by Mingmei Yip
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, Camilla. Let me do this. You don’t want to take another chance by showing your face around Shanghai. You know what they say, ‘When you keep going up the mountain, one day you’ll run into a tiger.’ Get some rest and I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
After he left I spent most of my time staring out the window, trying to push my fears about Jinjin—and Baobao—out of my mind. When Jinying finally returned early that afternoon, he told me he’d been much impressed with a detective named Tang. He was the only one with letters of reference from families whose lost children he had located.
It seemed a long shot, but even the thought that we might find Jinjin seemed to brighten up the gloomy hotel room.
30
A Baby’s Many Incarnations
Days passed during which Jinying and I waited anxiously for news. Finally, Detective Tang called and suggested we meet.
We arrived at his office inside a modernized building in the Bund area. In the cramped space, several workers occupied themselves reading, writing, and typing, their desks covered with all sorts of documents, as well as files and newspaper clippings. A big thermos stood on a table by the wall, and tea mugs were everywhere. A young man led us into Tang’s office. Looking at the detective’s scanty hair and horse face, I didn’t feel much hope.
He started out pompously. “Mr. and Mrs. Fang, congratulations! You’re about to hear some very good news!”
Mr. and Mrs. Fang were our latest incarnations, our cover-up identities. Jinying and I looked at each other.
Perhaps realizing our impatience, the detective exclaimed, “I’ve tracked down your son Anton Lewinsky.”
My “husband Mr. Fang” asked excitedly, “So where is he?”
“Ha! This is called yuanzai tianbian jinzai yanqian.” (“At the far edge of heaven, yet right in front of your eyes.”)
Jinying blurted out, “So he’s here in Shanghai, not in America?”
“He’s in the Compassionate Grace Orphanage.”
Jinying and I exclaimed simultaneously, “What?!”
I asked, “How did you find that out, and how are you sure it’s our baby?”
“All right.” The detective shifted some papers on his big, wooden desk, adjusted his glasses, then spoke. “You told me that when Julie Lewinsky passed away, her baby Anton Lewinsky was left at the Sacred Heart Convent. Then the convent let an American missionary couple adopt the baby. After that, you lost track, right?”
We nodded. I felt so tense that I squeezed Jinying’s hand. He patted me with his other one. But from the perspiration gathering on his forehead and temples, I could tell he was as anxious as I was.
The detective smiled proudly. “So I checked records from all the ships to see if an American missionary couple had left for the US with a Chinese baby.
“Of course, I had to pay a lot to see those records, which show, fortunately to you, there was no American family taking home a Chinese baby. That told us that the adoptive parents should still be in Shanghai. So my people used our connection with the American Consulate to check with all the American couples here to find out if any had recently made an adoption. We found three, one adopted a Russian newborn baby boy, another one a Chinese girl, and the remaining one a seven, eight-month-old Chinese boy. So this baby should be Anton Lewinsky you’ve been looking for.”
Jinying and I looked at each other again and this time we screamed.
“Oh, heaven!” Jinying hugged me and planted a kiss on my forehead.
The detective waited patiently for our enthusiasm and public display of affection to cool. Then he took out a cigarette case and held it out to us. “Have one?”
We shook our heads, so he shook one out for himself, lit it with a big Zippo lighter, then with a satisfied expression, blew out a smoke ring. All we could do was wait anxiously for him to get to the point.
He went on. “Unfortunately, the husband was robbed and killed soon after the adoption. I used our agency’s connections and found out where the widow lives and went to see her. I told her that I work for a Buddhist temple, heard of her dire situation, and was there to deliver money and clothes for her and her baby.”
“And she believed you?” I asked.
“Mrs. Fang, you can’t believe how easily people believe. And believe me, it happens all the time. Besides, I did bring money and nice clothes.”
He tapped his lighter on his desk and continued. “She took the money and clothes but refused to let me inside her apartment to see the baby—”
“Then where’s the baby?” both Jinying and I exclaimed.
The detective cast us an annoyed look. “Be patient, Mr. and Mrs. Fang, I was about to tell you.”
Jinying forced a smile. “Please go ahead, Detective.”
“So I said to her, ‘If you’re not comfortable letting me inside your home, next time we can meet outside at a tea house. I’ll also bring more money to pay for the baby’s food.’ However, two days later when we met at the tea house, she didn’t bring the baby—”
I exclaimed, “What? Oh, heaven, what happened?”
“Calm down, Mrs. Fang. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything.”
Detective Tang crushed the cigarette in a metal ashtray, took out another one, lit it, then again blew his annoying smoke rings. I was getting more and more frustrated at his pompous way of speaking and his self-promotion. Was this smoke ritual just to kill time so he could charge more? Or so he could veil the truth?
“All right,” he went on, “she said after her husband died, she couldn’t care for the baby by herself. Without her husband’s salary, her money was running out quickly. So she felt she had no choice but to take the baby to the Compassionate Grace Orphanage, hoping he could be adopted by more suitable parents.”
I asked, “Why didn’t she give the baby back to Sacred Heart?”
“She felt too embarrassed. Since she begged the nuns to let her and her husband adopt even though they were not Catholic. The abbess made an exception and let them adopt him.”
Jinying asked, “Why didn’t the widow’s church give her financial help?”
“Because the church they belong to is a very small one, and they told her they have no money right now.”
I was sorry for the widow, but my concern was not with her, but with finding Jinjin. “So our son is at Compassionate Grace—but how can we tell which baby is ours?”
Jinying chimed in, his voice tense. “Yes, how?”
The detective cast us a disapproving look. “Relax, Mr. and Mrs. Fang, that’s what I’m about to tell you. No problem, the widow told me that she and her husband baptized the baby as ‘Bo Cooper.’”
This was promising, but I was still uncertain. “Does he look like either of us?”
The detective laughed, then coughed several times. “Although I paid the widow, I couldn’t see the baby because she’s already placed him at the orphanage. But I was told that he has a birthmark like a pink crescent moon behind his ear.”
It took a few seconds for this to register. Then, as my heart pounded in my chest, my mouth exploded with a loud, “What???”
Jinying turned to me with a puzzled expression. “What what?”
I muttered to myself, “Can it be?”
“Please explain to me, Camilla.”
Detective Tang stared at me curiously. “Mrs. Fang, you look upset, would you like some tea?”
Jinying put his hand on my arm and asked, “Are you all right?”
But I had momentarily lost the power of speech, thinking:
Oh, heaven! A birthmark like a pink crescent moon behind his ear! This has to be the “Baobao” Peiling has been taking care of! Then Baobao is my baby, Jinjin!
That’s why Peiling calls him Baobao! She said his name was Bao, which she must have mistaken it for Bo. Heaven let me seen my Jinjin three times without knowing he’s my little boy!
And the birthmark. It’s a smiling lips, a capsized boat, and now a pink cr
escent moon!
I said to the detective, “Could you please excuse us for a moment while we get some fresh air?”
“Of course. Take your time. I‘ll just smoke another cigarette while I wait for you.”
We trotted down the stairs and out of the building into the muggy afternoon air. Still, a relief from the endless cigarettes. I had told Jinying about visiting the orphanage, but not what had happened there. Now I blurted it all in a rapid stream of words.
When I’d finished, Jinying eyed me suspiciously. “Camilla, how come you never told me about the baby?”
“How could I have known the baby was our son? Though now I think he does look like you—he has your brows and thick hair. But there are so many babies in the orphanage!”
I could see he was a little angry at me, but I was even more angry at myself. I’d held Jinjin without realizing who he was! Yet, he’d often smiled at me. I wondered if he knew I was his mother.
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.
Needless to say, Jinying and I were exulted to have Jinjin back. To me now he suddenly looked exactly like his father—big eyes, well-shaped brows, thick hair. Since our reunion in the flesh, Jinjin had stopped coming in my dreams to scold me for breaking hearts.
Although I felt happy that my long, dangerous quest for my baby had at last succeeded, I still sensed that something was not right—the nagging feeling, like a bad cold, lingered and stubbornly refused to leave.
When evening came, Jinying again went out and came back with the evening newspapers. As if it was my subconscious seeking it out, this time I found some very disturbing news in a column.
Young Girl Injured in Fall at Orphanage
A twelve-year-old girl, Peiling Li, who is blind and appeared malnourished, fell from the third floor balcony of the Compassionate Grace Orphanage on Joffre Avenue. Miraculously, besides a few bruises, she was not seriously injured. No bones were broken, probably because there was an awning on the floor below.
When reporters asked Director Chen about the girl, she insisted that she has no idea why she fell, but it was probably related to not being able to see. However, other members of the staff said that Peiling missed her deceased family, or perhaps was frightened by the ghost of her little brother. Others said she was a strange child and probably did it just to get attention. But another worker noted that since a baby she cared for had left the orphanage, Peiling had become very depressed.