The First Excellence: Fa-Ling's Map

by Donna Carrick

  In light of the manner of Wu Tang’s death, Wang was able to guess why his wife had been taken.

  “She was accused of following the teachings of Master Li Hongzhi,” he said. “Falun Gong is not a religion. Gui-Jing did nothing against the law.”

  “You are in for a terrible shock,” Shopei said. “Your wife has been injured. Are you prepared to see her?”

  “Yes,” Yong-qi said. “I am ready.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Cynthia led the group into the crowded restaurant. She did not understand why the adopting couples would want to eat anyplace other than at the hotel. The Golden Lion was a five-star establishment. Its dining facilities were far superior to anything that was available to the average Chinese citizen.

  In his excitement over receiving a new baby boy, Chris Brahn announced he would like to experience some ‘local colour’. The others agreed, so Cynthia was forced to come up with a restaurant that would live up to their Western standards of quality, while at the same time offering them a taste of the exotic.

  This was Cynthia’s first ‘adoption tour’, though she would never admit her lack of experience to the foreigners. The position of Official Guide for the China Centre of Adoption Affairs was one that was much coveted. Only the most educated, most qualified, and — let’s face it — most physically attractive applicants were given the honour of representing China to the hordes of foreigners who came every month to adopt the seemingly endless supply of baby girls.

  Cynthia had been embarrassed the previous night over the ‘blue pen’ incident. It had not occurred to her the Canadians would use blue ink to complete official government documents. How could she have known? Such a thing was unheard of in China.

  She would have to be careful not to make any more mistakes. She did not want the group to give her an unfavourable report. The one thing of value she had learned during her two years spent as a hospital laundress was that she never wanted to go back. She still could not believe her good fortune. From among two thousand applicants in the three Southern provinces, she alone had been chosen as a guide.

  Imagine! She didn’t even have a relative in the Ministry.

  She studied the group as they entered the restaurant, anxious to mimic their mannerisms. She had heard terrible stories of Western rudeness from her fellow-guides, but so far she had not encountered any real unpleasantness from the Canadians. They spoke amongst themselves happily, including her in their conversation.

  “Do we prefer one large table, or two smaller ones?” Eloise Golluck said.

  “I think one large one,” Joseph answered. “Let’s share the moment.” The others nodded in agreement.

  “If anyone has dietary restrictions,” Cynthia said, “it is best to let me know now and I will speak with the maitre-d’. Shellfish and nuts are common ingredients in most local dishes.”

  “Anyone have any allergies?” Chris Brahn asked. “No? Ok, then, I suggest we let Cynthia know the kind of food we all like, and she can order for us.”

  Fa-ling scanned the faces of the happy parents as the dishes began to arrive one after another. The five hungry babies looked as though they had never seen so much food. They gorged on meat and fish, ignoring the baby bottles of formula their new mothers had thoughtfully packed for them.

  “Congee is coming for the little ones,” Cynthia said. Two waitresses brought five bowls of starchy water, the thin rice soup that was the basis of many local dishes. It was also commonly used as the first food for babies, introducing their bodies to carbohydrates.

  Chris and Yvanna’s son Daniel peered expectantly into the tiny white bowl, trying to stick his face into the liquid for a taste. Yvanna lifted the dish to his mouth and he drank some, but immediately spit it out and pushed the bowl away, reaching instead for a piece of chicken in bean sauce.

  “No congee for this guy,” Chris said. “He knows what he wants.”

  Yvanna laughed and spooned another piece of chicken onto Daniel’s plate.

  No doubt, Fa-ling thought, the poor little guy has had enough congee to last a lifetime.

  It was amazing to Fa-ling how this group of parents was in fact such a perfect cross-section of Canadian society. Facing an identical situation, each couple reacted to the circumstances in their own unique way.

  Of course, everyone was polite. She was proud of the way they treated their guide, Cynthia, with respect. After all, that was one of the typical hallmarks of being ‘Canadian’, to display courtesy among strangers.

  Still, looking around the table, the personality of each new parent came to bear on his reaction to the babies. Yvanna Brahn bristled with enthusiasm, joyfully introducing baby Daniel to each of the little girls. Chris beamed with pride, letting his wife take charge of the boy and enjoying her pleasure.

  Adrian and Ting-lo were obviously happy, but they remained subdued. They spoke to each other in whispers, taking turns holding Anna and carefully wiping her fingers as she reached for yet another handful of fish.

  The Kitcheners were kept busy with their three children. The two older girls laughed and argued with each other, vying for their baby sister’s attention.

  Eloise and Joseph Golluck kept the mood light with their bright good humour. Joseph spent a portion of the evening eating his meal with baby Meiju perched on his shoulders. The little girl laughed each time he handed her something good to eat. He ended up with as much food in his hair as Meiju managed to swallow, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  The Kaders kept up their part of the conversation, though it appeared to be a struggle for them. Guy stepped into the role of mother, holding baby Mei Mei on his lap throughout the meal. Paula helped with the food and drinks, but was distracted. She kept looking at the door, as if she had someplace else to be.

  Cynthia was shocked at the easy way they handled their babies, passing them around from couple to couple and not even taking care to cover the bare legs of the girls against the chill of the air conditioner. Such a thing would be frowned upon in her community. Chinese parents were notorious fuss-pots who kept their youngsters strapped in strollers, never allowing their limbs to be exposed to the open air.

  Despite signs of malnutrition, the babies were much healthier than Fa-ling had expected. It seemed as though the poverty of the Guangxi Autonomous Region had worked in their favour, forcing the under-funded orphanages to push the babies out into foster care at seven months. Even poor foster care was usually better than what was offered in the institutions.

  What surprised Fa-ling most was the ease with which the adults became ‘parents’ in a meaningful sense of the word. Only a few short hours ago, four of the couples had been childless. None of the couples had ever adopted before now, and they had no idea what to expect. Still, they instinctively held their babies against the warmth of their own bodies, filling their bellies and wiping their faces.

  The experience was astonishing for Fa-ling. It elevated her understanding of the parent-child relationship, placing it in a light she had never before considered.

  Reflecting on her childhood, she realised she had wasted too much time trapped in insecurity, doubting the devotion of her parents. It wasn’t their love she mistrusted, but her own worthiness. No matter what she achieved, she always had the sense it wasn’t enough, that she was somehow falling short of her own ideals.

  Now, for the first time, she could sit back as an uninvolved witness to life. The affection that flowed from parent to child wove its tendrils among the dishes and the napkins in a web that was almost visible. These babies had done nothing to earn such devotion. They didn’t have to.

  It was the nature of the relationship, this outpouring of unconditional love.

  Fa-ling resolved to call her mother as soon as they got back to the hotel, and also to have another talk with Daphne. It was time to stop mincing words with her sister. Daphne needed to get past whatever was bothering her and learn to appreciate what she had been given.

  **

  At 9:00 p.m. the restaurant erupted
into a general cyclone of noise and activity, as dishes were cleared and tables put right in preparation for the live theatre. A Master of Ceremonies bounded onto the stage, greeting the audience in a strange Chinese falsetto. His act must have been popular, because it was met with raucous laughter, especially from a large table in the corner where a group of twelve young military men were filling up on beer and whitefish.

  Fa-ling had trouble following the MC’s rapid Cantonese. She caught a few words, but his humour was composed largely of social satire that was meaningless to her. She watched the audience giggle and cheer, until the MC announced in a serious baritone that the dancers were ready to begin.

  The dancing girls were young and pretty, their faces filled with anxiety over the quality of their performances. Their costumes were delicate but modest, the colourful fabrics flowing around them in graceful billows as they moved around the stage.

  Fa-ling wondered what hardships, what hopes and dreams, had led these girls to this restaurant to dance with springtime innocence for a crowd of often leering fools. Joseph rose from the table, camera in hand, to get a better view of the dancers for his shots. Pulling her own digital camera from her bag, Fa-ling followed him past tables to the centre of the room. She took more than a dozen photos, knowing Daphne would enjoy them.

  After each number, the girls ran backstage to change their clothes. Between the dance numbers, the audience was treated to a variety show including a comic, a couple of solo singers, and strangely enough an art auction. The entire evening was a throwback to the vaudeville days in early twentieth-century America.

  At last the theatre was over. The table-staff came one more time to clear away the glasses and bottles. Cynthia stood.

  “Steve is waiting for us in the parking lot,” she said. “We need to settle the bill.”

  Cynthia used her calculator to determine the amount owed by each couple. They paid the maitre-d’ and stepped out into the warm night air.

  Adrian Harlan and Caroline Kitchener had both gone in search of washrooms, so the others waited for them outside the main entrance, making small talk and watching the other patrons stream into the street. Eloise was holding Yvanna and Chris’s son, Daniel, thrilled at the sensation of his little hand pulling at her colourful beaded necklace. Yvanna turned to Ting-lo, who was struggling to lift Anna while trying to stuff three toys and a baby bottle into her bag.

  “Let me hold her,” Yvanna said, putting her arms out to take Ting-lo’s baby girl.

  “Thank you.” Ting-lo passed Anna into the other woman’s arms.

  “Anna is beautiful,” Yvanna said. “I don’t mean in the way all babies are beautiful, if you know what I mean. Look at her eyes and the curve of her jaw. She’s only a baby, and her face already has a quality that is different from the others.”

  “Thank you,” Ting-lo said, feeling a sudden rush of pride. “Adrian and I can’t believe how pretty she is. It’s amazing just to look at her.”

  “If you ever consider getting her into advertising,” Yvanna said, “please let me know. I have some contacts. I might be able to help.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

  Yvanna placed Anna in the stroller while Ting-lo struggled with her new baby paraphernalia. She turned away, knowing Ting-lo would fasten Anna’s safety strap once she finished organising her supplies.

  Yvanna reached out to touch Chris on the shoulder.

  Suddenly Ting-lo’s voice punctured the air.

  “Somebody stop them! They’ve got my baby!”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Fa-ling raced after the kidnappers. Ting-lo followed, kicking off her high heels and dropping her diaper bag onto the sidewalk.

  In the darkness it was hard to make out their faces. The one holding Anna was probably a man. His accomplice was smaller, but still tall enough to make it difficult to determine gender.

  Fa-ling pushed her way past a family. She had nearly caught up with the pair when she tripped over a stone on the sidewalk.

  She managed to right herself, but lost precious seconds.

  The kidnappers stopped suddenly near a bicycle rack. The tall one strapped Anna into a child seat and mounted his bicycle. He paused for a moment under the light of a neon sign while his partner mounted. They rode away, their bikes carrying them out of sight and beyond Fa-ling’s reach.

  Fa-ling kept running until all hope was lost before sputtering to a halt more than three blocks away from the restaurant. Seconds later Ting-lo was beside her, followed by Joseph Golluck and Guy Kader.

  “What the hell just happened?” Joseph said.

  “They took my baby!” Ting-lo gasped.

  Fa-ling put her arm around Ting-lo awkwardly, trying to comfort the frantic woman.

  “I got a good look at one of them,” she said. “Don’t worry. We’ll get Anna back.

  It was midnight by the time the police arrived. A crowd had gathered outside of the restaurant, taking in the spectacle of the Westerners being questioned through their guide. Cynthia’s English was exceptional, making her the perfect interpreter under the circumstances.

  Behind her smooth composure, though, she was struggling with anxieties of her own. This was her first assignment as an adoption guide. The situation was unthinkable — a child had been abducted from right under her nose! She was certain to be punished. After what had happened, she would be lucky to find herself back in the hospital laundry room stirring sheets in a scalding vat of bleach. More than likely she would be transferred to someplace far less pleasant.

  Cynthia listened carefully to every word spoken by the policemen, translating questions and answers meticulously. If any harm came to the child, she would never forgive herself. She glanced at the Harlan woman. Ting-lo was weeping quietly on her husband’s shoulder.

  Cynthia wondered whether Ting-lo had been deliberately targeted, as the only Chinese mother from among a group of Caucasian parents. If so it was a cruel act and one that made Cynthia feel deeply ashamed. She would do whatever she could to help Ting-lo and Adrian get their baby back and not just for the sake of salvaging what she could of her own career.

  Fa-ling tried to reach Detective Wang Yong-qi at the station, but the night clerk informed her Wang and his burly partner Cheng had both unexpectedly booked two weeks of last-minute vacation. She also called Wang’s cell number, but he must have turned his phone off, because it rang only once before being directed to his voicemail.

  Fa-ling bit her lip as the young officers grilled her, determined not to lose her patience at the irrelevance of their questions. She answered as clearly as she could, trying not to notice they were no older than she was. They had trouble with her Western accent and made her repeat her answers several times. They listened, made copious notes, and then followed up with questions that made it clear they hadn’t understood a word she’d said.

  Cynthia came to her aid, repeating Fa-ling’s answers for the police.

  “Do you have a sketch artist?” Fa-ling asked.

  “If you will come to the station,” he replied, “we can have someone draw a picture of the criminal.”

  “Absolutely not,” Cynthia said in English. “Fa-ling, I am responsible for you. You are not to go with these men. If they want a sketch, they must bring an artist to the hotel. They can arrange it through me, and I’ll be there when they question you.”

  “I should be all right at the station,” Fa-ling said. “I have my papers with me.” She secretly wanted to see the station, to gain an insight into the environment where Detective Wang spent his time. The more she thought about him, the more certain she was he had been interested in her. She regretted not giving him an opening.

  “Don’t be naïve,” Cynthia said. “Your Canadian citizenship means nothing to these men. If you were white, they would treat you with respect. You are Chinese. They will take pleasure in letting you know you are at their mercy. The only way to keep an upper hand is to make them come to you. In the hotel it will be clear to them you are a foreign
er. They will be afraid to mistreat you.”

  Cynthia repeated her request in Cantonese to the police. “Li Fa-ling is in my care,” she said. “I am not allowed to let her leave this group. If you will bring an artist to the Golden Lion Hotel, we will be happy to wait for you in the lobby. Ask for the concierge, Heng-ri. He will join us.”

  “Very well,” the youngest officer said, closing his notebook. “My partner will accompany you back to the hotel. I will drive by the station and pick up the sketch artist.”

  “In that case,” Cynthia said, “I will get everyone onto the bus.” She turned to the group and switched back to English.

  “Everyone,” she said, “please come with me. There is nothing more we can do from here. Fa-ling has seen the man who took Anna. She will give a description to the police at the hotel. We need to clear the sidewalk now and get everyone safely to their rooms.”

  The parents soberly clutched their youngsters and began to follow Cynthia. Guy stood on the restaurant steps holding baby Mei Mei.

  “Where is Paula?” Fa-ling asked.

  “She went to the washroom,” Guy said. “She should be back in a moment.”

  “She went in there ten minutes ago,” Eloise said. “I hope the food didn’t disagree with her.”

  “Please,” Cynthia said, “we have to hurry.”

  “I’ll go see if Paula’s all right,” Eloise said.

  She rushed into the restaurant, returning a moment later with a confused look on her face.

  “She isn’t in the ladies’ room,” she said.

  Just then Paula came through the restaurant door. Her face was the palest of whites under the lights of the awning.

  “Are you ok?” Guy asked.

  “Hm-m?” Paula looked as if she was surprised to see him.

  “I asked if you were all right. You’ve been gone a long time.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m ok. Just had to use the washroom.”

  “I hope the food didn’t upset your stomach,” Eloise said.