These Dreams of You

~ ~ ~

Standing in the doorway of the Bloomsbury hotel room, the young African woman wears across her shoulders the same scarf that covered her head when they first saw her yesterday outside the pub. Otherwise, the jeans make her look like any contemporary western woman. “Hello,” says Zan.

“Hello,” the young woman nods, “I’m Molly,” pulling the scarf from her shoulders and rolling it and slipping it into the bag she carries under one arm. “I understand you are looking for a caretaker for the children.”

Startled, Zan says, “Come in.” Sheba has said nothing, the young woman locked in her focus, but now blurts, “Have you ever had any little girls in your tummy?”

“I think she wants to know,” says Zan, “if you have children of your own. A daughter she can be friends with, maybe,” but he’s not sure that’s what Sheba really means. “Sheba, go play with Parker,” he says.

Still gluing and painting his creatures they bought in Covent Garden, Parker says, “She can’t play what I’m playing.” Sheba starts to cry; Zan closes his eyes. It occurs to him maybe Viv is right and the young African woman might be offended by the name Sheba. Would they call an adopted Mexican child Montezuma? “Parker,” Zan says as calmly as he can, “help me out. Do something your sister can too, or find something on TV.”

Molly kneels to Sheba’s level and says to the girl, “Let me talk with your father a moment, all right? Then perhaps you and I will play.” She rises and turns to Zan as the girl backs away still watching the woman. “I apologize for the intrusion of coming to the room. I tried to ring you earlier from where I’m staying but no one answered, and I don’t have a mobile.”