To Sing Frogs Chapter 40b

Marina smiled broadly even though the hug didn’t come without my asking. She had always been the most shy of the three friends. The dark haired little girl was even more beautiful than I remembered. She seemed to be in no hurry to end the embrace. When I finally released her she smiled sympathetically at the tears streaming down my face. Our conversation had to have happened through translation even though I don’t remember it that way. In fact, I recall no one else in the school lobby except for the two of us while we talked.

“Tell me about your mother, Marina. Are you happy? Is your papa nice? Do you have any brothers and sisters? Do you live nearby?”

The nine year-old little girl smiled as if to say she could only answer one question at a time. “My mother is the most wonderful woman in the world.” I sighed audibly and the weight I had carried for years eased from my shoulders. The lost Monarch from my dream had left me without answers when the wind dragged it away. I thought she was gone forever. Yet somehow the butterfly survived. Against all odds she thrived.

It would be much later when I would come to a realization. The day I found Marina was a turning point in my life. For the first time ever I cared more about “what” than “how.”

A butterfly in Far East Russia had flapped its wings. In America, I was moved.

“How is Katya?” Marina asked.

“She’s fine. She’s wonderful. She’s happy. She thinks about you every day.”

The child’s smile softened and turned melancholy. “I think about her every day too.”

We went through a photo album of Sarah and I answered more questions. I pulled out several small presents I always carried to give to children in the orphanages; paper dolls, crayons, and a tiny “dollar store” stuffed animal. We visited for just over an hour.

Marina’s mother, Natalia, had given Marina-Grigorievna permission to call us back and tell us she notified the school and asked them to allow us to check Marina out of class for an hour to visit.

“John,” Anya finally said, “Marina needs to go back to class.”

“Yes. Of course. Would it be possible to get her address so Sarah can write her a letter?” Anya spoke briefly to the thin dark-haired girl.

Marina smiled warmly while writing neatly, almost perfectly, in the coordinator’s notebook.

“John, my papa is in St. Petersburg on business, but my mama will be home in an hour. I have a piano lesson after school. After, you must come to my house and meet my mother. Will you please come to my house?”

How could I say no? Still, it wasn’t just me. After Anya’s phone conversation with Marina-Grigorievna we had continued non-stop through Vladivostok and on to Partizansk. We had already spent six hours on the road that day. The return to Vladivostok would add three more. I looked pleadingly at Anya, then Stass. “Is there any way?”

“Of course. We wouldn’t miss it.”

Marina thanked me again and again for the small gifts, for the photo album of Sarah, and for agreeing to come to her house.

Then she spoke more with Anya. She ran back into the classroom and returned a few minutes later, pleading with the coordinators in Russian.

“It looks like Marina has received permission to leave school. She wants us to take her to her house so you can meet her mother, now,” Anya explained.

“Let’s go!”