To Sing Frogs Chapter 33d

“Not all of them.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that feeling too. Maybe you’re not supposed to get all of them.”

I didn’t answer. Bill and I were more like family than friends. You can ignore family when you don’t want to talk about things that cause you pain.

“That was really something about Marina, though, wasn’t it?” he asked, mercifully changing the conversation.

“It was impossible.”

“Yeah, pretty unlikely.”

“No. Impossible. Adoption still carries a negative stigma in Russia. Couples who decide to adopt don’t tell anyone. They fake pregnancies. They go away for a few days and un-stuff the woman’s clothing, returning to tell acquaintances that there were complications and the infant needed to stay at the hospital. Then they return later with a one-month old baby pretending it’s their biological child. Others adopt and move to new cities. Russians never adopt anything but babies. Marina-Grigorievna said a Caucasian couple whose other children were already raised adopted Marina. They adopted a seven year-old. They adopted an Asian child who doesn’t look like them. I guess that mathematically, what happened with Marina wasn’t impossible. But mathematically it’s not impossible for molecules to randomly join in the form of a functioning vehicle.”

“Yeah, what happened with Marina was highly unlikely,” he said, giving me just a little bit more rope. Amy would have said it was a miracle. Bill would have liked to say it too, but he knew it would make me uncomfortable. Bill is nice. He never likes to see anyone feel uneasy.

Physicists and religionists never say “impossible.” I do. I might be using the wrong word but “highly unlikely” was an understatement of Mt. Everest proportions. And I don’t like saying the word “very” more than ten to the ninth times in a sentence.

That was about the end of our conversation. It wasn’t the end of the evening. Two inches of new fluff sat on the wooden deck just outside the window. The snow was getting deeper by the minute. Colored strands of blinking Christmas lights alternated areas of the room between warm dim glows and near darkness. American Christmas music played softly in the background. The peaceful setting stood in dark contrast to the events of the day. We were happy to sit and relax. It was one of those Christmas memories that get etched into one’s mind, never to be erased. Even now Bill and I never pass a Christmas without recalling the incredible evening. One day one of us will be gone. I’m sure the other will silently raise a glass to that memory, at some point during every future Christmas season.

 

 

“It’s a miracle!” I knew that was coming. Amy couldn’t have said anything else.

            “Unbelievable, huh?”

“No, John. Not unbelievable. Wait. I want you to tell Sarah. Just a second.” Amy was gone and I was left hanging before I could respond.

“Hyello Papa.”

“Hi, Princess! How are you?”

“Papa, yoo geev to Yula ee Marina present?”

“I gave Yula her present. She liked it very much. She said thank you.”

“Papa, yoo geev Marina present?”

“I couldn’t, Sweetheart. Marina was adopted. She isn’t at the orphanage anymore.”

“Marina hyave Mama ee Papa now?”

“Yes, Princess. She has a mama and papa.”

I heard a scream of jubilation and then the sound of the phone bouncing off the floor. “Are you still there?” It was Amy.

“Yeah. What happened?”

“She’s running around the house screaming. How would you act if you just had your most important prayer answered?”

How indeed.

 

 

Several days later, after long hours at the tradeshow in Tokyo, I called home to check in.

“It’s interesting,” Amy said a few minutes into the conversation, “Sarah has only mentioned Marina one time in a prayer since you called us. That was to thank God for giving her friend a family. Now her prayers only include Yula. They have grown more earnest and their frequency has increased. She’s now disappearing to pray for Yula ten to twelve times a day.”

 

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