Then Jinying’s angry expression was replaced by a broad smile. “Oh, heaven, can it really be true that we will see our baby soon?”
“Hadn’t you told me we must have faith that heaven has kept Jinjin alive for us somewhere?”
The detective’s job was to find Jinjin, but not to get him back for us. So I paid him handsomely, without questioning his claims for expenses—money he’d paid to people in the American Consulate and to the missionary’s widow. With relief, we thanked him and left his musty office. Even though he’d signed a contract promising confidentiality, I was still worried that he’d leak this, but I supposed he wouldn’t out of fear it would hurt his business.
Back in the hotel, Jinying asked, “What are we going to do now, Camilla?”
“I’ll go to Compassionate Grace to get Jinjin and sneak out with him.”
“But, how could you… don’t you think it’s better that we visit the director and tell her the truth. Then ask her to give us back our baby?”
“Jinying, you think those people there care about the truth? Besides, how can we prove to her Jinjin is really our baby? And, believe me, stealing is a lot faster and easier than dealing with the orphanage officials.”
Ignoring what I said, he went on. “We can prove that Jinjin is ours by telling them about the birthmark.”
“Jinying, many people have birthmarks. And I can’t show Director Chen the written records from Sacred Heart Convent about it, because I took them. True, I left some of the file there, but there’s no telling whether Jinjin’s birthmark was recorded. Besides, I can’t prove I’m the mother, and even if I could, it would be too dangerous for us to reveal who we are. “
“Maybe you’re right. You did grow up there.” Jinying was silent for a few moments, then he asked, “Camilla, how can we be sure that this Bo Cooper is really our Jinjin?”
I was his mother. I knew. “It has to be.”
He thought more, then asked, “Camilla, what if you get caught?”
I chuckled inside. Had he forgotten my skills in stealth? However, stealing a baby would be a first for me.
I’d thought I was through with Compassionate Grace Orphanage forever, yet when night came I found myself once again looking at the gloomy structure on Joffre Avenue. I was wearing dark clothes and sneakers, so I hoped I would not be noticed as I crossed the broad lawn. I avoided the large front entrance, which I assumed would have a night worker keeping watch, and opened the rarely used backdoor with my master key.
As quietly as possible, I climbed up the stairs to the third floor where the small babies were kept. There was an amah at a desk in the hallway, but she was fast asleep, snoring away, perhaps dreaming of her next big bowl of fish-ball soup. She did not stir as I tiptoed past her and used a small flashlight to look at the face of each baby in turn. Finally, I spotted Jinjin and verified his identity by gently turning his neck to reveal his birthmark—smiling lips, or a pink crescent moon. But definitely not a capsized boat. Tears wetted my cheeks. In his mere eight months in this world he had experienced four incarnations—as Lung Jinjin, Anton Lewinsky, Bo Copper, and Baobao. Now I hoped he would have a long incarnation with his real name of Jinjin.
I took out the small blanket I’d brought, wrapped his little body in it, and walked toward the exit. Just then, Jinjin woke up. In a second, his usual cheerful expression was replaced by loud crying. Worse, it seemed that his pink lips now really looked like a capsized boat.
“Shhh…” I cooed, rocking him gently in my arms. Then I put my little finger into his mouth. As I passed the amah I noticed a distinct odor of gin, so I doubted she would wake up anytime soon.
To my great relief, the crying stopped. But his frightened expression pulled at my heart. Just then I heard footsteps approaching. I immediately stooped down and hid myself behind a nearby trashcan, my finger still inside Jinjin’s mouth. The shadow moved forward, seemingly cautiously. In the near-dark I could make out a face and hear the beginning of a scream, cut short by the hand clamping over the mouth.
It was Peiling, groping in Jinjin’s empty crib.
She whispered anxiously, “Where are you, Baobao? Who stole you? In my sleep I heard you cry, so I came to check on you. But now you’re gone! Maybe forever? How am I going to live without you?”
Heart pounding, I held my breath till she finally bumped her way out of the room, sobbing softly. After making sure she was gone, I hurried out of the room, down the stairs, and out the back door into the dark.
For the rest of the night, Jinying and I did nothing but fuss over our son—kissing, cuddling, feeding, tickling, admiring him. We finally fell asleep, only to be awakened by Jinjin’s crying, so Jinying went out to buy milk and baby food and rushed back with it. Jinjin quieted down as soon as I put the bottle in his mouth; then he fell asleep, so I placed him in the middle of the bed. Jinying went out again to shop for the necessary stuff for babies—diapers, nursing bottle, pacifier, plastic basin for baths, and whatever else I could think of. I knew a little about babies from my experience growing up with them in the orphanage, but it was quite different now that the baby was my own.
That evening we anxiously skimmed through all the major newspapers. To my great relief, there was nothing about a missing baby. I wondered if this was because nobody noticed or that they didn’t care. Probably some of both. They would be happy to have one less mouth to feed. Likely they never reported to the police out of fear of attracting reporters who might publish embarrassing articles about conditions in the establishment.
I kept turning to study Jinjin’s face and even counted his fingers and toes over and over. However, instead of feeling ecstatic, a strange sadness rose up inside me. Something was nagging at my awareness, but I could not tell what.
Jinying was busy planning our son’s future. “Camilla, we’ll send him to the best school in Hong Kong. And when he turns eighteen, he’ll study at Harvard, just like me.”
I chuckled. “Jinying, but Jinjin is only eight months old, he can only babble now.”
“Camilla, it never hurts to plan. I also want a girl, just as pretty and talented as you. You’ll teach her singing, and I’ll give her piano lessons. We can send her to study at the prestigious Juilliard School of music in New York. Do you know about this place?”
“Madame Lewinsky told me about it.”
“Julliard is where all the famous musicians studied. After our daughter graduates, she’ll be a famous musician, either singing or performing on the piano at Carnegie Hall.”
This time I laughed out loud. This was one of the reasons I liked Jinying—his naïveté and idealism. In comparison, I was worldly and cynical. Maybe that was why we were destined to be together—so we could complement each other. I was too practical to plan for a daughter who was yet to be born.
I touched my lover’s face. “Jinying, what about—assuming we’re really going to have a daughter—if she doesn’t want to be a musician? What about if she wants to be a lawyer like you? Haven’t you ever thought of that?”
Jinying, now cooing Jinjin in his arms, looked rather horrified. “Then I won’t let her.”
“Jinying, you’re bitter that your father forced you to study law, so why would you force your interest onto your daughter, assuming she’s really going to be born?”
He thought for a while. “Maybe you’re right, Camilla. All right, then her old father will let her study whatever she wants. But definitely not spying like her mother.”
We laughed.
I felt a surge of warmth and love spreading inside me. After all the suffering, I finally had a family. It was like I was being taken out of a nightmare and put inside a dream. I studied Jinying’s kind, loving face, then my sound-asleep baby’s peaceful one. From now on I’d try my best to raise him, give him the best, and protect him from all evils. He’d have a life completely different from his mother’s—protected, nurtured, and much loved.