She realized the woman was gone, and Kate stepped forward to question the man, but he held up a hand as the woman returned to the door, pushing three children out to stand before them. They stared at their feet and stood still as statues. The translator walked from child-to-child, looking them up and down. Kate shifted her weight a bit, contemplating what to do. The children were healthy; none showed even the slightest signs of autism. At the last child, the man bent down and shouted again. The mother quickly said something, but he yelled at her, and she fell silent. The child nervously said three words. The translator said something, and the child repeated the words. Kate wondered if they were names? Possibly places?
The translator stood and began pointing and yelling at the woman again. She shook her head furiously, repeating a phrase over-and-over. After several minutes of the translator’s badgering, she looked down and began speaking in low tones. She pointed to another shack. The translator’s voice was soft for the first time, and the woman seemed relieved by his words. She herded the children back inside, almost cutting the last one in half as she quickly closed the door.
The scene at the second shack unfolded much like the first: the translator shouted and pointed, Kate stood awkwardly, and the nervous villager presented her four children then waited with worry in her eyes. This time, when the translator asked the child, he said five words, names Kate believed. The mother protested, but the translator ignored her, pressing the child. When he answered, the large man sprang up, pushed the children and their mother aside, and burst through the door. Kate was caught off guard, but when the mother and children followed into the home, she did as well.
The shack was a crowded, three room hovel. She almost tripped walking through it. At the rear of the home, she found the translator and woman arguing more vehemently than before. At their feet, a small child, a gaunt child, was tied to a wooden beam that held the roof up. He was gagged, but she could hear low rhythmic noises coming from his mouth as he rocked back-and-forth, hitting his head on the beam.
Kate grabbed the translator’s arm, “What is this? Tell me what’s going on here.”
The man looked from Kate back to the mother, seemingly caught between his master and a caged animal whose volume and hysterics seem to grow by the moment. Kate squeezed the man’s arm and jerked him toward her, and he began explaining. “She says it is not her fault. He is a disobedient child. He will not eat her food. He will not do as she says. He does not play with the children. She says he does not even answer his own name.”
They were all classic signs of autism, a severe case. Kate looked down at the child.
The man added “She insists it is not her fault. She says she has kept him longer than the others, but she can not—”
“What others?”
The translator conversed with the woman in a normal tone, then turned to Kate. “Beyond the village. There’s a place where they take the children who won’t respect their parents, the ones that disobey constantly, that won’t be a part of their family.”
“Take me there.”
The translator coaxed more information out of the woman, then pointed toward the door for them to leave. The woman called after them. The man turned to Kate. “She wants to know if we will take him.”
“Tell her yes, and to untie him and that we will return.”
The translator led Kate to a patch of deserted forest, just south of the village. After an hour of looking they had found nothing, but they continued searching. Occasionally, Kate heard the leaves and trees rustle as game moved about. The sun would set soon, and she wondered what this forest would be like then. Indonesia was entirely tropical; the temperature was nearly constant from day-to-day and season-to-season. The Javanese jungles were dangerous, untamed areas, home to all sorts of snakes, large cats, and insects. No place for a child. In the distance, she heard screaming and the translator call to her, “Dr. Warner, come quickly.”
She dashed across the dense forest, tripping once and fighting her way through the overgrowth. She found the translator holding a child, even more gaunt than the boy at the shack. Even with his dark brown skin, she could see the dirt and grime caked on his face. He fought the translator’s hold like a caged banshee.
“Are there any others?” Kate asked. She saw a lean-to, a ragged shelter about 50 yards away. Was there a child lying there? She started for it.
“Do not go there, Dr. Warner.” He tightened his grip on the child. “There are no others… to take back. Please help me.”
She took the child’s other arm, and they escorted him back to the vans. They gathered the research team, then retrieved the child that had been tied to the beam, who they learned was named Adi. The child from the forest had no name, and they knew they would never find his parents or anyone who would ever own up to what had been done to him. Kate named him Surya.
When the research team assembled at the van, Kate cornered her translator. “Now I want you to tell me what you did back there — exactly what you said.”
“I think maybe you do not want to be knowing, Doctor.”
“I think I do definitely want to be knowing. Now start talking.”
The man sighed. “I told them you are a humanitarian organization who is doing child welfare—”
“What?” Kate said.
The man straightened. “That is what they are thinking you are anyway, so it makes no difference. They do not know what this clinical trial is. They have never heard of such a thing. Look around you, these people live just as they did a thousand years ago. I tell them you have to see their children and that you will help any that need help. Still they do not trust it. Some believe they will get in trouble, but many simply worry word will get around. Here, it is a dangerous thing to have a child with problems, people keep them out of sight. If word gets around, the other children will have problems finding a mate — they will say, ‘maybe you have his child and he is a problem like his father’s brother.’ They will say ‘it is in his blood.’ But the children tell the truth when I ask them to name their brothers and sisters. Children do not yet know to lie about this.”
Kate considered the man’s story. It had certainly worked. She turned to the team: “Ok. This is our new approach.”
Dr. Helms stepped toward Kate and the translator. “I won’t do it. Lying to a parent to enroll a child in a clinical trial violates basic medical ethics and is simply morally wrong.” He paused for effect. “Regardless of their circumstances or the community’s social norms.” He stared at Kate and then the other staff.