She’d remember this moment for the rest of her life. Momm-mom. This was it. The voluminous emotion that filled all of her crowded out the pain and the struggle. It made everything worthwhile.

Lulu threw her almost-empty bottle, pitched her little body toward Nola, and wriggled on her stomach, like a swimmer. But her movements were futile, leading her nowhere.

“Crawl,” Nola reminded her. “You can crawl.”

“Kaw?” Lulu’s lips remained pursed around the word as she brought herself up on all fours, straightening her legs and toes. Her limbs would not coordinate and they tripped her. Undaunted, she tried again, throwing herself forward. Nola urged her on until Lulu tired. The helper picked her up and placed her in Nola's lap.

Nola sang her the Chinese song Ming-Ji had taught her, then chanted, “It’s time I wrote a song for you, Dumpling.” She bounced her. “Let’s sing about going home. Home, home.”

“Ommm, Ommm.” Lulu grabbed her own toes and brought them into her mouth.

“East or west, home is best,” Nola chanted. “When you reach a fork, you go to New York.” She laughed and nuzzled her way into Lulu's middle and trumpeted, “East or west, home is best” into the rounded bundle. Lulu yanked at her curls and squealed in delight.

Later, when screens had been pulled across the windows to keep away night insects, and the evening filled with their buzzing and trilling, Nola calculated that it was now morning on the East Coast of the United States.

In her borrowed stroller, Lulu pressed the cloth diaper to her face and closed her eyes. Outside, six-foot torches with open flames lit a paved path flanked by a magnificent display of birds of paradise, ginger and dragon flowers blooming in fiery reds and smelling tangy-sweet. Nola took a shortcut through a fragrant orange orchard and stepped into the press secretary’s office through the side door.

The radio was on, and an enthusiastic male voice-over announced ticket sales for The Lion King. Two women sat at their desks, keeping to their Washington colleagues’ schedules.

“Hi, Sharon,” Nola said to the press secretary’s assistant whom she had met earlier, a young woman with a bobbed haircut and a long nose that fit her lanky figure. “Thanks for sending over all these toys.” Sharon’s boss had been less welcoming when Nola had first arrived, as though her presence there were a liability.

Sharon pointed to the radio. “You should hear this.”

“What?” Nola cocked her ear to The Lion King commercial.

“Big-Mouth Roberta. We get all the American stations. It’s morning rush hour in New York. Roberta started her CNB program the day before yesterday, and you are all she’s been blabbering about.” Sharon laughed. “Thousands of people are e-mailing her or logging on to CNB’s site. She’s just asked everyone to stop before the website crashes.”

The commercial ended, and Roberta's voice boomed.