Read Online Where is the Baby? by Charlotte Vale Allen - Free Book Online

hand of a child scarcely beyond being a toddler.
    Sitting back on her knees, she studied his face as he struggled to speak.
    Like the storied sin eater who for a small gratuity ate a piece of bread laid on the chest of a dead person, thereby taking the sins of that dead person upon himself, he had in just moments swallowed this little girl’s metaphoric sins. He was muted and hamstrung by the process, left fairly grief-stricken. How could he possibly help this child? She’d been so thoroughly brainwashed that she interpreted most behaviors as having a sexual subtext. Aware of the arrogance he’d carried with him into the room and ashamed of it, aware too of the humbling realization that he knew far less of the world than he’d imagined. He understood with sudden, staggering clarity that he was too young and too inexperienced to be of use to this child. Just moments and much of what he’d believed he knew about himself had been invalidated.
    That internal rending had been the peeling away of the hubris that had led him to say yes to the dislikeable Margery Briggs. He’d agreed to consult on this case knowing almost nothing of the facts. Top grades and high honors didn’t magically endow anyone with wisdom or special insights and just now he was lamentably short on both. He was all at once choked with sadness for the losses suffered by this misleadingly dainty little girl. Only the housing was a child’s. What was inside her was much used and mistrustful, perhaps irreparably broken. He felt, immediately and thoroughly, heartsick for her.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ he said, just then feeling scarcely older than the girl as, embarrassingly, tears welled up in his eyes and he released her hand to rummage in his pocket for a tissue.
    â€˜What’sa matter, Mister Stefan?’ she asked, appearing fascinated by his distress. Getting to her feet, she put a hand on his arm. ‘You cryin’, Mister Stefan? It’s okay. I won’t get mad. You can cry. I sawed some other grown-ups cryin’ when the lady was bringin’ me here. Are you sad?’ Her small hand patted him consolingly as he wiped his face with the tissue. Her features had softened and lost their suspicious tightness. An old, sympathetic soul gazed out at him through the dark windows of her eyes. And as he gazed back at her, he realized that if he was allowed to work with her it could be the greatest learning experience of his life. Her effort to comfort him derived from an innate sensitivity that had not been blunted by her young life’s experiences. She was not beyond hope. He prayed he wasn’t, either.
    At last, having dried his face, he took hold of her hand again and said, ‘Thank you. You’re very kind. I was feeling a little sad.’
    â€˜You’re not sad anymore?’
    â€˜No. I feel better now, thanks to you. Shall we see what’s in the toy box?’
    â€˜Okay. Toys are like friends,’ she said. ‘They don’t
do
anythin’ or
mean
anythin’. But they make you feel good when you hold them.’
    Hearing her paraphrase what he’d told her the night before, Brian emitted a sound that was half laugh and half sob.
    â€˜That’s right,’ Stefan said in surprise. ‘Did someone tell you that?’
    â€˜Yeah. Mister Brian telled me.’
    â€˜Mister Brian is quite right. There are other toys, too,’ Stefan said, getting down on his knees and lifting the lid on the toy box. ‘Some you can use to build things. Others are like games. Would you like to try one of the games, or play with some toys?’
    â€˜Mister Stefan?’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Please, could I take off the shoes? I don’t like them.’
    â€˜If you could put the underpants back on, I see no reason why you shouldn’t take off the shoes.’
    She gazed at him for a few seconds, then sat down on the floor, reaching for the pants. She managed to get