To Sing Frogs Chapter 30c

U.S. Embassy in Moscow

After checking out, I handed the girl behind the counter pictures of Sarah and Amy. I had printed them off on my portable printer earlier that morning.

“We’re headed home today.”

“Congratulations!” she interrupted. “We’ve all been feeling sorry for you two. You’re quite the celebrities around here. Even our other guests know the story and keep asking about your situation. Everyone will be glad to hear your daughter is going home to her mama.”

“Thanks. Anyway, can you give these to Celeste and try to explain we’re going home today?”

Of course she was more than happy to help. I sat my daughter on the counter for the presentation. She squealed when the receptionist gave her pictures of her mother and sister along with a thorough explanation in baby talk. It’s funny how much easier it is to understand when we’re hearing what we want to hear.

Celeste ran away as soon as I put her down. That was unusual. I chased after her catching up just as she approached an older couple sitting on a couch near the counter. “Mama! Kawcha!” she shouted at them excitedly while thrusting photos forward for the woman to examine. The kind lady looked at the snapshots and spoke animatedly to Celeste while her husband smiled. After glancing at the pictures he looked up at me and winked. They already knew our story and were happy for Celeste and the marvelous future awaiting her. Not all Russians are against international adoption. The little girl wouldn’t stop. She ran between individuals and groups situated around the lobby without changing her message. “Mama! Kawcha!”

I looked around the lobby believing I would never return. In my mind I could see my daughters giggling at bubbles from soft drinks in the luncheonette. There was the elevator where Celeste’s screams echoed when Amy left. I recalled ancient veterans slowly wandering as if in a dream and holding their bunches of flowers. I stood under the fragmented glass of blues, greens, and whites where Julia gave us the bad news. I would miss the place and I would never forget the things I had seen and learned in the short time I had been there.

I returned my attention to Celeste. Finally after four or five of her cute but none-the-less “impositions,” I was able to get her to go with me. I stacked the luggage near the front door of the hotel and let her sit on the edge of the big one. It protruded from the one on top like a step. I waited for Julia to arrive while Celeste alternated between her two photos. “Mama! Kawcha! Mama! Kawcha! Mama! Kawcha!”

Julia made her entrance through the revolving door several minutes later. She looked like she’d been punched in the stomach. The coordinator gave me a very quick smile. It was fake. She quickly looked away to Celeste, bent over and flirted with her for a few seconds.

“Mama! Kawcha!” the little girl ejected excitedly while thrusting forth the photos.

I saw Julia bite her lip when she first took them. “Dá, Mama ee Katya.” She handed the pictures back to my daughter, paused, and stood upright to look at me.

“Have you already checked out?” She could have started the conversation better.

“I don’t think I like where this is going.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

I felt my ears grow hot. “Oh, no. Not bad news. I have freaking had it with bad news!” I almost shouted.

“Yes. I’m sure you have. Well. Yes. Anyway,” she stuttered, “I got the passport last night. When I reviewed it this morning I noticed it’s missing a stamp.”

“A WHAT?!”

“The passport office in Vladivostok was supposed to mark the passport with an ink-stamp stating that Celeste is leaving the country for permanent residency. The stamp isn’t there.”

“CAN WE—” I lowered my voice. “Can we even get the stamp and the embassy interview done before the flight leaves?”

“You’re really going to hate this. The passport needs to go back to Vladivostok.”

            “AAARRRGGGHUUUAHHH! Vladivostok? Really? ARE YOU KIDD—Are you kidding me?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? I don’t want sorry. FFFFF—FFFFF—FFForget sorry! Do we need this stamp for the embassy visit?”

“The Americans don’t care about the stamp. It’s for Russia.”

“She’s leaving the freaking country! For good! What do they care about a stamp in a document they’re never going to see again?”

Julia saw my point but reminded me, Russia always cares about documents.

If you guys really care about documents so much, why can you never get them right the first time?

            “When does your visa expire?”

Bad word, bad word. I had forgotten about the visa. “Saturday!”

“This poses another problem. We’ll need to get your visa extended. I don’t know if we can do it that fast. It almost always takes more than one day and we’re headed into the weekend.”

Julia explained the problem. If we didn’t get the visa extended (and success of that goal was far less than likely), then I would need to leave the country—without Celeste—until Russia granted me a new visa. I freaked out. She told me she’d have to clear it with her boss but Julia would be willing to take Celeste until I could get back into the country, probably sometime at the end of the following week.

Just what Celeste needed, an hour train ride to some small apartment thinking she’s trying to attach to a new mama and papa, and to a new brother.

Julia kept theorizing about different ways we could handle the difficulties and what we might do. “You could fly to Finland. You don’t need a visa there. Or Amsterdam. Those would be the most likely. Anywhere is fine as long as you leave Russia.”

“Take me to my embassy appointment.”

“It’s not going to do any good.”

“Take me to my embassy appointment NOW or I’ll hail a cab.”

Julia shook her head slightly as she grabbed the carry-on behind Celeste. Then she took her hand.

“Mama! Kawcha!”

I followed them through the revolving door, dragging the other two suitcases. I slammed them all into the back of the van, much to the driver’s surprise.

 

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