To Sing Frogs Chapter 10b

Luba and the toys at her orphanage

We were too anxious to sit. Amy was excited. I was nervous—maybe apprehensive. I didn’t know what I was about to experience. Worse, I didn’t know what I might be about to miss.

With the vigilance of a hawk, Amy watched the doorway while waiting for the baby girl’s grand entrance. I turned my attention to the display of toys. A large old china cupboard covered almost an entire wall of the room. It was cheaply constructed from particleboard and the paper-thin imitation wood surface was worn through to show the sawdust and glue composition on most of the edges. Toys were grouped together behind glass. There were new ones appearing to be straight from the aisles at Walmart, and then there were the used ones. Those that were less than new made up the majority, which were still in fair shape, and ones that had provided more than their money’s worth of child entertainment.

Suddenly there was a gaggle filled with Russian words and Amy gasping in the middle of it. I turned and saw my wife rush toward Olga who was holding the two-year-old little girl. Her hair was cropped short like a boy’s. I hate that. It wouldn’t matter if everyone shared my feelings. Long hair on girls is far too frivolous a luxury to be expended on Russian orphans—even on orphanage favorites.

Olga held Luba close and bowed her head next to the child’s while giving her little tickles. She spoke in high teasing tones filled with the skahs, shkahs, shahs, and kahs of Russian baby talk. Luba grinned and flirted back with her most favorite person on Earth.

The director kept asking the same question over and over to the child. We recognized only the last word of the phrase, spoken with the intonation of a question. Mama?

Amy was all coos as she reached out for the hand off. Luba wanted nothing to do with her.

“Don’t you want to meet mama?” Olga continued to ask in Russian.

“Nee!” Nyet. No!

No matter how many times Olga asked, no matter how much she coaxed, the answer was the same.

“Nee! Nee! Nee!” the child chirped repeatedly. Then she turned inward to the director and threw her arms around the woman’s neck. “Mama Olga!”

My blood ran cold. Amy cooed and chuckled. My wife was just watching a baby girl act like a baby girl. I took it as a bad omen, a vision of things to come.

Eventually the handoff was accomplished. Within seconds Amy had the child giggling as she gave her little tickles and pretended to steal her nose. Luba resisted an embrace but didn’t mind Amy’s quick kisses to her forehead.

It was the moment of truth. I stepped forward and grabbed my future daughter’s little hand. She didn’t seem to mind as I shook it and said something in English in a soft tone. I don’t remember what I said. Of course it didn’t matter.

Luba turned and looked at me while focusing one blue eye. The other pointed inward while lazily watching its working partner. I bounced Luba’s hand and spoke again. Nothing happened. She was cute and this was fun; even so, I was missing what I knew I should be feeling.

Suddenly I was flooded with a wave of emotion. I saw a little girl with long flowing perfectly combed blonde hair, tied up in a pink ribbon. She possessed a personality to match. I saw a future daughter who would love beautiful clothes and princess movies. The vision advanced to a teenager in a cheerleading outfit who had her daddy wrapped around her finger. I imagined young men crushed and mutilated, begging me for the secret to unlock her playful heart. This one would be bad news, but bad news in the best way. She would torture me as she would any male who tried to win her over. There is no explanation for why we would love every minute of it. I, like the others, would never stop coming back for more.

I smiled at Amy and noticed the tear in her eye as I felt one spill down my cheek. Yes, I was overwhelmed to meet the child who would be my daughter. More importantly, I hadn’t blown that meeting.

Why not? Now—and because of that—what I missed with Jack bothered me even more. It didn’t make sense. At some point during my contemplation the Russians sneaked out of the room and left us alone.

Amy took Luba to the wall of toys and I turned to look out the window while I got my emotions under control.

I hadn’t noticed the scrolled wrought iron covering windows from the outside. No one ever notices the bars until they’re on the inside. Most would have imagined the iron barriers were to keep undesirables out. Probably not. Pilgrims like Dante Alighieri—pilgrims like me—are allowed a brief tour of hidden realms and we are permitted to leave when our visit is over. It’s even left for us to record what we see. Not so for the souls who reside there. No one sentenced to abide in a place of waiting and punishment is allowed to leave until the utmost second of their time is served.

 

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