Free A Southern Girl by John Warley

walked down the steps. As I reached the end of the sidewalk, two policemen came around the corner on Yulgong-No Street. I pointed back toward the door, but the patrolmen were in a rush and one of them made a motion with his arm like a circle. I went around the building and saw another door, newer with fresh paint. I knocked and heard, “It is open.”
    Inside, I saw a long counter with a phone, a stack of greenish papers, and a box for mail. The desk person, in a uniform, looked up from a magazine as I bowed and came closer.
    “May I help you?” he asked.
    “I am Jong Sim. I have come to ask about a child, an infant.”
    “Is the child missing?”
    “Yes, the child is missing.”
    “For how long?”
    “Four weeks, about.”
    “Four weeks? And you are only now reporting it?” He did not look friendly.
    “Not exactly.” We were alone in the room. “My friend brought her baby here.”
    The man smiled, but it was not a true smile. “Now I see. Your friend wants the child back.”
    “Not the child, but only news of her safety. If I could bring her such news it would mean much.”
    The telephone at the man’s elbow rang. It made me jump. The man told the caller, “No, no, yes, no.” Then he returned his attention to me.
    “We often have babies left here. We call the home. Our records are sealed from the public. I can tell you nothing to tell your friend. I am sorry.”
    “Can you say she went to this home? Even that would comfort my friend.”
    “I can say that is what usually happens. But for a certain child, I cannot say.”
    I felt my legs weakening and my heart thumped so loudly I thought he must hear it. “But I must take some word to her.”
    The man turned in his chair and disappeared through the door behind the counter. A short time later, a fat man in a tight uniform came out. He said he was Captain Oh. He told me to follow him through a swinging gate to the rooms beyond. At the far end of the hall were boxes and large metal cabinets. Captain Oh pointed and said, “The old door.” I followed him into a room with a desk.
    He sat behind the desk while I stood in front of it. The room was very warm and I saw sweat on the Captain’s yellow upper lip. He straightened some papers in front of him, already straight.
    “So your friend brought us her child?”
    “About one month ago.”
    “A girl, I presume?”
    I nodded.
    The Captain said, “Yes, always girls. What is the name of your friend?”
    I looked at the floor. My knees were shaking. “Must I say her name?”
    The Captain shook his head. “It does not matter. We cannot give information, with or without her name. Tell me, did your friend use the door you came through … or the old door?”
    “The old door, perhaps.”
    Captain Oh frowned. “That is a problem. We no longer use that door. One month ago? No, that door was not in use at that time.”
    “The man at the desk said she went to the home.”
    “Sometimes, yes.”
    “And others?”
    “Others are the ones we never know about.”
    My look told him I did not understand.
    “Women leave their children at the door. We know this. They rely upon us to take them to the home. But we cannot be certain all the girls are found. Others may come along …” His voice grew softer. “Tell me, did your friend hide in the hedge to see the child taken in?”
    “I … I do not know.”
    “Some do. I am told that is why our door is popular. They can watch from the safety of the hedge. But that will all change now because there is no hedge by the new door.”
    “My friend did not say.” I felt faint. The heat of the room felt like a giant hand pressing down on my head.
    “But clearly the answer is ‘no,’” said the Captain. He looked very pleased with himself. “Or she would not have sent you to confirm such a thing. Am I right?” He smiled a true smile and folded his hands across his belt buckle.
    “You are correct,” I said. “Are you certain there have been no children brought to you