To Sing Frogs Chapter 40c

Rain sprinkles that followed our journey through the day had turned into beautiful large snowflakes. There was just over an inch of white on the ground when Stass stopped the car at Marina’s instruction. She barreled out of the vehicle and spoke rapidly as she turned toward the house. “Marina says she’ll be right back,” Anya translated.

I hadn’t expected much when we entered the non-affluent neighborhood. I was wrong. Marina lived in one of the most beautiful homes I ever saw in Far East Russia. A four-foot tall chain link fence spanned between square brick columns. It secured the yard and the house Marina entered through a side door. The ground level of the home was constructed of orange brick. White ones were used as accents in designs about windows and around a perimeter that divided the two stories. The upper level was done in perpendicular steeply pitched “A” frames. An observer from above would view it as a cross.

Three tall, arched Trinitarian-like windows graced the end of one axis. The center one was slightly taller. Otherwise it was identical to those at its sides. One leg of each axis of the cross provided two of four sides to a balcony over one of the main floor rooms and the large welcoming porch.

Marina looked dejected as she swung open the decorative wrought iron gate. She spoke to Anya for a moment before climbing into the car.

“Marina says her mother isn’t home now. She says she isn’t supposed to be home alone so she needs to go back to school. She made me promise that we would bring you back at five-thirty.

 

 

“Welcome to our home,” Natalia said while opening the door wide. “Please, come in.”

We removed our shoes upon entering while the kind woman told us we didn’t need to. In Russia you always need to.

Marina was bursting with pride when she told us her papa had built the magnificent home and that he was in the process of constructing another one in St. Petersburg. They soon hoped to relocate to that city, where the economy and living conditions were better.

We were led to the living room where Stass, Anya, David, and I were offered seats on a large couch. Marina sat properly, next to her mother on a loveseat.

“You don’t know how amazing it is that you are here,” Natalia began.

Yeah, you might think I don’t know. I could tell you some stories… “Really? Why do you say that?”

The child sat quietly while her mother spoke. “I always knew Marina had two best friends at the orphanage. She almost never talked about them, though. Whenever I asked, she told me it was too sad to talk about. It was like they had died.” Tears welled in my eyes. I knew how Marina felt if only from watching Sarah. “Today, when she came home from school she opened up more about her friends than she ever had before. She told me all kinds of stories about them playing together at the orphanage. Then she told me about when you and your wife came to visit Sarah at the orphanage, how you played with all the orphans and about the stuffed animals you brought for her and Yula. Marina said that you were very nice to all of them.” Then the mother paused. “Marina thinks Yula has been transferred to another orphanage. She never sees her anymore.”

“No!” I almost shouted. “Yula was adopted! I was in Vladivostok when it happened. I met her parents! They call her Julia, now. I have her telephone number and address. She and Sarah write each other all the time!”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Yes!”

“Could you give me that information?”

“I don’t have it with me but I can email it to you as soon as I get back to the hotel.”

“You don’t know how amazing this is!” Natalia continued, now almost as wound-up as I was. Then there was a flash of Marina speaking rapidly back and forth with Stass, Anya, and her mother. It was as if she could barely maintain her naturally given demeanor, having found her two long-lost best friends in one day. “Really, John. You don’t know how incredible this is.”

“I think I do.”

“You couldn’t possibly.” I just smiled. “This is truly amazing. Marina told me that she, Sarah and Yula—Julia shared beds next to each other in the dormitory.”

“Yes, I was aware of that. In fact, I have pictures of them.”

“Sure. All right. But Marina told me every night before they went to sleep, the three of them all prayed together.”

So that’s where Sarah’s prayers came from! “Really?”

“Yes! And Marina told me that every night they always prayed for the same two things.”

“Really? What?”

“Tell him what you prayed for, Marina.” The mother folded her hands and sat back, giving the floor to her timid daughter.

Marina only whispered. Stass spoke back to her making sure he had understood correctly. Surely he couldn’t have heard it right.

“Dá,” Marina responded. Then after more questioning, “Dá, Dá.”

Stass and Anya looked at me with wide eyes while Stass spoke. “Every night Marina, Julia, and Sarah prayed together. They always prayed for two things. First, they prayed that they could all be adopted and have their own families. Then, they prayed that after they were adopted they could still be friends.”

I gasped.

“See!” Natalia exclaimed, “I told you it was amazing!”

Now it was my turn. “The prayers didn’t stop when Sarah left the orphanage. In fact, they increased.”

We spent another half hour talking about Sarah and her obsession with her friends getting families. Then we considered the unlikely circumstances that had allowed for the three best friends to find each other.

“Who taught you to pray, Marina?” I had wondered who taught my daughter since our first night back at the hotel.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. It was an old lady who worked at the orphanage. I don’t remember her name. She told all of the orphans she would teach them to pray if they wanted to learn. Only Sarah, Julia, and I wanted to. She taught us and we prayed every night. The other kids in the dormitory would make fun of us when we did it but we didn’t care. We still prayed every night. That lady doesn’t come to the orphanage any more. I don’t know if she retired, if she has a different job, or if she died. It was a long time ago.”

For the second time that day I cared more about “what” than “how.”

It was getting late and we still had a three-hour drive to Vladivostok. Not before Natalia gathered all of the pertinent information. What was our address? Phone number? Skype account? When was Sarah’s birthday?

“Two weeks? Really? And you have friends who speak Russian? Could they come to your house?”

The memory of driving away is permanently etched in my mind. I still see a mid-forties mother standing on a porch with her young thin daughter. A balcony shields the union and the warm home buttresses it. Mother and daughter stand motionless. Each has an arm around the other and there is no space between them. Their other arms are raised and frozen in permanent waves while the snow falls gently around them.

David and I must have gone to Tokyo after that. I don’t remember.

 

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