A Southern Girl Read Online Free Page A

old door, just as I had done.
    I rose, crossed the room, and took a chair beside her. Together we stared down at the child, whose nicely proportioned face was florid with fever, her damp hair matted against the shawl Mi Cha had placed around her.
    “I came in search of my dog,” the woman said. “Mojo. He has never run off, and I thought one of the policemen might have seen him. It is a good thing the child was crying so, because I may not have seen her. I changed her just before you arrived.”
    At that moment the baby winced as if in pain and began to cry so loudly the men ceased conversation.
    “Shut her up,” Captain Oh ordered.
    Mi Cha shifted the child from her lap to her shoulder, patting her back in rhythmic measure. The cries and their volume increased.
    “Let me try,” I said. At the instant of exchange, the child redoubled her cries. Her face, already flushed in the grip of fever, darkened to a pagan mask of crimson rage. Freed from the bunting, her hands gnarled into fists so compressed that they grew white from lack of circulation. Her cries came in waves, with each outpouring demanding new air from her lungs to fully register in pitch and amplification her complete indignation.
    “Such anger, my little one, such anger,” I said, placing one hand under the head while my other hand supported the body. I smiled, and I suppose she must have sensed new circumstances in my hands and voice because, whether startled or comforted, she fell silent.
    “You have a knack,” said Mi Cha.
    “It will not last,” I said. “She needs a doctor.”
    “What becomes of such children?” asked Mi Cha.
    “She is very young. If she is healthy, she may be adopted by Americans.”
    “By Americans?” The old woman shook her head, and the scowl which crossed her face at that moment was one of disgust, but whether reserved for Americans, or for Koreans who gave away their offspring, I could not read.
    The infant grew impatient with our conversation. The discussion of her future held no interest for one with needs so immediate. As she squirmed and fretted toward another outburst, I thanked Mi Cha and turned to Chan Wook Park.
    “Let me sign for her and go. She needs medicine.”
    As Chan Wook Park searched for a release, opening and closing desk drawers in haphazard inefficiency, Mi Cha asked if anyone had reported seeing Mojo. Captain Oh, preparing to leave and walking toward his coat hanging from a hook near the window, halted in mid-step. “And where is Mojo?”
    “Gone. I left him in the care of my neighbor while I was away. She saw him yesterday, and I was certain he would appear today. I was coming to ask your boys if they had seen him when I found this infant.”
    The fringes of the captain’s brow converged upon the center, furrowing the area between his wide-set eyes. “Mojo missing. This is most unfortunate.”
    “He has never run off. I fear the worst.”
    “Do not lose hope. I will have the men look out for him.” He turned toward Chan Wook Park. “Instruct the shift change to keep eyes open for Mojo. And the men getting off can watch for him on their way home. He is a fine dog. We need to locate him for Mi Cha.”
    “Many thanks, captain.”
    “We are like sons here, Mi Cha. What kind of sons would let their mother’s dog stray?”
    “You are very kind.”
    I pulled the child closer. Her heat radiated through me like a brazier. The captain’s concern for Mojo was touching, but in a country that eats dog he unwittingly made a statement about girls such as the one in my arms—little female corks set adrift by who knows who to float about in an uncertain ocean, where the tide is always rising and the shoals are sharp and submerged. I am one of them—a girl, that is—and this is why I do what I do.
    Chan Wook Park found the release and I scrawled a signature. I was almost out the door when Mi Cha called.
    “I almost forgot,” she said, walking toward me and slipping something from her pocket.