Although the children weren’t babies, they appeared as helpless as the day they were born. Dressed only in nappies and ragged T-shirts, they were sitting or lying on the hard floors, or incarcerated in their cots. Their large eyes stared out blankly from emaciated faces. Some children were obviously disabled, others not, but all were badly undernourished and clearly developmentally delayed. The four rooms in the orphanage were hot and airless in the middle of summer. Flies circled around the broken ceiling fans and buzzed against the grids covering the windows. The only toys in any of the rooms were a few balls and a handful of building bricks, but no child played with them. And the silence was deafening and unnatural. Not one of the thirty or so infants cried, let alone spoke.
‘This nice one,’ the care worker said in broken English, pausing at a cot containing a Down’s syndrome boy. ‘He no give you trouble.’
Elaine looked with renewed horror at the child rocking back and forth in the cot. A few wisps of fair hair covered his otherwise bald head, open sores bled on his lips and his face was so pale it was doubtful he had ever felt the sunlight. He stared blankly into the distance. Elaine went to speak to him but the care worker was already moving briskly to the next cot. ‘Or this one,’ she said, tapping the metal bars of the cot and ignoring the fact that the child had been sick.
Elaine fought back tears and looked to her husband to say something.
Ian cleared his throat. The care worker – a large, brusque woman – seemed to be in charge. He didn’t know what role she played and didn’t want to upset her and risk their chance of a child. ‘I’m sorry, we don’t understand,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘We were supposed to adopt a particular child. She’s called Lana. We have a photograph of her here in our paperwork.’ He went to unclip his briefcase.
The care worker tapped his arm. ‘No. No. Lana, that baby dead. You choose another baby. We have plenty.’
Elaine’s hand shot to her mouth. ‘Dead? When?’ she cried.
‘We weren’t told,’ Ian said.
The care worker shrugged. ‘You on plane.’
‘She died yesterday?’ Elaine asked, horrified.