There is a place where babies live,/ With no hope for tomorrow.// A place where flower babies die,/ Filled with only grief and sorrow.

The concept was right; its execution needed work. Nola played with the lyrics, searching for the right verse, the catchy rhyme.

Flower babies, petals plucked,/ The color’s gone,/ Morning dew dries up/ Before the day has begun—

She should try for the images. The crowded cribs, the twisted limbs, the rats…. Her voice rose, lamenting. Lost in the cold of the night,/ In a place with no heat or light. /

Lulu woke up and regarded her seriously, half-dazed from her sleep. Nola sang, collecting the disjointed notes and words. It finally all came together. Nola's hands gestured in the air as she conducted the orchestra within herself.

The song ended. Nola's breathing came hard but her head felt light. The trance that had transported her to the magical realm of music snapped, like Cinderella’s spell at midnight. She heard Leslie clapping and turned around. Lulu, imitating him, brought her pudgy hands together and gurgled.

Daniel rounded the tall reeds. He stopped and smiled. The light shimmered in his dark hair, breaking in earthy tones.

“Were you here the whole time?” she asked.

“Long enough.”

Leslie's gesture encompassed the garden. “The artist in her milieu.”

“The best things in life are free: truth, kindness and imagination.” Daniel’s gaze hooked onto Nola's. “And they are all experienced in the soul.”

Nola's skin buzzed with the whir of the magnetic field between them. Daniel knew the song for what it was. Last night’s visit to the Dying Rooms had been their shared experience alone.

“The best things in life are free,” Leslie repeated. “Sounds like a fortune cookie.”

A faint motion in the water made Nola lower her gaze. Two goldfish swam by, a big fish followed by a smaller one. A mother and a baby.

Daniel stepped over to the stroller and spoke Chinese to Lulu, with a quick intake of air like the slurping of noodles, alternating with short clucks. Lulu clucked back, and her feet kicked with delight.

“Glad to finally meet you,” he said in English. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He tickled her toes in their socks. Giggling, she raised her arms toward him.

He unsnapped the stroller straps and brought her to his chest. He held her, his eyes closed. His face contorted, and Nola was startled to read pain.

Behind him, over the top of the cattails, a cuckoo hopped and tried to settle. It flapped, swooped down, then flew away.

CHAPTER 11 (1982 - 1983)