The Half-Child

by Angela Savage

  A six- to twelve-month wait to adopt a baby seemed like nothing compared to what they’d been through, but it was less than three months since they’d received the photo of the then seven-month-old baby boy who’d been chosen for them. Alicia already thought of him as Jesse.

  ‘You’re not gettin’ cold feet are you?’ Leroy said.

  ‘No, of course not,’ she said. ‘It’s just I want him so much, it scares me. I couldn’t bear it if anything went wrong.’

  ‘How could anything go wrong?’ Leroy said. ‘We’ve done all the right things, honey. We’ve just had a lucky break is all. And after all we’ve been through, ain’t it time we got lucky?’

  ‘It isn’t about luck, my love,’ Alicia said. ‘We prayed for this and at last our prayers have been answered.’

  She fingered the ruby-studded crucifix on the chain around her neck, a tenth wedding anniversary gift from her husband.

  ‘God wants us to have this baby.’

  ‘Of course he does,’ Leroy said, kissing her again on the top of her head. ‘Now, you want to start packing while I get on the phone to the travel agent?’

  13

  For Jayne the appeal of staying in a hotel was to have a coffee and the daily newspaper delivered before she even got out of bed. So it came as a double blow to find the coffee at the Bayview undrinkable and the newspaper not one of the national dailies but the weekly Pattaya Mail. Being the kind to read the side of a cereal packet if nothing else was available, she gave it her full attention. Amidst the advertisements for skin whitening and tightening, cosmetic dental surgery, real estate investment opportunities and steakhouses, she found an article about the body of a sixteen-year-old prostitute found in a laneway in Central Pattaya. The girl had recently given birth. Though there was no sign of the baby, theory was she’d abandoned it at the City Hospital where a newborn baby girl was found the previous day.

  ‘This is the third case of its kind in the past year in which the death of a young woman has coincided with the abandonment of a newborn,’ she read. ‘Findings of suicide were reached in both previous cases. Is Pattaya facing an epidemic of pregnant teenagers abandoning their babies and dying for shame and lack of medical care?’

  Jayne thought of Frank Harding preaching about working girls and their babies. Would he believe it was in the best interests of the child for the mother to abandon her baby and die? She wasn’t game to ask.

  Jayne was met at the gate of the centre by a woman in a nurse’s uniform. She was a head shorter than Jayne with a body like a pigeon, high bust and round belly tapering to narrow hips and thin legs. Her hair was styled in a matronly bun, though judging by her complexion Jayne guessed she was less than forty.

  ‘I’m Sister Constance,’ she said, holding out a limp hand, ‘though you can call me Connie. Mister Frank asked me to show you around and brief you on your responsibilities.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Jayne began. ‘So where are you from?’

  ‘Hong Kong,’ Connie said. ‘Please save any other questions till the end.’

  She turned on the heel of her white sandshoe expecting Jayne to follow.

  ‘The New Life Children’s Centre was established in 1981,’ Connie said, as if addressing a group tour. ‘The orphanage has facilities for forty children. The ratio of carers to children is one to five, not counting volunteers.

  This is one of the highest staff-child ratios in Thailand.’

  She gestured towards a couple of buildings Jayne had not been inside on her tour with Frank. ‘The clinic is staffed by nurses and a doctor.’

  ‘Is that where you work?’ Jayne said.

  Connie frowned. ‘I work as a nurse-midwife at City Hospital, and when I’m not on duty there, I work here in the new mothers’ clinic. The centre also has access to a specialist medical practitioner. The children receive routine vaccinations and are tested for HIV and hepatitis as a pre-adoption requirement.’

  Jayne couldn’t help herself. ‘What’s the other building?’

  ‘Laundry,’ Connie snapped, continuing along the path.

  ‘This is the main part of the orphanage.’

  She opened the door. There was little of the activity Jayne had seen in the playroom the previous day. A toddler wandered around with one sock on his foot, the other on his hand. A slightly older child lay on her stomach in the reading corner leafing through a picture book.

  ‘They must still be finishing breakfast,’ Connie said.

  She led Jayne through the door to where an eating area fronted on to a galley kitchen. The children sat on plastic mats on the floor eating rice porridge, the older ones feeding themselves, the babies being fed by the Thai staff and a couple of volunteers Jayne recognised from the previous day.

  She waved a collective greeting.

  ‘We have about thirty children here at the moment, all of whom have been allocated to adoptive parents, except the newest, Nok. She only came to us two days ago. Most of their mothers—’ Connie swept her hand over the children ‘—were probably prostitutes. The fathers?—Who knows.

  Europeans, Americans, Australians. Men who come here as sex tourists—’ she lowered her voice as if to protect the children ‘—and fiercely deny paternity when confronted with the aftermath of their holiday.’

  There was an edge to Connie’s voice: she took this stuff personally. ‘I mean, look at little Phet there.’ She gestured at a toddler with straight, auburn hair, almond-shaped eyes and a splash of freckles across his nose. ‘You can’t tell me his father was Thai.’

  Jayne shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  ‘Now it’s time we got you across your work. Mister Frank thought given your background and your passion was the word he used, you’d be willing to assist the staff and volunteers with personal care of the children, at least for the first week or two, while we think about assigning you a one-on-one.’

  ‘Personal care?’ Jayne asked.

  ‘Yes, you know, bathing, toileting, changing nappies— or do you call them diapers in Australia?’

  ‘Nappies,’ Jayne mumbled.

  Connie glanced at her watch. ‘You’re going to have to excuse me. If you have any questions, Dang here has the best English.’

  She nodded at a Thai woman in a pale blue uniform, who smiled as she spooned rice porridge into the mouth of the baby on her lap.

  ‘But—’ Jayne began to protest.

  ‘Yes?’ Connie said.

  There was no point.

  ‘I finish at five, right?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Connie said, already halfway out the door. ‘You can work out your break times with the other volunteers while the children are sleeping.’

  Jayne forced a smile and squatted down on her haunches so she was eye level with the crowd in the kitchen. ‘I’m Jayne from Australia.’

  ‘Hilde from Germany.’ The older woman from the previous day. ‘And my little Nesthäkchen—’ she cuddled the boy on her lap ‘—is Kai, soon to be Rolfe.’

  ‘Nesthäkchen?’

  ‘It means the baby who is much younger than the one before in the family,’ the student type said. ‘Sweet, isn’t it.

  I’m Dianne, by the way. Also from Australia. You came through yesterday, right?’

  Jayne nodded.

  ‘And this is Sin,’ Dianne said, patting the girl next to her.

  ‘Short for Cinderella.’

  ‘Is that what her adoptive parents call her?’

  ‘No,’ Dianne laughed. ‘Sin’s her Thai name. Her adoptive parents think it’s so cute, they’re going to keep it. Kind of.

  She’ll be Cynthia.’

  ‘And you?’ Jayne raised her eyebrows to the Thai staff, most of whom giggled and looked away.

  ‘My name Dang,’ said the woman in blue stepping forward and giving her a wai.

  ‘Connie says you’re going to help out with personal care,’ Dianne piped up. ‘That’s such a relief ’cause Marion— she’s the English lady—hates changing nappies. Thinks she’s goin
g to get cholera or something. And Hilde here gets a rash from the liquid soap we use to disinfect our hands.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got Sin potty trained, haven’t I?’ she said to the little girl.

  Just my luck, Jayne thought. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Where do I start?’

  ‘This one needs changing.’

  Hilde thrust a small baby of indeterminate gender towards Jayne. She took the baby and rose awkwardly to her feet.

  ‘Through that door,’ Dianne said. ‘Perhaps you could bring back some damp cloths to clean up the kids as they finish breakfast?’

  Jayne made her way to a small room marked ‘Diaper change’. On the shelves she found disposable nappies, wash–cloths and anti-rash powder. Though she hadn’t changed a nappy since babysitting in her teens, it turned out to be like riding a bike. Within minutes she’d removed the dirty nappy, lobbed it into the bin, wiped and dusted what turned out to be his crotch, and fastened the clean nappy into place. The baby gurgled as she washed her hands.

  She picked him up again and headed back to the kitchen, pleased with her success, but the bubble burst when she found Hilde had lined up another two.

  ‘Did you remember the face cloths?’ Dianne said.

  ‘I’ll bring them back next time,’ Jayne said, taking one of the infants from Hilde.

  ‘I’ll get one of the Thai staff to help you,’ Dianne said.

  ‘Pee tam ngan kup khun Jayne, dai mai?’

  It translated as ‘Older sister, can you work with Jayne?’

  A little clumsy, but not a bad effort.

  ‘You speak Thai,’ Jayne said.

  ‘Not nearly as much as I’d like.’ Dianne waved her hand.

  ‘You should hurry. That baby your holding has a…leakage problem.’

  Jayne looked down. Shit was seeping out from under the baby’s nappy on to her wrist. She held the child away from her body and made a dash for the change room.

  She made the same trek seven more times until all the babies’ nappies were changed, faces wiped and hands washed.

  ‘Done,’ she said, handing the last of them back to Dang.

  ‘Now we’d better start on the potty trained ones,’ Dianne said. ‘One of the Thai staff will help you.’

  It dawned on Jayne that she’d volunteered to spend entire days, maybe weeks, caring for small children. And she’d chosen this because she thought cleaning or gardening would be too much like hard work. She must have been out of her mind.

  By ten o’clock she was exhausted. A couple of other volunteers had joined Hilde and Dianne—Marion, a forty-something Brit, and James the Bible storyteller from Korea— to entertain the children in the playroom, and Jayne seized the chance to take a break. She sat down out of sight in the kitchen. Her handbag hung from a hook on the back of the door and she stared at it, wondering where she could get a decent cup of coffee to team with her first cigarette of the day.

  ‘Time to get snack ready,’ said Dang, shuffling into the room in plastic sandals. ‘Then we do laundry.’

  Jayne struggled to keep her expression neutral.

  ‘Laundry?’

  ‘We wash sheets, towels and clothes. Then we make bottles and lunch. Connie explain, yes?’

  Jayne shook her head, now desperate for a smoke. ‘Guess she wanted to surprise me,’ she muttered, the sarcasm lost on Dang, who gestured towards the change room.

  ‘Come, I show you Jayne. After you do trash a few times, you not notice bad smell anymore.’

  14

  It was nearing three in the morning when Mayuree descended from the songthaew at the corner of her street. It had been a long night, she was exhausted. The backstreets of Naklua were dark. She walked as quickly as her high heels and sore feet allowed. The wad of cash in her bag felt like deadweight. She was carrying her usual fortnightly salary plus two months’ pay in advance to invest in shares of a company she’d had her eye on. If her hunch was right, she’d make enough to repay the debt to her boss with interest and still make a killing.

  She was anxious to get home and regretted not having sprung for a motorcycle taxi. An engine noise behind her slowed as it drew closer and she turned in the hope of coming across a driver who would take her to her door. To her dismay, it was a cop. He sped up, swerved to block her path, shut off the engine and dismounted.

  He put his keys in the chest pocket of a brown shirt so tight it threatened to tear, removed his white helmet and placed it on the motorcycle seat. The moonlight revealed the face of a man in his early twenties with the pout of a spoiled child. The beginning of jowls and a paunch suggested his physical peak had been but a small bump on the downhill road to excess. Even his fingers were turning to fat.

  Before Mayuree could make out the name on his badge, he unclipped it and added it to the bulging shirt pocket.

  ‘What’s a nice girl like you doing walking the dark streets of Pattaya at this time of night?’ he said. ‘Show me your papers, nong.’

  He addressed her as ‘younger sister’ as a mark of disrespect; she clearly had several years on him.

  Mayuree dipped into her bag in search of her identification, but the cop snatched it from her.

  ‘Allow me,’ he said, turning his back.

  Mayuree held her breath. It wasn’t unheard of for police to plant drugs in such situations, especially if they’d had a quiet week and needed a bust to impress the boss.

  ‘Ah hah.’

  Mayuree froze.

  ‘What’s this I’ve found?’ he said, holding the wad of cash, the ticket to freedom for herself and her baby.

  ‘That’s my salary.’

  ‘I see.’ He flipped through the bundle of baht notes.

  ‘Nice work if you can get it. I don’t even earn that much in a month.’

  ‘I—It’s not what I earn in a month,’ she said. ‘I got an advance.’

  ‘Really?’ the cop said with exaggerated interest. ‘That’s a good story, but I don’t believe it and I have a better one. I think you derived this income from illegal activities.’

  ‘Sir, no—’

  ‘Everyone knows good Thai girls don’t walk around this late at night carrying large amounts of cash. Whereas a borikan thang phet would—’

  ‘I’m not a sex worker,’ she pleaded. ‘I work in a beer bar.’

  ‘—and according to the Anti-Prostitution Law of 1960,’ the cop continued, ignoring the interjection, ‘those who practise sex work are liable to a fine or jail term.’ He shook his head. ‘The Governor has ordered the police to crack down on such illegal behaviour. You’re going to have to accompany me to the station.’

  ‘But my boss can vouch for me.’

  The cop pursed his lips. ‘You wouldn’t really want to bring your boss into this, would you? You wouldn’t want to put him in the position of going up against the word of an officer of the Royal Thai Police Force. I mean, I saw you take that money from a rich farang.’

  Mayuree’s heart sank. ‘Please don’t do this.’

  ‘And of course I’ll have to confiscate the money,’ he said, tossing it back and forth from one hand to the other.

  ‘Evidence.’

  ‘No, no, no.’

  ‘What’s that? You’re not trying to resist arrest are you?

  Don’t want to make things worse for yourself?’

  Mayuree bowed her head. ‘No sir.’

  ‘I didn’t think so.’

  He stopped tossing the money, pinched her by the chin and raised her face to his. ‘You know, you’re not bad looking.’

  Tears welled up in the back of her throat, she swallowed hard to keep them at bay. Too late she realised Wen was right about the crackdown.

  ‘Isn’t there some way we could avoid a trip to the station?’ she murmured.

  The cop leered and reached into his back pocket. ‘Good thing I happen to be carrying these, chai mai?’

  He dangled a strip of condoms in her face.

  Mayure
e suppressed a shudder and forced a smile as the cop handed back her tote bag and gestured to a dark alleyway. She took a deep breath and walked off ahead of him, swaying her hips, conscious of his eyes on her arse.

  She couldn’t afford to think of herself or Kob or the money. Nothing must distract her from her prime objective: to make the dog-fucking son of a bitch cop come so quickly he wouldn’t know what hit him till it was over.

  She’d deal with everything else later.

  15

  Jayne had barely enough energy to stop and eat on her way home from work before collapsing into bed at the unprecedented hour of nine o’clock and sleeping until her alarm went off at six-thirty the next morning. Her upper arms hurt and there was a dull pain her in lower back, the result of the previous day’s lifting, carrying and bending over change tables. She was in half a mind to phone in sick, but pride wouldn’t let her. She was convinced Frank had given her a shit job—literally—if not as a test then as a reward for her apparent piety. She had to live up to the role he’d given her if she was to ingratiate herself enough to learn more about Maryanne.

  She allowed herself time for a breakfast of noodle soup and two cups of coffee at a street-side café, and then paused to savour a cigarette on her way to the centre. She’d cut down since meeting Rajiv, and smoking in the morning made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl. But if the previous day was anything to go by, she’d be hard-pressed to fit in a cigarette break before quitting time and she couldn’t survive that long without nicotine.

  At the centre, the children were finishing breakfast.

  Hilde and Dianne were already playing with their charges.

  Jayne hung up her bag and knew without being told to start on what she privately coined ‘poo patrol’, checking each baby’s nappy in turn and lining them up to be changed.