22
THE KAHUNA SEES CANCER
The referendum in 1992 had failed. "The 1995 Quebec referendum resulted in a victory for federalism [a party seeking an independent Quebec], but the vote was frighteningly close." "The Quebec economy performed less well than the Canadian economy as a whole in the year following the referendum. Many companies transferred jobs out of Montreal."
For the first time in my life I didn't mind talking about my adoption; in fact saying, "I am adopted" had become commonplace.
Suzanne Fortier wrote that she wanted us to talk before referring me anywhere. When I called her at home she was excited to hear I was calling from Hawaii, "half across the world." She told me I wasn't Catholic because Catholic babies go to Catholic families through nuns, priests or charities. I told her I had written to the main church and she said the letters were opened by secretaries and usually set aside. The church had two sets of records, one for the government and one for the church. I must be English Protestant, she opined. Suzanne had just finished working on a case with Lynn Whitcomb, who worked for the English-speaking Ville Marie Social Services. She may have something to say about the doctor as other girls probably went to him and could be looking as well. She worried about the cost of the call but I told her I was so thrilled to be speaking to a real person instead of writing letters. She told me to be sure to tell Lynn that the rabbi wouldn't allow me to marry until I had gone through a mikvah. She also recommended sending $12 to the Ministre de la Justice in Quebec City for a copy of my birth certificate and baptismal record, just to see what they would send. I was hopeful again.
I wrote three letters: to the Board of Medical Examiners asking about Dr. R.; to the Archveche de Montreal for my baptismal records; and to the Montreal Public Library for the Polk Directory for maternity home addresses in 1940. The Arch- veche de Montreal replied that in order to know the name of the parish where I was baptized, I should write to Place de la Justice in Quebec City and mention my full name, the name of my parents, my date of birth and enclose a stamped return envelope. That was the same address Suzanne told me about.
Meanwhile life went on in sunny, heavenly Hawaii. We went to the beach almost every day; shopped at farmers' markets for lush local produce; visited Volcanoes National Park where we walked the floor of the crater, peered through lava tunnels, and later stood on the beach, mesmerized at watching lava flow into the ocean and solidifying. We hiked in the rainforest of Kapola State Park on the Hamakua coast, where weeping bark and misty ohias kept us permanently damp; ambled through stands of bamboo to the south rim of steep-walled, lush Waipio Valley; and walked the relentless 25% grade road down to the black sand beach below and back up again. Rainbows, sweet-smelling plumeria, multicolored hibis- cus, soft gentle breezes.
I sent a letter to the Vermont Department of Libraries, Reference and Law Division, for the 1944 and 1946 newspapers, to see if anything stood out with the initials from the Norton Notes; and to the Newport Daily Express for the name of the newspaper that served Norton in those years. I told them I was looking for lost relatives and had only initials and dates. They answered that they searched their volumes with no success and told me to contact the Town Clerk. Everything seemed to boil down to my friend Marion Nelson.
I was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from her the next day. Enclosed was a copy of the Voters List of Norton for 1940. She didn't have the lists for 1944 or 1946 but sent a copy of 1948. Of the one hundred and sixty-seven names on the Voters Lists in those early years, nineteen were still living. None of the initials of the names matched those in my Norton Notes. I thanked her and asked if there was anybody I could write to for the high school records of 1940.
At the beginning of February the Direction de L'Etat Civil from Quebec City returned my letter asking them for my baptismal record and on the bottom was written "We found only Judith Margaret Rosen, born 1940, October 27 (my birth- date); Father: Cyril, John; Mother: Hodde, Elsie. This was the first piece of solid information I received since I started my search. Could they have been my parents and that my birth name? How strange, the name was Rosen and my adoptive name was Rosenberg.
I searched through the Norton Voter's List to see if there was a name like that. There wasn't, but in Marion Nelson's letter, there was the name Margaret L. Rosen of Newport, Vermont, who bought land in Norton on November 7, 1944. The date in the Norton notes was November 11, 1944. The name Margaret L. Rosen almost matched Judith Margaret Rosen on the baptismal record. Could these two names be connected? One born in 1940 in Quebec and the other bought land in Vermont in 1944 - doubtful.
I called Lynn Whitcomb who had said that because it had been a Jewish adoption, she would transfer me to Rita Bloom, who worked for the Jewish agency, Baron de Hirsch. Back to the Baron. She thought I might be Catholic because of the quick baptismal, within a week of my birth, and she would see what parish was in the vicinity of my parents' house and hospital at that time and try to get my papers. The next day Rita Bloom called. She wasn't as warm as Suzanne or Lynn and the first thing she asked, rather abruptly, was why was I looking now. Why not now? Wasn't she aware of how difficult it is to search and how tenuous adoptees' feelings are when it comes to searching? The only place she knew that burned down was the Doctor's Hospital on Cote des Neiges and the word "baptized" might have been a mistake and might be the date my father registered me at the synagogue. She was going to call back because the name "Rosenberg" (my adoptive parents' true last name) had a blank space beside it in her files. I knew my last name could have been there from the letter I had sent to Sylvia Kirstein who was at the same office (Ville Marie). If there were a file I would have to wait for my name to come up, the waiting list being what it was at the time. I felt Rita was not empathetic in such delicate matters. The conversation upset me.
I saw an article in the local paper about a lecture being given by a Hawaiian Kahuna, a shaman, called Papa Henry. I knew I had to attend. Because it was in the evening Steve didn't want me to drive the narrow winding highway by myself so he, Elizabeth and I decided to go together. About sixty people filled the room to hear this renowned healer. He was in his eighties with short-cropped white hair, an unblemished complexion, and he had learned from his great-grandmother everything about herbs, many of which he picked with his students on the Mauna Loa Volcano, the second highest and most massive mountain in the world. He told about visitors who picked up pieces of lava at Volcanoes National Park to take home with them, even though there were warning signs not to remove any because the wrath of Pele, the goddess of fire who lived in the volcano, would be invoked.
Over the years thousands of packages of rocks were returned by mail because strange things happened to those people when they got home. We looked at one an- other and knew we had to return our samples as soon as possible. He talked about people he had treated, places all over the world he had visited to give lectures and cures, and he mentioned that "pakalolo," Hawaiian for marijuana, wasn't good to smoke and caused much trouble. After his talk he said that anybody wanting to see him privately should leave their names and phone numbers with his assistant, who would get in touch with us. He was fascinating and we left our information hoping to hear from him soon.
I telephoned Lynn Whitcomb. The church she had been searching for was the St. Jean Baptiste Parish. She had called and found no baptismal on November 2nd. But there were other denominations. Even though I didn't feel the urge to pursue this route, I wrote to Suzanne Fortier for other churches in Montreal. I also sent a letter to Kathi Randolph thanking her for having sent an address of an adoptee born in Montreal to whom I had written but never received an answer.
In the meantime we scheduled an appointment to see Papa Henry. I decided to have my last joint so when I went to see him I