To Sing Frogs Chapter 12a

Sergei in the foreground, in the back, left to right, Amy, Marina-Grigorievna, Anya, Luba and Dyedushka Bill

Chapter 12

 

A Burned Baby

 

When you adopt from foreign worlds you find yourself forced to rely on people you hardly know. After brief meetings you cordially shake their hands and give them the key to the future of your family. That’s almost always difficult to do, though not without exception. With the gatekeeper it was easy.

Maybe it was because I saw her as a genie that granted unbelievable wishes to parents and children. Perhaps it was because she stopped me from splitting my head the day before. I think it was mostly for the fact she was nice. I liked Marina-Grigorievna.

It was almost like seeing an old friend when Stass held the door the next morning as she exited the small brick building that contained her office. The social worker was just as jolly as she had been when we met her. It’s tough for a personality like mine to understand how someone can be happy almost all of the time. Some people call me a pessimist. I call myself a realist. Either side of the description would allow for a degree of cynicism. Regardless, it’s a lot different than Marina-Grigorievna’s hopeful, happy, optimistic outlook. I guess it comes with the territory. How could you look at things any differently when you had a job like hers? The woman was in charge of changing the lives of the least fortunate children her society could produce. She would make the arrangements and place them in a portal to another dimension. With very few exceptions they would come out loved and wanted with their secret wishes and most outrageous imaginations fulfilled. Marina-Grigorievna had the perfect job.

Olga graced us with two-handed handshakes again. Then we waited in the playroom barred from the outside. The smiling but melancholy director went to get the child who would never be hers. She returned a few minutes later with Luba and Sergei walking hand in hand.   “Olga thought you might like to see how Luba reacts with other children,” Anya translated. “She wants you to see how well she will get along with your other children.”

“That will be wonderful!” Amy gushed. “I’m sure she’ll love her brothers too. They’ll spoil her rotten.”

            Okay, that much is true. Let’s not overdo it.

            Olga smiled greedily. As far as she was concerned, Amy had said just the right thing. She looked seriously at me. “So, you think Luba will be happy in your home? Will she have the best life possible?”

“Oh, I can promise you the little princess will get everything she deserves,” I responded with my biggest smile. “Luba has no idea how much her life will change when she gets to America!”

Olga heard exactly what she wanted to hear and it lit her up like a Christmas tree. My wife looked like Ebenezer Scrooge as she scowled a warning at me. Amy heard what I said. Her look assured me that if I kept it up she would turn me into Tiny Tim with a wobbly wooden crutch.

The director scooped up Luba, squealed, gave her a big hug and began to chatter in Russian baby talk.

Then Mama Olga handed Luba to Amy and the director floated out of the room on a cloud. Anya and Stass followed her. They needed to get some pictures of other children who would soon be added to the register for international adoption. Marina-Grigorievna stayed. Anya told us not to worry. It was standard procedure. There was a legal requirement for a social worker to observe the behavior between the parents and child, keep notes, and then present her findings in court. Anya assured us it was a mere formality. Olga liked us. Marina-Grigorievna liked us. We met all of the legal requirements and we looked good on paper. Nothing else mattered.

The two tiny sovereigns were more interested in playing with each other than paying attention to us. They took turns bossing each other on where plastic ponies should be placed on the floor and who should hold the doll. It appeared more and more as if Luba would be incomplete without a twin brother.

Suddenly, all the violence of the Middle East burst forth as Luba took a football-sized toy airplane away from Sergei. He screamed and punched her. She crowned him with the heavy plastic toy. Marina-Grigorievna flew from her chair and separated them. She took the airplane away, scolded them in Russian, and directed them to other toys on the floor. She spoke to us kindly before returning to her seat. Who knows what she said? I could only imagine. Kids. What’re ya gonna do?

 

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