, it means you're healing, you're getting better.' She put a glass stick in Humaby's mouth, then held her wrist and looked out the window for a while. Then she said, ‘Good,' and took the glass stick and looked at it, before writing something down. ‘Hungry?' she asked with a smile.

‘Yes, Miss.'

‘Need to use the potty?'

‘What's a potty?

‘The toilet. Do you need to go?'

‘Yes, please, Miss.'

The nurse lifted her down off the high bed, then took her by the hand to a room by the door that had a toilet and a sink and behind a curtain was a standing-up place for washing in.

‘Can you manage by yourself?'

‘Yes, Miss.'

‘Good. If you have any trouble, just pull this string. Okay?'

‘What'll happen if I do that?'

‘One of us will come back and help you.'

‘Oh!'

After helping Humaby back into the bed, the nurse went away. Right after that a blue lady came with food on a tray and left it on the table with wheels that fit all the way across the bed. Humaby was hungry but nobody said she could touch the tray, so she sat and waited for someone to come say she could eat. She waited a very long time, her stomach making noises.

When the nurse came back, she said, ‘I thought you were hungry.'

‘I am, but nobody said I could eat.'

‘Oh, cupcake, you don't need permission. It's probably cold now.' She lifted the lid off the plate with a sad look on her face.

‘That's okay. I can eat cold.' Humaby picked up the spoon and started eating the scrambled eggs and toast.

The nurse leaned against the window sill, watching for a while, then she said, ‘We're going to find you some clothes to wear, and maybe fix your hair, cut it some so it looks better. How would that be?'

‘Cut with a razor?' Humaby asked worriedly.

‘Scissors,' the nurse said. ‘Do you know what they are?'

Humaby shook her head.

‘Scissors are a tool. We use them to cut all kinds of things, not just hair. Paper and cloth, lots of things.'

‘They don't hurt?'

‘Not at all.'

‘Okay.' Humaby put down the spoon, picked up the glass of apple juice with both hands, tasted the juice, then drank it all. ‘What's this?' she asked, touching the bowl on the tray with the tip of her finger.

‘Oatmeal cereal.' Pushing away from the window, the nurse sprinkled some sugar in the bowl, opened the milk container and poured it into the bowl too. ‘It's good. Try it.'

Humaby took a bite, chewed experimentally, and decided she liked it.

‘Told you it was good,' the nurse said, as Humaby began spooning the cereal into her mouth. ‘I'll be back in a couple of minutes. Eat as much as you like.'

‘'Kay,' Humaby said, around a mouthful of soft sweet oatmeal.

When the nurse came back, she taught Humaby how to brush her teeth, watching with interest as Humaby switched the brush to her left hand. Then the nurse washed Humaby's face and hands, being careful of the hand with the bandaged cut, and dried her with a towel, saying, ‘It's still early. Want to watch TV for a while?'

Remembering what Mr Brian had told her, Humaby said, ‘
Sesame Street
, '
Lectric Company
,
Mister Rogers
?'

‘Those shows don't come on until later. How about some cartoons?

Humaby shrugged. ‘What's a ka-toon?'

The nurse turned on the set, then used a little black thing to go through the channels until she stopped, and said, ‘This is a cartoon.'

A skinny rabbit was chewing on an orange stick and talking to a little man with no hair. It didn't make sense. But the nurse seemed happy, so Humaby sat with the bear and the bunny on her lap and watched intently, trying to figure out what was going on.

Everything felt strange: the underwear, the dress, the shoes and socks, even her hair, which she kept touching. It was very short and when the nurse put her in front of the mirror, saying, ‘See! You look great!' Humaby thought maybe she was a boy-girl after all, because her hair looked the same as the hair on all the men she'd ever seen.

Her feet felt as if they'd been put in narrow little packages and tied up tight. And even though the nurses said the dress was pretty, and she said, ‘Thank you,' so they wouldn't be mad, it felt stiff and uncomfortable. She'd never had on so many things at one time and she couldn't move right. All the bandaged parts of her were itching and she wanted to rub them but was afraid the nurse ladies would get mad. So she kept her fingers curled into her palms and tried not to think about it.

After a long, long time sitting in the chair by the bed, trying to watch the cartoons but not liking them, an old lady who had on regular clothes came and said, ‘Come with me, dear,' and held out her hand. Not knowing what else to do, and afraid, Humaby took the lady's hand and they started walking. The dress and the shoes made noise and the underpants felt funny on her bottom.

They went down a big long hall that had lots of doors – some open, some closed. Voices came out of the ceiling, white ladies and men in white coats were hurrying here and there, and sad people were crying in the hallway. She'd never seen big people cry before and kept looking back at them.

They walked far and her feet hurt from the shoes. At the end of the hall, the lady pushed open some big doors and they were in another hallway. There were no more voices coming from the ceiling here, and lots more doors, but a different kind. At last, the lady opened one of the doors and said, ‘Here we are,' and took her inside.

There was carpet on the floor, little tiny chairs and tables, and a big bright red wooden box of toys. ‘Just wait here now,' the lady said. ‘The doctor will be in shortly,' and she went away, closing the door.

Really scared now, Humaby studied the little chairs for a time, then turned and looked at the great big mirror on the wall where she could see a picture of herself like the one in the room with the bed where she slept. She walked over and pointed. The mirror-girl pointed back. ‘That's me,' she said and the mirror-girl said it, too. Forgetting, she scratched at the bandage on her arm. So did the mirror-girl. She wasn't supposed to do that. ‘Not s'posed to scratch,' she told the mirror-girl. And they both stopped.

The dress had a great big bottom. If she held each side of it in her hands she could lift it way up. Like wings. Birds had wings. Wolf told her that one time, not even getting pissed off the way he usually did when she asked questions. ‘Those're birds. They can fly 'cuz they got wings. The wings flap up 'n' down and that's how they get up in the air and zoom around.'

‘Maybe I'm a bird-girl,' she told the mirror. ‘I got wings. You do, too.' She lifted the sides of the dress one more time, then let them drop and looked around again, wondering what this place was. She'd never seen a room like this before, or tiny chairs and tables. She went back to the middle of the room, curled her fingers into her palms so she wouldn't scratch, and waited, looking down at the horrible shoes. Brown with a strap and a buckle. Too tight. She wriggled her toes but they were trapped and hardly moved at all. She sniffed several times. She could still smell the hair soap. She kept sniffing. The nice way she smelled kept her from getting really scared. She looked around the room, wondering if maybe today she was going to see the baby.

Behind the two-way mirror were Brian and his captain, Jim Garvey; Dr Stefan Lazarus, the surprisingly young-looking child psychiatrist who'd been brought in by Margery Briggs, the rigid, unfriendly social worker from DCF, and two cameramen. One film was for the department, the other was for Dr Lazarus. This child's case was so unique that both the police and Dr Lazarus wanted the interview documented. The police believed it would have evidentiary value. Lazarus thought the film would allow him to pick up later on things he might not notice in the course of the interview.

He was anxious to take advantage of such a unique opportunity. Very few abducted children ever came under therapeutic scrutiny and he considered himself highly fortunate to have an opportunity to meet a stolen child.

Watching the girl, he felt very confident and was making mental notes, already working up his evaluation: dissociation, if her interaction with her mirror image was anything to go by, a level of fear that was off the charts, and yet a certain whimsy in her play with the skirt and her talk of wings. He thought this was going to be a relatively simple summation with some interesting particulars which, with luck, could find its way into one of the journals. He didn't foresee any problems evaluating her, and it could very possibly lead to his first professional publication.

Captain Garvey murmured, ‘Cute kid,' and Brian said, ‘Yeah.' He didn't want to talk. Watching her cut at him like repeated jabs from a scalpel: quick, sharp slices of pain; starbursts of shock that made him dizzy. Given an unguarded minute he'd tuck her under his arm and ferry her away to his home. He and Jan would get her out of those clothes that so obviously made her uncomfortable, stick her in some shorts and a top, soft moccasins maybe, or a pair of sneakers. Let her run through the sprinkler with Lucia, feed her up while all the injuries healed, teach her how to laugh, help her get past her fear. He longed to rescue her.

‘Okay,' Stefan Lazarus said, startling Brian out of his imaginings. ‘Time for me to get in there.'

He made it sound as if getting in there was a chore, and Brian wanted to beg the guy to go easy. But he was a doctor, a headshrinker who specialized in kids; he had to know his stuff. He didn't throw off a smartass vibe, he just seemed like a decent, kind of overly uptight academic type. Brian watched him leave the room, then he turned again to the mirror, anxiety bringing back the knots in his stomach.

Instead of his usual gray flannels and navy blazer, shirt and tie, Stefan had intentionally dressed down for the occasion in jeans, an open-necked button-down long-sleeved shirt, and loafers. He wanted to appear as non-threatening as possible. As his hand reached toward the doorknob, he was excited by the challenge and suddenly deeply apprehensive. The apprehension was unexpected. The calm demeanor he'd perfected in the course of his schooling tended to ease the often anxious children with whom he'd worked during his training; he was confident of that. But this child was presenting with problems and behaviors far beyond his experience. He doubted, in fact, if more than a handful of people anywhere had ever worked with a child whose circumstances were even remotely like this one's. He wanted to believe that he could help her; he also couldn't stop thinking about the paper he might be able to present on her case and the acclaim it would bring him.