front of the orphanage the woman leaned forward and said, You will wait?
Yes. For one hour, not more.
Oh, I’ll be much quicker than that, said the woman.
Go, said the driver. I wait.
So the woman got out of the taxi and entered the orphanage. The vestibule was empty. She waited for a moment and was about to push the bell beside the inner doors when one of them opened. The nurse they had seen the previous day was now wearing knit slacks and a ski jacket. Good morning, she said.
Hello, said the woman. I’m—
I know who you are. You are here to see your baby? Does your husband come too?
No, said the woman. This morning I come alone.
Men! They are always like that. Come, and we will go see your baby.
Several babies were wailing when they entered the room upstairs. The woman asked the nurse—or whatever she was—if she could take the baby into another room, so she might be alone with him, in a quiet place.
Yes, said the nurse. We have a room for such a visit. We take your baby there. She reached down and unhitched the leash from the harness the baby wore and hoisted him out of the crib. He is fat one, she said. Full of health. Let us give him new cloth, and he will be clean for you.
May I do it? the woman asked.
You want?
Yes, said the woman. I would like to change him.
If you want, good. We go here. The nurse carried the child over to the changing table and laid him down. Then she stepped away and indicated with one arm that she had relinquished control. The woman stepped closer and leaned over the child and lowered her head so that her face almost touched the baby’s face. She closed her eyes and inhaled the complex smell, which was layered, like those perfumes that are made of musk or civet, and had a dark, fungal base. She breathed it in deeply.
She wished she had a memory for scents.
It wasn’t until she had removed the pinafore and overalls that she remembered he wore old-fashioned cloth diapers. She was less sure about how to handle these and worried she might prick his skin with the safety pins. But she did not. The new diaper she put on him was not as tightly or elegantly affixed as the one she had replaced, but the nurse, after adjusting one of the pins, nodded her approval.
Is it time for him to be fed? the woman asked.
Oh no, said the nurse. He had his bottle before.
Oh, said the woman.
You would like to feed him?
Yes, said the woman. If it won’t be bad for him.
It doesn’t hurt. He is always hungry. Fat boy. Let me get bottle. Pick him up, she said. Hold him.
The woman picked up the baby and held him against her, one arm on his back and the other holding his head. She began to jounce him gently but apparently he did not like this for he began to cry. She stopped the jouncing. He continued to cry. The woman held him a little more tightly and murmured to him. Baby, baby, baby, good baby, good baby, baby, baby, baby . . .
He was still crying, but less determinedly, when the nurse returned with the bottle. Come, she said. I take you now to place for visit.
The woman followed the nurse out of the room and down the hall. The nurse opened a door and turned a light on. This room was much smaller than the other rooms the woman had seen. It contained a cluttered desk and metal bookshelves crowded with cardboard and plastic boxes. Also, a wooden rocking chair on gliders with gold-and-brown-plaid tweed cushions.
The woman sat down in the gliding chair and the nurse handed her the bottle.
The woman held it but did not offer it to the baby. It was made of glass and was warm.
Feed him!
May I be alone? the woman asked. I would like to be alone with him.
Alone with your little one, said the nurse. I understand.
Thank you, said the woman.
He is good baby, said the nurse. Already he love his mama. She turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.
When the woman was sure the nurse had moved away from the door, she put the bottle on the desk, stood up, and turned off the fluorescent overhead light. It was dark in the little room, but some light shone through the window in the door. The