The Paler Shade of Autumn (25 page)

“I don’t.”

He nods. “Then I’m not upset.”

Autumn’s sigh is dripping with melancholy. “I want this day to end.”

“I’ll tell you what. We’ll go to your place and get you all packed and then we can head back to the hotel. I’ll run us a warm bath, we can have a glass of champagne and not talk again about anything that has happened today.”

“That sounds great,” she says, but unable to shake the sombre tone.

“I’m sorry, Autumn. But I promise we’ll get through all this.”

Jet’s long arm curls over Autumn’s waist, his hand resting lightly on her stomach. As Autumn wakes she can feel the heat of his body against her back, her foot entwined between his, his gentle breathing soothing to the ear. She smiles. It’s a new day and she is starting it in her soul-mate’s arms. Yesterday is now only a memory, something in the past she can deal with from the present while she contemplates her beautiful future.

Autumn feels Jet stir, drawing a long breath in and pushing his body firmly against her. “Good morning,” she whispers.

Jet kisses her shoulder. “Good morning.”

“I want to wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life.”

“I can guarantee the rest of your life part, but sadly, not the everyday portion.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

The flight to Mongolia is long. They first head to Sydney, then ten and a half hours to Beijing, before catching a connecting flight to Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia, another two and a half hours away. Worst of all, Mongolia is heading into winter and winter in Mongolia is extremely cold.

Waiting at the airport is Andrew, the coordinator of the orphanage Jet has built and funds, on the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar. Andrew, in a white minivan, drives them through the city streets flanked by tired looking buildings and bustling with older type cars. There are few trees, cement or dirt where grass would otherwise exist and a chill that seeps through one’s flesh, directly into the bones.

Where the city ends and the landscape transforms to endless, flat lengths of fields with rocky, grass covered hills sparsely protruding from its surface, she can see a small, square building, painted white with bright green, red, yellow and blue trims. Further up the gravelly road is an enormous white building and, in the distance, there are another two of the same design with two sheds and a large fenced area holding farm animals. Smoke billows from the chimneys of each house, providing an invitation of warmth.

As they pull up beside the first of the large buildings, children flood the veranda, each dressed in thick, padded parkers of many colours, long pants, mittens and long boots. They wave and cheer hello in English as Andrew leads Jet and Autumn to the building. It is a sight to behold. A beautiful sight, because the children look clean, well nourished, warm and happy. A marked improvement to some of the orphanages Autumn witnessed when in Cambodia, even the orphanage where she met Jet in Bodh Gaya.

Autumn looks to Jet and grins widely. “They’re gorgeous.”

He nods. “I know. These are our two to six year olds.” He points down the hill at the smaller building. “That building there is for our babies and the two further up the road are our seven to twelves, and our young adults.” He turns to the children all in a row and smiles. “It’s always hardest to leave this orphanage the most.” Jet jogs up the stairs and says boisterously, “Sain uu. Sain uu. Hello.”

“Sain uu, Jet,” they boisterously bellow back.

The staff and volunteers exchange greetings and they are led into the warm building where lunch is waiting for them in a large hall filled with tables and chairs. They dine on noodles in broth with carrots, cabbage and a small amount of minced mutton, in the company of thirty-seven children, three permanent staff and two volunteer workers.

Andrew tells Autumn about the meagre beginnings of the orphanage and how it has transformed over the years to what it is today. It started in the smaller building, now housing the infants, and only took care of fifteen children. Andrew and his wife started the house after they volunteered at another orphanage in the early nineties and saw the number of abused, homeless and orphaned children that needed accommodation, nutrition, clothing, love and guidance in and around Ulaanbaatar.

Jet contacted Andrew two and a half years ago, after finding his website on the net and asked Andrew what he needed to make a real difference to the children in Mongolia. Jet flew over to meet with him and talk to local officials, hospitals, police departments and other orphanages about the sufferances of some children in Mongolia.

He immediately signed on with Andrew to fund the building of a brand new, larger building; informed family workers and local community aids of the services they would offer and organised the transfer of children from overcrowded facilities elsewhere in Mongolia. Jet implemented an inexpensive, widely connected, but still thorough, adoption program; a vocational program to help the older children find work opportunities; and funded permanent, local staff and teachers.

The goal of this orphanage is finding caring, loving homes for the children and until that happens, educating the children and facilitating those that have special needs, which, due to their harsh lifestyles before they end up in the orphanage, is a high percentile. Jet advertises heavily for volunteers, always paying for flights and transfers, all meals and accommodation, so is never short of at least five at the one time.

Andrew tells Autumn that since Jet’s interception they have expanded to one-hundred and seventeen orphans. They have seen many children find loving homes, in and out of the country, or go on to find employment, which dramatically improves their chance of survival.

All this success hasn’t been gained without challenges and failures. There has been an improvement, but some of the abandoned babies still lose their battle with malnutrition or sickness; the more unruly children from harsh backgrounds run away, returning to a life on the streets; as well as in-house incidents—fights, abuses, despite their best efforts to circumvent such happenings.

Autumn rests her hand on top of Andrew’s. She wants an insight into this man. He fascinates her. What motivates him to spend twenty years of his life looking after disadvantaged children? The images swirl and fling about in her mind until they straighten and align; one memory after the other transfers as quick as a flick of a switch.

The beginning: Andrew’s first sights of a Mongolian orphanage and the overwhelming sense of helplessness as a three-week-old, severely malnourished baby loses her life in the chilled, stale-smelling nursery. Despite trying to feed her formula throughout the night, her little body rejects every mouthful. He stalks back to the substandard quarters he and his wife are staying in and falls onto the floor in the corner of the room. He cries so many tears he believes he will choke or die from the pain in his heart and in his soul.

Andrew flies home to Sweden with his wife, sells his house, quits his job and uses all his money to fly back to Mongolia and opens his own orphanage—Hope House. The struggle he endures with his wife, the trauma he witnesses: abused children sent from the hospital because no-one can cover the costs, recovering from broken limbs and facial bones; little girls who have been repeatedly sexually abused, so shy and reserved they cringe at the merest touch or offer of kindness; the long, emotionally draining nights caring for sickly infants and toddlers and the overwhelming feeling of failure when the teenager he thought was making progress rages and breaks all the meagre furniture in the dining hall.

Yet somehow, overshadowing all this hardship, is the reward he receives every day when he watches children laughing and playing, when a long-term boarder finds a job, or finishes school, when a successful adoption transpires, or when a skinny, weeping baby grows and develops into a healthy, happy child. When Jet serendipitously chose Hope House to be the recipient of all his help, Andrew knew then, all his sacrifice had been worth it, is worth it.

Autumn’s head begins to throb. She retracts her hand and fights the shudder of a sob in her constricted throat. “You’re doing a fantastic job, Andrew. I admire anyone who gets deeply involved with all their energy. Twenty years of selflessness is an incredible feat.”

“It’s tough. I won’t lie. There are days I want to head back to Sweden and wish I never came here, but I would never be able to live with myself if I did. This is my calling. It’s tough. But it’s what I’ve been put on this earth to do. Thanks to Jet here,” he says flashing Jet a broad smile. “We have saved so many more children.”

“Nothing here could have happened without you, Andrew.”

Andrew shrugs. “Let’s call it a mutual effort then shall we?”

Jet smiles.

“It must require a lot of money though, year in year out. What if something happened to you, Jet? What would happen to this place, these children?” asks Autumn.

“We’ve thought of the same thing, don’t worry. As with all my projects, I concentrate of getting the basic necessities in first, the basic facilities, the processes streamlined and then I work with the orphanages and local communities to set up farms to grow vegetables and raise animals that can be sold for profit. I help fund the establishment of local businesses, set up sponsorship programs and recruit major donors, so the orphanages can be self-sustainable in the long run.”

Andrew smiles. “We have our own vegetable garden, produce from which the older kids sell at the markets. Although, because of the sub-zero temperatures, that’s something we can only do for three months of the year. But we also raise goats and camels and pigs. We opened a cafe in the city earlier this year. I’ll have to take you there before you leave.” He turns to Jet. “How long are you with us for this time?”

“Only five days. I’ve organised to spend a few days in Japan on the way home.”

“We’re going to Japan?” asks Autumn, eyes wide.

He nods. “I need a break. It’s been an incredibly long time since I’ve had one.”

After lunch, Autumn and Jet are special guests of a musical performance by the children—a Mongolian version of
Frere Jacques
before the younger ones head off for their afternoon naps. Jet shows her around all the facilities, from the fully renovated infants’ house, to the farm, and up to the buildings that house the older children. They stay with the teenagers, helping them cook pocket breads and poppy seed buns. As with Autumn’s experiences in other foreign countries, the language barrier makes it hard. Older children are not so open to cuddles and warm physical contact, which can replace words, like the younger children seem to be.

Jet, on the other hand, can pick up new languages with such ease and is in among the children talking to them and sharing warm exchanges and offering help in translating for Autumn.

By the time they check-in at their hotel in the city, Autumn is consumed with weariness. Jet encircles her with his arm and leads her to the room. After dropping her bag just inside the door, she heads to the bed and flops back supine onto it, feeling she can close her eyes and be asleep within seconds of her head finding the mattress. Crawling over the bed, straddling her, Jet nuzzles her neck, kissing her. “How are you holding up?” he asks.

“I’m utterly exhausted. I can sleep for a hundred years.” Autumn lifts her hand to her head. “Plus, I have a headache.”

Jet rolls off and strides to the bar fridge. He produces a bottle of water and hands it to Autumn. “Have a drink.”

She does as she is told. “I think I need to sleep more than anything. Seeing into Andrew’s mind today was so difficult, I’ve felt depleted ever since, not to mention this constant ache just above my eyebrow. He’s had a very tough but rewarding time here in Ulaanbaatar with those children.”

Jet nods, grimacing. “I know. Not to the extent you know, but he’s told me some gruesome details one night over a litre or so of vodka.”

“He’s happy though. I could see that.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

The morning is brutal. The temperature is almost freezing, though no snow falls from the steely clouds. Dressed in thermals and a heavy duty jacket, which Jet organised Scott to purchase for Autumn before she left Australia, they head to a depot to pick up an order of woollen mittens and socks, in an array of sizes, for the children at Hope House. Jet thrusts the boxes into the back of the van they drove from the orphanage the night before, and quickly slams the door, hoping to maintain as much of the heat inside the van as possible.

“This is nothing,” Jet says to Autumn, who is shivering in the passenger seat. “You should see this place in the dead of winter. I stupidly came here last year in January and nearly froze to death. Australian summer to frozen Mongolian winter is not the most intelligent move.”

“Why did you go in winter? Couldn’t you have waited a couple of months?”

“I thought I’d let Andrew and his wife have a reprieve from the winter for the first time in many years.”

“How long did you stay?”

“A month, while they had some well-deserved R & R. I offered them an all-expenses paid trip to Hawaii. Needless to say they accepted it with open arms.”

“I bet.”

After a morning in the nursery, helping the staff and volunteers feed, bath and dress the babies, Autumn and Jet head to the kindergarten to assist with arts and crafts until lunch. This day they eat lunch with the pre-teens, before being shown art works and listening to musical performances from talented children. Autumn braids the girls’ hair, one after the other, while Jet takes the boys outside to play cricket.

They meet up in the teens’ house for dinner with Andrew and his wife. Autumn can sense tension in the air, especially from Andrew’s wife, Larissa, who hasn’t let go of his hand since they arrived.

“Is everything ok, Andrew?” asks Jet, not immune to the overwhelming, thickly emotional atmosphere.

“I, ah, no.”

Jet nods. “Want to tell me about it?”

Tears stream down Larissa’s cheeks and she buries her head into Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew releases a long sigh possessed of heavy melancholy. Jet tenses.